Disclaimer: I don't own anything even remotely related to Harry Potter, except a little bit of merchandise.
Notes: Hello! I know it's been forever (again!) and I apologize (as always) but this chapter refused to take shape for the longest time. And even once the ideas took over my head and ran away with me, the words still would not organize themselves on the page the way I wanted them too. I still don't like some things about this chapter (which may be revised quite a bit at some later date in hopes of remedying this problem) but I was so excited about my birthday that I thought I'd share the joy and give all of you a little gift too. So, after much haste and little editing…chapter four! Enjoy!
Chapter Four: Variant Violence
It felt like something was missing. She fisted a hand on her hip with a sigh and examined the counter. "No, that's everything," she muttered to herself, after mentally ticking off each ingredient for the third time. Frustrated with the persistent nagging doubt that no matter how many times she checked, something would still be missing, she couldn't help the tiny frown that creased her forehead. She and Ginny were supposed to bake cookies, and they certainly couldn't do so if something was missing…Oh!
"Honestly, of all the things to forget…" she muttered, and made her way out of the kitchen, through the living room, to the bottom of the stairs in the entryway. Placing one hand on the banister and leaning up as though by posture and will alone she could make her daughter hear her, Molly Weasley drew a deep breath and used all the (considerable) lung-power at her disposal to call her truant daughter's name.
"Ginny!"
Now normally, when Molly Weasley went calling for her children, she had some difficulty in finding them. On occasion, she liked to fool herself into thinking that she didn't understand why this was, but in reality, she knew her children hated housework. And since she rarely called for them when she didn't have some chore or other she wanted them to do, they found all sorts of ways to avoid the inevitable. They pretended to be busy, to be writing a letter, to be on an errand for Arthur, to be grievously injured. When most desperate, they worked on homework, or even cleaned their room—because that, at least, they could stop as soon as she was out of sight—but more often than not, they just disappeared. Vanished into thin air, poof! just like that. Molly never understood how they managed it, but she did know that eventually she always managed to track them down. Molly had been a mother for a very long time, and if there was one thing motherhood had taught her, it was perseverance. She would search and she would call until Ginny appeared, or she would die with the effort, and heaven help the child then!
"Ginny!"
Honestly! Molly thought, placing one foot on the first stair and peering up the rickety staircase as if the lack of sound alone wasn't enough to convince her Ginny wasn't coming. Things in this household would be much less hectic if people would just come when called. I don't have nearly this much trouble getting their attention when it's mealtime! She paused at that thought, snorted, and shook her head.
Of course not. Where there was food, there were Weasleys.
"Ginevra Weasley! Don't you make me come up there!" she cried, already starting the inevitable climb to the third story. As expected, there was no response. Sighing, Molly continued her ascent, muttering under her breath the entire way: "I could have sworn I taught you all better than this, and yet every time—Ginny!—I need something done, you all disappear. And you of all people, Ginny. You're supposed to be the sweet, obedient little girl. Ginny!—I raised six boys. Six! I deserve a break. But no," she huffed. "I did not survive Fred and George only to perish looking for you." Half way to her destination, Molly froze and shook her head. What was she doing? She wasn't looking for someone to degnome the garden! There were cookies to be made. She was wasting time! Tilting her head back, Molly raised her voice to carry up the stairs even as she turned to go back down them. "All right then, I guess I'll just have to bake cookies alone!"
A moment's pause and then, "Coming, Mum!"
Where there is food…Smiling a secret, motherly smile, Molly made her way to the kitchen.
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When Ginny had finished baking with her mother (and hiding half the finished product from her brothers), Ginny went upstairs to convince Hermione to help her eat some.
"Hermione!" she sang, flinging open the door to her bedroom. "We have freshly baked, homemade, chocolate chip cookies downstairs! Come eat some with me!"
Hermione looked up from the magazine she was reading and studied Ginny with a doubtful eye.
"Gin, are you sure you don't fancy Harry?"
Ginny gaped. Then gaped some more. Then turned a distinctly Weasley shade of reddish-purple and slammed the door shut behind her.
"Are you mad?" she gasped, still too busy gaping to achieve the glare Hermione knew was coming.
"No. Why?"
"The door was open; someone could have heard you!" Now she glared.
"Please, Ginny, it's only eleven o'clock in the morning. They're both still in bed."
A loud thump from somewhere above just then made both girls jump, followed by Ron's voice, "Give me just a minute Harry, I'll go down and check." A door slammed, and loud pounding footsteps descended to the third floor, made their way down the hall past Ginny's room, and continued on down the stairs. Ginny glared at Hermione, who looked distinctly (and aggravatingly, annoyingly) nonplussed.
