20 December 2001 - 24 December 2001
Harry is staring at my bum.
And it had started out as such a normal day, too. Well, as normal as the day she retuned home for the Christmas holidays could be. But when Ginny woke up three years, six months, and six days after Malfoy Manor, she had no idea that today would be the day that she caught Harry staring at her bum.
Arnold was still snoring when they left the room, not to return for almost three weeks. The night before, he'd been too busy playing in the pile of laundry that had decorated her floor to go to bed at a decent hour. Ginny had no clue that her pygmy puff could find such enjoyment out of making a swan dive from her bed to the clothes; she lost count how many times he'd done it. And since it was cute and she wanted to watch, she'd gotten a very sleepy start as well.
She threw on a pair of Muggle jeans and a sweatshirt, stuffed her nightgown and the clean laundry into her trunk, and closed it. It took her about thirty seconds to gather up the things she was taking with her on the walk from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade: Arnold's bag, Arnold, and her wand. The pygmy puff didn't even wake up when she transferred him.
All the while, she was thinking that she was really going to miss Harry.
"I'm going to miss"-you-"flying with you," she blurted out as soon as he opened the door to her knock. His hair was tousled, his shirt was rumpled, and he was wearing pajama bottoms. Ginny didn't know why, but he seemed especially attractive this morning.
"I'm going to miss you too," he replied immediately, opening the door to his quarters wider to let her in. She walked around him and into the first room a few feet. All professors had three rooms plus a private loo for their own use, and this was the first time she'd been in Harry's. Ginny looked around at the sparse room, hands on her hips.
"Maybe that's what I'll get you for your Christmas gift," Ginny said. "You obviously need furniture." She poked at the old sofa with her toe. The orange and green fabric was torn and looked like it was falling apart.
Harry looked around as well, as though seeing the room for the first time. Or noticing it,Ginny thought. That seemed quite likely. "I don't spend much time in here," he admitted. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "Maybe you can help me fix it up when you come back."
"I'd like that," she said.
He smiled at her. Then mischief lit up his eyes. "You don't know what you're getting me, do you?" he asked. "I've known for ages what your gift is. I haven't gotten it yet, though, you'll have to wait until you come back."
Ginny felt a flutter of excitement. She did like gifts, and she especially liked that he was getting her one. Now how am I going to wait? "What is it?" she asked excitedly before she could stop herself.
He shook his head, and his smile widened. "Some things don't change, do they? And I am not telling you. It's meant to be a surprise."
Ginny would have liked to try to cajole him out of it a bit more, but just then a rowdy group of students walked by, talking loudly, and Ginny realized that she didn't have much time to say anything else. "I'm letting you off the hook because I have to go," she informed him. "But don't think it'll be so easy next time."
"I wouldn't dream of it," Harry murmured. "Have fun with - with your family."
"Have a Happy Christmas," Ginny told him. She didn't want to leave. Then a thought struck her. "You aren't going to be alone, are you?"
He shook his head. "The Lupins invited me over."
"Good," she said. She bent over to pick up Arnold's bag and turned back to ask him-
Harry is staring at my bum.
The realization struck her. It was so obvious that she couldn't even deny it. His eyes were on her bum, and there was a little smile hovering on his face as though he liked what he saw. Her stomach swooped almost painfully, and for long moments all she could do was watch him watch her.
She straightened up and turned toward him, mind buzzing with so many thoughts that she couldn't hold on to just one. What does - why is he - does that mean-?
"Three weeks seems like a long time," he said.
"Yes," she replied dazedly. "It does." And without really even thinking about it, she walked over to him and gave him a one-armed hug. He returned it, resting his cheek on the top of her head for long seconds, while she wondered what, exactly, bum-watching meant to him.
"Happy Christmas, Harry," she said again, pulling away.
"Happy Christmas, Ginny," he replied.
