Chapter Nineteen

By Monday, which George had courteously (and unnecessarily, as it turned out) given her off as well, Ginny felt almost perfect. She had taken her leftover headache potion just in case, but the ache in her head had been noticeably absent from the moment she woke up. She spent the day doing housework and wishing, in a rare moment of loneliness, that Harry could have taken off work as well. However, her boredom was relieved in the early afternoon by a knock on the door.

"Two visitors in two days?" Ginny said out loud as she put aside her broom and dusted her hands off self-consciously. "What could we possibly have done to earn this honor?"

Ginny removed the wards, still chuckling, and opened the front door to reveal Ron Weasley on her doorstep. She stepped back, slightly surprised - though she wasn't quite sure why. Ron wasn't only her brother; he was also her boyfriend's closest friend. "Hey," she said, unable to come up with anything more eloquent in her unreasonable surprise.

"Hey," Ron replied, oblivious to any awkwardness as usual. He smiled widely. "Mind if I step in for a mo'? I've only got a few minutes before I have to get back to work. I mean, it probably won't matter much since Harry's the supervisor today, but still."

Ginny smiled back, regaining some of her composure with the soothing familiarity of her brother's voice. "Sure, of course," she said, stepping aside to let Ron through. Ginny closed the door behind him, not bothering to redo the wards. "So what's up, big brother?"

Ron stuck his hands in his pockets and leaned casually against a wall. "Hermione disappeared for a few hours afternoon, and I got sort of worried when she said she'd popped over to your place," he said. "I don't know, it seemed odd for her to visit you on a Sunday afternoon for hours at a time, and I just wanted to make sure sh-" Ron stopped, cutting himself off hastily, with a guilty glance at the floor. "I wanted to make sure things were all right," he finished weakly.

Ginny frowned at her brother. "Things would be better if you weren't always breathing down your poor fiancee's neck," she scolded. "Seriously, Ron, why on earth would you think anything untoward was happening? Hermione's the most trustworthy person I've ever known. I've told her literally everything since I was thirteen and she's never told anyone anything I didn't want them to know. Why on earth would she do anything that you'd need to be worried about?"

Ron sighed slightly. "I dunno, Ginny," he said. "It's stupid, but I've been having a lot of dreams about the … well, the whole Horcrux thing."

Ginny narrowly prevented a sigh from escaping her lips. She knew her brother could be stupid but this was really too much. Hermione had never given Ron (or Ginny herself, for that matter) any reason to believe that she was or could be involved in anything underhanded. "Ron, you know Hermione loves you. Hell, you two have been together for what, five years?" Ron nodded, looking a strange mixture of proud and confused. "Don't sweat it. Especially this time," Ginny added, looking slightly reproachfully at her brother. "Yesterday Hermione came over to visit me, as I'd just gotten out of hospital."

"What?" Ron nearly exploded, ears turning slightly pink. "Why on earth were you in the hospital?" His gaze dropped slightly and he squinted. "Have you got a bun in the oven and didn't tell any of us?"

Ginny laughed. "No, of course not," she said. "Mum's got a sixth sense for babies anyway, so there's no way I'd be able to hide that. No, I went to a Quidditch match with Harry on Saturday and got hit with a Bludger." Sweeping her hair out of the way, Ginny displayed the quickly-fading mark where the Healers had stitched her head up. "I'm fine, before you go worrying."

"I figured you were," Ron replied. "If Harry was at work you couldn't have been hurt too badly. That bloke's mad about you, you know."

"He rarely lets me forget," Ginny said, her voice flat but a wry grin on her face. She wasn't sure which form of expression really conveyed her attitude, but she let that train of thought continue unfollowed. "If that's all you needed, I've still got soup and frozen yogurt left over from yesterday that I'd like to eat."

"Oh, right," said Ron, always one to understand the importance of eating. "Yeah, just wanted to make sure you were all right. Ginny," he hesitated, pausing in the open doorway and turning back to look at his sister, "you're sure everything's all right … between Hermione and I, I mean."

Ginny smiled. "Ron, you and your wife-to-be have no problems to speak of, as far as I'm concerned," she assured him. Really, it was absurd for her brother to be so jealous over his fiancee; Hermione probably didn't even know what attraction felt like outside of Ron. "Now get back to work before Harry gets your arse fired."

Ron grinned. "Thanks, Ginny," he said, and with a swish and a twirl, he was gone.

Ginny sighed. She loved her brother, but sometimes she felt like Hermione might deserve a better model. She was about to go back to her housework when - wonder of wonders - another knock sounded on the door. She frowned, wondering whether it was Ron having forgotten to tell her something. She guessed it wasn't; he probably would have just barged right back in. She opened the door, bizarrely cautious, but it turned out to be Oliver Wood standing on the porch step this time.

