30 November 2001
Last Easter, Ginny had left Arnold upstairs in her room unattended while she ate dinner with the rest of her family. She'd also left the quarter-eaten Easter chocolate the size of a dragon's egg in there with him, foolishly assuming that he'd stay away from it. When she'd finally escaped from her family, she'd found him sitting on the bed, with a remarkably wide range of emotions written clearly on his furry little face: guilt, pleasure, and embarrassment.
When Harry sidled into class that morning, Ginny was forcibly reminded of Arnold that Easter day after he'd eaten far too much chocolate to be good for him. It's in the eyes, she mused. That's the only way a grown man could look almost exactly like a small, wide-eyed, violet-tinged pygmy puff who has just done something naughty.
After that brief moment of eye contact, he avoided her gaze and busied himself with tidying up around the front of the room (which, judging by the clutter, obviously hadn't been done since he'd arrived), and chatting with two of the Ravenclaws. Ginny toyed with her quill and wondered why he was acting a bit odd.
"Hi, Ginny," Dennis Creevey said, interrupting her thoughts.
"Hi, Dennis," Ginny replied automatically. He always persisted in talking to her which was slightly annoying, but they'd been the only second year students in the Defense Association, and it would be rude to just ignore him.
"Listen," he said earnestly. He has rather large ears, Ginny thought. "I was wondering if you--"
"Creevey!" Harry suddenly barked; Ginny was grateful for the interruption. He motioned to the front of the class. "I need someone to help me demonstrate for the class how helpful shielding can be during a dueling situation. Tell me why some people disagree."
Dennis looked startled; it was unlike Harry to single people out, and Ginny found herself just as surprised and curious. "Well, they -- I -- because it's hard to... you know, it's hard to send hexes and stuff at someone if there's a shield in your way."
Harry nodded, and Dennis made his way to the front of the room. "Don't worry," Harry grinned at him. "You can go on the attack, and I'll do the shielding." Ginny watched him closely. And while he stood poised and ready for Dennis' first spell (which didn't appear to be happening any time soon, as the other boy looked a bit confused still), it suddenly struck her that Harry had physically changed in the last few years. Not that she hadn't noticed before, but it had been more of a peripheral awareness.
He was taller and broader in the shoulders. His jaw was more stubborn and dusted slightly with stubble as though he'd not had time this morning to shave. Did he need to shave when he was only seventeen? she wondered. Even the lines of his body seemed cleaner and stronger than she remembered.
Some things were very familiar, though. His hands were exactly the same and his eyes, if more haunted than she remembered, were the vivid green of her memories. Not to mention, the way he snapped at Creevey reminded her of how he'd been during his fifth year.
"I hope everyone is watching this," said Harry. He was almost lazily flicking his wand and none of Dennis' hexes were coming anywhere near him. "I'm going to show you how you can get around a shield you've created and be more offensive during a duel rather than strictly defensive--"
"Does that mean you're going to hex me?" Dennis asked. He sounded more than a little annoyed.
"If you can't dodge it, yeah," said Harry. "Though you should be better at this than most, Creevey. You were in the Defense Association if I remember correctly..."
Needless to say, Harry made quick work of defeating Dennis. Glancing around surreptitiously, Ginny saw that others were watching open-mouthed. It was the first time that Harry had truly displayed his Defense Against the Dark Arts skills; he generally just watched as they all had a go at each other. But he made dodging shields and casting hexes look almost like a dance.
The room had grown quite warm by the time Harry took mercy on Dennis and ended their duel. "That was better than I expected." He turned away and addressed the rest of the class. "Line up," he said gruffly. "I want all of you practicing, that's the only way to get it right. I can only babble at you so much."
Ginny should have been indignant on behalf of her house; she thought Dennis' display had earned a few points for Gryffindor, at least. And she should have been slightly more worried about his oddness. But the image of Arnold kept floating through her mind, and his temper and grouchiness made her want to laugh. It didn't help that sometime during the lesson, Arnold had poked his head out of his bag and started watching Harry intently.
