12 April 2002
"Can we come in?" McGonagall raised her eyebrows after Harry had stared at her for several seconds longer than necessary.
Harry shuffled awkwardly to the side, heart thumping in his chest - both from fear of being caught and from the aftermath of really great sex - and allowed McGonagall and the second year Gryffindors to enter. He cast a nervous glance around the room, hoping that it didn't look too much messier than usual, and, for the first time, had cause to be grateful that his lack of tidiness was well-known with the professors.
The chair was set pretty far away from the desk, but for the most part, it did not seem incredibly obvious that he and Ginny had just engaged in wonderfully illicit activities. Stop smiling! he ordered himself.
"I realize this may be a bad time for you," McGonagall said, a surprising amount of sympathy in her voice. "I confess I'm a little surprised that Miss Weasley isn't here with you today."
Harry forced himself to remain still and not betray anything, though for one dizzying second he thought that McGonagall somehow knew that Ginny was off her period and that they could resume their activities. And had resumed those activities with resounding success - on Harry's desk. His desk.
"Where is Ginny?" Stuart Method piped up.
Harry shot him a grateful look for jerking him from his thoughts. But the young boy's face was set in mutinous lines, and for the first time since he'd found them at his door, he wondered just what they were here to tell him. The belligerence in his tone was unmistakeable, as was his posture: all three of them stood with their hands on their hips.
"Er-"
"These three seem to think Ginny is in some sort of danger," McGonagall said. Harry had just a moment to process that her lips appeared to be very thin when the words hit him.
Ginny in danger? His brows slammed together. "What do you mean, Ginny's in danger?" The hair on the back of his neck stood up and, dimly, he heard a small cracking sound. He knew, logically, that Ginny was at the Burrow; no one there would hurt her in a million years. But what if-
"They apparently heard her talking to herself today-"
"Or talking to someone under an invisibility cloak," Method muttered sullenly.
"-while they were lurking around the corner to your private rooms," McGonagall continued, though her nostrils had flared at the interruption.
"What did she say?" Harry asked, barely noticing that the students were eyeing him with great disbelief. His brief moment of fury was already fading. Ginny would have told him if something had happened.
"Well... we didn't exactly hear all of it," Powell hedged. "Just her tone - she sounded upset."
"I don't think she was," Harry said firmly. The last of his anger turned into unease and then ebbed away. Ginny would not have made love to him with such abandon on his desk if she was truly upset about something. She wouldn't have laughed when McGonagall had knocked on the door. "She was probably just..." he cast about for an excuse. "Talking to herself, or to Arnold."
"What did I tell you three?" McGonagall said swiftly. "Professor Potter is likely to know. I'm sure they're grateful for your concern, but in this case, I do not think it justified. As I've told you several times." From the way her voice sharpened at the end, Harry took this to mean that Professor McGonagall would not appreciate this trio sticking their noses where they didn't belong.
"It's nice of you to be concerned, though," Harry felt like he had to add, since it was nice that they obviously cared about what happened to Ginny. At the same time, he made a note to himself to not kiss her or touch her in the corridor outside of his rooms, lest they see anything they shouldn't.
Method exchanged an incredulous look with Powell. "It isn't-"
"Enough, Method," McGonagall's voice cracked like a whip. Harry turned around to hide his smile, and stared at the hearth. He still couldn't believe she'd gone to the Burrow - why hadn't she gone to Grimmauld Place? Kreacher would've taken care of her. Not that I don't think it's wonderful she's gone there, Harry thought hastily. But he was hoping that Ginny thought quickly on her feet. What if-
"But that boy said-"
Barnett was rudely interrupted by a jab in her ribs from Powell, who glared mutinously over Harry's shoulder.
"Ginny is fine," Harry said again, this time far more firmly.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
12 April 2002
All the Weasley brothers drank together on occasion. Fred and George regularly went out to pubs, and Ron joined them at least twice a month. And Bill always had a fine stash of wine; Charlie loved ale; and Percy was not a big drinker, but he wasn't a prude about it either. It was rare, however, that they all managed to drink together. And rarer still was when their father joined them.
Only two days out of the year did all of the Weasleys (excepting Fleur, and including Hermione) get together with the specific purpose of getting drunk: the anniversaries of the day she was taken, and the day she came back.
Fred gripped the long neck of the bottle of firewhisky he carried and whistled a jaunty tune as he marched up the drive to the Burrow. He'd learned at an early age that pretending to be cheerful was far better than being gloomy and sad. But still – he had to stop just outside the door and brace himself.
He had a feeling that this year would be worse than the others.
Taking a deep breath, Fred took one last look around the ramshackle yard and, kicking over one of the old Wellington boots, pushed open the door to the kitchen. "I'm here," he called, trying to inject a cheery note in his voice. "I brought a bottle," he held it up. Bill and Charlie looked up and gave him matching, grim little smiles. "Think it's enough? Or should I go out and buy a never-ending bottle?"
The other two exchanged glances. Fred rolled his eyes. "Pretending like we aren't getting shit-faced, then?" he asked, more sharply than he intended. It was the same every year. It took at least three drinks before anyone else (besides, ironically, Percy) would admit that they had the intention of getting drunk. And it took five drinks before anyone would admit to the reason why they needed the solace of alcohol.
