05 February 2002 – 08 February 2002
I'm never wanking again, thought Harry.
He was still a little disoriented. His mind and body kept sending him little messages (like I just had an orgasm! With Ginny! and wow, I really hope we do that again), and this made it difficult to concentrate. Focus, Harry, he told himself sternly. It just felt surreal. After the last few days, the early morning conversation, and everything that had gone on before, it was very strange to know that if he concentrated hard enough, he could still feel her hand wrapped around him.
Her head was back on his chest -- is she still blushing? -- and she was hugging him around the middle. He lifted his hand and stroked her hair, and was more than a little torn at how to proceed. Should he reciprocate? He wanted to, he really did. Ginny amazed him, and he wanted to amaze her.
But.
Did she want him to? And if she did, what did she want him to do? What can I do? Harry asked himself. It wasn't like he had any experience in these things. The extent of his knowledge of the female body had been gleaned from pictures, an embarrassing conversation with Sirius before he started his fifth year, and lots of speculation in the dorms. This did not lend Harry any confidence.
Ginny had told him that she'd been aroused, but this had caused her to have nightmares. What if he tried to touch her and please her and the same thing happened? The thoughts continued to run through his mind with increasing urgency, and Harry realized that he was going to have to talk about it.
"Ginny," he said.
"Yes?" she said. And even though she accompanied this by stroking his chest with her thumb, he wasn't to be distracted.
"Well…" he said. The question seemed to hang over him, and he grew increasingly anxious by the moment. And as much as he'd appreciated what had just happened, he wished that he could do the same to her without – well, without talking about it before. Like if it happened in the heat of the moment… that would be great.
You could always try, he told himself.
She chose that moment to lift her head, and Harry awkwardly scooted down so that their faces were side by side. It's different, kissing in a bed, he realized. But he fought through the strangeness and kissed her. Different, but very nice. He rolled her over until his head was above hers.
The kiss heated up almost instantly. It might have been the position they were in, or their location, or what had just happened before (Harry suspected a combination of all three), but arousal came back. He cupped her head with one hand and stroked her arm with the other; she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him closer until their chests pressed together. Not that he was on top of her, not at all; he moved restlessly, pressing his hips into the mattress.
His hand inched down until it came to the curve of her hip, and Harry could tell immediately that she was distracted. He brushed the side of her bum and, encouraged by her small moan, grasped it in his hand. It's perfect, he thought dazedly. It was small and firm; he spent the next several minutes memorizing the feel of it.
Unbelievably, though, he began to want to explore different curves, the ones above her waist. It wasn't as though touching her bum wasn't enough for him – he knew he'd return to it later. But he could feel her breasts against him, and he wanted to know what they would feel like in his hands. He fought the uncertainty, pulled back and pressed kisses along her jaw, while he moved up.
His fingers brushed up against her stomach, then dipped back down so he could get under her pajama shirt and touch bare flesh. He hovered uncertainly, fingers splayed on her stomach. But she moaned again, and he licked the sensitive spot just below her ear as he cupped her breast.
Both of them stilled. She wasn't wearing a bra, and Harry could feel her hard nipple against his palm. What do I do now? he thought. Long moments went by as Harry was caught by indecision. What am I supposed to do with it now it's in my hand?
Tentatively, he stroked it, trying to be as gentle as possible. Sure, he'd squeezed her bum and kneaded it, but her chest seemed like a more sensitive area. He was about to experiment a little using his thumb, when her hand came up and gripped his.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm really, really sorry, but – well, maybe this is too much?"
He immediately pulled his hand out from her shirt and raised his head so he could look at her. "Don't apologize," he told her. "I'm the one who—"
She prodded his side. Her cheeks were flaming red. "I liked it," she said. "But I'm a little… I just thought that maybe it would be better if I had time to get used to different things." She looked down at the bedclothes and shrugged a shoulder. "If you don't mind, you know."
"I don't mind at all," he told her, rolling over onto his side. "I just wanted you to feel like I did when you touched me."
"It felt really good," she said earnestly, looking him in the eye. "I'm more – I just don't want another nightmare," she admitted. "But if you don't mind… would you try again? Not now, but next time, maybe?"
"Gladly," he said.
