Over the next few days, Ginny considered Harry deeply. She wanted to discuss his childhood with him. She wanted him to know that he could speak with her about anything but she didn't know how to bring it up, especially since there was always the chance that she was wrong. Harry didn't flinch when she touched him, even if he did when her mother or Hermione did. Ginny had noticed. She'd watched him for the best part of four years and she had seen his reaction to physical touch. She'd also seen the way he was with Sirius, that summer at Grimmauld Place, his desperation to be loved.

Ginny thought it might have been a selfish desire to speak about it with Harry. She wanted to understand him better, but for him or for her? Was this a way of deepening their relationship, rather than a way of ensuring Harry's good quality of mental health? She wrestled with these thoughts for days on end, wishing harder and harder for an answer. Hermione would know what to do.

They went to various tourist attractions and drove out of the city one day, to Stonehenge. Ginny darted around after Harry with the camera, taking his picture, until they were both laughing, collapsing under a tree and pulling out their picnic lunch. Harry leaned back, his hands caressing the grass beneath them and his head fully reclined, enjoying the sun that burned down onto them. The heat only seemed to be increasing, day by day, as June progressed.

"What is it, Gin?" Harry asked as she lay out their food on the mat. Ginny furrowed her brow.

"On the sandwiches? I don't know, love, you made them," she said, distracted as she tried to pull open a tupperware of salad. She turned to find that Harry was watching her intently, his eyes reading her face. Ginny let the salad box slide down her lap onto the mat. "What's wrong?"

"For the past week, you've looked at me like you want to ask me a question but you never have. What is it?"

Ginny mostly thought of Harry as rather unobservant. She had assumed that he had not noticed her careful study of him over the past few days, because he had not mentioned it. Ginny sighed. "I'm sorry." Harry shook his head.

"Don't be until you ask the question."

Ginny swallowed. "You don't have to answer."

"I can't answer until you ask me."

Ginny's nervous laugh came out as a breath from her nose. "Okay." She inhaled. "I wanted to talk about your childhood." Harry stiffened. "But I don't want to force you to talk about anything you don't want to, just to sate my selfish curiosity. But I wanted to tell you that, if you want to talk about it, at all, even if it's just a little bit, then you can. I mean, at any time, if you want to -"

Harry cut her off with a soft kiss to her lips, surprising her. She blinked as he pulled away, wondering how long she had been rambling for. He gave her half a smile. "The last person I told about the Dursleys was my year four teacher."

"You mean fourth year?" Ginny asked with confusion.

Harry shook his head. "Year four is a class at muggle primary school, when you're eight." Ginny was reminded how little she knew of muggle society, even despite her careful study over the past months, since they had fled Hogwarts. "I told my teacher. Her name was Miss Wilkins. She told the headteacher and the headteacher told my aunt and uncle."

"What happened?" Ginny whispered.

Harry looked down at his lap. "I didn't eat for three days." Ginny fell back onto her hands.

"What did you tell her?"

Harry reached for a sandwich and ate a few bites, swallowing before he began to speak. "I told her the truth."

And then he told Ginny the same truth, with far more detail than he had told his teacher. He'd told her that his uncle had broken his arm, when the teacher had asked. The teacher had probably done the right thing, going to the headteacher, but the headteacher had screwed things up for Harry, had given him three more years of horror, rather than getting him out, to somewhere safe, to where someone could look after him.

As he explained to Ginny what his life had been like before he went to Hogwarts, Ginny found her anger at Remus and at this Zoe growing. Even Sirius received her mental wrath. If only one of them had put Harry first. If only anyone had put Harry first.

They ate while he spoke, giving Ginny some details but mostly general information. His uncle had been the main culprit, though his aunt's words had had the ability to hurt as much as his uncle's hands, and his cousin had only made things worse, taking any semblance of friendship that Harry could ever have had away from him.

Ginny's eyes were wet, which drew Harry's attention. For most of his explanation, he had kept his eyes on his lap or on his food, rather than on Ginny. At some points, the parts that had been the most painful for Ginny to hear, and likely for Harry to tell, he had stared off at Stonehenge in the near distance. But he finally looked her in the eyes and found her tears there. His eyes widened.

"I didn't mean to make you cry," he mumbled.

Ginny smiled, reaching across to take his hand. "You didn't. Your wretched relatives did."

Harry squeezed her hand back. "We don't need them, though. You're my family now, you and Sirius and Ron and Hermione."

Ginny nodded, using her spare hand to wipe her eyes. "Thank you for sharing with me," she said quietly. Harry looked away. "If you ever want to talk about it again, you can, anytime." Harry nodded.

