Ginny sat on her windowsill, one leg hooked over the edge, and read her letter. Dean's words were sufficiently engaging to engross most of her attention, but not enough to distract from a semi-constant commentary to Hermione. Thankfully her ramblings needed little response, and Hermione was able to retreat into her own thoughts without being rude.
Those thoughts were worlds away from the pleasant letter of a new boyfriend, and occasionally, when Hermione looked at her friend she felt very old. It was hard, indeed almost impossible, to summon up enthusiasm for Ginny's new boyfriend when Harry was facing a fight for his life.
It was so…unfair. That was the thought that kept circling around Hermione's mind. Harry wasn't even sixteen for another day, and yet somehow he was expected to defeat the coldest, most ruthless wizard that had ever lived. Even though Hermione believed Harry when he said he wasn't scared, she couldn't quite reconcile herself to it.
The truth was, Hermione was scared. Scared that she was going to lose her best friend when he'd barely even had a chance to live. In fact, Hermione thought she would have given a great deal, a very great deal, to give Harry a normal life. Any other boy his age could have spent time missing his girlfriend, but Harry had skipped those feelings in his grief for Sirius and his struggle to accept that he must kill or be killed.
So, it was difficult for Hermione to pay Ginny's concerns the attention she usually did, and she had drifted into a reverie, almost without knowing, contemplating the months and years to come.
"Hermione," Ginny cried, "Hermione look."
"What!" she said, startled.
"Look what Dean drew me," Ginny said, holding out the manuscript.
Covering the bottom half of the page was a neat little sketch of Ginny on her broom, one hand stretched out to catch the Snitch. Her face was set in almost comical determination and her hair was blown back by the wind.
"Wow." Hermione said. "Dean's got even better. How is it you attract these artistic boyfriends?"
"What?" Ginny said quizzically.
"Oh, you know, Michael and his sonnets, Dean and his drawings…"
"Michael never wrote any sonnets, he just threatened to. And I don't know; maybe it's my stunning poetic gifts." Ginny said innocently.
"Ginny dear," Hermione said wisely, "I'm very fond of you, but you haven't a poetic bone in your body."
"Does it have to be a bone," Ginny said, "Can't it be a…soft tissue, or cartilage maybe?"
"The point, Ginny."
Ginny shook her head dramatically. "Fine then," she said, "I, Ginny Weasley, am a philistine, with no appreciation for art or culture. I'm a terrible girlfriend for Dean and clearly he should know better."
Hermione nodded approvingly. "That sounds about right."
"Yeah well…maybe I can be his Muse."
They were silent for a moment, and Hermione could just hear Harry shouting at his knight upstairs. Perhaps that he always played Ron tended to skew her judgement, but Harry never seemed to improve at chess.
Ginny looked at Hermione seriously and said, "Are you all right?"
"What?"
"It's just…you keep drifting off, and I thought maybe there was something on your mind."
Hermione sighed, hating that she had to lie to Ginny, and trying to think of a plausible excuse. "I suppose," she said slowly, "I just worry that this summer will be the last summer when…when it's just the three of us, all together. I mean next year Harry could be anywhere and…I miss when things were simple and…better, and it was just us."
"Oh." Ginny said flatly. A moment later she swung herself down from her seat and said, "I think you should go watch the chess match."
"Are you sure?" Hermione said, feeling suddenly guilty. "I kind of wanted to talk to you."
"Hermione," Ginny said kindly, though her face was a little sad, "You were barely even listening to me. And I should probably rescue Mum from Phlegm anyway."
"Well…if you're sure."
Ginny evidently was sure, for she hustled Hermione out the door and ran down to the kitchen as fast as possible. Hermione spent the rest of the evening with Ron and Harry. It was certainly pleasant, but she couldn't help feeling that she'd made some kind of blunder, a feeling that only intensified when she went back to Ginny's room and found her asleep on the bed.
When they'd stayed in Grimmauld Place they'd developed the habit of getting ready for bed together – a hum of conversation accompanying the brushing of hair and changing of clothes. It was a small ritual, but one Hermione enjoyed. She'd been glad to pick it back up this summer, and that Ginny had chosen not to wait for her was most unusual.