She lingered after class while he tidied up and avoided her glance. He only looked up when Arnold, annoyed at being ignored, launched himself out of his bag and sprinted on his fat little legs straight toward Harry and climbed up his leg.
"What the--" Harry yelped.
Ginny giggled a little as he danced around in shock and his head shot up. "Sorry," she said. "He's a little rambunctious today."
Harry mumbled something, but she couldn't quite hear it, and before she could ask him to repeat himself, he scooped Arnold up in his hand. "Hi there, Arnold," he said. "You know it's not nice to climb up trousers without giving a bloke a warning." He crooked his finger and rubbed the pygmy puff under his chin.
"He came from Fred and George," said Ginny, by way of explanation. Harry didn't say anything, but continued to stroke her pygmy puff almost absently. "They don't have much manners themselves."
He made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. When it became pretty obvious that he wasn't going to share whatever was bothering him, Ginny bent over to gather up all her things. He took a deep breath and shuffled around as though he were about to say something, but when she looked over her shoulder at him, he turned quickly away.
"Do you want to fly early today?" she asked carefully.
His hand shot to his already untidy hair and mussed it up even more. "I -- er -- I can't make it today. Not -- I don't know when I can again."
It was like an unexpected blow to the gut. Don't be so stupid, Ginny told herself fiercely. So he can't fly with you, it isn't a big deal. She berated herself for getting so attached to flying with him in the first place, even as her eyes stung. "Oh," she forced out. "That's fine. Thanks for letting me know."
He nodded, handed Arnold back to her, and she left, berating herself for getting so stupidly emotional about it. It's just flying. You don't need to fly with him. You did just fine when you were alone. But she knew that wasn't true. When she was alone, she mostly flew to escape. But when she was with him, it was different. It was more.
Distracted, she wandered through the day, theories bombarding her. What if he blamed her for the broom accident? It was a compelling reason for all of two minutes; Harry hadn't acted odd at all after the accident. And it hadn't been her fault. He wouldn't be that unfair to blame her. Harry blamed himself whenever he could; it was a part of his nature and the reason why he was so lonely.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
30 November 2001 - 2 December 2001
As soon as Ginny left the classroom, Harry felt guilty and upset with himself. He'd hurt her, and he wanted to run out and tell her that he was just being stupid, but he remained rooted to the spot like a complete moron. Thinking of her while he'd finished was one thing and that was bad enough. But she'd bent over to gather her things, and he could see the hint of her bum through her robes, and he'd hardened again instantly.
Perhaps it was unfair of him, but he couldn't help but blame Dennis Creevey, and it had been all he could do not to be even harder on him. The boy's comments yesterday had been inappropriate, and the more Harry thought about it, the more it irritated him. Yes, she was very lovely. And Harry had obviously noticed; he had eyes, didn't he? But he couldn't help but think how deeply uncomfortable she'd be to attract sexual attention. She didn't even like attracting friendly attention, and it seemed like a betrayal that he, whom she inexplicably trusted, had just eyed her bum and liked it a lot more than he should have.
I just need a few days to cool off, he told himself. I'll forget what that git Creevey said about her and then I'll be able to go back to being her supportive friend and not a lecher.
Harry pushed those thoughts out of his head, determined to get back to normal as quickly as possible. She'd laughed again today, and that was far more important than anything else. He couldn't help but notice her laughs were coming at a quicker rate...
The day slowly waned and Harry sought the refuge of his quarters after dinner; he was too tired to go flying by himself. And he had a lot of grading to do (he'd ignored the homework assignments his students had turned in for two weeks; that was a bit much, even for him), and he really ought to try to plan his lessons for the rest of the week.
Plus he didn't much feel like flying by himself.