"Hey, Fred," Charlie said, ignoring him. "You're the last."
"But not late, am I?" Fred asked.
Bill took a long gulp of his red wine. "I don't think anyone set a time," he said, shrugging.
No, on these days, everyone trickled in, clutching bottles like security blankets. When Fred bothered to think about it, he thought it was a strange ritual, and wondered what Ginny would think about it. Probably horrified and embarrassed, Fred thought. Not that she'd tell them that. She'd just disappear into her room for a few days. Or go back to school and not contact anyone.
Fred distracted himself by opening the bottle and taking a swig.
"Fred!" his mother said, bustling into the kitchen, just as steam began pouring out of his ears.
He sighed as the alcohol hit his belly and warmed it. "Yeah, Mum?" he said.
"There are plenty of glasses," she said stoutly. Fred noted that she held a teacup in her hand – he was willing to bet ten galleons and a knut (all he had in his pocket) that her drink was spiked. "I didn't raise you to drink your firewhisky from the bottle."
"Keep your hair on, Mum," he said flippantly (because he was trying to act as normal as possible). He flicked his wand, and a tall glass came zooming out of the cupboard, right into his hand. As he poured a generous measure into the cup (filling it almost to the brim – no need to pretend that he wasn't on a mission), what sounded like a small herd of elephants came from the sitting room and into the kitchen.
George sidled in first, already looking a little fuzzy around the edges. Ron and Hermione were next; Ron had his arm wrapped around his girlfriend and was whispering into her ear.
"Ron!" Fred said exuberantly, as though he had not just seen Ron two nights ago at the Leaky Cauldron. "You've seemed a bit down lately – something on your mind?"
Ron glanced over his shoulder at their father, who, like Fred, was drinking firewhisky straight. "No," said Ron.
Fred took another gulp, and squeezed his eyes shut, gasping. "Hits a bloke right here," he gasped, pounding his chest. He pulled out a chair from the table, turned it around, and straddled it. Percy was the last to join them around the table, and he strode in less confidently than normal.
There's nothing like a blatant reminder of the torment of someone you were supposed to protect to take the arrogance out a bloke. Fred grimaced at that thought, and killed the rest of his glass. A pleasant feeling came over him the more he drank, and he wasted no time whatsoever in helping himself to more. And his mum didn't even bother to tell him to slow down. She wouldn't. Not today.
Everyone's hair looks especially red today, he thought inanely.
"Merlin, you're drunk already?" Bill asked in disbelief. Fred blinked at him before realizing that he must've spoken his thought out loud.
"I'm not drunk," Fred said defensively.
"Fred isn't a lightweight," Ron said, swirling his own firewhisky around.
"Thanks, Ron," said Fred. "You're now my favorite brother."
"Hey!" George protested, but it was only half-hearted.
"Twins don't count, Forge," Fred said gravely. But his attempts at humor fell flat, and everyone retreated back into their own private thoughts. Fred avoided looking at either one of his parents. It was one thing to sink into the maudlin. It was quite another to sink right down into despair and self-loathing.
I'll need another nine or ten drinks for that, Fred thought darkly. But he'd get there. He did twice a year. It was inevitable, because everything about the situation just hurt. And there was no outlet for it, not really. Everything about it was just wrong. A fourteen year old girl should've been off-limits. Or they should've at least known about it.
Glancing around the table – avoiding his parents again – Fred noted the dark and pensive looks on the faces of his brothers and Hermione, and wondered if they were thinking along the same lines. But he knew they were, because it was also tradition, once they were drunk enough to talk about it, that they all shared their fantasies of what they'd like to do to the ones who had hurt her.
But all of that involved actually knowing what had been happening to Ginny before it was all over.
"You know," Charlie said, staring out the window. "I can still remember where I was four years ago today, and it just wasn't where I should have been. And—"
But Charlie never finished his sentence.
The empty hearth behind George suddenly lit with bright green flames; a whooshing sound filled Fred's ears, and a figure spun into existence, and tumbled out of the hearth.
Ginny was wrapped in a cloak far too large for her, looking extremely disheveled (as though she'd been flying rather than traveling by floo), and carrying a bundle of what appeared to be rags. Her cheeks were bright red, and she looked like she might be on the verge of smiling.
Fred opened his mouth to say something – anything – but found that he simply did not have any words. This was almost as shocking as Ginny's sudden appearance.
"Mum! I—"
But Ginny stopped mid-sentence, eyes widening. She dropped the bundle of rags she was holding and gaped at all of them and the bottles of alcohol. The moment extended, and Fred realized that he wasn't breathing, and everyone else seemed just as incapable of speech as he was.
She hooked her tousled hair behind her ears, and glanced down at the rags, face unreadable. Then she knelt, and gathered them back up, but paused.
She hates being stared at, moron! a little voice in his head screamed at him. But he couldn't help it. Ginny was here, today, and looking like – well, looking like she'd just been—
"Of course all of you are here," she gasped. She kept her head down, though, and Fred felt a belated surge of concern.
Please don't let anything have happened, he thought fervently. His hopes died a quick death when he saw her shoulders begin to shake, and dread filled him. His stomach rolled.
