VII. All Aboard the Rumor Express
(Harry)
"Some best mate you are."
Harry looked up from his Transfiguration essay, thankful for the distraction. Back from their jaunt to the library, Ron and Hermione approached the corner of the common room where he had tucked himself away. The look on Ron's face reminded Harry of a raging bull, and Hermione's of a very concerned spectator.
Ron slammed several large textbooks down on the table, violently rattling Harry's ink pot and making half a dozen students revising nearby jump and glare at him.
"Exactly when were you going to tell me you fancied my sister?" said Ron.
It was almost as if a bucket of ice had been dumped on Harry's head at the words. Every inch of him froze in instant shock, save for his brain, which was rather like a slushy sea of crashing questions hammering against the inside of his skull. What had he done? What had he said? For Ron to (rightfully) accuse him, Harry must have done something blatant, stupid.
Yet still, with this dreadful moment upon him, his only regret was that he had not made his sentiments known to the one person that mattered: Ginny.
"D'you know I had to hear it from bloody Zacharias Smith?" Ron railed on.
"I—what?" Harry sat back in his chair and blinked at Ron in surprised confusion. "Smith? What does he know about—"
"Were you or were you not snogging Ginny outside of Slughorn's classroom?"
The puzzle pieces fell promptly into place at the mention of the location of this made up tryst. It seemed the rumor mill at Hogwarts was chugging along as strong as ever, and Harry was once again swept up in it's powerful cycle. He'd never wished for such a rumor to be true as much as this one, though, and he wondered if Ginny had heard of it yet, and if she had, what she'd thought of it. Did the mention of it take her back to that very moment like it did for Harry?
Even then, with Ron berating him, Harry slipped into that shining split second of the past where Ginny was in his arms and he was breathing her air and their lips had practically met. The what ifs and could've beens he'd been dreaming up for the last several hours had exhausted him: if he'd turned his face just a fraction of an inch, if he'd been bolder with his affections for her, clearer with his intentions… they could've been… so much.
He was going to go wild at this rate, and if Ginny did not soon tame him, he feared the lengths he'd go to to see that she did.
The sound of Ron pulling out the chair across from him brought Harry back into the pitiless present. Ron deflated into it, his face like that of a weary father trying to wrangle his misbehaving child.
"Listen," began Ron, rubbing his forehead. "I don't mind it. Really. But you could have told me. Warned me."
Hermione threw Harry a commiserating look. "It's none of your business, Ron."
Saving Hermione the impending argument, for Ron looked fit to burst, Harry quickly said, "It doesn't matter. I wasn't snogging Ginny outside of Slughorn's classroom, so there's nothing to be upset about."
"Then what the hell is going on?" said Ron.
"Dean was coming up to her." It was like speaking through a mouthful of sand, but Harry made sure to raise his voice; he'd noticed his fellow housemates had all stilled to listen in on the conversation, eyes unmoving as they stared down at their books. One girl's quill hovered for so long that it was leaving a pool of ink on her parchment. "I happened to be near, so she just… I don't know. Let him—and apparently everyone else—come to their own conclusions."
Harry's voice was laden with gloom. Everything about this was miserable. Denying the false gossip to Ron yet wishing it were true was one thing, but this had to be inconveniencing Ginny with all sorts of unwanted attention, too. All Harry wanted to do now was find her, talk to her, make sure she was okay. But she'd said she wanted to forget what had happened...
"We aren't together," he said with finality.
"Oh," said Ron.
Harry sank deeper into his chair. "Yeah."
Ron looked at him shrewdly. "Well, if you two were—" Here, he gesticulated wildly with his hands. "—I wouldn't mind much, all right?"
Ron's lukewarm blessing did nothing but sully Harry's mood further.
Beside him, Hermione let out an exasperated sigh.
