Sometimes after they went flying together, Ginny had a hard time keeping her hands off of Harry. I can't help it, she thought. They walked back up to the castle, several inches between their bodies, acting just as naturally as they could. But Ginny kept remembering the intense look on his face as he soared through the air at her side, and how much it reminded her of when they were alone and intimate.
Harry stopped suddenly, and looked back down the hill, shading his eyes from the sun with his hand. "Think we should go visit Hagrid tonight?" he asked. The setting sun cast shadows on his face; Ginny couldn't see his eyes. "Or tomorrow?"
"Definitely tomorrow," she answered readily, grimacing. "It's just – I have a Transfiguration essay due, and I need to finish it. I'm not sure how long that will take."
"All right," he said easily, turning toward her. "Are you going to the library, or-?"
"I need to at some point," she told him. McGonagall was requiring them to reference several books and a few scrolls to complete the assignment, and The Art of Transfiguring Animate Objects: Theory and Practice, Bullaber's Guide to the Animas, and others just did not belong in her personal library. "I'm sorry. Would you stay with Arnold while I'm gone?"
"Of course," he said. After one last look toward Hagrid's hut, they resumed walking. The stares are getting better, Ginny noted. Only a few of the students that lounged in the courtyard and in the Entrance Hall openly watched them. Just when their relationship had heated up, the interest in their supposed friendship had faded.
They were silent for the most part in the halls, though every once in a while, Harry would offer his sarcastic opinion on some student or other. He seemed to be particularly caustic about the group of girls from all houses who seemed to be experimenting with different hair-styling charms. "Hermione would eat them alive," he said boastfully. A few turns and staircases later and they were just outside his door.
"I hate grading essays," he said darkly, letting the heavy door shut behind him. "But if you're busy tonight with your homework…"
"Good," she smiled up at him as she passed him on her way through the door. Her cheeks heated. "That way tomorrow and this weekend we can play." They'd spent a lot of time playing, and things had only grown more heated and wonderful. Just yesterday had been especially intense, and Ginny felt a quiver of desire at the thought of it.
They'd taken a nap together. Ginny hadn't been particularly tired, but Harry had had a long night (she suspected a nightmare), and his eyes had had a bruised, weary look in them. He'd dropped off to sleep immediately, and she'd followed, despite the fact that she hadn't really taken a nap since she was a small child. But however comfortable she'd felt snug in his arms, she'd awoken to wet kisses on her neck, and desire already coiling in her belly.
It had ended with him fully on top of her, pressing against her through their clothes, and it had been the furthest they'd gone before caution had urged her slow it down. The caution hadn't, of course, stopped her from taking him in hand and making a mess of both of them. He had still been on top of her and she'd watched as he'd spurted over her shirt.
"If you keep looking at me like that, neither one of us is going to get any work done," he murmured, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ears. "And – don't get me wrong, but—"
"Yeah, I need to do homework," Ginny said regretfully. Her Charms professor was expecting her to hand in a complete chart, and then she had that damned essay. Maybe it's best if I sit on the other side of the room, she thought. She grabbed her backpack from where it sat on a low table and settled herself on the floor in front of the fire.
Harry sighed with frustrated resignation, threw himself down on his ugly sofa, and summoned a pile of parchment and a quill. Ginny suppressed a grin, and vowed not to let his comments distract her; he had a tendency to be very funny while grading. She shook her head, and bent her head to the task. Her quill flew over the parchment as she entered in answer after answer in her chart.
Once she'd added the final charm, she blinked and looked up. Grimacing, she rubbed the back of her neck, and looked to the sofa. Harry wasn't there. Confused - where did he go?- she glanced around the room. Still no Harry. She hadn't even noticed when he left—
The door to the bedroom opened and Harry walked out.
"Arnold's in there wooing Calliope," he announced, plopping back on the sofa. Ginny glanced at the clock. She'd finished her charms work a lot soon than she'd expected… they had time…
"I've been thinking," she said.