She forced herself to leave. Once the door had shut, she checked to make sure no one was in the corridor, and then checked the seat of her pants, just to be sure he hadn't been staring for completely different reason than she'd thought. But her pants were clean, and she spent the next several hours (pretty much all the way to London, in fact) alternating between picturing the scene over and over again and trying to figure out what it meant. And then when she looked back on some of their interactions with the knowledge she now had, it became apparent that today was not the first time his eyes had lingered on her bum. She just hadn't noticed.
I could ask Hermione. The thought tantalized her as the Hogwarts Express pulled into King's Cross. It embarrassed her a little; it felt odd to want to gossip about Harry (even though she'd never mention his name). But at the same time... Hermione knew a lot about this kind of thing... she would know.
Ginny absently stroked Arnold (who was sleeping again after several hours of almost appalling energy), weighing the pros and cons. She could trust Hermione; if Ginny asked her not to tell anyone, she wouldn't. Not even Ron. But then... even one person might be too much. What if Hermione made a huge deal out of it and wanted to hug her or something? Ginny wasn't stupid. She knew that her interest in male attention would be quite a large deal for the other witch. And since Ginny wouldn't tell Hermione who the wizard was, and therefore couldn't say that the feelings weren't new, they'd just been rejuvenated, Hermione might be even more excited about it.
What if she gets emotional?
Ginny couldn't decide if it would be worth it or not, and this made her even more uncomfortable with her family. That first night, after the round of greetings and chat, she had to flee to the quiet of her room. They don't know what you're thinking, she reminded herself. But she felt very exposed, as though if they looked hard enough, they could see her private thoughts and feelings written just under the surface of her skin.
It took her three days to decide what she wanted to do, though it was really the state of her nerves that made the decision for her. If she could just have some clarity, her mother would stop giving her worrying looks.
The day before Christmas Eve, Ginny finally broke. She launched herself off her bed and grabbed Arnold. And before she could change her mind, she loped out of her room and clattered down the stairs. The rest of the family was congregated in the living room. George was talking, while she lurked for a few moments, trying to prepare herself.
Taking a deep breath, she walked in.
"-Verity said it was definitely him," said George.
"Harry Potter's hard to miss," added Fred. "He walked in and bought something - Verity didn't specify-"
"Ginny!" her mum said loudly. Ginny gave her a fleeting glance; the shock written on her mother's face rankled. She turned back to Fred.
"Harry was at the shop?" she asked, confused. What was he doing there? Did he want to see Fred and George? "Why?"
Silence fell and everyone gaped at each other. Ginny's face felt like it was lit on fire. Don't make a big deal about it, she begged them. So I mentioned Harry. It isn't something you need to harp on about. But the moment extended and Ginny both braced herself and started shuffling back out the door.
"Yeah," said Fred, to Ginny's relief. "He was there. It was just an hour ago, though. We"-he indicated himself and George, who was staring between Fred and Ginny, eyes wide-"weren't there, obviously."
"He probably did that on purpose," Ginny murmured, mind racing. What if he was buying her Christmas gift? The urge to talk to Hermione grew even stronger. "Hermione? Can I talk to you?" she blurted out. She avoided looking at the rest of the family, and couldn't help but be extremely relieved that she was oriented so that she couldn't see her dad at all. She'd managed not to have to look at him or talk to him much at all this holiday, and she wanted to keep it that way.
"Of course," Hermione said at once, using Ron's leg to get herself off the couch.
Ginny left the room, trusting that Hermione would follow her, glad to be away from all those eyes. Thank you, Fred, she thought fervently. She flashed a smile at him just before he went out of view. Hermione was a quiet presence at her back while she returned to her room, and she began to mentally prepare herself for the conversation.
Once they were alone and the door was shut, Ginny stood in the center of the room, staring down at Arnold. He was very still in her hands, but his eyes were very bright as he watched her intently.
"Remember when I used to stay in here?" Hermione asked. Now she stayed with Ron, despite her mother's half-hearted protests.
Ginny nodded jerkily, not really wanting to use reminiscing as a tool for procrastination.Just do it, Ginny. "How do you know when someone fancies you?" Ginny said very quickly before she could talk herself out of it.