"Still in bed, huh?"
"I know I'm brilliant, Gin, but even I can't control Harry and Ron. If they decide to break their habit and get up early for once, I certainly can't stop them."
Ginny growled in frustration and turned to leave, but Hermione's voice stopped her.
"Aren't you going to answer the question?"
Ginny shot her a questioning glare, and Hermione sighed.
"Are you sure you don't fancy him?"
"Why is this coming up again?"
Hermione gestured to the magazine she'd been reading, one of Ginny's that she'd picked up due to boredom and a morbid curiosity. "Well, it's just that this month's Teen Witch Weekly says that Harry is one of the most eligible bachelors between the ages of fifteen and twenty-five, and that the 'soon to be sixteen year old is catching a lot looks from witches of all ages. With his charming smile, beautiful green eyes, and rugged good looks, this hero in the making surely won't be single for long.' So, I just wanted to know if you were sure. Because you may lose your chance soon you know, what with his being so eligible and all." Hermione looked up from the glossy pages to see Ginny staring at her, face steadily turning red, as she glared at the magazine in Hermione's hands.
"Of all the—as if he'd be interested in any of the hags who'd come hounding after him anyway!" she exploded. "Honestly! He's far too smart for that and besides, they'd have to be old and desperate to go chasing a sixteen-year-old boy just because of a stupid magazine article like that!"
"But it doesn't say he'll be dating someone who reads the article, it just says 'he won't be single for long.' He could end up dating anyone. Someone at school for instance."
"Please! If there were anyone at school he were interested in, don't you think he would be dating them by now?"
"Well—"
" Of course he would! But he's not. And do you know why?" She didn't even pause to give the other girl a chance to take a breath much less answer (or bring up the Cho debacle of the previous school year), and she certainly didn't notice the sly grin growing on Hermione's face. "Because they're all pinheads, that's why. Not a single one is worth his time, and he's smart enough to know it."
"Ginny, I think you—"
"Not to mention the fact that most of them would only want him because he's famous."
"Ginny, I think you should—"
"And rich. Harry wants a girl who's dating him for himself, not for his image or his money!"
Hermione, still smiling slightly, sighed and cut in, "Ginny, can't you just admit, just this once, and then never again, that you thoroughly and completely love him?"
Ginny froze. "You want me to lie to you?"
"No, I want you to stop lying to me."
"Who's lying?"
"Do you fancy him?"
"No!"
"Then you're lying"
"Well, it's not like you have any room to talk, miss I'm in love with Ron Weasley!" Ginny snapped.
"Ginny!" Hermione protested, blushing somewhat. "How many times do I have to tell you that I am not in love with your brother?"
"Right. Which is why the two of you have those absolutely sickening eye conversations." Ginny rolled her eyes and moved to sit on the bed beside her friend.
"What? Ginny, what in the world is an 'eye conversation'?"
"You know, those unspoken 'I love you but won't admit it even to myself and neither will you so instead of just getting to the snogging already we'll just sit here and throw each other longing glances of un-admitted and unrecognized love' sort of conversations."
"We do not do anything such thing!" Hermione exclaimed indignantly.
Ginny snickered. "You do so! And the worst is when you're looking at him when he's occupied with something else. Then you go from 'shy hesitant' to 'screaming at the top of my lungs' sort of looks"
"What!" Hermione gasped
"Oh Ron, you're just amazing!" Ginny interpreted mockingly between bouts of laughter. "I love you so much, Ron!"
"Ginny!" squealed Hermione, now blushing furiously and looking horrified.
"Oh Ron!" Ginny laughed harder, falling onto her back on the bed as she rolled away from Hermione's mortified swat. Her feet hit the floor with a thud as she backed towards the door, barely able to speak through her laughter as she avoided the older girl. "Ron, Ron!" she continued teasing.
"Ginny, shut up!" hissed Hermione, lunging at her.