"I do feel better for telling you." Harry's nose scrunched. "Do you think I'm weird?"

"Weird?" Ginny repeated loudly and then closed her mouth. She shook her head. "Merlin, Harry, you're not weird. You had a terrible childhood. None of this was your fault and I am furious that so many adults let you down. None of this makes you weird."

Harry met her eyes. "It feels good to have you on my side."

Ginny grinned. "That's where I'm going to be for the rest of our lives, babe."

"I think I can live with that."

XXX

Ron's hand tapped against the bottom of his chair in a rhythmless beat. His leg shook and his eyes darted between his own empty plate and the as-yet half-full plates of some of his brothers and his sister-in-law. After last night, he did not want to be sitting at this table, not with Fred.

It wasn't as though Ron hadn't picked up on the fact that Fred and Hermione were closer than they had ever been. In fact, until this last term of fifth year, he would have said that the twins didn't like Hermione and Hermione didn't like them. But clearly Ron was wrong.

Hermione's tongue down his brother's throat was proof enough of that.

Ron's jaw tightened. It wasn't that he felt - he didn't know what he felt. He was angry rather than jealous, the same way he'd felt since Harry had run off with his little sister, since Harry had protected Ginny and Ginny had protected Harry and Ron had been left with no one to protect.

It had been difficult for those first few weeks, when Harry was gone and Ron and Hermione had to figure out how they functioned without him. Ron felt no hint of jealousy upon reflecting that Harry had been the one that kept them together. Harry was their best friend and the best guy that Ron knew. It was that that drove Ron on, making him angry that he wasn't there but also desperate not to let him down. Harry was certainly not letting Ron down, looking after Ginny and keeping them from being caught. Ron couldn't imagine that Ginny was much help.

It might have taken him a few weeks to realise it, but Ron needed to look after Hermione, just like Harry was looking after Ginny. It wasn't because she was a girl. Hermione needed to look after Ron too. Ron had never disputed that. He needed her to make sure that he did his schoolwork and, also, to make sure that he didn't fuck up anywhere else. Hermione was good at that: not fucking up.

Ron spent time with Hermione again, but it was different. Something - Harry - was missing and neither of them seemed to know what to do without it. They sat together in lessons and wrote their essays together - well, Hermione sat by Ron as he wrote his essays. She had usually already completed her own. And they argued like they used to, too. But something was missing. Ron spent more time with Seamus, Dean and Neville, and Hermione had made friends in the library, with Susan Bones and Padma Patil. And Fred. She was friends with Fred.

Having realised that Hermione was getting closer with Fred a while ago, Ron had almost come to terms with it. Hermione didn't belong to him and sharing her with Fred was only like sharing her with her new friends, or with Harry. But then she started choosing to sit with Fred at dinner time. She'd sit next to him and, sure, Ron would be sitting opposite, but she would talk with Fred and not need to speak to Ron.

It was just that: she didn't seem to need him anymore. Harry had held them together to the extent that she didn't need him anymore. Rage swirled before his eyes and he found himself standing up before he had really made the conscious decision to leave the dinner table.

"Ronnie, whatever is the matter?" his mother said, confusion lacing her tone. Ron exhaled and sat back down. The last thing he needed to do was make a scene. Fleur was over, for lunch, and Bill and Charlie. Percy, too, though Ron didn't much care what Percy thought of him. He didn't want to embarass himself in front of his older brothers who already thought he was a baby, or in front of Fleur, who was so pretty it was painful. Ron wanted his new sister-in-law to like him, more than she liked Percy. It would be nice if she liked him more than Fred and George too. Maybe he could be her favourite brother, besides Bill. At least he would be first in that respect, then, now that he wasn't Hermione's favourite Weasley anymore. With all the time Harry was spending with Ginny, too, he doubted he was Harry's favourite.

Sullenly, Ron continued to dig into his meal. Storming off might mean losing his lunch too, and he didn't want to spend all afternoon starving and angry. Ron had always found that anger fuelled his hunger and hunger fuelled his anger.

His mother shot him a funny look. "What is going on with you, Ron? Is this about Harry?"

Ron looked up, mouth slightly open. He swallowed his food. "No, it's not about Harry. Harry's been gone for months. I'm used to it."

Ron was definitely not used to it. At Hogwarts, perhaps, he had got used to not having Harry beside him. But now that he was home, he was expecting Harry to arrive any minute, on some daring escape from the Dursleys. He was expecting Hedwig to arrive with an owl. Seeing her at the farmhouse last night had been painful. It had been what prompted him to go and look for Hermione. And find her with Fred.