He eyed her, a little smile hovering over his lips. "You know what Ron would say to that?"
"Of course," she rolled her eyes. "I lived with him for years." She got up and stretched, and ignored it when her shirt rode up, exposing her belly. "But I don't want to talk about Ron right now."
"Oh?" he said thickly.
"Yes," she replied, hiding a smile. Walking over to him, she stopped when she was only inches away from his knees. "I – well, I wanted to tell you that you have atrocious taste in furniture." She felt herself blush, but forced herself to continue. "I don't – I don't even want to sit on it."
He stared at her, confused.
"I'd rather – rather," she started haltingly. But when the words dried up, she took a deep breath and sat down on him so that she was straddling his thighs. And before he could react, she slid her fingers into his hair and kissed him. Harry responded with enthusiasm, pulling her close. His hands were everywhere: in her hair, sliding up inside her shirt and resting on her back, and stroking her thighs. Ginny responded by pulling his shirt over his head and kissing his shoulders and his neck.
He arched up against her hands, and talked to her as he did whenever they were intimate. Ginny sometimes wondered if he knew he was speaking out loud, telling her how good it felt and how beautiful she was. Suddenly, her shirt was unbuttoned and open, and his hands were on her breasts. She stroked him as he stroked her and minutes – or possibly hours – later, he finished, whispering to her all the while.
He feathered kisses on her lips, her cheeks, her jaw. "Ginny, I really think—"
But he never finished his sentence. There was a groaning, creaking sound, and time seemed to slow as Ginny turned her head in horror to watch the door to the corridor – the public corridor – lift off its hinges and be thrown to the side. And then Ron was there, wand pointed straight at them, face dark with rage.
"Ron!" Ginny gasped. Her brother's eyes widened with shock as he took in the sight and, thankfully, he didn't say a word. He just backed out of the door he'd burst through, and then fixed it.
Harry was just as frozen as she was. "He's going to kill me," he said, taking a deep breath. Ginny got off his lap and tugged at her shirt. Her fingers were shaking. "At least I'll die happy, but he's going to kill me." He got up, did up his trousers, and leaned over the edge of the sofa looking for his own shirt. "I caught him with Lavender once, and that was bad, but this…"
He didn't finish his sentence, and something about his fear of imminent death seemed to steady her. Her face didn't feel like someone was jabbing needles into it, anyway. "He won't kill you," Ginny said in a low voice. "I won't let him."
Harry paused while pulling his shirt over his head. "Are you not feeling well? You look like you're about to be sick."
Ginny shrugged and made a helpless gesture. Her stomach rolled and pitched. "He saw us."
"It isn't anything to be ashamed of," said Harry quietly. "Embarrassed, yeah. And a bit sad that I'm going to die, but not ashamed." And he didn't see much, a small voice in her head said bracingly. He couldn't have. "Thank God it wasn't about a minute earlier, though."
She watched as he cleaned up a bit. His hands shook a little, and the skin around his mouth was white. Look at Harry. He has it worse than you do. She kept repeating to herself that Ron hadn't seen anything bad. It isn't anything to be ashamed of. But her heartbeat did not slow, and waves of embarrassment kept crashing over her.
"Where's Arnold?" she asked, looking around for her pygmy puff. The urge to hold him was strong. He was always such a comfort to her; his little body was warm, and he always let her cuddle him…
"He's still under my bed, trying to entice Calliope," Harry said darkly. Ginny could see it vividly in her mind. A few days ago, Arnold had given up his increasingly elaborate dance, and now attempted to woo her by hiding under the bed and jumping out at Calliope when she least expected it. While Ginny didn't particularly understand—
Focus, Ginny, she scolded herself. Harry was looking increasingly anxious; Ginny knew that Ron wouldn't kill him, but she couldn't deny that things were about to blow wide open. And she couldn't afford to distract herself. But she didn't have time to offer him words of comfort. Nor the inclination.