She rolled over too and hugged him. Harry automatically tried to shift his hips to hide his arousal from her, but what had been only inconvenient while standing was completely impossible on the bed. And you don't really need to hide it anymore, a logical voice pointed out. Chances are, she doesn't mind.
"Again?" Ginny said, surprised.
"Well, yeah," said Harry.
"Do you want me to…?"
Yes. "Er – you don't have to," he told her. He was quite impressed at his ability to say no, and maybe he was being completely mental, but he'd prefer it if it was more of a mutual thing. "You'll spoil me. I mean 'it'," Harry rushed on. "You'll spoil it. It'll think it can always have what it wants. And that's just not possible."
"All right," she said, patting his back a little. She pulled away and got out of the bed; Harry propped himself up on his elbow, watching her, hoping that he hadn't done anything to offend her. A little chuckle escaped her, easing his worries. "Do you always refer to your – your it as – well, a separate entity?"
"Sometimes," Harry said easily. Usually when it was being particularly out of control and he didn't want to claim responsibility for it. "Are you leaving?"
Ginny grimaced. "I have to. I have to wash and dress and study today, and I'm a little afraid that… well." Her face turned bright red. "I just spent the night with you. And I think I should go before I'm gone any longer."
As much as Harry didn't want her to go, he thought this was probably for the best. Reluctantly, he left the warmth of his bed and rummaged through his wardrobe. He pulled out his father's invisibility cloak. "You can use this," he said. He wrapped it around her, and used the opportunity to give her a hug.
"I've got to do a lot of homework," she said. "But I'll be around later."
She left, after scooping up a sleeping Arnold, leaving Harry to contemplate how their relationship had changed – for the better – in such a short amount of time. He had a feeling that something huge had happened to her yesterday; they'd actually spoken openly about sex. And there had been a brightness in her face (despite the blush) that hadn't been there before. Like she had taken a huge step forward.
Harry couldn't ignore the fact that he had to match her. It's probably only a matter of time until she wants to see her family, thought Harry, feeling a prickle of unease. Ever since Christmas, there had been a sort of unspoken promise that when she went home, he'd go with her. And he'd thought that he'd have until the end of term, but it seemed probably that she'd want to see them over the Easter holidays, didn't it? She wanted the vision she'd seen in the Mirror of Erised.
He pulled out a piece of parchment and stared down at it. A reply to Ron (and Hermione) seemed necessary all of a sudden. He scrawled out a quick note and vowed to send it via one of the school owls before he changed his mind.
And I don't want to change my mind. He missed them a lot, and the idea that maybe he'd see them again and spend time with them just made it worse. Even though he was still somewhat waiting for the other shoe to drop – a large part of him didn't understand why Ginny didn't hate him – he was beginning to think that maybe the other Weasleys wouldn't hate him.
"Don't get your hopes up," he said out loud.
But thoughts of the Weasleys and especially Ron and Hermione followed him for the rest of the day. It was almost as though he was having a running conversation with them in his head, as he tried to figure out what he would do or say once he saw them again. Focusing on correcting the third year essays was difficult, as both Ginny and everyone else kept popping up in his head. I wish Hermione was here, he thought. Even though he would probably never ask her advice on sex, he could at least ask her about the mysterious ways Ginny's mind seemed to work.
But she would probably just tell him to--
Buy a book.
His eyes popped open. Of course! He could picture the section of Flourish and Blotts in his head -- there was an entire shelf devoted to sex (in the summer before third year, Ron had claimed it was the the best thing about the bookstore, and the twins had agreed). Maybe he'd find the answers he sought in one of those... but he'd have to go in disguise... and he'd have to find a way to keep it from Ginny...
Harry was both relieved and disappointed when Ginny told him after class on Tuesday that she wasn't feeling well and she was going to stay in her dorm for the evening. It gave him a chance to run his errand at Flourish and Blotts – and hopefully she would never find out that he went. It had become increasingly obvious that he would need some sort of guide. And soon.
He wanted to reciprocate, and it seemed as though Ginny was steadily becoming more comfortable with the idea of allowing him to try. Just last night, he'd had both hands on her bum – he'd slipped them down her trousers, so her knickers were the only thing between his palms and naked flesh – and it really was just a matter of time (he hoped) until she let him touch her the way she'd touched him four times now.