His hands clamped around his fork. "If you want to know what's wrong with me, ask Fred," he snapped finally.

The whole family turned to Fred, who blanched. George particularly looked confused. "Just Fred?" their mother said, also glancing at George.

"Unless both of them are kissing Hermione, yeah," Ron sneered. There was a collective intake of breath, satisfying dramatic.

"What?" George said, his voice hurt, before being swallowed by a clamour of questions, directed at both Fred and Ron. Fed up of it and not understanding most of what was being said, Ron pushed his chair away from the table with a screech and headed upstairs slowly, blowing air out of his mouth and wishing he could be slightly less impulsive. Hermione would not be happy with him.

XXX

Fred threw a gnome as far as he possibly could, the muscles in his arms aching pleasantly. He picked up another and repeated the process. He understood for the first time why his mother sent them to do this when they were in bad moods. It was a good stress relief. His twin had stormed upstairs after his younger brother, without a word to Fred, and the rest of the family had not hidden the fact that they thought Hermione was supposed to be with Ron, not Fred.

It was not as though Fred didn't understand that thought process. He did. It had been something he'd struggled with at first, when his feelings for Hermione had emerged, but, eventually, he had decided that he had just as much right to pursue Hermione as Ron and, if she preferred Ron, she could have shot Fred down at the party. But she hadn't.

The screech of the gnome as he was flung further in the air than previous ones danced through the air. Fred sighed, pushing his hands against the skin of his face. Perhaps it had been selfish to go after Hermione. He had known that it would not make anyone happy, no one except he and Hermione anyway.

He sighed again. Hermione had been happy last night. They had hardly spoken, after his delightfully cringey pick up line. He had been working on that for weeks and it had made Hermione laugh. Merlin knew all he ever wanted to do was make Hermione laugh.

"You'll change the course of the wind if you sigh anymore, son," he heard his father's voice say from behind him. Fred threw the gnome in his hand and was dissatisfied by the short distance it flew. It would sneak back into the Burrow's garden in no time. He turned and found his father watching him seriously. "Let's go for a walk."

Fred nodded, agreeing though he didn't really think that he had a choice. He had not had many serious talks with his father, with anyone really. If Fred had anything serious to talk about, he went to George. He hadn't this time and he already knew that was a mistake, from George's reaction.

They walked for a moment, leaving the confines of the garden proper to reach the orchard. "You've not made a lot of friends with this decision, son."

"It wasn't a decision," Fred replied instantly. He found his father looking at him, seriously. Fred was grateful to be taken seriously at least. He was 17 and he had graduated from Hogwarts. There was nothing holding him back from making real adult decisions and he would have hated it if his father had treated him like a child.

"How serious are you about Hermione?"

Fred tutted. "Are you going to tell me that I should stop this and let Ron have her?"

His father shook his head. "It's not your decision, nor is it Ron's, who Hermione chooses to be with. I only want to know if you are serious because Hermione is a member of our extended family and I do not want her to be uncomfortable with us if you are not serious about her."

Fred understood, nodding with his jaw tight. His father's tone was stern and Fred appreciated the way his father felt about Hermione. He was sure that she would appreciate it too. "I am serious about her," Fred said honestly. "Dad, I think I love her."

Fred was glad that his father had come to talk to him, not Bill or his mother, who would have told Fred that he was too young to be sure of that. "I was in love with your mother at your age." Fred watched his father as they stopped walking beneath the apple trees. "Fred, I'm not going to tell you that this is going to be easy and I don't think you have gone about it in the right way." Fred's eyes turned to the ground. "But, if you and Hermione are serious about each other, neither your brothers' reactions, nor your mother's, matter." Fred smiled.

"Thanks, Dad."

"You need to speak to Ron and to George."

"I didn't know what to say. I only spoke to Hermione about it last night." His father looked faintly surprised that their relationship was so new. "I'll go and talk to George now and then I'll go and talk to Ron."

XXX

Bill crept up the stairs, a cup of tea in his hand. Fleur was in the kitchen, having been roped into helping their mother with the roast dinner she was preparing. Bill had sneaked away while he could, more interested in ensuring that his brothers were okay. He had hardly made his way halfway up the first set of stairs when he heard the shouting.

"I'm your twin! Why the hell wouldn't you tell me?"

It was the most upset that Bill had ever heard George. The twins never seemed to be upset. Bill was not sure that he had ever known them to fall out with each other and, whatever was happening, they spoke to each other before anybody else, so Bill was never quite sure how they felt about anything.

"It's between me and Hermione! I don't have to tell you everything," Fred replied, a defensive tone in his voice. Bill reached the top of the stairs. "You don't tell me everything about you and Angelina."