She looked at the door, and her stomach heaved. Her own brother had seen her practically naked and who knows what he thought and—
Strong hands clamped around her shoulders. "Ginny, we didn't do anything wrong," he said firmly. "I swear. We care about each other," he added earnestly. "It isn't bad or shameful."
How could she explain to him that she didn't think it was shameful, and that wasn't really the issue? She pressed her hands to her heated cheeks, hating that the embarrassment made her sick. I've caught Bill and Fleur before, she reminded herself. And they weren't mortified. But memories of Malfoy Manor pressed in on her. "It's just – Harry, they were watching all the time," she told him. They'd never given her any privacy, just like now when she and Harry could be doing things that made them both feel really good, people could still watch—
"At Malfoy Manor?" he guessed.
She shrugged a shoulder. Remember the Mirror of Erised, she reminded herself. And the Foe Glass. Her enemies were gone, but the feeling of being watched and scrutinized had come back with a vengeance. "I just feel like people are watching me all the time," she admitted. "And this with Ron just…"
"Ron wasn't watching," Harry said immediately. "Trust me, I saw his face." Ginny looked up into his eyes. She found sincerity there, as well as bleak, dark rage. "Ron is nothing like them. The situation is different, Gin, I promise. Different in every way." He glanced at the door, and Ginny did too. It remained shut, and she could not help but feel that the long silence from her outspoken brother was ominous.
Not that she wanted to see him. Ron might have seen her almost naked. How could she face him after that? Why had he even come? What had possessed him to take the door of its hinges and find her here?
"I need to talk to them," Harry said absently. "I have to."
"If he's laughing—"
"Ron wouldn't laugh at you," he interrupted her. "He would never laugh at you." Ginny was forcibly reminded of that first night after Malfoy Manor. Ron had been just as strong in his assurances that if she'd told Harry not to look, he wouldn't have. But her brother had had no idea that there were ways to force people. No one is forcing Ron to do anything. Except maybe Hermione, and that's a good thing.
"Will you make sure that he isn't?" Ginny asked. "And make sure that he didn't – didn't see anything too bad?"
"Yes," he told her. "Do you think he's right outside the door?" he asked in a low voice.
But Ginny had no idea. Frankly, she was surprised that Ron hadn't been banging on the door, demanding to be let in. It wasn't like him – unless he really was furious with Harry and had gone to get the rest of her brothers. But that wasn't like Ron, either. What if there's been some sort of emergency? Or something? Confusion was rising swiftly, melding with her acute mortification. "Harry, please?"
He looked at her and nodded, the skin around his mouth tightening. "All right," he said. "Wish me luck." He pulled open the door to reveal an empty corridor, which Ginny had already half expected.
Not a good sign.
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Hermione's legs felt rubbery and she was panting by the time she rounded the final corner. Ron. Ginny. Ron. Ginny. I'm so not cut out to be chasing people down… why can't emergencies happen on paper? Ron. Ginny. She was almost afraid of what she'd find – Ron wasn't exactly known by his fellow Aurors for being gentle in these kinds of situations.
She stopped so quickly that she had to catch herself on the wall to keep from falling over. "Ron?" she said cautiously. He was staring at her, expression blank. Too blank. It chilled her. "Ron, are you—"
"Ginny's fine," said Ron.
She walked up to him, staring intently, checking for signs of magical influence – enlarged pupils, and other indicators. But he appeared to be all right, and she glanced over at the door. It appeared to be in one piece. Did he even go in? Or is there a compulsion spell around it, and that's why he isn't charging in there? She pulled out her wand, intending to cast a diagnostic spell, when a firm grip on her arm stopped her.
"Don't," he shook his head, grimacing. "Listen—"
"What about her symbol?" Hermione asked. "Ron, this doesn't make any sense. What the hell is—"
"She's with her symbol," said Ron, sounding dazed. "I mean – Hermione, she's with Harry. Harry's the professor." He eyed her closely. Hermione blinked at him. What is he saying?