But first he had to get through his classes.
They had gotten easier this term, though he still had difficulties with the younger classes. He had a feeling that he'd frightened them with his candid stories about his own years at Hogwarts. A rebellious part of him commented that they were pretty twitchy if they were afraid of hearing the truth – he'd had to live through it at their age, after all.
His class with the second year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs were even worse than usual, though not through any fault of his own.
"I've been looking around for a boggart," he announced. It was a lie – he'd done no such thing, but he intended to. "I know it's generally a third year concept, but I think you lot are ready for it," he added bracingly.
They exchanged glances. Stuart Method, Aisling Powell, and Elizabeth Barnett muttered to each other. Powell – who was a little too fond of gestures – almost poked Barnett in the eye. Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes.Where is the Gryffindor courage?
"The boggarts are the ones that show you what you fear the most, right?" Barnett piped up. "They turn into something scary?"
"I told you that's what it is," Method said. Harry waited patiently for them to ask him a question, feeling good about his improving professor skills. I'm getting better at patience, he thought, satisfied. Hermione would probably be proud of him.
"What do you see?" Powell asked suddenly.
"Me?" Harry asked. He was about to respond that his boggart would turn into a dementor, but he stopped himself just in time. That wasn't so certain, anymore. Not even a little bit. But how could a dementor turn into an idea – that anyone else would pay the price for his actions and his existence – instead of a physical object? "I'm not really sure, but I think it might turn into the dead bodies of those I love," he said.
Everyone exchanged glances.
"I thought it was a dementor," said Powell.
"It used to be," said Harry, not bothering to ask how she'd known this. Ever since he'd rejoined the magical world, people had known all sorts of things about him. "But things changed as I got older."
"Even your greatest fear?" Method asked skeptically.
"Even that," Harry nodded, before changing the subject.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHP
08 February 2002
"I'm sorry, Miss Granger," said the owner of Flourish and Blotts. He patted her kindly on the arm. "But I'm afraid that would be bad business."
Hermione pressed her lips together, not wanting to show the fool that she was exerting all her self-control not to hex him. Was it so much to ask that a store not sell one little book? It isn't little, said the logical part of her. It's a very big book. That much had been proven by the small excerpts she'd managed to read. Hermione herself had been mentioned – the largest excerpt had detailed her torture by Rodolphus Lestrange, and it had been the absolute truth.
"This book is what the wizarding world has been waiting for these last several years," he continued.
"The wizarding world owes a debt to Harry Potter," she said fiercely. It inflamed her because whatever had happened, though awful, she was sure, had led to Voldemort's ultimate death. "And I'm certain he would hate it if a book of this kind was sold to the public."
The wizard shrugged delicately, lifting his hands. "If Harry Potter himself came in and asked me not to sell it, I would think about it. But for now – every witch and wizard in Britain will want a copy of it, and we're the first place they think of when they need to buy a book. It would be irresponsible not to sell it."
"But—"
"If you do excuse me," he said politely, but firmly. "It was a pleasure, Miss Granger; I'm only sorry I couldn't offer you more help."
Toad, Hermione thought furiously. Ron had been right; this trip to Diagon Alley had been a waste of time. They were obviously going to have to try something different. But what?
Hermione was so immersed in her thoughts that she walked right into a young wizard, knocking the book right out of his hands and onto the floor. "I'm sorry!" she said. "I wasn't looking – here, let me—"
She stooped down and picked it up, not immediately aware of what kind of book she was holding until she read the title: Sex: the Myths and the Magic. For a long moment, she just stared down at it, certain that her cheeks were bright red. Could this be any more embarrassing?
"Er – sorry," she said faintly. She straightened her spine and looked him in the eye, determined to salvage the situation. His eyes were very wide, and a very strange color, too. Muddy and formless, as though they'd never quite decided which color they wanted to be, green or brown.
His messy brown hair stuck up on all ends, adding to the picture of surprise he made. Something about the way he was completely frozen steadied her. "Here is your book," she said calmly.