Hermione's eyed widened in surprise, but she rallied quickly. "There are several indicators," she said carefully. "Lots, really. Everyone is different. For example, not every boy feels the need to mercilessly tease the girl he fancies like Ron. Is there someone you think might fancy you?"
Ginny smiled. "Promise you won't tell them?" She pointed at the ground, meaning to indicate her family.
"I swear."
It took a few moments before she was relaxed enough to talk. "I've been spending a lot of time with someone," she admitted. "And I can - talk to him. And he likes spending time with me, too." Once she started, the words came swifter and easier. "He - I caught him staring at my bum," she finished in a rush. I hope I made enough sense to her.
Hermione's face bloomed into a wide smile. "That's a pretty definite sign that he fancies you," she said. "I take it you fancy him too?" Without waiting for a reply, she hurried on. "Based on what you told me, I think it's safe to say that your suspicions are correct. Especially as you say he likes spending time with you? How much time?"
"A lot," Ginny said. "He flies with me pretty much every day."
"Excellent!" Hermione said.
Ginny couldn't help but relax. Hermione's happiness wasn't effusive, nor was she being patronizing at all. She sat down cross-legged on the floor, and let Arnold out of her grasp. "He said he's buying me a Christmas present," she confessed. Was that really why he was at the shop?
"Are you going to get him one?" Hermione asked curiously.
A little pang of guilt went through her when she remembered acquiring Harry's present. It felt sneaky, even though the objects had been his to begin with. "Yeah," she said evasively.
Hermione didn't press. Instead, a little gleam of fun (She's definitely turning into a Weasley, Ginny thought.) lit in her brown eyes. "You know... there's a way you can find out for sure if he fancies you..."
Ginny perked up again. "I'm listening," she said.
Over an hour later, Ginny prepared for bed, Hermione's advice buzzing through her head.I should have asked her about the author of the book while I had her alone, she thought. But she hadn't wanted to cast a pall on the otherwise fun conversation. Hermione had lots of great ideas ("But don't tell your brother," she'd laughed. "He'd never let me live it down if he knew I'd tried out these tricks on him.") and most of them were subtle enough that Ginny knew she could do them.
She fell asleep thinking of Harry, and how pleasant it would be if he was falling for her...
The girls' dorm was strangely changed. Instead of the partitions and room for three girls, Ginny's bed was the only one there and she was lying in it. Completely naked. She was safely tucked under the bedclothes and even though she was quite alone, she was blushing. The light dimmed as though the sun set, casting strange shadows on the wall; Ginny was uncertain whether or not she was supposed to be frightened of them or not.
But soon they disappeared all together, and it was completely dark. But not a scary darkness. It was a velvety darkness that pressed down on her; it was warm and humid, and she arched her back and the covers drifted off her.
"Ginny," Harry whispered. Even though Ginny couldn't see him, she could tell he was leaning over her, and very close.
Her heart jumped in her chest.
I'm naked! And she began to retreat automatically. But then she remembered the darkness and the fact he couldn't see her just as much as she couldn't see him. As soon as the fear receded, she felt his lips pressing against hers. The tips of her breasts brushed against his chest - he was naked - and she suddenly felt restless.
Harry kept kissing her, and it was really the only place they touched, until his hand came up and cupped her breast. Recognizing this as familiar territory despite the fact that she was naked in a bed, she arched her back again and pressed herself into his palm. Tension built inside her; it was similar to what she'd felt in his office, during her waking life, when she had demonstrated the spell, but much stronger.
When her nipple had puckered fully and he moved his hand off her chest and down to her stomach she flinched. But the intensity of his kiss shifted and she focused most of her attention on his mouth and what it was doing to hers while his fingers traveled further south.
At the same moment his hands brushed gently on her inner thighs, she sort of wished that it was brighter so she could see him. But then he would see her naked, and she didn't want that, not really. And then his hand was directly over her, applying pressure against a sweet spot, and she pressed herself firmly against the palm of his hand. Still he kissed her, and she moaned a little, rocking against his hand while he helped the pleasure mount and mount until the tension released her and stole her breath.