Ron half rose from his chair, obviously noticing the same thing he did. His face was very pale. "Ginny, are you-?"
But the sounds that Fred heard were that of laughter, not tears. And then she looked up at them, looking giddy of all things, and grinning. Fred's sense of what the fuck grew to previously unseen proportions. Ginny. Kneeling on the floor of the Burrow, holding a bundle of rags that, on closer inspection, appeared to have formerly been clothes. Laughing.
And even though Fred had promised himself after Christmas that if he ever heard her laugh again, he absolutely would not even react to it, but would just act as naturally as possible, he did not do any of these things. Instead, he knocked over his glass, and it rolled off the table and shattered on the ground.
Instead of freezing up, however, this only made her laugh harder.
"Who are you and what have you done with my sister?" Fred finally found his voice.
Ginny seemed to think this was a fine joke.
Fred wasn't kidding. "I'm not kidding," he said, seriously considering Polyjuice.
"Sorry," she said, taking deep, even breaths. "I know I – is this what you lot are doing while I'm at school? Sitting around drinking?" This sent her off in a fresh wave of hilarity. There was an edge of hysteria in it, but… only an edge. Most of it was genuine enjoyment. Or something like it.
Fred glanced around at the rest of his family. Most of them were openly gaping at her, faces frozen in various degrees of shock.
"What on earth has happened, Ginny?" his mother asked, sounding completely flummoxed.
Ginny picked herself up off the floor, careful to keep the cloak wrapped firmly around her. It dragged on the ground a good two feet behind her. "I… had an accident," she said. If Fred didn't know any better, he'd say that she felt sort of guilty about something. "All the stitching in my clothing dis-disappeared," she stammered, holding out the rags as proof. "And I haven't a clue how to fix it," she added, lips twitching.
"I can fix it," his mother said. "But – how in Merlin's name did this happen?"
"Oh," said Ginny. "Well – that's sort of a - quite the funny story," she continued. Fred had the vague suspicion that she was stalling for time – Merlin knew that he'd tried to concoct stories on the spur of the moment, and wasn't always successful. But what could she be hiding? "I was… trying to transfigure… things," she said evasively. "You know, practicing. And then – oops!"
She erupted into giggles again, and Fred knew she was lying.
"My wand slipped," she added. After glancing fleetingly at Ron, she squared her shoulders and tried (and failed) to look serious. "There was a spider," she added. "But I was just remembering how frightened Ron is of them," she said hastily, as though just recalling the fact that they all knew that she wasn't afraid of spiders.
Fred wondered if she knew how it sounded. She was obviously lying and trying to come up with a story by the seat of her trousers, but did she have any idea what everyone was going to think? Fred specifically remembered coming up with a similar story that hadn't fooled his parents one instant. But that had involved a girl from the village, and trying to convince his mother and father that Fred and the girl had both leapt into a beehive and had been trying to heal each other, and that's why they'd been naked. In the orchard.
But Ginny, of course, hadn't been having sex, had she? Not that she wasn't old enough or anything, but… she hated it when people even mentioned the word, even when referring to gender.
Except… her face was flushed, her hair was tousled, and she was wrapped in a cloak far too large for her, and clutching clothes that had had all the stitching removed from them. If that didn't scream I've been shagging and couldn't be bothered taking off the clothes the normal way, Fred didn't know what did.
"And then all of a sudden, everything was just like this," she added, holding out her bundle.
It took almost superhuman effort for Fred not to point out several flaws in her story. For instance, where had the cloak come from? And how had she gotten to a floo without anyone seeing her? He looked over at his twin, ready to share a look of perplexed disbelief; instead, George stared up at the ceiling, an odd sort of half-grimace, half-smile on his face.
Fred narrowed his eyes, vague suspicions starting to form in his mind, and he had a growing sense that he was missing something. But what could he-
"Well," Hermione said strongly. "I think it was very kind of one of the professors to allow you to practice that kind of spell in private."
What? Fred stared at Hermione. Her face was completely guileless.
"Right," Ginny nodded. "I mean, imagine if I'd done this in class," she added. The gratitude on her face confused Fred even further.
I suppose she could just be really embarrassed, Fred thought dubiously. If Hermione believed her story...
"Luckily, my Defense Against the Dark Arts professor is very understanding," Ginny said.
Fred thought he heard George mutter "I'll bet," under his breath, but when he looked over at his twin again, he was drinking his firewhisky, and no one else appeared to have heard him.
"I've always thought that teaching that spell was tricky in the first place," Hermione said staunchly. She glanced around the table, making eye contact with everyone. "Obviously, the consequences of being too exuberant or not knowing how to properly execute it could be rather humiliating for some students."
"I don't even remember learning that one," Charlie said. His brows were drawn together and he looked at their parents. "Maybe you should talk to McGonagall," he said. "That doesn't seem like the type of spell that-"
"It's just a harmless spell!" Ginny said quickly. "There's no need to talk to her. Really. It was my own fault - no harm done."
"Yes, it's a fully approved part of the curriculum," Hermione added.