The following day was even worse for several reasons. Harry had avoided his morning routine in the shower for fear that he hadn't quite gotten the image of her out of his mind (he strongly suspected he hadn't, as images of her cropped up in front of his eyes when he least expected it). He'd also done his professor type duties late into the night as he'd felt wide-awake enough to know that he wouldn't get to sleep even if he tried. And he'd obviously missed his lack of daily exercise... not flying had thrown him for a loop.
Harry had fully intended to return to his quarters again, but a restless sort of energy had grabbed hold of him and he'd decided, on a whim, to visit Hagrid. Ignoring the fact that it felt slightly strange to go there without Ginny, he bundled himself up in his warmest cloak and hurried down the slope. Twilight had fallen and halfway down, he lifted his head, wondering if Ginny was out flying, or if she'd skipped out on it as he had.
Fang barked enthusiastically upon his arrival. The old dog -- whose muzzle had turned gray with the years -- clambered a bit stiffly to his feet and attempted to lick every inch of Harry's face that he could.
"Down, Fang!" Harry said, half laughing. "Is Hagrid not feeding you enough?"
"'E gets plenty, don' ye worry," said Hagrid, lumbering around the corner of his hut, carrying what looked like an entire tree (one of the large, old ones in the Forbidden Forest) cut up into firewood. He stopped suddenly, looking around. "Where's Ginny?" he asked.
"Oh," said Harry. "She's... she didn't come tonight."
Hagrid raised his bushy eyebrows at that but didn't comment further. "Git yerself inside, Harry. Winter's comin' quick an' it's cold."
Harry gratefully followed him in, cold enough to want some of Hagrid's homemade cider; considering that it tasted only slightly better than soup of freshwater plimpies (or whatever that had been that Xeno Lovegood had made for him, Ron, and Hermione before he betrayed them to the Death Eaters), that was saying something.
"How're classes goin'?" Hagrid asked, setting a huge mug of cider in front of Harry. He wrapped his hands around the mug and breathed in deeply trying to warm himself and ignore the slightly sour smell all at once.
"Better than they were," admitted Harry. "I've stopped making a complete cake of myself, I think, and my younger students don't run when they see me in the halls anymore."
Hagrid boomed out a laugh and immediately looked guilty. "Sorry, I know I shouldn' laugh, but a few of the young'uns keep askin' me how to fight trolls. Told 'em they should learn that Levitation Charm or summat. That's what you did--"
"Ron did it," Harry said firmly, though he was grinning. "I was the one on the troll's back with my wand jammed up its nose."
Hagrid chortled. But then he turned an annoyingly piercing look on Harry, and Harry regretted bringing up Ron. "Ye two were thick as thieves," he said gruffly. He didn't say anything more, but he didn't need to. Thus far, Hagrid had only dropped these little hints that made Harry uncomfortable. And he really couldn't blame the half-giant for this one. He'd brought it on himself.
It was hard not to mention them or think about them, though. The more time he spent with Ginny, the more he missed Ron and Hermione and all the other Weasleys. There was irony in that, though Harry didn't want to dwell on it. "How've you been?" Harry asked in a blatant attempt to change the subject.
And mercifully, Hagrid allowed it. "Been fine," he said. "Been thinkin' about tryin' to figger out what went wrong with the Blast-Ended Skrewts. Reckon I know how to make 'em--"
"Prettier?" Harry suggested. "Less murderous, perhaps?"
"Nah," Hagrid shook his massive head. "Couldn' get 'em to breed."
Harry, who saw this as a good thing, attempted to keep the horror off of his face. "Er -- well -- that's really... something."
The half giant didn't take issue with his lack of enthusiasm, and Harry was treated to more information about blasting, sucking, and pinching than he ever wanted to know. He could just imagine Ron's mixture of disgust and hilarity, and Hermione's moaning and advice against owning the creatures in the first place, let alone trying to breed them... Blast-Ended Skrewt husbandry could horrify even the staunchest of Gryffindors.