Ginny woke up still breathing heavily. She had a sated, happy feeling in her limbs and she closed her eyes again, wanting to hold onto it. Gradually becoming aware of what had just happened, she realized that her thighs were clenching one of her extra pillows. Rolling over onto her back, she continued to bask in the aftermath.
It was just barely dawn; the sun was beginning to peek over the top of the mountains that surrounded the Burrow. Ginny got out of bed and opened her window, letting the crisp air hit her. The dream about Harry had been wonderful, but now that it was fading, something about it unsettled her, and she couldn't quite put her finger on the reason why. And she didn't want to probe at it too much, for fear of ruining the memory.
Knowing that she wouldn't be able to go back to sleep, she went down to the kitchen, leaving Arnold nestled on her pillow. And Ginny was still so unaware, still so sleepy, and still feeling pleasant and heavy, that she had already pulled out a cup and used her wand to pour water into the kettle to boil before she noticed her dad sitting at the table.
Dread immediately swamped her.
"Good morning, Ginny," he said gently.
She didn't answer him, and wished she could retreat back to her room. But it was best to at least try to be normal. Her mother had been watching her these last few days, and the last thing on earth she wanted to do was give her another reason to insist on her seeing a healer who specialized in psychological trauma.
"Did you hear me?" he asked, a very slight edge in his voice.
"Yes," she said stiffly. She closed her eyes, trying to imagine Harry's face as he flew. Or the way he sometimes reminded her so strongly of Arnold. But not even Harry and Arnold could take her fully away from this moment. "Good morning, Dad."
"How did autumn term go?"
"It was fine," she forced out. She surreptitiously lowered the heat on the kettle, slowing down the process. Maybe by the time her tea was done, he would be gone. The anxiety was swiftly rising in her; she had not felt quite this terrible around him in a long while, since before Arnold.
"How's Arnold?" he persisted. Usually she could play this game with him, but for some reason, she was incapable of it today. She remained silent, staring at the water and tried to count the little bubbles rising to the surface. But he refused to let her ignore him. Damn him. "It's polite to answer a question, Ginevra Molly," he said in a voice that brooked no argument.
The sound of her full name - the Death Eaters had never called her Ginny, always Ginevra - caused wave of rage and pain to crash over her. "He's fine," she snapped. And suddenly, inexplicably she began to cry. Tears traveled hot and fast down her cheeks, and the small part of her that could think clearly was shocked. Her ability to cry - really cry - had disappeared three years, six months, and eleven days ago. It seemed like such a silly thing, as well; her dad had only asked her how her pygmy puff was.
But the rest of her was forced to give into it while it lasted. Sometime during, the water came to a full boil. She splashed it into her mug, threw in the leaves. "I'll see you later," she muttered, keeping her face hidden. Once up in her room, safe again, she held the hot cup in her hands while her eyes dried.
Her hands shook slightly, and she couldn't help but think that she was not done crying. For today, yes. But maybe since she started laughing again, she would have to put up with the tears, and that aching, searing pain in her chest that had been unleashed by a very simple conversation with her father.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
23 December 2001 - 25 December 2001
The owl came an hour after dinner, when Fred had just happened to be alone in the kitchen, serving himself a third slice of pie. He was a little worried about the shop - it was the day before Christmas Eve, after all, and they were open two hours later than normal to help the poor sods who left the shopping until the last moment - but Verity had things well in hand. She'd worked for them for years, and she had help. They didn't need to be micro-managers.
But he recognized Woodworth immediately, and Fred wondered if perhaps he had been wrong not to listen to George's nattering. Once he'd read the quick note, however, he wished he'd been at the store for a different reason.
He poked his head through the door to the living room. "George," he said. "Come here for a second." His twin untangled himself from Angelina Johnson (likely to be Angelina Weasley soon) and stumped toward him.
"Is it the store?" he asked. "Should we go in?"
"Don't be such an old woman," Fred told him. He shoved the note at George. "Read this."
It took him only seconds - it was very short, after all - and Fred watched George's eyebrows fly so far up his forehead that they appeared to have become one with his hair. George whistled.