Fred was stuck halfway between believing and disbelieving. On the one hand, Ginny showing up wearing a cloak several sizes too large for her and clutching magically altered clothing said one thing. As did her laughter and relaxed demeanor. But on the other... Hermione was backing up Ginny's story, and... what if the evidence of his senses were lying? Besides, this was Ginny. It was perfectly logical to assume that she'd been deeply uncomfortable with that kind of spell, and had preferred to practice it privately.
Still, Fred wasn't convinced. "Why wouldn't you just use McGonagall's office?" he asked before he could stop himself. "You know - if you were practicing Transfiguration."
"Leave it alone, Fred," Charlie said, kicking him under the table. He obviously had no problem with the story, and thought Fred was a prat for pushing it.
Eyes watering, Fred muttered, "Sorry."
His mother chose that moment to push herself away from the table, bustle around to Ginny, and take the clothes from her. "It's going to take a bit, if the stitching is gone," she said. "I'll have to redo it."
"That's fine," said Ginny, sounding greatly relieved, though still on the verge of laughter. "I'll just... I can go - wash up. And find something else to wear."
Fred watched her go. No one said anything as they listened to her march up the stairs. It didn't escape any of them that something about her was different. Remembering the way she had left, furious and only wearing her dressing gown, it was even more bizarre that she arrived, flushed and laughing, wearing a cloak that was obviously not her own.
"Does Ginny have a boyfriend?" Percy asked suddenly.
Everyone turned to stare at him. He flushed. "Don't tell me no one else was thinking it," he muttered.
"She does," his mother said absently, gathering up her sewing supplies, and setting the needle and thread to mending the clothes themselves. "Her Quidditch captain."
Fred didn't miss the fleeting look that Ron and Hermione exchanged, and his confusion deepened. I'm missing something, he thought. But just as quickly, he realized that there was no mistaking that Ginny must have been in a professor's office in order to get to the floo. And even he wouldn't have shagged anyone in a Hogwarts office where there was the very real danger of getting caught by one of the professors.
Percy opened his mouth to speak-
"Don't push it," his father said in a hard voice, speaking for the first time since Ginny had arrived. "I don't want anyone pushing her. Is that clear?"
And that was that.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHP
12 April 2002
Inappropriate laughter erupted out of Ginny as she walked upstairs to the small bathroom. Closing the door behind her, she covered her mouth with one hand to stifle another giggle. Crossing quickly to the shower, she turned on the water as she tried to gather her control and make sure she stopped acting like a complete lunatic before she went back to the kitchen and her family.
It was just – she'd just made love to Harry. Except that making love to Harry was the same thing as shagging her professor. And they'd almost been caught! And then she'd escaped through the floo, only to find her entire family sitting around the kitchen table drinking.
The look on Percy's face especially kept flashing in front of her eyes.
There had been no choice but to laugh, and once she'd started, it was almost impossible to stop.
Who are you and what have you done with my sister?
Fred's voice echoed in her ears, but before she could be swamped by a fresh wave of hilarity, she stopped herself. In a strange way, she felt almost as out of control as she had on Christmas, when Harry had held her after she'd cried. But… this feeling she had was much more pleasant.
Ginny got out of the shower and, wrapping a towel around herself, walked around the corner to the laundry, scrounging for clothes. All of hers were at Hogwarts. She bent down and pulled out a drawer filled with old clothes that were on their way to becoming rags. It took relatively little effort to find a pair of flannel pajama bottoms that had once belonged to Percy, a violently orange Chudley Cannons shirt, and an old dressing gown of her dad's.
Grimacing at the necessity of having to forego underwear, Ginny headed into her room. The clothes were almost absurdly large on her, but at least the shirt and the dressing gown would stay on her body. But the pants kept sliding down her hips, and went out several inches past her toes.
She opened the door again, thinking to shout for her mother, but…
"Hermione!" she called instead.
Ginny was slowly becoming more aware and cognizant of the fact that the Burrow was – astoundingly – warm and comfortable again when there was a sharp knock on the door, and Hermione's voice asking her to open up. "Come in," she said.
Hermione entered, pink-cheeked and halfway smiling. "Hi," she said.
"Hi," Ginny replied, feeling her lips twitch almost uncontrollably. "Sorry," she said. "I can't seem to help it."
Hermione waved her arm so expansively that Ginny realized that the older witch was more than a little tipsy. "It's quite understandable."
"Thank you, thank you for helping me out down there," Ginny said fervently.
For a moment, Ginny was slightly nervous that Hermione was about to lecture her. Truthfully, she'd expected the you shouldn't date your professor speech during the day at Hogsmeade, and now that they were alone together in the privacy of Ginny's room, it seemed almost certain. Instead, Hermione said, "I was just trying to help." Hermione sat down at the end of the bed and plucked at the blanket, not meeting Ginny's eyes.
"I was floundering – I couldn't think of anything," Ginny offered.
"I thought that bringing up a spider was a… unique touch," Hermione said carefully. "Though it helps that they haven't a clue that Harry's the DADA professor; none of them suspect that… well, none of them are going to push you about it."
Ginny nodded. "Good," she said gratefully. "Listen – will you help me cut a few inches off the pajama bottoms? The way today is going I might just amputate my own feet."
Hermione chuckled. "Don't tell me you were the one who banished the stitching," she said. "That's a classic wizard move."