VIII. What To Do with Lemons
(Ginny)
The opportunity to apologize to Harry following their disastrous meeting outside Potions was fleeting. OWLs were fast approaching, and Ginny's spare time was filled with study dates with her dorm mates late into the night, revision in the library after classes, and practical group exercises on the weekends, sometimes on Potions, rarely on Charms, and always on Defense. They did pass one another in the corridor outside of Gryffindor Tower a week later, but with a group of fourth years watching eagerly nearby, Ginny allowed the nod Harry sent her in acknowledgment and nothing more. She'd like to think she would have pulled him aside to talk right then, but his jaw had twitched, and he'd barely even looked at her...
"He's mad at me," said Ginny to Hermione, whom she'd bumped into in the girls' lavatory between Transfiguration and Muggle Studies on a sunny Thursday afternoon.
Hermione rolled her eyes at Ginny in the mirror as she finished washing her hands.
"Doubtful," said Hermione, reaching for a hand towel. "If he was mad at you, you'd know."
"But I do know," insisted Ginny, catching Hermione's bag as it began to slip off the girl's shoulder. "Those rumors certainly didn't help, and—Merlin's balls, how many boulders have you got in here?"
Hermione easily adjusted the bag with semi-wet fingers, and the hand towel fluttered away to the hamper in the corner. "I don't think he's ignoring you on purpose."
"Well, he hasn't come looking for me."
Not only was Ginny the kind of person to never skip a meal, conveniently, they were served at the same time everyday. She also made a point to tell everyone who'd listen where she was going, and exactly how long they could find her there, so that if Harry ever wanted to locate her, he'd know precisely where she was and when. And then, of course, he had that map of his.
This led her to the very conclusion: Harry was avoiding her.
"You haven't gone looking for him, either," said Hermione pointedly.
Ginny adjusted her pointed, black hat so that the brim further hid her face. She was tired of being dragged into random groups of students, most of which she'd never found herself hanging out with, just to dispel the rumors she'd been submerged in. The hat, which half the student population had abandoned after being struck from the dress code several years ago, accommodated a certain level of anonymity.
"I've been busy," Ginny responded defensively.
She dilly-dallied by the sinks, but Hermione did not take the hint and started towards the exit. Reluctantly, Ginny followed.
"You can always ask him for help with Defense Against the Dark Arts." Hermione opened the lavatory door in a flourish to reveal Harry and Ron at the end of the corridor, swinging their bags at one another and dodging out of the way before getting hit. "He'll say yes, you know he will. And you can spring an apology on him then."
"Or maybe I could leave that hair tie lying around again?" Ginny suggested feebly.
With a sigh of utter vexation, Hermione said, "You're here, talking to me. You've clearly got time on your hands."
"What? Now?"
Hermione grabbed Ginny by the arm just as Harry looked up and caught sight of them. He stopped so suddenly that he also caught Ron's bag right to the groin. He doubled over, and Ron burst into unrestrained laughter.
Ginny winced at the display of masculine stupidity. "He seems occupied."
"He's not," said Hermione flatly, and pulled Ginny into a brisk walking pace.
"This feels very adult, you know." Ginny gripped her hat with her free hand, holding it in place as Hermione marched them towards the boys. "And I'm not an adult. I don't want to be an adult."
"Yes, but this is your lemon—"
"My what?"
"—and it's time to make lemonade."
IX. The Blows
(Harry)
It was unfortunate that Harry had spotted Ginny right before he'd caught a blow to his bollocks. The pain was excruciating, radiating from his gut and through his body like a sharply cast Cruciatus Curse. It took every ounce of strength within him to grit his teeth and straighten up as Hermione and Ginny stepped up to them.
"Are you two done now?" said Hermione waspishly.
Ron clapped Harry on the back, almost pitching him forward onto his knees. "Harry is."
"That was a low blow, Ron," Ginny said.
Ginny's tone bordered on outraged, and Harry took that moment to look at her. She had her long, red hair plaited and resting over one shoulder, and the witches hat she wore was so low that it swallowed her eyebrows completely. When Ginny tilted her face up and met his gaze with blazing eyes, her cheeks flared like the raspberry red of a dusk lit sky. Harry's blood did a quick sweep through his veins, and he almost forgot about the pain in his groin.
"Exactly," countered Ron, "and you were just the distraction I needed to win."
The statement was sharp, the hidden accusation clear. Harry avoided Ron's scrutinizing eyes, but he did nothing to stymie the insinuation laid bare before him.