"That's - wow," he said.
"I know," Fred nodded.
"Should we tell them?" George asked, jerking his head toward the living room.
"I don't see why not," Fred said, shrugging, though he didn't feel nearly as nonchalant as he tried to appear. The fact that Harry Potter had been in their store - risking seeing one of them for the first time in well over three years - was big news, and Fred didn't know how he felt about it. Harry had been like another brother, and the family missed him a lot. And even after everything they'd done to support him, he hadn't once attempted to contact them. Even with the situation with Ginny... he could have just not come around her.
Besides, Ginny was made of stronger stuff than everyone else seemed to think, and Fred was getting a bit tired of treating her like she was made of glass. She was a Weasley, damn it. They'd practically been bred for strength. Whatever had happened at Malfoy Manor, it couldn't have been that bad. They'd both survived, hadn't they?
"You're sure?" George asked.
"Yeah," said Fred. And not waiting for George's reply, he walked into the living room where every member of his family in the country (besides Ginny) and assorted friends gathered. "Harry's just made contact," he announced, deepening his voice for comic effect. George shoved him between the shoulders.
"What?" Ron said blankly.
"As eloquent as always," Fred shook his head.
George waved the slip of paper, and Ron snatched it from him. "I believe her. Verity said it was definitely him," he said.
"Harry Potter's hard to miss," added Fred. "He walked in and bought something - Verity didn't specify-"
"Ginny!"
Fred whirled around. Ginny stood in the doorway, staring at him.
"Harry was at the shop?" she asked. Her brow furrowed in confusion. "Why?"
Despite the fact that Fred had always maintained that she wasn't now made of glass, he couldn't help but be a little shocked that she'd not only come down to join them (willingly), but that she seemed perfectly willing to talk about Harry. He didn't think he'd heard her mention Harry for years. But the easiness left her face, and she flushed brighter and brighter, until Fred began to suspect that it might be better to just pretend like it wasn't a big deal.
"Yeah," Fred said, trying to sound casual, flippant even. "He was there. It was just an hour ago, though. We"-he indicated himself and his twin, who was trying to tell Fred (silently) to shut the hell up-"weren't there, obviously."
"He probably did that on purpose," she said quietly, staring at the floor. Fred was pleased to see her blush receding. "Hermione? Can I talk to you?"
"Of course," Hermione said immediately. Fred watched his only sister carefully. Just before she disappeared around the corner, he thought he saw her smile at him. Maybe that was just a trick of light, he thought dubiously. He was not the only one staring at where the two girls had disappeared.
"Fred!" his mother said loudly, the moment they were certain Ginny was out of earshot. "Could you try to be a little more sensitive?"
Fred fired up at once. "How about let's not treat her like she's a bizarre magical creature? It's pretty obvious she doesn't like to be stared at."
But his mother wouldn't back down. "You know that mentioning things like that just make her unhappy-"
"I may be wrong," Fred cut across her loudly, "but I think I heard her ask about him. It wasn't until you lot started staring at her that she went a bit funny."
"Don't call your sister funny," his dad said sternly. "We obviously neglected teaching you tact, and I regret it."
Fred subsided, feeling a bit guilty. But he couldn't help it, could he? She had gone a bit funny. Not a lot, of course. But she treated Arnold like a baby, and hated being around people to the point of irrationality. He also thought it was a bit rich of his dad to think everything was completely right with Ginny, when she obviously had such a hard time being anywhere near him. She wouldn't even look at him if she could help it. He loved Ginny a lot, but he wasn't going to deny the facts.
"Fred has a point," Ron admitted hesitantly.
"Regardless," his mother said stiffly.
Fred rolled his eyes, suddenly wanting to escape. "I'm going back to the flat," he announced, pushing himself off the wall he'd been leaning on. He was tempted to turn on the spot and Disapparate right there, but that was considered very rude and only to be done when there was a genuine reason. And being annoyed with his family was not reason enough.
"Good night," everyone chorused, even his mother and father.