"Thanks," he said, taking it automatically. He looked down at it as though he'd never seen it before, and let out a nervous chuckle. And then he reached up and ruffled his hair. "Er – just thanks. Sorry about that." He started backing toward the door slowly, eyeing her warily.
Hermione didn't know what gave it away. The color of his eyes (which was shoddy transfiguration work), the nervous way he ruffled his hair, and even how he backed up and didn't look away from her added up and it struck her.This is Harry. But before she could jerk herself out of her state of shock, he was out the door and gone.
She didn't know what surprised her more; that she'd seen him again after almost four years, or that he'd purchased not only a book, but a book about sex.
Hermione had barely told Ron about her encounter with the man she was dead certain was Harry before they had to Apparate to the twins' flat. He was still expressing his astonishment as they walked up the stairs behind Weasleys Wizard Wheezes.
I may have to give him a cup sooner than I thought, she thought. It had been coming on for a while. After Christmas, she'd decided that that would be her next gift to him; it would be dishonest of her not to give it to him after everything he'd gone through. He'd held it together.
"I can't believe he was buying a sex book," Ron said gleefully, rubbing his hands together to stave off the cold. "Maybe that's what his weird note meant. He's working on scoring with some broad, and he's going to bring her home to meet the family."
"What's going on?" Fred stood at the open door, arms crossed, a slight smile hovering over his lips. Hermione was glad to see it. Of all the brothers, the revelation about the cruelty Ginny had suffered had hit him the hardest. That combined with George moving out with Angelina had brought out a quiet, contemplative side in him that just seemed wrong. Not that I condone his more reckless pranks, Hermione told herself. But it's good that he's more relaxed.
"Harry was buying a sex book at Flourish and Blotts," Ron announced. "Hermione saw him."
"Ron!" she hissed. Maybe he doesn't deserve that cup after all. "That's private, and Harry wouldn't—"
"Is he here to stop us?" Ron asked, waving his arm carelessly and pushing by Fred into the warmth of the small flat. Hermione followed, grimacing at the clutter. George was supposed to be almost packed; instead, the flat looked just as messy as it had the previous week.
Fred's eyes widened, as well as his grin. "You're joking? George – come here!" George bounded into the room, carrying a lampshade and wearing a Gryffindor tie around his head. He also seemed to be in higher spirits, and Hermione couldn't help but hope that the boys were starting to come out of it. It was far more difficult for them than it was for her. They were Ginny's big brothers and even though they couldn't have done anything, hearing the extent of the brutality and the depraved things done to her that were beyond usual evil had caused the guilt to come crashing back.
"Harry bought a sex manual," Fred said smugly.
George looked as though Christmas might have come early. "How do you know?" he asked cautiously. He tucked the tie behind his ear, so it didn't hang in his eyes.
"I saw him," Hermione said succinctly. "I really don't think—"
"This is great," George chortled. "Our little Harry, finally growing up." He wiped a fake tear from his eye.
"I think that's what his note meant," Ron shrugged. A traitorous part of Hermione was glad of the light subject matter, she had to admit (but only to herself; there was no need to show weakness in front of the twins). After dealing with the fact that, for better or worse, that book was going to be published – Kingsley had done what he could to stop it, but Ravenna Sennet had not done anything illegal – it was good to think of something less serious. "He said he's 'working on' coming home. Whatever the hell that means."
"You know," Fred said slowly, an arrested look in his eyes. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking, George?"
George nodded crisply. "Of course I am. All these years, we've been completely wrong—"
"It's pathetic, really," Fred agreed. "We've obviously misjudged our absent young friend—"
"Here we thought he's been feeling piles of guilt—"
"That hero complex—"
"But really he just knows that we'd tease him mercilessly—"
"Take the mickey out of him, we would—"
"No, no, he's really just afraid to come home a virgin," George finished. By this time, Ron had to lean up against the wall for support, and Hermione couldn't quite hold in a chuckle. It helped to ease the ache a bit. Almost four years later, and she still had a hole in her life where Harry should be. And it was worse – much worse – for Ron.
The truth of the matter was that whatever was keeping Harry from seeing them again was completely not a laughing matter. Hermione knew Harry well enough that it was obvious that whatever had happened at Malfoy Manor had hurt him quite badly and he was simply incapable of speaking about it. This was so frustrating and so sad at the same time that joking about it, and coming up with a ludicrous explanation for his absence, was a relief.