"Can I talk to you?" Ginny asked Harry, ignoring Ron but perhaps even more red in the face as she reached out and curled her small hand around his forearm.
"Er, yeah," said Harry.
He traded a look with Ron, whose eyes narrowed deliberately on the spot of contact between Harry and Ginny. It was agony to do it, but Harry carefully pulled away from her.
Placated, Ron allowed Hermione to lead him towards the moving staircases at the end of the corridor. Harry turned back to Ginny, admired the graceful arc of her neck as she stared down at her feet. He could not see enough of her face to read it, covered as it was by the rim of her hat, but the way her hands were clasped together, knuckles bright white beneath her pale skin, was enough of an indication to Harry that she was more than upset.
Life continued around them as they lapsed into silence, punctuated by the sound of chirping birds from the large, open windows and loud laughter from the groaning stairway nearby. A couple of first years passed them by and blatantly stared at them over their shoulders. Without so much as a word, Harry and Ginny stepped over to a small, sun-drenched alcove that displayed a bust of Bowman Wright, creator of the Golden Snitch.
When she finally turned towards him, head dipped back to meet his eyes, her jaw was tense, and her lips were drawn in a line. "Hi."
Harry couldn't tell if he should have a shield charm up and ready. The greeting she gave him was hard and heated, like she'd forced it from the very depths of her soul.
"Hi," he said warily. "Alright?"
Ginny threw her arms up in a sudden fit of agitation. "You know, I haven't seen you around in a while."
Unable to help himself, Harry replied, "Maybe it's because you can't find me from beneath that hat."
She squinted up at him, and he would have thought he'd annoyed her further, except her mouth twitched at the corners. Harry knew he had her, and he leaned into the curved wall behind him, relieved and grinning.
"Funny," said Ginny, roughly pulling off her pointed hat. "Very funny."
There was a small line across her eyebrows from where the band of the hat had rested, and her hair, though braided back, had so many fly-aways around the crown that she looked as if she'd just swung off her broomstick after a quick match of two-a-side Quidditch.
And Harry thought at once, No one has the right to look so good.
Ginny shook the hat at him. "This works almost as well as a Disillusionment Charm, I'll have you know."
"Does it?"
"People think we're together. You've heard, haven't you?"
It was the only thing he'd heard about for the past week.
On several occasions, Harry had had to reject the rumor of a relationship between himself and Ginny to a number of gabby girls from all houses and years. At first, the invasive queries he'd been subjected to had stunned him; his peers could be bloody bold sometimes, asking for details and exact dates to events that had never happened, as if they were writing a column on the two of them and needed to verify their sources. More recently, however, as the gossip was corrected, Harry had been fielding questions from members of his own sex over those of the opposite. Just today, a tall and brazen seventh year from Hufflepuff had accosted Harry outside of the greenhouses after Herbology and followed up with a "great, thanks!" after Harry had grudgingly told him that Ginny was, in fact, single.
"I have," said Harry simply, unwilling to elaborate and further distress her.
Ginny pressed herself into the wall opposite of him, shoulders hunched. "It's a lot, isn't it?"
"It's..." Harry struggled with himself for a moment. Of course it was a lot, but there was no way he could admit this to Ginny; it would sound too much like he was blaming her, when really, this was all a byproduct of being shut up in a hormone-fueled school in the middle of nowhere.
"It's shit, I know. You can say it." With her next breath, brown eyes wide and pleading, Ginny said, "I'm so sorry I pulled you into this. I had no right—"
"Don't, Gin—"
"–and you didn't ask for any of this. I feel like such a twat putting you in this position—"
"Stop," said Harry firmly. "It's all right."
"No, it's not." Ginny crumpled her hat in balled fists. "This isn't—"
The warning bell to get to class within the next five minutes sounded, effectively cutting Ginny off. When the ringing stopped, Harry said in a rush, "I would have agreed."
Ginny's face morphed into one of confusion. "Agreed? To what?"
"To be your… I dunno, fake boyfriend," he said. "If you'd managed to ask, I would have agreed."