The conversation turned to Grawp after that, and then Harry relayed some of his worst classroom faux pas (all of which Hagrid had known, though he showed great enthusiasm to hearing it again). Harry kept glancing to the side, expecting Ginny to offer a wry observation, and kept having to remind himself that she wasn't there. And every time that happened, he felt a prickle of annoyance with both himself and Creevey.
"Saw Ginny down flyin' this mornin'," Hagrid observed, startling Harry out of his thoughts.
"Er -- you did?"
"Yeah," said Hagrid, intently watching his own hands. Not a good sign. Harry braced himself, though for what, he didn't quite know. "Hope ye aren' fightin'."
Far from it. "Not fighting," Harry said. He shrugged, trying to act casual. Hagrid didn't buy it, though he didn't say anything for a long while. The fire crackled in the hearth, and Harry wished he would say something, anything--
"Heard her laugh the other day."
Harry knew exactly which occasion Hagrid was talking about -- it had been the sixth time she'd laughed, and it had been while he'd been grouching about Ben Corner, who insisted on turning every lesson into a deadly adventure. They'd been walking to Hagrid's hut, and it was obvious that the sound had carried to Hagrid's ears. "Yeah," said Harry, not knowing what else to say.
"Think it's a good thing," Hagrid pointed out. "An' it would be a damn shame if she stopped laughin'." His massive hands fiddled with the edge of the table. "An' you seem to make her laugh."
Harry felt a flash of pride which was quickly dampened by discomfort. He didn't think Ginny would appreciate a discussion occurring about her laughter, because it led back to why she didn't laugh very much. He didn't like the idea of people speculating about Malfoy Manor and what had happened there, and he could imagine that it was a hundred times worse for her. In some strange way, her laughter seemed private, and not something to scrutinize otherwise she might get shy and it wouldn't happen again.
"Don' mean nothin' by it," said Hagrid. He'd obviously guessed somewhat of Harry's thoughts.
I've been incredibly stupid. The thought struck him like a lightning bolt. He could've been making her laugh instead of avoiding her. So what if he'd accidentally thought of her in the shower? And that he thought she was lovely? She didn't know Legilimency, she didn't have to be uncomfortable with him because he didn't have to tell her. Harry was almost dazed by how thick he'd been.
"What time does she usually go out in the mornings?" Harry asked suddenly.
Hagrid shrugged a large shoulder. "All times, I reckon. Sometimes early, sometimes later."
And doesn't that just make things so easy?
Already planning to get to the pitch before dawn, Harry yawned and stretched and offered his goodbyes to Hagrid. He took his time walking back up to Hogwarts, reassuring himself that he could stifle his physical response to her if it occurred again, and focus instead on her dry sense of humor and her strength or anything else about her besides her bum.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
02 December 2001
Dora Lupin breezed through the door at the Burrow bringing a chilly wind, snow, and laughter with her. Molly shook her head, wondering why the woman had decided to Apparate rather than using the perfectly good floo. She turned around to tell her that she ought to be more mindful of her condition--
"Honestly, Dora," the irrepressible metamorphmagus said in a sing song voice. Molly pursed her lips to keep herself from smiling; she'd raised Fred and George. And people like Fred, George, and Dora could smell laughter the way dogs could smell fear. "Don't Apparate when you're pregnant! You could splinch your uterus! Honestly, Molly, you sound just like Remus."
"I didn't even say anything," said Molly, turning around quickly and hid her full-fledged smile behind her hand.
"You didn't have to," she announced. "I've heard it often enough. And I didn't even Apparate myself, I'll have you know. Remus dropped me off before he took the monster home for his nap."
"How is the monster adjusting to the idea of a new baby?"
Molly busied herself with preparing a proper tea for herself and Dora Lupin, who had become a true friend in the course of the war, despite the age difference. The kettle came to a full boil within seconds under her skilled wand, and the tea leaves swirled around and dropped in. The cupboards (with their peeling paint and rattling knobs) flew open and the biscuits flew out and arranged themselves neatly on the plate.