"You're serious?" Hermione asked faintly. She looked from him to the door and back again. She'd lifted her hand to cover her mouth without even realizing it. "Harry's a professor?"
"Explain this to me," Ron said. "I know I'm trying to prove that I've got the emotional range of a cup, but this is more like a teapot or - or a bathtub. Possibly even a-"
"I get the point," said Hermione. She softened her words by patting him on the arm. There were slight scuffling noises from the other side of the door, but she was too scattered to pay that much attention to it. Her brain was working very quickly, bringing together all the small things she hadn't really noticed. Or if she had noticed, she hadn't really understood.
"They were kissing," Ron said plaintively. He poked her in the arm and widened his eyes as though trying to tell her something. "It was—"
But Hermione didn't find out what it was; Ron interrupted himself, shaking his head. He glanced at the door, and Hermione saw a shadow pass over his face. Hermione had not seen Ron so conflicted in a very long time, and the more she watched him, the more she responded to it as well. Harry is a professor. Harry and Ginny were kissing. It didn't make sense, did it? Well – it did, but… it didn't.
The moments passed swiftly and Hermione watched as, over and over again, the door didn't open. Harry and Ginny were on the other side, behind the wood, and it was as though they were on another continent. Just as they'd been for the last four years.Hermione recognized the growing darkness in Ron's face: anger was swiftly rising. She gripped his hand and pulled him away.
"Think of your sister," she said quietly, when he resisted. It was clear that making a big deal of this or being angry about it would be detrimental to Ginny. Glancing sidelong at Ron, she wondered just what he had walked in on, and despite the confusion, Hermione couldn't help but be glad – who would've thought that Ginny would kiss anyone?
But Harry?
Hermione was so occupied with her thoughts and with pulling Ron along that when she rounded the corner, she walked straight into a tall young girl with almost painfully curly hair. "Oh – excuse me. I'm so—"
But the girl didn't seem to care very much. She and her two friends exchanged glances. "You're Hermione Granger!" she said excitedly, eyes round. "You really are—"
"We thought we saw you," said one of the others, the only boy. "We were out on the grounds – and oh! Is that Mr. Weasley, too?"
"Yes. I am," Hermione said, a little taken aback. It was one thing to be recognized at the Ministry of Magic or even Diagon Alley. But these three were quite young. Ron remained silent, staring straight ahead. Despite the situation, Hermione couldn't help but be impressed at how well he was keeping himself in control. "And yes, this is Ronald Weasley. But—"
"We're so pleased to meet you," said the short girl with long hair and dreamy eyes.
The last thing Hermione needed at this moment, however, was to be ambushed by three young people, especially when the short girl reminded her so strongly of Luna Lovegood. She was afraid that Ron could explode before they had a chance to talk this out, and decide how they wanted to proceed. And that's exactly what we have to do, Hermione realized. We need to get away from Hogwarts.
"And you know Harry Potter!" the boy said, breaking into Hermione's thoughts.
"I thought I did," Ron said roughly. "Apparently not."
"Let's go, Ron," Hermione said sharply. The three students were too busy raising their eyebrows and mouthing incomprehensible words at each other to notice that they left. "We're going home. We need to talk about this—"
"Yeah, we do," he muttered. Hermione squeezed his hand and quickened her pace. They would have to tell everyone at the Burrow, of course. They might as well go straight there. And then we can all decide how best to find the answers and approach them.
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Harry left Ginny, shut the door, and then slumped against the wall. His heart was racing and he felt almost overwhelmingly urgent, but he needed a moment to get a grip on himself. This morning, when he'd woken up, he'd had no idea that his life was about to get incredibly complicated. And in order to make it less complicated, he was going to have to talk to Ron and Hermione. And explain to Ron why he'd had his hands up Ginny's shirt. And also tell Ron that if he made a huge deal about it, or even told his family, Harry was going to have to stop him.