"I told you before I asked her out! You didn't tell me anything about Hermione."

"Because it's Hermione!" Fred shouted. "I thought you'd react like everyone else and tell me that she was Ron's or that she was too serious for me or-"

"If you were serious, I would have heard you out!"

"I am serious!"

"Then, why the hell would you not tell me? I could have helped you sort your feelings out. I'm your twin."

"I wanted to do this myself," Fred said weakly. "She's - I didn't want her to think we were joking about her or make her feel self-conscious if she saw us talking. I wanted to talk to her first."

George scoffed in disgust. "Is this it, then? You're choosing her over me?"

Bill thought that was rather unfair. He leaned back against the wall and then was shocked into spilling some of his tea over the lip of his mug as George stormed out of the room and slammed the door.

"Wanna talk?" Bill asked casually, dipping his biscuit into his tea. George scowled but didn't refuse.

Bill led him to his old bedroom, where his one quidditch poster still adorned the wall. He placed his mug down on the windowsill, glancing out at the Lovegoods' house in the distance. He grabbed a book that was by the side of his bed, a muggle book that his father had bought him a few birthdays ago. He threw it up in the air and caught it, sitting down on his bed and leaning against the wall, his knees close to his chest.

Placing the book next to him, he reached again for the cup of tea, sipping at it, his eyebrows raised expectantly at George, waiting for him to sit too. George did eventually, picking up the book and flicking through a few pages slowly.

Bill remained silent and was rewarded when George began to speak, though he did not take his eyes from the book. "We've never argued before, not like this. I don't like it." It was the most vulnerable that Bill had ever heard his brother. "I don't understand why he didn't tell me. I always tell him when I- when anything happens with a girl."

"But this is Hermione," Bill said.

George sighed. "I don't understand what the big deal is with that. He says that he thinks I'd have joked about it but I would have joked about it whoever it was. He jokes about Angelina all the time."

"I think he was scared that Hermione wouldn't like the jokes."

"If Hermione doesn't like jokes, she shouldn't be with him," George said, rather tartly.

Bill raised his brows, swallowing a big gulp of tea. "Do you not think that was what he was afraid of?"

George narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

Bill shrugged, trying to seem nonplussed. "He might have been afraid that Hermione wouldn't want to be with him, because she doesn't like jokes."

"Then, why would he want to be with her?" George asked, incredulous.

Bill tutted. "George, why do you want to be with Angelina?"

George finally looked up from the book. "Because I like her. She's pretty and funny and clever."

"Alicia Spinnet is pretty and funny and clever. Why don't you want to be with her?"

George narrowed his eyes. "She's not Angelina, though, is she?"

"Exactly," Bill said, leaning forward. "You like Angelina because of exactly who she is, but you can't really pin that down. Fred might not know why he likes Hermione and, all this time that he's liked her, he's been questioning why and I'll bet he's had that exact same thought as you, about jokes. And, even despite that, he's not been able to stop liking her, so he wanted to protect her from the jokes being made so that she wouldn't see a reason not to like him back."

George looked skeptical. "I don't understand."

Bill sighed. "When I first started dating Fleur, I worried that she wouldn't like me because I wasn't in the same league as her, in any way."

"Agreed," George interrupted.

Bill glared at him but continued, "so I pretended to be more than I was. I spoke better and acted better. I took her to fancy restaurants that I hated and to the theatre because that's what she was used to. I pretended so that she wouldn't see my inferior birth as a reason to not like me back."

"Is she really that hoity-toity? Why are you marrying her?"

Bill ignored that comment. "George, my point is that we do stupid things to make sure that there's not a reason for a girl not to like us. We make sacrifices and compromises to make someone like us. It turned out that Fleur didn't care about fancy restaurants and I'm almost certain that Hermione does actually like jokes, but Fred must have been scared that she didn't and he wanted to protect the hope of a relationship with her."

George was silent for a moment. Bill hoped that he had explained things better this time. "He could have said that to me. I wouldn't have said anything if he didn't want me to."

"I know, George," Bill said, though he doubted it. He could just imagine George pretending to tell Hermione something to get Fred worked up and then causing a scene over it and rousing Hermione's suspicions. "But you've done everything together your whole lives. Maybe he just wanted something for himself."

George looked down at the book on his lap and then slid it to his side, before scooching off the bed. "Thanks for the talk, Bill." His voice was quiet. Bill hoped he'd given him something to think about, so that he wasn't as harsh on Fred. "I'm going to go and throw some gnomes."

Bill chuckled and nodded, watching his brother leave the room.

XXX