"Show off," Dora said, amused.
Molly glanced at her, and couldn't help but notice that the younger woman was in even higher spirits than usual. "You could just as easily manage the householdy charms if you'd just--"
Dora's head thunked on the table. "Please," she moaned. "You sound like my mum. Remus is perfectly capable of folding his own underpants, and if he wants biscuits in the shape of a sunflower he can do it himself, thank you very much." She straightened up, gestured wildly, and knocked over the salt shaker. "Sorry about that," she murmured. "Anyway," she was beaming, and Molly wondered why. Usually she had a good rant about her mum and the ongoing battle with household charms, and it could last for an hour, and that was without pregnancy hormones. Dora was bouncing back remarkably quickly.
"Ask me your question again," she ordered, practically bouncing in her seat.
"About Teddy?" Molly asked uncertainly. "What does he think of the baby?"
Dora's smile grew even wider (Molly suspected her of using her abilities to make it so; it looked a bit unnatural). "He's pretty upset that he's getting a little sister instead of a brother," she said. "Thinks he's getting another Victoire, and he's mad at her because she accidentally pulled down his trousers in front of Ron."
It took a moment for the information to penetrate. "You're having a girl?" Molly squealed, feeling twenty years younger all of a sudden. New life always affected her thus; even just seeing a young, pregnant woman made her happy. And the idea that the Lupins were having a little girl (Remus seemed to especially want a daughter) gave her a very warm feeling. "Oh, Dora, dear, that's wonderful."
"We're thrilled," she said. "Remus especially. I thought he was about to float to the ceiling when the Healer told us. Thankfully, Teddy's scream of outrage distracted him."
Molly chuckled. Teddy was a little scamp with a large personality; he definitely took after his mother and not just in his metamorphmagus abilities. She could easily imagine the scene in the Healer's office. "George threw a similar fit when we found out about Ginny," she said. She couldn't help but remember that she'd shared that little anecdote with her daughter, who had not replied to that letter, but had only sent a brief note a few days ago. But she firmly pushed the thought of Ginny out of her mind for now. "He was a right terror, you know."
"And he seems to love Ginny well enough now," Dora said easily, leaning back in her chair and sipping her tea. Molly knew that the other woman had guessed where her thoughts had gone, but she didn't say anything of it. "Remus is already discussing names," she said. "He and Mum should join a support group for coming up with stupid names."
"That bad, are they?" Molly chuckled. "The things men think sound nice... Arthur wanted to name Ginny 'Septrella' because she's the seventh child, and his father's name is Septimus."
Dora laughed. "Remus likes Winifred."
Molly shuddered, grinning. "Just set him straight--"
"Oh, I will," Dora interrupted. "I like the name Clara, actually. Or Aislin."
"Both are lovely," Molly assured her. "I'll have to start making her a blanket, you know, so she'll have one like Teddy's."
"That would be lovely, though please no pink," Dora replied. A comfortable little silence fell as Molly began to mentally construct the blanket she would make for the Lupins' baby girl. Purples and soft blues, she thought, and plenty warm for the chilly nights. So immersed was she that she didn't even notice that for Dora, the silence had changed into something darker. She looked up to find Dora out of her chair and touching the Weasley family clock, her face set in pensive lines.
"Her hand has been moving," Molly said quietly. "I have no idea what happened a few days ago, but for almost an hour, her hand was where she was supposed to be: at school."
"That's pretty incredible," said Dora.