Ginny flushed while Hermione neatly and efficiently took six inches off the pajamas with a few waves of her wand. "No," she said, feeling like her face was on fire. "But the… well – the desk, it was sort of my idea. And maybe he wouldn't have – if I hadn't…"
The older witch's smile was just a little wicked, which helped ease up the embarrassment a little. "I used to have the biggest crush on one of my Defense Against the Dark Arts professor," she said dreamily. "I've thought about that desk… you're very lucky."
I think Hermione's more drunk than I thought.
But Ginny couldn't deny the fact that it had been incredibly arousing to have sex on his desk. She'd been thinking about it all day, fantasizing about it, and it had been just as exciting as she'd thought it would be—
"—but it is you and Harry, so the rules aren't that important—"
I wonder if we could do it in his classroom, too? she thought, while Hermione babbled. She could see it vividly in her head, and her stomach swooped. Maybe on the floor – or up against a wall – Harry's book was full of ideas. And Harry probably has a few of his own, too.
"—it's just excellent that today of all days—"
Something struck Ginny as slightly off about that sentence, but she was too busy thinking about Harry and his classroom to fully pay attention to Hermione. We'll have to be a lot more careful, Ginny told herself. They'd have to go down in the dead of night… possibly even use the Disillusionment Charm… and have an escape plan—
"—and now you aren't even paying attention to me! Ginny? Ginny!" Hermione accompanied this with shaking her dressing gown.
"Sorry," Ginny said, blushing again. "I'm sorry, I'll pay attention," Ginny told her resolutely. She owed Hermione.
"It's all right," Hermione shrugged one shoulder. "I can guess what you're thinking about."
"D'you… think everyone else knows?" Ginny asked uncertainly.
Hermione eyed her sharply. "None of them are going to say anything about it," she said. "Even if they did know."
"Not even Fred?" Ginny asked dubiously. Fred had never been able to keep his mouth shut when he was sober, and Ginny had had the impression that he was a bit further gone than the rest of the family. Which was strange… what were they—
"No," Hermione said firmly, cutting into her thoughts.
"Well…" Ginny said slowly. "In that case… let's go downstairs."
Back in the kitchen, it was both homey and awkward. Ginny was relieved that Hermione had promised that none of her brothers or her parents would push her on her story, but at the same time, she almost wished they would. She stood with her hands in the pockets of her fathers dressing gown, the various magical objects making soft noises, as no one said anything. Hermione sidled around her and sat next to Ron.
"So," Ginny cleared her throat. Her cheeks flamed, and she deliberately unfocused her eyes and the faces of her family blurred. Don't think about Christmas, don't think about Christmas, she told herself. She didn't want to travel down that path. Maybe they needed to talk about it, maybe they were angry with her after all, but she just wanted to keep on feeling warm and content. "How - er - is everyone?" she added after a long pause.
"Right as rain," Fred said jovially, solidifying her impression that he was drunkest of them all. It was also clear that he was lying for her benefit. Ginny narrowed her eyes.
"Why is everyone drinking?" she asked without really thinking about it. "Not that it's a bad thing," she added in a hurry, not wanting them to think she was being judgmental. Who was she to leave them the way she had on Christmas and then question their drinking habits? "It's just... I don't think I've ever seen you lot - you know."
"Seems like the right day for it," Fred spoke up again.
Her brow furrowed. There was a thread of intensity in his voice that didn't quite make sense, and Ginny had the growing impression that she was missing something. The silence was oppressive, and everyone exchanged looks. Percy tipped his glass back and refused to look at her. Ginny kept her eyes resolutely away from her dad.
None of them were talking to her, really, or trying to touch her, or even looking at her fully. Ginny's mother was not bustling around her, hands fluttering, trying to draw her into conversation. Her brothers weren't trying to cajole her into laughing or smiling. And Ginny was completely aware that six months ago, this would have been exactly what she wanted. She got the impression that if she walked back upstairs and sat in her room until her clothes were fixed, none of them would say a thing or try to change it.
She shifted her weight from foot to foot, trying to ignore the sudden pain in her stomach. They don't look distant, exactly, she thought. Just cautious. But she couldn't just make an announcement ("Hey, I'm pretty much all right, now, we can carry on as usual"), could she?
Just talk to them.
Harry had given her that advice, and Ginny sucked in a deep breath and tried it. "Erm… are you celebrating something?"
Apparently this was absolutely the wrong thing to say.
"That isn't funny, Ginny," Charlie said sharply. Whereas before everyone had been avoiding her gaze, now they were gaping at her with varying degrees of incredulity, shock, and even anger on their faces. Tears stung the back of her eyes, and she cursed herself for thinking that coming home would be easy. The burning feeling in her stomach increased tenfold.
"He's right, it isn't," Bill said.
"Bill, Charlie," her mother murmured, but she looked down at her hands, and other than saying their names, didn't say anything further. But Ginny could tell she wanted to from the way her fingers were clasped tightly together.
"Right," Ginny said shakily, nodding. She looked over at the door to the kitchen, and decided that maybe it was too soon, and maybe she should write them a few more letters. And apologize for Christmas. Then she could try to come home again. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, glancing around the table quickly, trying to look at everyone except her dad. "I'll just…" her voice trailed away. "Let me know when my clothes are done."