Still, she felt guilty speaking about his private life. "We shouldn't talk about him like this. He isn't here and—"
"That's the point, Hermione," said Ron. He looked directly at her. His expression was a mixture of laughter and defiance, with a hint of sadness. "He isn't here."
"Although I'd be laughing at him all the same," Fred said honestly. "And then give him some advice—"
"Advice on what?" George snorted. "How to wank? When was the last time you were with an actual witch?"
Hermione covered her ears. "Don't make me hex you," she groaned. That was a little too much knowledge about Fred.
"So," Ron said suddenly. "Who do you think it is? I'm betting he's after some Muggle. Doesn't seem like he'd go for a witch."
HPHPHPHPHPHPHP
11 February 2002
It was Pollux Sennet that inspired Ginny to finally reply to Hermione's letter.
Ginny walked down the corridor, not really paying attention to where she was going. Arnold rode on her shoulder, squeaking every once in a while, just to keep her entertained. But mostly her thoughts were on Harry, and how nice it was that he was both completely clueless about girls (Ginny had almost expected him to figure out that she'd had bad cramps on Tuesday, but he had remained oblivious), and yet was very wonderful at kissing and other things.
It's the other things that make it a bit difficult to concentrate in his class,Ginny admitted. It was difficult to separate Harry the Professor from the Harry who took every other opportunity to kiss her. And he was perfectly willing to go very slow, and it hadn't seemed to bother him very much when she'd let him take off her shirt but not her bra. I'm happy with doing whatever you want, he kept telling her. And she believed him.
But still… it didn't seem quite fair of her. She'd brought him out of his trousers and stolen glances at him several times now and—
"There you are, Weasley."
Pollux Sennet's voice made the hair on the back of her neck rise. Arnold knew his voice, too, and started vibrating with annoyance. The Slytherin boy unfolded himself from the wall – he'd obviously been waiting for her – and gave her a smile that made her skin crawl.
"I'm going to get a special preview of that book I told you about," he told her. "And I've been thinking about this a lot lately, but I think I've figured out why you don't want to talk about it."
Ginny was quite certain that she didn't want to hear his opinion – nor the context in which he'd come to these conclusions. It made her feel sick to her stomach. "Fuck off, Sennet," she said coldly. And before he could say or do anything, she glanced around, making sure that no one was watching, and said, "Petrificus Totallus."
It made a satisfying noise when he dropped to the floor like a stone, eyes just barely beginning to show his outrage. She stepped over him and headed off to her next class.
She'd almost forgotten about the book, but the idea of it brought annoyance and anger and the renewed urge to keep it from being published. I've got to write to Hermione.
Classes were not her priority. It took a ridiculously long time to formulate her reply – she couldn't just write "who wrote the book?" and be done with it. She had to acknowledge everything else, and that's what had her tossing away half-written notes with increasing annoyance. By the end of the day, she scrawled something out – she was set to meet Harry, and didn't want to be late – and hurried to the owlery to get it sent.
"This goes to Hermione Granger," she told the owl firmly. It pushed off into the air and winged its way out into the setting sun. Ginny pushed back the feeling that she was forgetting something and went to find Harry.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHP
12 February 2002
Ron slammed into the house, temper threatening to explode. "HERMIONE!" he bellowed. "HERMIONE!" His hands were still shaking with rage. Damn that Sennet bitch! He stalked the living room, hearing her light footsteps on the stairs.
"Ron, what is it?" she asked. Her voice was calm, but Ron knew it was an act. "Tell me."
Seeing her helped calm him a little. "It's that fucking bitch," he spat. "You won't believe it – the book is going to be a lot worse than we thought."
"How—"
"It was a stupid thing," Ron said, still slightly unable to believe how lucky he'd gotten with finding this out in the first place. "I was on Azkaban duty today, you know?" At her nod, he continued. "And Tonks' replacement pointed out that I'd been flubbing up the records – I was writing in the information backward and – never mind," he ran his fingers through his hair. "That doesn't matter. But then I went back to try to fix all the entries I'd obviously done wrong, and then I got curious about who was visiting the Lestranges—"
"Ron! Just get to the point," she said.