"Arthur says that Harry's moved too," Molly told her. She wanted to believe it, but it seemed almost too good to be true. "It was in the morning, the day after Ginny's moved. The thirtieth, I think it was." And the way Arthur had described it was odd as well, and not like how she'd witnessed Ginny's moving. It was like it jumped or bounced, and then just as quickly slammed back to Malfoy Manor. "I'm wondering if the charm is just wearing off," she admitted. She hadn't said that out loud, not to Arthur, but she couldn't help but think that it wasn't really happening. To have both of them showing a kind of healing they hadn't in over three years, that seemed almost too extravagant.
"Don't say that," Dora said softly. "Have any of the others been doing odd things? And if the charms for everyone but Harry and Ginny haven't done this in all these years, I think you should think maybe there's a reason for it. And just because it's a good thing, doesn't mean it isn't happening."
Frowning, Molly thought over her words. Have I become such a pessimist? She didn't like this feeling of not even wanting to bother to hope because of the additional pain it had caused in the past. Like when Ginny had clung to Arnold, it had seemed miraculous that she'd taken interest in another living thing. And Molly had thought that Ginny was returning, but the pygmy puff had been a tool to avoid her family. Not that she resented Arnold, not at all. But...
"Have you thought about talking to someone?" Dora asked.
"I just sent her a letter asking if she thought she might do it," Molly admitted. "But she hasn't written back yet."
"I didn't mean Ginny," Dora said gently. "I meant you. You know they offer very inexpensive Healer services for those who fought in the war, and you definitely qualify. They'd love to get their hands on a member of the Order of the Phoenix. Mum says that the Healers all gossip and celebrity watch like a bunch of old ladies."
"That's the thing, isn't it?" said Molly. She fiddled with the tea cozy. "I can't really -- the added pressure... I'm afraid that if I got to a Healer for psychological services, it'll place added pressure on Ginny, and open up all those questions again. The Healers would never keep it a secret. You know how awful the reporters were right after the -- right after it happened. And the idea of hiding my identity and being vague about why I'm "
"But why would you want her to go, then?"
"At least she'd be prepared for it," said Molly, shrugging a little. "It's one thing if all the old rubbish with the Daily Prophet comes up again because of her. It's quite another if I do something that cracks it open. The Burrow is still protected, but she's awfully vulnerable at Hogwarts."
Molly could not, however, deny the fact that the idea was intriguing. She'd quite like to pour out all the thoughts she'd kept bottled up inside her, but it was an extravagance that she could not seem to afford. The ideal would be to have all of them with a Healer, helping to unravel all the hurt. When she closed her eyes, she could almost envision it. Arthur, explaining how much pain it had caused him to be so shunned by his daughter. Ginny, lancing the wound and actually talking about what had happened and that she wanted to make a concerted effort to recover.
"Something to think about, anyway," Dora said.
Molly heaved a sigh and shook her head to clear the cobwebs and cast about for a topic that would not threaten to make her cry. "Tell me... have you thought about how you're going to decorate the nursery?"
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
03 December 2001
Three years, five months, and twenty one days after Malfoy Manor, Ginny trudged down to the Quidditch pitch. For the first time, flying felt like a chore, and she almost hadn't come down at all, but the fingers of dawn had stolen over her pillow, waking her up, and she didn't have anything better to do. Flying is much better at night, Ginny grumbled to herself. Arnold responded by making snuffling noises, and Ginny wished she'd stayed in bed and tried to go back to sleep.
All such thoughts flew out of her head once she saw a figure lying in the grass. He was stretched out halfway on his side, one arm flung over his eyes and the other spread out, reaching for the broom beside him. Her stomach fluttered. How can he possibly be warm enough to sleep? she pulled her cloak tightly around herself and shivered in sympathy. She hoped he at least thought to use a Cushioning Charm on the hard earth.
Awkwardly shifting from foot to foot, she wondered how to proceed. Why was he here if he didn't want to fly with her anymore? She'd finally reached the conclusion that he was worried about how things looked with a professor and student being alone together. Had he changed his mind? He gave a little snore, and Ginny wondered if he'd fallen asleep here last night, and he hadn't been waiting for her after all.