She had just turned to leave when Hermione took a deep breath. "Ginny," she said, in a heavy tone of disbelief. "You have no idea what day it is, do you?"
"Of course she knows what day it is, Hermione," Percy said disdainfully.
A clock chimed the hour loudly as Ginny's mind took several leaps. "Friday?" she asked. But almost as soon as the word came out of her mouth, it hit her. The nagging feeling that had followed her through breakfast (but had dissipated once her hormones had taken over during Harry's class). The reason why her family was sitting around and drinking, and why her question had offended them so much. It was the twelfth of April, and it had been four years ago today…
She braced herself for the familiar, crippling emotions. And a part of her wanted to jump back through the floo and escape on her broom. Harry would come with her, and she could force the memories away bit by bit. The hearth was so close.
It was chance that stopped her, really. In that first moment of realization, her eyes had flown to her dad's face, and he was… not looking at her. Deliberately avoiding her gaze, even when she knew that he must know that she was looking at him. His head was tilted to the side a little, his eyes fixed firmly on the steaming, amber liquid in his glass.
A year ago she would have been deeply unsettled to know that her family sat around drinking and obviously drowning sorrows and being completely miserable. Briefly, she was slightly surprised that Harry hadn't relaxed his exile to join in. But today, instead of feeling exposed and furious and wanting to hide, she felt really… sad. For them. The longer she stared at her father, and the more resolutely he stared down at her firewhisky, the more the sadness grew, until it blotted out almost everything else.
"I forgot," she said finally, glancing at Percy, who had been a bit mean to Hermione. "I really forgot." I can't believe I forgot. Blindly, she reached out for the empty chair, pulled it out, and plopped down.
"Er," Charlie said, looking stunned. "But…"
"That's brilliant, Ginny," Ron said in too loud a voice. He beamed sloppily at her, and tilted his glass to her before taking a long swig.
Before anyone else could say anything, Ginny summoned Fred's bottle of firewhisky, leaving his fingers to clutch at air instead of the neck of the bottle. She tipped her head back and took a long drink of the heady alcohol, feeling it burn in her mouth, down her throat, and into her belly. The knots loosened a little, and she swallowed even more.
By the time she was done, steam poured out of her ears, and her entire body felt warm and cozy.
"Ginny," her mother said in a small, hesitant voice. "Did you really forget?"
Ginny fiddled with the bottle, taking her time answering. "I did," she said. But she didn't want them to get the wrong impression, and the alcohol was making her feel relaxed, so she continued. "I mean – I don't forget all the time," she clarified. Just two nights ago, she'd had a nightmare, and had been very glad that it was one of the times when she'd stayed in Harry's rooms. Another gulp of firewhisky went down her throat. "And maybe I won't forget ever—"
"Trust me," Bill said quietly, meeting her eyes and quickly looking away. "No one expects you to forget something like that."
She bunched the sleeve of her dad's dressing gown in one fist, and supposed that Bill was right. And by the murmurs of agreement, the rest of her family thought the same way. She didn't think they'd ever forget, either. For years she'd wanted them to, but now she knew better. "But I don't have to remember all the time anymore," she said. Tears threatened. She pushed them away, thinking that if she started crying, it would make them think she was lying. Instead, she looked at her mother, who appeared to be struggling with her own emotions.
But her mum didn't cry or say anything about it, really. Just sighed a little. "You shouldn't be drinking that, dear," she said, pushing herself away from the table. "Give that back to Fred."
Ginny bristled. "I'm old enough," she said, feeling mildly outraged, but slid the bottle back to Fred, who immediately took a swig from it after eyeing it almost lovingly.
"I know how old you are. I gave birth to you," her mum reminded her tartly, opening a cupboard, and pulling a dusty old bottle off a shelf. "I just don't think you want to drink Fred's swill." She lingered a little, staring down at what she held in her hands. "And this is excellent firewhisky," she said, taking a deep breath. Turning, she gave Ginny a wobbly smile, and walked over to her.
A glass was set out in front of her, and the bottle opened. Almost immediately, Ginny could tell that this was very high quality firewhisky, indeed. She could even see a hint of flames swirling around in the liquid, and she was about to protest. But as soon as she opened her mouth to tell her mother that she didn't need the obviously expensive alcohol, George snorted.
"You know, I've been trying to get that bottle open for years," he said thoughtfully, tilting back in his chair. "Remember, Fred? We even tried to break it open the Muggle way. Tried everything…"
"I know," her mum said. "I placed several charms on it to keep you two out of it."
"We couldn't even break them," Fred said. "Trust me, we tried. Some owners of a joke shop we are."
"Your cunning had to come from somewhere," was her mother's smug reply.
It seemed churlish to refuse what her mother was offering her. And when she reached out her hand, possibly to stroke Ginny's hair, Ginny leaned toward it a little. But her mother drew away, and went back to her seat. Ginny blinked rapidly and sipped her drink. It really was excellent.
"Thanks, Mum," she said.
Silence fell again. It hurt a little to know that they were so careful around her. Part of it was, she knew, due to Christmas. But now that she thought about it, she knew that they had no clue how to treat her. Ginny had pushed them away for so long that they just… stayed away. But the distance was far too great.