"I'll see you at Christmas," he added, just before he walked out the door and into the cool night. He decided to walk all the way down the drive. The cool air felt good, and offered him some clarity. I don't really think she's off in the head, he told himself. But how can someone go so long without laughter?
On that cheerful thought, he Disapparated.
The next day passed in a blur of business, and before he knew it, it was long past midnight. George was spending the night with Angelina and Fred's bed was empty. He didn't even have time to feel lonely before he slipped into sleep, still wondering why Harry had bought a pygmy puff, of all things.
When Fred Apparated to the Burrow with George and Angelina early Christmas morning (neither twin was afraid to admit to being excited about the presents), he took a deep breath, glad to be home, despite the craziness of his family. Not that I don't contribute my fair share, he thought judiciously.
"Presents," George said, grinning over at him.
Angelina rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. "Will you two ever grow up?"
"Fat chance," Fred said cheerfully.
"Why would we?" George winked at her.
It was on that note that they entered the Burrow. Everyone else was awake and milling about, eating and drinking tea. Even Ginny was sitting cross-legged in a dressing gown in front of the Christmas tree, looking more thoughtful than distant. Almost approachable. Fred was just about to walk over to her when Ron clapped him on the shoulder in greeting.
"Happy Christmas, Fred," he said. His eyes strayed to where Fred was looking and he grimaced a little. "We're a bit surprised she came down," he lowered his voice. "She didn't come out of her room at all yesterday, except early in the morning, Dad told me."
"Because of what I said about Harry?" Fred asked softly.
Ron shook his head. "Hermione said she was in a decent mood when they talked. And before you ask - I have no idea what they talked about. Hermione said it was girl stuff."
"Girl stuff?" Fred asked in disbelief. "Ginny?"
"Right, that was my reaction. Anyway," Ron rolled his shoulders and rubbed at the back of his neck. "Dad said it was business as usual. She barely even spoke to him and escaped the kitchen just about as fast as she could."
Fred grimaced and was about to reply when their mother clapped her hands together, waved her wand, and all the presents came floating into the room at her command. There was not much talking after that (Weasleys took present-opening seriously) except for words of thanks, awe, and the occasional grunt. Fred glanced at Ginny a few times, and she was almost as enthusiastic as the rest of them. Arnold the pygmy puff was showing off for her by playing in the wrapping paper.
Hermione's cry of delight caught everyone's attention, especially his mum's, who obviously thought it was the moment Ron would propose. "It's beautiful, Ron!" she threw her arms around him and gave him an exuberant kiss. She pulled away, beaming, and holding up a very pretty bracelet. "Opals are my favorite," she said. Fred smirked. Ron had finally learned.
He almost didn't even recognize Ginny's laugh when he heard it. And despite the fact that he knew better, the moment that sound reached his ears, he swiveled his head to stare at her. Just like everyone else.
"You've gotten better at the gifts," she said, still grinning. "Remember that awful perfume you gave her at Grimmauld Place?" But Ron couldn't bring himself to reply, and the smile slowly slipped from her face.
Fred tried to recover. "That's right," he said shakily. "I remember that - smelled like mothballs to me."
But his feeble effort didn't work, and she lowered her eyes, cheeks stained dark red. She made to stand up, but their father's voice stopped her.
"Don't leave," he said in a raspy voice.
But she only hesitated a second and got to her feet, already clutching Arnold. "Arnold is-"
"Arnold is perfectly fine."
She ignored him and, stepping over wrapping paper and legs, was almost all the way to the door when a shield erupted in front of her, blocking her access. "Let me go," she said in a low voice.
"No," Arthur Weasley's voice was implacable, and yet shaking, and Fred realized that he'd finally been pushed too far. His patience was at an end. A part of him wanted to cheer. "You can't keep ignoring us, Ginny."
But she remained defiantly silent, as did everyone else. Fred thought he might've heard a pin drop, and the air was so thick with tension that it made his skin feel tight. Her long hair rustled as Arnold settled into place on her shoulder. The silence stretched on.