Curiosity warred with confusion. If he hadn't meant to find her, then he might be annoyed if she did something like wake him up. But it would be incredibly weird if he'd actually slept here the full night...
Arnold ended up making the decision for her. He'd fought himself out of his cocoon of blankets and, upon seeing Harry, scrambled to get out of his bag, warbling his greetings.
"No, Arnold!" Ginny hissed, but the little pygmy puff leaped and landed on Harry's stomach. He was so light that Harry didn't even wake up, and he hopped around experimentally, obviously wondering why he wasn't being lavished with attention. He pranced up Harry's chest and poised himself, staring curiously at Harry's face. "You've heard people snore before," Ginny told him, lips twitching.
Then, deciding that it might be less disorienting for him to wake up to her than to wake up to Arnold, she reached out her hand. Her fingers, however, had a mind of their own, and they brushed through his thick, untidy hair. It was very soft, just as she had suspected it would be, but she really shouldn't be brushing her fingers through his hair when he wasn't awake to tell her to stop. Not that she'd do it when he was awake, anyway. She glanced around guiltily; mercifully, the only witness had been Arnold, who was too busy chewing on Harry's shirt to notice.
"Harry," she said softly, shaking his shoulder a bit. "Harry," she repeated a little louder.
He awoke with a start and sat up swiftly, dislodging Arnold, who squeaked his outrage. "Whazza?" he asked, blinking at her several times.
"Sorry," Ginny said, drawing back.
"Don't apologize," Harry grimaced. "It probably wasn't the best idea to add a Cushioning Charm and a Warming Charm. That was like asking to fall asleep out here..."
"Were you looking for me?" she blurted out.
"Of course," he said, surprised. "I came out when it was still dark, hoping to catch you." He didn't add anything further, but occupied himself with soothing Arnold's ruffled fur. The silence stretched on, and Ginny wished he would just explain himself. "I was being stupid about -- well, it doesn't even matter," he said quietly and quickly. "I want to keep flying with you. I mean, if you still want me to. I know I was being a moron--"
"All right," Ginny interrupted before he could babble on. Her suspicions that he'd run into some of the gossip Professor McGonagall had mentioned were pretty much confirmed. He'd obviously wanted to shield her from it, and then came to his senses. And she didn't want to hear him explain himself for a multitude of reasons.
"Er," he said. He looked quite stunned, as though he'd expected to have to grovel a bit more. "That's -- that's great," he added, sounding extremely relieved.
"You don't have to explain," Ginny told him, flushing when she remembered avoiding him for several days because she'd been on her period. "Really, it isn't necessary. I get enough people harping on about one thing or another..."
He was quiet for a little while. "You amaze me, Gin," he said. "Most people would be... I don't know. Not you."
She felt very warm, and tried to nervously laugh it off. "Tell that to my parents," she said, without really thinking about it. Her mother's desire for her to talk to someone reared its ugly head in her thoughts. She didn't even think of the fact that he hadn't spoken to her parents in years (because of her and what had happened at Malfoy Manor) until the words were already out of her mouth. She stood up abruptly and, turning back to where she'd dropped her broom and Arnold's bag, brushed the dirt off the seat of her trousers.
When she glanced at him, he had a far away look in his eyes. You shouldn't have mentioned your parents! she scolded herself. He made no move to get up, and his eyes were half-closed as though he was still very tired. "Do you want to just go back to bed?" she asked sympathetically. He'd said he'd been waiting a while for her.
"Bed?" he said faintly.
"Yeah," she said. "I don't really like flying in the mornings, and if we're flying together, we can just go tonight, can't we? You're obviously still tired, so maybe you should go back to bed."
"Right," he said, scrubbing his face with his hand. "Right. That's a good idea. Really good. I'm still really tired."
He stood up, gathering his cloak around himself, taking a deep breath when the brisk wind hit him. Ginny couldn't help but feel that the day was much brighter.