She swallowed the rest of the liquor in her glass, not bothering to sip.
"Wow," George said.
"Ginny, you're a champion drinker," Ron said earnestly.
"She is a Weasley," Fred said pompously, in an admirable imitation of Percy.
And Ginny had an idea of how to bridge the gap a little, and smiled slyly. "I don't know why you two are so shocked," she said, gesturing at Fred and George. "I seem to remember having my first taste of firewhisky—"
"Ginny!" George interrupted loudly.
"—at the age of thirteen," Ginny finished, glancing at her mother. "The twins gave it to me, right after Ron and Hermione left with Harry."
"She wanted it," Fred said defensively, throwing his hands up and almost falling backward onto the floor. "Don't look at me like that, Mum… I was just trying to do the right thing."
"Besides," George added, elbowing Bill in the ribs. "Bill and Charlie gave us firewhisky when we were thirteen."
"Hey!" Charlie said. "What is this, confession time?"
"I knew we should've made them swear an Unbreakable Vow," Bill muttered, but he was smiling.
"How come no one gave me firewhisky when I was young?" Ron asked plaintively. He pointed his finger at Percy. "Don't tell me - you were the one who was supposed to," he accused. "You really dropped the cauldron on that one."
"I didn't—" Percy began stiffly.
"I had to wait until I was eighteen to get drunk!" Ron continued, much aggrieved.
"That's for the better, Ron, dear," her mother said in a soothing voice. "And Percy, thank you for not being a miscreant." But Ginny could tell that her mother was joking, and hid a smile behind her hand. The mirth wasn't completely natural, of course. Everyone kept stealing glances at her, but the tension and awkwardness was fading quickly.
"I would've given him some," Percy said, offended. "Hermione stopped me!"
Everyone turned to look at Hermione, who shrugged a shoulder. "I didn't think it was a good idea for a group of underage wizards to be drinking at the Quidditch World Cup," she said, shrugging one shoulder.
It took several minutes to calm Ron's ruffled feathers after that, especially since everyone – even Ginny, though she was still mindful of Hermione backing her up earlier – kept heckling Hermione for her adherence to the rules. All the while, they kept drinking, and the tension kept slipping out into the growing darkness. Not all of it, though. The truth about Harry stayed on the tip of her tongue, made even worse when George made a comment or two that alluded to him, though no one else appeared to notice.
And her dad's contribution to the increasingly drunken conversation was negligible. Ginny understood that she'd hurt him with her words, and also understood that one night and a lot of alcohol was not going to smooth things over. She also wasn't the only one who had difficulties. Ron kept glancing over at their father, looking unusually sober for someone who had consumed lots of firewhisky.
But Ginny relaxed and allowed herself to enjoy the moment.
"I know what's missing!" Charlie exclaimed suddenly, pointing straight at Ginny. "Your fuffy - puffy, I mean – little friend!"
"That'sh right," Fred said, widening his eyes. "It'sh not a family event without Arnold!"
George took it up too. "Arnol'!" he called. "Arnol'! Where are you?"
Ginny giggled, and took the opportunity to pour more firewhisky. "He's back at the castle with his girlfriend," she said with relish. Then, widening her eyes, she stared at Fred and George in turn. "Did you make boy pygmy puffs go into heat on purpose?" she asked sternly. Not that he had gone into heat again (yet), but he was showing signs that there was about to be a repeat performance of last autumn's puff drama.
"Arnol' has a girlfriend?" Fred asked. There was an odd note in his voice.
Ginny ignored it. "Uh huh," she said. "Her name is Calliope, and she played hard to get for months," she said, chuckling. "He had to impress her with feats of strength to win her affecshuns," she nodded. She didn't mention the fact that he had used Ginny's knickers to do this, and that they'd made a little nest of them. "And – did you know that they dance with each other?"
"Oh!" Fred said. His mouth fell wide open, and shock was clearly written on his face. "You - oh. Merlin, I—"
George silenced him, a bang emitting from his wand. "Now, now, Fred," he said loudly and, Ginny thought, unconvincingly. "You mustn't give away our shecretsh."
Fred struggled against the Silencing Charm, face turning even redder. It was obvious to Ginny that he'd figured out the secret, and her mind replayed everything that she'd just said. Could it be that he'd remembered Harry going and buying Calliope as a Christmas gift, and he'd put two and two together? But the fact that she and Harry were a couple seemed like an equation that needed more steps to arrive at the answer.
George dragged Fred out of the room. "Gotsh to remind Fred – he was about to reveal – can't have him letting the hag out of the bag," he stammered. "Jusht becaush you're drunk, you can't tell 'em about our top shecret pygmy puff… shecretsh," he admonished.
Everyone stared after them. Ginny tried to act nonchalant and not look at Ron and Hermione at all.
"They get weirder every time I see them," Charlie said, shaking his head.
Ginny gathered up her scattered thoughts and tried to come up with an explanation for her and Harry. She grimaced, not wanting to tell them without at least talking to Harry about it first. But as soon as Fred and George returned to the room, George gave her a nod, and Fred reached for his bottle.
Ginny could only think that he meant to keep the secret, at least for now. And even though once Fred had recovered from the shock a bit, he made several comments about professors and Defense Against the Dark Arts, he didn't come out and say anything.