"Well, it's the listing of family members who have come to visit," said Ron. "The prisoners. They're allowed to, you know."
"I'm well aware of Azkaban visiting policies, Ron," she said in a dangerously quiet voice. Ron didn't blame her; he was really mucking this up. He paced, skirting the over-stuffed sofa her parents had given them when they'd first moved in together. When it had come out that someone was writing a book about Malfoy Manor and Voldemort's defeat, Ron hadn't worried about it much. But when Hermione had told him that the woman claimed to have an inside source (one who wasn't Harry or Ginny, who appeared to not want to talk to anyone), he'd started to worry.
And when it was Dobby, the worry had grown. But now…
"She was visiting Rabastan Lestrange—"
"How could she? They only allow close family members—"
"She's their sister," Ron told her. "Ravenna Lestrange Sennet."
It took almost a full second for awareness to hit, but Hermione came to the same conclusion that he had. The Lestranges had been heavily involved with Ginny's capture and captivity – that much they knew. Which meant that the Sennet bitch was perfectly capable of writing a book that exposed everything to the Wizarding world. He didn't even want to think what this would do to his sister. Her experience had left her clamping down on her thoughts and feelings so tightly that calling her a private person seemed like the understatement of the century.
"If it was someone who wasn't doing this out of greed, it wouldn't be so bad," Hermione said angrily. She was, if anything, even more infuriated than Ron. "She visited Rabastan and Bellatrix, you said?"
"Four times, at an hour each," Ron nodded. "All within the last six months before they died – I checked. I think it's pretty obvious that she was picking their brains, trying to get information."
Hermione strode over to the window and looked out over the snowy landscape. Ron had a good guess at what she was thinking; neither one of them had ever thought that having this book published was a good idea, but they'd thought that it was relatively safe. More speculative than factual. But it seemed too much to hope for that the worst things that Ginny suffered be kept under wraps. Maybe not from the people who loved her, but it was pretty obvious that the book would be a best seller.
"We're going to have to—"
But she was interrupted by the arrival of an owl; it was obviously cold and tired, for it banged into the window, shook itself, and let out a loud, pitiful hoot. Hermione opened it, letting frigid air and the owl in. "It's from Ginny," she said, holding up the envelope. "I didn't think she'd write back," she murmured.
"I didn't know you wrote to her," he said, momentarily distracted.
She shrugged. "I didn't really think she'd read it, you know. I mentioned that we were relieved that she finally let us in a little—"
"That's for damn sure," Ron said darkly. "It's better to know than to not know."
"Right," she said. "And I felt sort of bad – none of us have written her, not even after she sent her safety symbol to your mum."
Frankly, Ron hadn't seen much evidence that Ginny wanted to have anything to do with them. But maybe Hermione had done the right thing by trying to reach out to her. It's even a decent sized letter, Ron mused. He could see the lines of Ginny's handwriting – it covered most of the paper. Shifting his gaze, he watched Hermione's face for some clue as to what the letter contained. Her eyebrows winged up in surprise, her mouth dropped open a little, and then her brow knit in confusion.
"It's – wow," she said. "She's being very open." For some reason, this appeared to disturb her. "But – there's something off—"
Ron grabbed the letter out of her hand, ignoring her squeak. Normally he would respect Hermione's privacy, but after discovering what he had about Ravenna Lestrange Sennet, he was feeling more than a little raw.
"Ron, no! I promised—"
But he was already scanning the words.
Dear Hermione,
Thank you for your letter. As to what we spoke about over Christmas, I didn't end up using any of your tests. It wasn't necessary.
I need to know who is writing that book? I meant to ask you, but. Now I'm the one staring at the parchment, wondering what to write. Christmas was horrible, and I'm surprised you're relieved. Really surprised. And your letter came at just the right moment, too, because it made things a lot easier for me. Thank you.
Love from,
Ginny
He felt a horrible, sick feeling in his stomach that he couldn't quite explain. The words were great -- Maybe that's why, thought Ron. It was so unlike Ginny to mention both the book and what had happened over Christmas that was it any wonder that he felt a great sense of unease? He had no clue what these tests were, but that seemed innocent.