"Ginevra-"
"DON'T CALL ME GINEVRA!" she whirled on him, shouting, and Fred was so shocked that even he recoiled. Her face was lit with rage and something else.
"I-"
She cut him off again, actually pointing her finger at him. "Don't you ever call me that again," her voice dropped to a hiss. Fred realized she was quite out of control, and perhaps she'd broken much the same way their father had. He and George exchanged silent glances, and Fred was certain he was thinking about what happened to that reporter who had pushed Ginny too far. She doesn't have her wand, he mouthed.
"Fine, Ginny, I won't," their dad made a placating gesture. "I promise. But you need to be fair to us. You laughed, Ginny, I'm sorry it surprised us so much, but... be fair. I know you blame us-"
"I don't blame you," she said automatically. Fred grimaced, not believing it. Of course she blamed them. It was dead obvious.
His father appeared to be thinking along the same lines. "I think you do, and that's fine. But I'm tired of you retreating. Yell at me. Scream at me again if you have to. You've shown more life today than you have in years."
Ginny stared at the ground, chest rising up and down rapidly. Fred was afraid to even move, though he understood her desire to flee. The part of him that preferred laughter to tears and always wanted to make a joke was telling him to get the hell out of the house.
"Talk to me."
She shook her head.
"I should have been there to protect you," he continued. "I'm your father and I-"
"Stop," she said, face screwed up. "Just stop talking."
"Only if you start," he countered. Fred's palms were clammy. "Tell me that you blame me. I think - I know - it'll make you feel better. And me, because you treating me with total indifference is far worse than anger. Tell me that I should have known something was wrong, that I shouldn't have believed your letters. Tell me I'm a horrible father because I let you be - be taken."
Fred watched Ginny's face. She was growing paler by the second.
"Tell me that I should've been the one there rescuing you," he continued relentlessly. "Tell me you hate me. I don't care. Just be honest."
"I don't-"
"DON'T LIE TO ME!" he shouted.
"THEN GET A FUCKING CLUE!" she yelled back, head snapping up, face bloodless. "I'm not an idiot, Dad, thanks. I know what steps Voldemort took to keep it a secret, that wasn't-"
"Don't you dare tell me to get a clue, when everyone in this room knows you hate me for something-"
"You're balding!" she screamed at him. What? "How could you possibly not have noticed when they were taking your hair?" Fred didn't understand, but the moment the words were out of her mouth, Ginny's face crumpled horribly, though she kept her back straight. There was a suspended moment of confusion-
"No," Hermione whimpered, and Fred glanced over at her. Her eyes were filled with tears and her hands were over her mouth. He felt a sick feeling of dread; Hermione looked as though she was about to vomit.
"You - are you-?" Ron stammered. His face was screwed up and he had his hands in his hair. His throat worked convulsively. "Please..."
What does Dad's hair have anything-
But then it hit him and his brain pretty much stopped working. She's got to be kidding, he told himself. It's just a sick joke. They wouldn't have used Polyjuice. It isn't possible. But he couldn't deny that Voldemort had gone far beyond usual evil - he'd made Horcruxes, after all - and Lucius Malfoy had hated Arthur Weasley enough.
"NOW LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO!" she bellowed, looking almost deranged with anger. And Fred began to understand how someone could live so long without laughing, just as his mother started to cry. "Are you happy now? I hope you feel better knowing Lucius Malfoy fucked me with your body because - because I-"
But she cut herself off as the shield came down. Fred glanced over at his father almost against his will. He was sitting with his head in his hands, and this was infinitely worse than the shouting, and was nearly as bad as the hopelessly enraged and heartbroken expression on Ginny's face.
She left, and what felt like just moments later - though it had obviously been more like minutes - something heavy thundered down the stairs: her trunk. She'd just thrown it down, not even bothering with magic. Fred couldn't blame her; his stomach was still pitching and he'd only lived with the truth for minutes. Not years. And he hadn't been raped by someone pretending to be his father.
"I'm leaving," she told them unnecessarily. She was still wearing her dressing gown. "I'm going to school. I don't - please don't come after me."