Much later, Ginny's head was swimming by the time she was alone in the kitchen with Ron, Hermione, Fred, and George. "I jusht - just kep' blinking an' everyone kep' leaving," she said, staring at the ceiling. Her eyes felt heavy and her belly full. Every once in a while she hiccupped and flames erupted out of her mouth. "I'm a dragon," she giggled, grinning up at her brothers and Hermione.
"Me too," Ron said comfortably, belching fire and rubbing his stomach. "An' it hazhn't just been a bit since people left. Mum an' Dad an' Bill left, 'cause we was - oops, we were - travelin' to lishen - lissen - lishenshus-"
"Lissentusness," Hermione corrected loftily, rocking back and forth, and eyeing her glass of wine as though she might want more. Ginny was very proud of her, and couldn't help but give her a sloppy grin. Hermione grasped the glass by the stem (after two tries), and swigged some more. "That still doezhn't sound right."
"It'sh 'licentious,'" George said.
"You would know that word," Hermione told him.
"We were being unruly," Ron announced, sounding remarkably clear. He didn't appear to have heard the discussion about pronunciation.
"Sho," Fred said. Somehow, he had upended his chair, and was lying flat on his back, with his bottle of firewhisky clutched in his hand. It threatened to be knocked over by a careless gesture at any moment, and Ginny stared at it unblinking, even though she knew what Fred was going to ask about. It didn't even surprise her much - Fred was the sneakiest of the Weasleys, he was bound to have greater insight.
"Yeah?" Ginny said, feeling slightly apprehensive.
Instead, he was silent for so long that Ginny was pretty sure he'd passed out. Or at least she thought he had. But the pretty lights kept sparkling on the nearly empty bottle, distracting her. When Fred started chuckling drunkenly, it startled her so much, she had to put her foot out to keep her from falling off her chair. And then the room was spinning slightly, and she had to squeeze her eyes shut. "I'm right about you an' Harry bloody Potter," Fred said. It wasn't a question. "An' mostly I'm - haha - whoa, that's fucking insane-"
"Imazhin how I felt, Fred," George slurred. "Harry shows up at Ron's house, completely mental about Ginny. It was like a kick in the balls. In a good way," he added hastily when he saw the look on Ginny's face.
"Right, George," Fred said. "So... think it's insh - insane. But then I think... maybe insh - insanity is a big freakin' circle, 'cause Ginny an' Harry together sort of makes sense"-he hit himself on the head several times, and winced-"in thish totally bizarre way. But it hurts my head to think about that right now... I could be crazy too..." His voice trailed off. Ginny wondered if he was done, but was too used to Harry rambling to count on it. Indeed, she was right. "Sho now I'm just thinkin' - remember that poem you wrote during Harry's fourth year, an' ye wanted to cheer him up-"
"Nooooo," Ginny whimpered, putting her face in her hands and George and Ron started to laugh. "Don't mention that," she pleaded, half-laughing.
"How'd it go again?" Ron asked. Hermione swatted him in the stomach, but Ron ignored her. And with many fits and stops, the three boys pieced together the embarrassing little poem Ginny had written for Harry during her first year and his fourth. She groaned, and put her head in her hands, though she didn't mind that much, remembering the little girl with a crush.
"-The hero who conquered the Dark Lord!" Fred finished cheerfully, struggling to sit up. He was grinning at Ginny, but his eyes were very serious. He pointed at her. "It'sh good," he said earnestly. "It's really, really, really, really good that you got what you wanted, Ginny. It really, really is."
A blush crept up her neck and flooded her cheeks, causing them to tingle. She fiddled with her glass and drank the rest of it. Surprisingly, though, she felt no urge to escape. The honesty with her family (and the alcohol) had loosened something inside her, and she knew it wasn't just the firewhisky that was causing a strong feeling of contentment. "Thanks," she said quietly.
"Seriously," Fred added. "But just let us know if he-"
"I don' think Harry's feelings are the issue," Ron interrupted, sounding almost sober. "Which reminds me," he turned to Ginny. "I think that you - wow," he stopped himself, a look of shock sliding over his face. "This is the opposite - I'm supposed to be protective of you - but..." he eyed her very seriously. "Please don't hurt him."
Ginny opened her mouth-
"I mean..." Ron took a deep breath. "He doesn't have anything to prove. To me, or anyone else in the family," he told her, grimacing. "So... I've got a good guess that he's going to do anything for you. Just... make sure that you do the same."
"Of course," Ginny said immediately.
Ron looked as though he might want to argue, and Ginny guessed that he was thinking of when they had been fighting. She glanced down at the table, absolutely not wanting to bring that up, not when she was quite drunk. Please don't push it, Ginny begged. Please.
Fred chose that moment to interrupt. "I wasn't going to say that we should beat up on Harry if he doesn't treat Ginny right," he said in an injured voice. "I know Harry'll be a good boy."
"And that was completely opposite, Ron," George said cheekily. "We're supposed to be protective of our little sister, not the bloke she's dating," he added. But Ginny could tell that he felt the same way as Ron did, that Harry hurting her was a completely foreign idea, and it was more likely that she be the one to hurt him. Instead of offending her, it made her smile.