Chapter Thirty

Knock, knock, knock.

Ginny stood on Hermione's doorstep, half wanting to cry, half wanting to scream. After a too-brief moment of waiting, Ginny knocked again, pounding on the door over and over, unable to stop. Under her fist, it opened abruptly, and Ginny had to stop herself from punching Hermione in the stomach.

"Good Lord, Ginny, you look a wreck," she said, widening the opening in the door and gesturing her friend inside. "What on earth is going on?" Hermione was obviously asking to be polite; there was no way she didn't know what could bring Ginny to her door at night on a weekend.

"Harry and I are done," Ginny blurted. Nothing was making sense in her mind. She knew she had made the right decision somehow, but she'd been with Harry in some sense for so long that being without him seemed off. She was looking out onto a different world. "I broke things off. I only meant to tell him that I was going to travel without him but somehow … somehow we just…"

The dim light of Hermione's living room seemed to suck her words away, gathering them in the shadows cast by furniture and lampshades. As Ginny told her the whole story, Hermione sat silently, waiting patiently as Ginny repeatedly gathered herself, paused, retold things, gestured wildly, and speculated about everything. Finally, when she was done, both women sat in silence for a while. Hermione looked kind and sad, staring more through Ginny than at her. Ginny herself couldn't meet her friend's eyes; she didn't feel strong enough somehow. Her confession had worn her out.

"Ginny…" Hermione said finally, her voice gentle, "do you think you did the right thing?"

Ginny was unresponsive for a moment. Did she? Had she done the right thing? She nodded.

Hermione sighed. "I'd hoped this wouldn't be how it ended up," she said. "I'd hoped things would be slower, more amicable … Or maybe I just hoped you wouldn't break up at all." She paused for a moment, a wry half-smile wrenching her lips up. "Ron and I just got engaged," she said. "I guess I just … I wanted us to be a happy family. Us four. Your mum and dad and brothers. Me and Harry…"

"Hermione," Ginny said, hoarsely breaking her silence, "I just need a place to stay for a little while. I'm going to the Prophet tomorrow to get my trip scheduled; it'll be within the month. It won't be long; I've got money, I can pay for things, I just need…"

Ginny trailed off. Hermione was shaking her head ominously, sadly. "Ginny, I can't," she said. "I can't take sides here. You and Harry … you're my best friends in this whole world. Even Ron…" She paused. The sadness in her voice was painted on her face, and her eyes were shining. Ginny had an ominous feeling about this silence, but she wasn't sure how it could be worse than what her best friend had already said. "Even Ron is on a different level. I care more about you, and I care more about Harry. And I can't choose one of you over the other. Harry will probably be here soon to tell me what you've just told me, Ginny, and I can't have either of you thinking that one of you has more of my sympathy."

Ginny was stunned, but it was muted. She felt blunted off, unable to feel anything strongly. Maybe her body was just shutting down in general. "Where else can I go?" she asked. "You know I can't stay with my brothers, Fleur just sent me the photos of her and Victoire in Giza with Bill, Charlie's in Romania, Percy is God-knows-where, George and Alicia are too busy being happy about their pregnancy, Ron is…" As Ginny said Ron's name, Hermione's face seemed to shut off. "Hermione, is something going on between you and Ron?"

Hermione was silent for a moment, her face still unmoving. Then she met Ginny's eyes. "I want you to follow your heart, Ginny," she said, a small but glowing smile crossing her face, "because I know you're right. It's not right to stay with someone you don't … you don't feel it's right to be with. I can't leave Ron," she said simply. "I don't have your strength, I guess, or really the drive or hope. But, Ginny, you have to find your own happiness."

Ginny smiled a little, muted still. "But where do I go?" she asked. "I need somewhere to stay while I work this out. I can't go to Dennis; we're coworkers now. Family is out of the question; it sounds like you've got your own things to work out … What - Hermione, why-?"

Hermione shook her head. "Just work on your own problems, Ginny," she murmured. "I'll call you when I think you're ready. If ever," she added, one corner of her mouth twisting up wryly. "As for where you can go … I guess I'll say what I've always been thinking, what I've - sort of - been saying for a while."

Ginny held her breath. She wasn't sure why, but it felt like Hermione had the key. Something she'd said before…

"You should go talk to Oliver."

When Ginny knocked on the door of the art studio, it was in a slightly more composed frame of mind. The rain pouring down on her head only served to calm her more; her mood was mirrored in the clouds, and it was strangely comforting to feel that nature was on her side. She hoped Oliver was still at work. She had no idea what she was going to say - or, rather, she had no idea how she was going to say what she had to say. She only knew she needed to say it.

Just when she was going to give up and get a (disgusting) room at the Leaky Cauldron for a whole month, the studio door opened. There was Oliver, paint spattering his face and arms, brows descending heavily like storm clouds. However, when his eyes met hers, they raised and cleared. "Ginny," he said, startled, backing away to allow her inside, and maybe to collect himself a little. "You've interrupted a rather nice painting I was working on."

"Sorry," Ginny replied briefly, casting a drying spell on herself and shivering slightly as the water siphoned off her skin. "I need a place to stay."

Oliver seemed slightly surprised at her bluntness, but met her eyes fairly. "And, you came to me then," he said, a trace of amusement seeping into his voice. "All your brothers busy? Hermione got a full house?" He seemed to instinctively know to stay away from Harry, but Ginny felt like she had to mention him. She was letting her intuition lead her through this conversation, which always seemed to work best with Oliver.

"Harry and I've broken up. Well," she amended, "I've broken up with Harry. I've also taken a job with the Prophet in a month or so. I'll pay you rent and everything, I'm a good housemate, magic makes it easy to store my things, and I promise I won't always be interrupting your paintings."

"You've sold me already," Oliver said, wiping his forearm over his forehead. All it did was smear more paint on his face. Ginny suppressed a dangerous-looking thought about how cute Oliver looked and how nice it would be to travel, write, and paint with him and I haven't even decided that yet. "But you only have to pay rent and such if you want to. What's your job with the Prophet? I hope you don't mind sleeping in small quarters because the 'spare bedroom'-" he accented with air quotes "-is basically a closet. My apartment is just barely big enough for me. This isn't to say that I mind having you," he added, responding to Ginny's mouth opening in protest, "just to warn you of what your lot will be. You should know, Ginny," he continued, his voice dropping seriously, "my feelings about you haven't changed. This is basically a dream come true for me."

"I know," Ginny sighed. "I think that's why I came to talk to you, even though it's fairly outside my nature. You won't turn me away. Hermione did."

Oliver's eyes crinkled sympathetically. "Now, no one in your place needs that," he said, opening his arms and wrapping Ginny in a very warm hug that smelled of paint fumes. For the first time since she'd been scrubbing the floor that afternoon, Ginny felt herself relax. Her body half-collapsed, leaning her against Oliver's strong body, and she wrapped her arms around his waist. She didn't cry; she was glad Hermione had seen that part of her reaction cycle and not Oliver.

"Thanks," she whispered. Oliver didn't respond, and at first she thought perhaps he didn't hear her, but his arms did tighten around her slightly, and then she was sure he had.

AN: Sorry I'm late! I'll try to keep updating every week, but it may not be on Mondays as usual since school is starting to heat up. Thanks for sticking with me! As I'm sure you can tell, we're VERY close to the end!-TheGoldenAge