And what was made easier? He read the letter again and again, trying to figure out why he suddenly felt like he was missing something and that things with Ginny were just wrong—
"Ron!" Hermione gasped, clapping her hand over her mouth. "The lightning bolt – it isn't there!"
The moment he knew what was missing, he stared at the empty, white space that should have shown that she was safe. His stomach clenched painfully.Not again. How many times had they told her not to neglect it? And not once had any of her letters been missing the image of Harry's scar. Was it a coincidence that this particular letter mentioned both the book and Christmas? Was she trying to tell them something?
"Let's go," he said through the sudden roaring in his ears, feeling almost calm. He grabbed her hand. "We'll go to Hogwarts first—"
"What about—"
But Ron didn't waste another moment. In the space of several seconds, they traveled from their living room to just outside the gates of Hogwarts. Good thing they're open, thought Ron. He might've blasted through them. There had been endless discussion on the subject of how Ginny had been taken and kept for seventy days without any of them knowing it. One of the worst things Ron had ever done was to read the letters she'd sent to them while she was under the Imperius Curse, and the thought that maybe things were happening again almost drove him to the edge.
Hogwarts rose above them, looking more ominous and dark than it ever had before. It was full night, rather than twilight where Ron and Hermione lived, and the darkness matched his mood. So intent was he on pushing forward and pulling Hermione along behind him (he wondered if it might be easier if he just levitated her and used magic to get her to go faster), that he didn't see Hagrid's massive shape.
He plowed right into him. "Shit!" he shouted, just barely catching himself and keeping him and Hermione upright.
"Ron? Hermione?" Hagrid asked, astonished. "What're ye doin' here?"
"Where's my sister?" he asked rudely. "Have you seen her?"
"It's very important, Hagrid," said Hermione. "We need to know when the last time you saw her was. And who she was with."
"Just about an hour ago," Hagrid answered. Ron exchanged a relieved glance with Hermione, though his nerves were still on high alert. Just because she was physically at Hogwarts didn't mean she was safe. How many times had Harry proven that the school was not the haven it ought to be? What if that Sennet bitch – a Lestrange – had been—
"And who was she with?" Hermione persisted.
"With – with – with," Hagrid stammered. He grimaced. "With her Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. She spends a lot of time with him," he said meaningfully. "They're probably in his rooms."
"Who is it?" Hermione asked sharply. She appeared to grow more disturbed by the second, and once Hagrid answered, Ron could understand why.
"Can' tell ye," he said. "Can' tell anyone outside of Hogwarts."
"A spell?" Hermione's voice rose with anxiety. "That's – Hagrid, that's horrible news. I don't—"
Ron didn't let her finish before he was sprinting away from Hagrid and toward the castle. How could they be so irresponsible? He couldn't believe that McGonagall and the others wouldn't find that odd. What the hell was going on? Some ephemeral thought flitted across his mind, but it was gone too quickly, piled under the anger, fear, and confusion.
He left Hermione behind in the dust; she would understand that he couldn't wait for her. She was spending a lot of time alone with the professor, was she? Rage boiled under his skin, and the students were lucky that they appeared to be in their common rooms. Very few of them were out and about as Ron rushed by. The corridor was completely deserted when Ron finally came to the door leading to the Defense professor's rooms.
"Garredius," he said. And the hinges broke off, and the door came crashing down. Ron barely broke stride stepping over it and—
He stopped short, shock slamming into him like it was a physical thing. Now I know what getting hit by the Hogwarts Express feels like, he thought dazedly, almost dropping his wand.
"Ron!" Ginny gasped. She was as good as topless -- Thank Merlin for long hair– and straddling someone's lap. And not just anyone's lap.
His shirt was off, his trousers undone, and his hand was still resting on a delicate place on Ron's sister's body. Harry bloody Potter. It was too much for him. Once he was able to tear his eyes away from the sight of his best mate (whom he hadn't seen in years) pretty much glued to his sister (who usually didn't like to be touched), he backed away. Then he reversed the spell that had gotten rid of the door until it was shut again.
Ron leaned against the wall, the confusion only growing deeper, waiting for Hermione to come and explain to him what the hell was going on.