Hermione got into bed with an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach.
Things did not improve the next morning.
Ron scarcely noticed of course, but Ginny was not her usual talkative self, and when Mrs Weasley asked her to do a message in the village she jumped at the chance. Much to Harry's disappointment, this meant they were unable to play Quidditch, and the rest of the day passed in desultory attempts at conversation.
The moment Ginny returned, Harry cornered her and said that she absolutely, positively had to go flying with him, having abandoned them that morning. Ginny's face, which had worn a somewhat thoughtful expression, brightened somewhat at this, and she agreed quickly.
Hermione was too hot to fly, and Ron claimed he was too full from lunch, though he certainly seemed to have enough energy to flick water at her, and so they only watched. Ginny and Harry were evenly matched – his broom was about fifty times better than Ginny's, but his goal-scoring ability, frankly, was not, and the end result was thirteen-twelve to Ginny.
Naturally, they fell to chatting afterwards, as they went in for Harry's birthday tea. Hermione watched as Harry went out of his way to have Ginny sit beside him, even pulling out her chair, and Ginny ruffled his hair teasingly as she explained his birthday present (the first she'd ever given him), a specially charmed headband to keep his messy hair out of his eyes during Quidditch matches.
Hermione suspected that Harry was enjoying this attention, and she looked at Ginny significantly; this was exactly the kind of thing she'd been talking about. Ginny blushed under this scrutiny, and starting eating her treacle tart extremely rapidly – thankfully, Harry didn't notice as he'd started a conversation with Remus.
Hermione was sorry for it though later, when Ginny seemed about to slink off upstairs. She claimed she was tired, or had a headache, and would, Hermione suspected, have used any number of excuses to avoid them, had not Harry forestalled her by asking her to join in a moonlit game of Quidditch.
Hermione, admittedly, was becoming thoroughly sick of playing on such a regular basis – especially as Ron never failed to draw attention to her unfortunate lack of ability (something Hermione found rather irritating, given his performances over the last year.)
Ginny however seemed to regain her more usual good mood as they played. Perhaps it was the night – the air was dewy and warm, a thin slice of moon shone overhead, and there was a wind blowing that seemed to promise any number of exciting events. In any case, by the end of the match she was recounting the story of one of her first flights, when she'd been caught in a rainstorm and had inadvertently flown into the hen house. She claimed to have been the cause of the hen house's seemingly permanent condition of imminent collapse.
Ron was particularly amused by this story, and even Hermione had to acknowledge the humour of a pint sized Ginny destroying a solid wooden shed.
Thankfully, Ginny waited for her that evening, and as she was dragging a hairbrush through her red locks, Hermione searched for a way to repair the damage of the night before. Finding the words, however, was difficult, and Hermione was on the verge of giving up, when Ginny said, "Do you think…do you think Harry still likes Cho?"
Hermione stared at her. "I definitely don't." She said. "Why?"
"Oh," Ginny said, chewing on her bottom lip. "I saw her today – that's why I was so late…"
"You saw her?" Hermione asked, unable entirely to contain her surprise.
"Yeah. She was going to visit the Diggorys, so I…I showed her the right way. I said…I said she could come have tea or whatever, if she wanted to talk, but…obviously she didn't."
"Yeah." Hermione said, slightly preoccupied. She was surprised that Ginny could be so gracious – she and Cho simply didn't like each other, it was well known, and Hermione had to respect her willingness to set that ill-feeling aside.
"I just wondered," Ginny said, "If I should tell Harry, if maybe he'd want to know… What do you think?"
It took some effort for Hermione to pull her many thoughts together. "I think," she said, "It's none of his business. Besides, he has enough to worry about right now."
"I know," Ginny said regretfully. "Visiting Fortescue's used to be such a thrill when we were younger, and now…"
Her voice trailed off sadly, and a small sigh escaped her lips. "I just feel so old, Hermione."
Smiling, Hermione embraced her friend, thinking that she didn't know the half of it.