Ginny had been taking huge leaps; ever since her nightmare, Harry had watched her start to – well, start to blossom. She laughed more often – Harry still kept count, but the number had almost doubled. For whatever reason (and he was well aware that he absolutely did not deserve it), he made her happy. It was the most important thing, he'd realized in the minutes since Ron had found them. More important than anything else.
But a large part of him couldn't actually believe that he was going to seek out a conversation with Ron. And chase him down to have it, too, Harry thought darkly, noting the empty corridor. It hit him then that Ron had probably gone to the Burrow, and Harry's stomach dropped to his feet. Do it for Ginny, he told himself firmly. He pushed himself off the wall before he could linger any longer. Ron had a head start, but Harry might be able to intercept him.
It'll just be easier without everyone else there.
His footsteps thudded against the stone floor, cursing the fact that it was impossible to Apparate in or around Hogwarts. It amazed him that he actually felt ill at the thought of explaining himself to Ron or even seeing him. But it felt equally good. Harry contemplated this strange sensation as he sprinted around the corner, hoping—
He slammed into someone who had been standing just out of sight. "Ooof!" she said, falling onto the floor. Aisling Powell stared up at him, disgruntled and annoyed. Stuart Method and Elizabeth Barnett both reached down to help her up while Harry stared, mind still whirling.
"Sorry," he said belatedly. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," Powell said coolly. Harry thought she might want to say something cheeky, but the fact that he was her professor had stilled her tongue. "I'm just fine."
All three of them stared at him, and Harry felt a sinking sensation that had nothing to do with running into a student. Had Ron said something to these three? Harry couldn't imagine why he would, but if Ron had mentioned what he'd seen to the students, things were about to get a lot worse. "What'd he tell you?" Harry asked, voice coming out harsher than he intended.
"Nothing," Method said boldly, drawing himself up to his full height. Harry searched his expression, and sagged with relief when Method's eyes revealed suspicion rather than knowledge. No need for memory charms, then.
"Which way did he go?" Harry asked.
They exchanged glances. Method pointed to the left, where Harry knew there to be a staircase behind a hanging. Ron had obviously not been at Hogwarts in a while if he thought that it was faster to get outside by way of Ravenclaw Tower. "That way," he said.
"But I thought he—" Elizabeth Barnett looked confused.
"He went that way," Method repeated firmly.
"Never mind," Harry said absently, struck by an idea. "Thanks for the help," he said over his shoulder, already breaking into a run. To get to McGonagall's office. He'd floo to Grimmauld Place and then Apparate to the road just outside the Burrow. From what he remembered, that's where everyone came in. And if he could just talk to Ron by himself…
Please, Ron. Apparate to the road, not inside. Please.
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By the time Ron reached the gates of Hogwarts, Hermione at his side, he was no closer to knowing what the hell he felt than when he'd first seen them. Them. Together. Harry and Ginny. With every step, he wanted to turn around and go back, but what the hell was he going to say? Or do? Break down the door again? He kicked the pebbles in his path out of the way; the burning anger in his stomach continued to grow.
But it wasn't just anger. It was - everything. And it was completely impossible for him to pluck out all the different feelings swirling inside him. They were all meshed together and blended and made him think that he wouldn't deserve his cup after all. "I just don't know," he admitted to Hermione. It was the first time either one of them had spoken since they'd left the little twitchy trio.
"Me either," she said immediately. She glanced back, and squinted back up the path. The sun had set and it was dark, but Ron had a feeling that she'd expected Harry or Ginny to come after them. But Ron knew that there was no chance that either one of them would do something like that.
Another wave of anger washed over him. "Let's go," he said tightly. Gripping the iron bars in his hands, he pulled the gate open with such force that it crashed against the post and swung closed again. "Well, that's just fucking great," he chuntered under his breath, and kicked it. He turned away, grimacing at the sharp pain in his big toe. "Fuck."
Hermione didn't say anything, but opened the gate, and then took his hand again in her slightly sweaty grip. It seemed like days had passed since they had arrived at Hogwarts. He recognized relief that Ginny was all right in the mixture of emotions. "Can you Apparate us?" Ron asked woodenly.