Instantly, everything Hermione had said came flooding back to her. Strangely, she didn't care so much; what also came flooding back was the warmth of Oliver's hands and the strength of his arms in the hospital. Ginny found herself blushing as she smiled at her visitor. "Hey," she said, her voice only cracking slightly. She cleared her throat.

"Hi, Ginny," Oliver replied, either oblivious to or ignoring her awkwardness. "I just wanted to stop by and see how you were doing."

"How sweet," Ginny said, stepping back so Oliver could come inside. "You didn't have to do that. Although," she added, a thought suddenly occurring to her, "I'm a little curious as to how you knew I lived here."

Oliver chuckled, heading straight to the kitchen and planting himself on a barstool. Normally Ginny was annoyed by that kind of behavior, but when Oliver did it, it seemed strangely comfortable. "It's not exactly a secret that your boyfriend lives here," he said, "and I'd guessed that you too lived together."

"Guessed, huh?" Ginny asked, curiosity piqued.

"Yeah," Oliver said. "You two just move around each other like you're used to it. And the way you talk…" He paused for a moment, breaking eye contact with Ginny for the first time as he searched for words. "Like you've already decided which of you is which, you know?"

Ginny didn't understand what he said on an intellectual level, but somewhere inside her she shivered. Oliver's perception seemed ominous. "Yeah, well, I guess we're pretty used to each other now," she said, forcing lightness. "We've been living together for a few months now."

"Do you like it?" Oliver asked. Ginny was somewhat surprised; most people just smiled and offered platitudes of 'that's so nice' and 'you must be so happy.' Hardly anyone asked her opinion.

"Well, yeah," Ginny said slowly. "Of course. I mean, sometimes it gets a little tricky; Harry and I don't always get along but no couple does. And it's usually pretty nice having such a big house. We sometimes have people stay and that's nice. Sometimes my mum and dad come over for a few nights if they want to shop in London, so I'm really glad I can do that for my parents."

Oliver frowned. "So you're saying the reason you like living with your boyfriend is because you like the house?"

"No, of course that's not it," Ginny said, anger rising in her - or maybe it was embarrassment. Either way it seemed fairly rude of her painting teacher, almost a stranger to her, to come into her house and tell her what was wrong with her relationship. "The sex is great."

Oliver's eyes jerked to meet hers, and Ginny felt her face darkening, this time definitely with embarrassment. "I'm sorry," she began, "I didn't mean to say that."

"It's all right," Oliver said, his voice slightly cautious but still friendly, "we're all adults here." There was an uncomfortable moment of silence as Oliver looked at her appraisingly. After a minute or so he finally spoke again. "Anyway, I'm sorry," he said. "The reason I came here was to ask how you were. I'm guessing by the broom I see in the corner over there that you're feeling better. Although," he added slyly, "I notice you're not above cheating George out of a day at work."

Ginny grinned. "He offered it to me," she said. "I'd never want to cheat anyone, much less my brother-cum-boss."

Oliver smiled. The tension had eased. "Well, I don't want to overburden you with my presence, seeing as you'll hopefully be at painting class later," he said, standing again and stretching his neck. "I'm glad to see you're feeling better, and…" He hesitated. Now he looked slightly awkward and Ginny found herself apprehensive once again. "I wanted to make sure I didn't make you uncomfortable in the hospital on Saturday. I know I probably overstepped the student-teacher-slash-casual-acquaintance boundaries a little and … well, Ginny, I frankly don't want to make you uncomfortable," he said in a bit of a rush. "I really like you. I want us to become good friends. I mean, not to sound like some wannabe lover or anything, but I really did feel some kind of connection to you that first day in class. I don't want there to be trouble between us, okay?"

Ginny didn't answer for a moment. A strange feeling had trickled through her when Oliver had said "lover"; it was schoolgirlish, really. She felt warm and cold all over briefly. "Right," she said, when she could finally speak. "Of course. I want us to be friends too."

Oliver had been looking at her expectantly, and at her agreement he broke into a smile. "Thanks, Ginny," he said happily. "I'm really glad to hear it. All right," he added, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek, "I'm really getting out of your hair now. Mind if I just Apparate from here?" He didn't wait for a reply and spun quickly, disappearing from the kitchen as suddenly as he had appeared at the front door.

Ginny felt with her hand the warm spot that seemed to be boiling and burning on her cheek where his lips had brushed her skin. It was no more than a whisper, but Ginny could not shake the feeling that something important was going on. She was not looking forward to telling Hermione what had happened.

Author's Note: The plot is thickening, dear readers! If things may seem abrupt, remember that Ginny probably doesn't understand Oliver quite as well as he understands her- not yet, anyway! Enjoy!-TheGoldenAge