"Give me a minute," Hermione said. "Ron – are you all right?"
He thought about it. "No. And don't bother asking me how I'm feeling. I've got no clue, and yeah, maybe I don't deserve my cup—"
She snorted. "I don't know what I'm feeling either, Ron, it's beyond me," she told him. Strangely, this made him feel better. "We're going to the Burrow, right?" she said after a moment's hesitation.
"Yeah," said Ron, scrubbing his face with his hands. "Yeah. We are." Though what, exactly, would he tell his parents? He could just mention that he'd seen them kissing and leave it at that. Something niggled at the back of his mind, trying to penetrate the haze, but couldn't manage it.
"Ready," said Hermione. She gripped his arm tightly, turned on the spot, and pulled Ron through the compressing darkness to the road just outside the Burrow. Ron wrapped his arm around her shoulders, squared his jaw, and—
CRACK!
A heavy weight slammed into Ron's back, and he and Hermione were knocked to the ground in a tangle of limbs - too many limbs, he thought, disoriented. He got a mouthful of dirt and spluttered and spit it out just as soon as he caught his breath. Something still pressed down on his back; Hermione coughed and wheezed and made indignant little squeaks. There was a sharp pain in his kidney as what could only be an elbow dug into his side.
"Well." Harry's voice. "This is what I wanted." In Ron's opinion, his best mate did not sound too pleased. More like a mixture of resigned and anxious, though trying to sound sardonic. Ron took his time as he got to his feet, and then pulled an equally silent Hermione up. The Burrow was further south than Hogwarts, so Ron was able to see the wariness in Harry's eyes quite clearly.
"What the fuck, Harry?" Ron said loudly. The words burst from him with great force, though they didn't relieve any of the pressure on his chest. He wanted to – he needed to do something. Anything. The urges to hug him and hex him were equal. But before Ron or Hermione could do anything, Harry reached out for them and spun away once more into darkness.
Ron opened his eyes to find himself in a dark forest but, other than that, having no clue whatsoever where Harry had taken them. Hermione gasped softly a few seconds later. "Is this where – this is where we had the Quidditch World Cup, isn't it?" Ron wondered how the hell she had known that.
"How the hell did you know that?" Harry asked. "Never mind," he said quickly. "Listen – I didn't know both of you—" he trailed off into silence.
Several moments later, Ron was just about out of patience. Not that he had much, but he had to admit that being ambushed by Harry and then taken to a strange forest had made it hard for him to gather his thoughts. "You didn't answer my question," he said, reaching out and poking Harry hard in the shoulder. "What the fuck is going on?"
"Ow!" Harry said. It was darker here under the canopy of trees, but Ron knew what a glare looked like even in half-light.
"You're lucky I haven't hexed you," Ron told him bluntly.
"No hexing," Hermione said sharply. "Accio wands!"
And before Ron could even think about grabbing it, his wand flew out of his pocket and into her hand. Harry's followed suit, and she stuffed them down the front of her robes. Presumably she thought that Ron wouldn't go after it there; she obviously didn't know that Auror training and being the best mate of Harry Potter had drummed it into him that sometimes people just had to fucking do it. And handling Hermione's breasts was never a hardship.
Ron narrowed his eyes, attention turned back to Harry, who still hadn't said much of anything. Fine. My turn to talk. "I've been really patient with you," he said firmly.
Unfortunately, his opening line was ruined. "Was that the Elder Wand, Harry?" Hermione asked.
At the same time, Harry said, "Listen, I can explain." He didn't stop but ploughed on. "I know what it must have looked like to you, but it really – I care about her a lot – I wouldnever take advantage of her. And I know that—"
"Shut up!" Ron roared. Rage undulated over his skin. Does he honestly think that's the issue? "Do you really think that's the reason why I'm really fucking hacked off at you?" Ron's palms itched to grab Harry's shoulders and shake him until Harry's teeth rattled and he figured it out. "You're gone for how long? Almost four years?"
"Ron—"
"Let me talk, Hermione," he said. "You're gone for four years with no contact except a few stupid little notes and then I find you snogging my sister!"
"I told you that I care about her—"
"Not the point!" Ron shouted. "THAT – IS – NOT – THE – POINT! We thought you never came back because you were trying to protect her, or because—"
"I was," said Harry. "I didn't—"
"Yeah? Then how is it that you're suddenly protecting her by kissing her and not staying away like you did with the rest of us?" Ron asked. Then, when Harry only looked confused, Ron continued. "You're around her—"
"I know I don't deserve her, but—"
Then Ron really did grab Harry and shake him, ignoring the protests and the struggle to get away. He shoved Harry away, watching him stagger backward. "Could you stop being mental for one second?" he said through gritted teeth. "If you can stand to be aroundGinny, why the fuck haven't you come home?"
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Harry eyed Ron warily, letting what he had just said process. He didn't want to say the wrong thing and get shaken again. Why hadn't he come home? Ron had just seen Harry snogging Ginny and the anger was stemming from the fact that he was snogging her but not what? Doing it at the Burrow?
"Ron is right," Hermione spoke up unexpectedly. Harry looked at her, still feeling that sensation of both of them! that had been with him ever since he had landed on top of them. "We understand that whatever happened… changed things. We understand that you and Ginny—"
But Ron interrupted her and pointed at Harry again. "I think we've been a bit too bloody understanding." Harry watched as Hermione's lips flattened in a tight line. Both of them were angry – very angry – and Harry began to realize what he'd gotten himself into.
"I'm shocked that you were even the same room with her," Hermione added. "It means that we've been wrong about your motivation for staying away for—"
"You weren't wrong," Harry told her. He raked his hands through his hair. It was confusing to him as well. "For a long time"—his stomach clenched, and a part of him knew that the confusion and fear and happiness was going to change everything—"I thought about that, of course. But the – a lot of it was…"
He glanced at Ron, almost hoping that an angry attack would stop him from having to say anything. But his best mate didn't say anything, and with a pang of regret, Harry realized that he'd missed Ron learning how to think first and speak later. The backs of his eyes stung. "Most of it was… right after, I got the Healer and we Apparated to the Burrow." He looked down at his hands, and he could almost feel the slight weight. "And then – I just couldn't do it. I handed her to the Healer and left."
"Why?" Ron asked. "Even your insistence at not putting anyone in danger – Voldemort was dead. You could've at least contacted us or – or come by when she was at school. But I guess that doesn't matter, does it? You're perfectly able to be around her. It's just us." Harry winced at the bitterness in his voice.
"I didn't plan on falling in love with her," Harry said sharply. How was it possible that Ron could be so thick? Glancing over at Hermione for a little help, he saw her face set in the same resolute lines. "And really, Ron, do I have to spell it out for you?"
"Obviously, yeah," Ron said slowly.
Harry scratched the back of his neck and looked out into the night. The trees were just barely outlined; the darkness was pressing in around him, and not just the black of night. He owed them the truth, or at least part of it, and now he was standing in front of them, there was no way he was going to get out of it. But the idea of it hurt and for almost too long the words just wouldn't come.
"I thought – when I was outside," Harry began. He forced himself to look at Ron. "I knew that I wouldn't be able to look you in the eye. Or your mum, and Fred and George." He paused and scrubbed at his face with cold hands. "And your dad… especially you and your dad."
"That's mental," Ron said flatly. "Aren't you a bit old for the stupid guilt? Like I said – Voldemort was dead. There was no reason—"
"It was my fault she was there—"
"You weren't the one who abducted her or raped her," Hermione said. Her arms were tightly crossed over her chest, and Harry's stomach dropped. They weren't going to accept anything less than the truth; his instincts were screaming at him to hold back as much as he could, but already it was difficult to not blurt out everything.
"Blaming yourself is total bullshit," Ron said darkly. He had moved to stand right next to Hermione; it was like the two of them against him. And even though Harry completely understood – it was his fault – it still hurt.
"Ron, just listen," Harry said. To his horror, there was a lump in his throat and it was humiliating that they exchanged glances and softened their postures. No crying, he told himself sternly, clenching his fists. "It's the truth. It isn't like – it isn't like anything else. But everything happened to Ginny because of me."
Again, Harry hoped for an angry outburst to stall things, but even though Ron grimaced and rolled his eyes, and Hermione huffed with frustration, they didn't say anything. Why am I doing this again? For an instant, he wanted to run, but there were too many reasons to tell them the truth. It wouldn't be fair of him to withhold this type of information, not when he was serious about Ginny. Not to mention, Ginny aside, this was long overdue.
I should have done this three years ago.
"Ginny was taken to be used as a weapon against me," Harry said. The other two suddenly went very still. "Not as a lure or bait or punishment. It was – everything that was done to her was because… well, Voldemort, he wanted to try to break me."
"Break you?" Hermione asked, puzzled.
Harry closed his eyes. There was a phantom pain in his scar as he imagined he was kneeling on the floor again, besieged by images, and Voldemort's thoughts and feelings. "Yeah," his voice cracked, and he clamped down on his emotions. "To break me. They picked her because – your family was associated with me—"
"By your logic, shouldn't that make it my fault, for befriending you in the first place?" Ron asked ruthlessly.
"Just listen," Harry said, a hint of a plea in his voice. I don't want to say this. "Voldemort intended to use everything that happened to Ginny – the worse the better – so that when we met… and the prophecy made it inevitable that it would… he could hurt me."
"But…" Ron's voice trailed off. Harry could see that some of the horror that he'd felt for almost four years was starting to hit Ron. And probably Hermione. Her head was bowed and she stared down at her clasped hands. After that single word, Ron didn't say anything.
"Harry," Hermione said in a shaking voice. "Don't listen to—"
"I didn't have to listen," Harry said abruptly, stomach rolling. "He was – it was like Sirius at the end of fifth year. Or your dad in the Department of Mysteries"—Harry ignored Hermione's gasp—"and I had to… it was in my head. All of it. For I don't know how long – maybe an hour. I couldn't close my eyes and I had to watch." He tipped his head back and blinked rapidly. "But that wasn't even the worst – I could feel what Voldemort was thinking, too. And he was watching everything – she was there for seventy days - and feeling nothing except this purpose. To make sure that I'd be just broken. Easy to kill."
With an abruptness that surprised him, his words dried up. He had brushed too close to what he couldn't say. Ron and Hermione didn't say anything, and he chanced a glance at them. Hermione had her hands over her face, and Ron had turned away.
"So everything they did, it was just because he wanted to show me," Harry continued. "And they picked her because – because Draco told Voldemort how she used to – to have a crush on me. I didn't have a girlfriend, so… and Voldemort showed me that memory, too, and how it delighted him that Ginny, that she—"
He was interrupted by what was, quite frankly, the last thing he expected. Hermione barreled into him and wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. Stunned, he patted her awkwardly on the back; she was mumbling, but he couldn't quite understand what she was saying. Almost against his will, he looked up at Ron, afraid that he would see regret for their friendship.
Instead, Ron's eyes were wet. "All right," he said finally. "I guess you've earned the right to be mental." His mouth opened and closed, as though he wanted to say something, but had no clue how to say it. But the anger and bitterness had slipped from his face, and Harry felt relief so sharp that it hurt.
"Yeah, maybe," Harry said, after clearing his throat.
"You can look us in the eye all you want," said Ron. "I'm dead serious. I can see – well, Voldemort really fucked you over." He paused and squeezed the bridge of his nose. "He did. But—" his voice trailed away, and he shook his head and muttered something about a cup. "Just… look us in the eyes more often."
And then he too stepped forward. Hermione got out of the way just in time for an awkward, back-slapping hug that somehow managed to lift a weight off his shoulders that Harry forgot was there.