Ginny cackled and leapt out of the way, slamming back into the door and standing defiantly with her hand on the knob, "My dear Ron, how I do love you! If only I could tell you with words, my dearest Ron—" she cut herself off with a shriek when Hermione, a maniacal glint in her eye, leapt to tackle her. Batting the older girl away with flailing arms, Ginny flung open the door and flew out into the hall. Breathless with laughter, she threw back over her shoulder at the pursuing girl, "if only I could tell you with words how much I adore you, my dearest darling Ronald!" just as she reached the end of the hall near the bathroom and yanked open the door to the back stairs. She dodged back out of Hermione's reach again as the girl caught up with her, causing Hermione to trip on the first stair and fall to the floor with what Ginny was sure was a muffled curse, and took advantage of the distraction to leap over the prone figure of her friend and race ahead of her up the staircase. The thumping sound of pursuit tore up the steps after her, accompanied by Hermione's voice shouting what sounded like a threat, but Ginny only forced her legs to climb faster even as she recklessly taunted back, "My dearest Ronald, how can you not see how much—" She hit the door on the fifth floor level with a thump, threw it open and paused long enough to finish, panting, "how much you mean to me, my heart?" At the sound of Hermione's shriek of outrage, and the sight of her hair rounding the twist in the stair, Ginny let out a shriek of laughter and turned to flee for her life. She raced down the hall at full speed and darted into her brother's open doorway, calling at the top of her lungs as she went, "Ron! Oh Ron! My love, my life, Ron!" Suddenly she ran into something hard and unyielding behind her as she backed quickly away from the door. Her laughter died abruptly. Twisting her head up and back, she found herself staring into the bemused green eyes of Harry Potter. Slowly, he arched one dark eyebrow.
"I never knew you felt that way about him, Gin. I guess it's kind of sweet in a twisted seriously wrong sort of way, but I don't think you should tell him. He probably wouldn't take it well." He smirked down at her.
Ginny stared. Where did he learn how to smirk? I bet it was all those fights with Malfoy. I've never really liked it on the ferret, but on Harry...That expression should be outlawed! she thought furiously. Then his words sank in and she blushed violently.
"Ginny!" Hermione rounded the corner after her, and came to a sudden stop as she found Ginny leaning back against Harry, her head tilted back against his chest as she looked up at him. Before Hermione could lash out with an embarrassing but witty comment about Ginny's obviously fancying Hermione's best friend, the redhead's gaze jerked down to meet hers and she suddenly erupted into laughter again. Hermione growled.
"Oh, good Harry, you're here. Hold her for me, will you, while I kill her."
Ginny's eyes shot wide, her laughter cutting off with an "eep!" before she dove around behind Harry to avoid the embarrassed girl. This didn't stop Hermione, for Harry was her best friend, and she simply reached around him to grasp at the younger girl.
"Get back here, Ginny Weasley," Hermione threatened as the redhead continued to circle away from her around the poor boy caught between them, "or so help me I'll say things about you and eye conversations!" Ginny, who had finally circled around so that she was on the door side of Harry and was making a swift bid for freedom, whirled around. "You wouldn't dare."
Hermione's eyes were triumphant as she crossed her arms over her chest smugly. "Try me."
Ginny, backing away, and shaking her head, ran suddenly into Ron, who was just coming in the door.
"What's going on up here!" he demanded, gazing around his room.
"Ron!" gasped Hermione, coloring in dismay that he might have overheard.
"Ron!" echoed Ginny, her tone and the look she shot Hermione sly. "Oh Ron!" she sang out. "We have some things to discuss, brother mine."
"Oh no you don't," Hermione stalked forward, and took Ginny's arm in hers. "Come on, Gin, I'm sure we can come to some kind of compromise here, right?"
"Sure, let's talk about it over some of mum's cookies and milk."
Ron watched them leave, then shot a questioning look at Harry, who shook his head, shrugged, and picked up a copy of Quidditch Through the Ages.
Ron stood there a moment longer trying to absorb the conversation. In the end he came up with only one thing.
"There are cookies?"
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The next morning found Ginny up before ten (a time of day she liked to pretend didn't even exist during the summer) and completely unable to stand even one more second on her own two feet. She flopped down on her back in the grass with a groan, letting her wand tumble from fingers sore from clenching it too hard.
"Ginny!" Bill cried, scandalized. "Pick that wand up! Never, ever drop your wand or relax your guard."
"Dictator," Ginny muttered in reply, but retrieved her wand. She and Bill were out by the lake behind the Burrow for the first installment of Bill's apology: her defensive magic lessons. "Not that this thing will do me much good, since I can't move, and can't see to move even if I could."
"You might try opening your eyes." Her brother sounded amused.
Ginny frowned as if she were concentrating very hard on following his instructions, then gave a half-hearted shrug. "Nothing doing, I'm afraid. Even my eyelids are exhausted."
"Uh-huh. Gin, we haven't even started spell-work yet." Despite his protest, there was the sound of cloth rustling as he sat down somewhere near her shoulder.
"I know," she told him, "that's the problem! Spell-work I can handle, but all this dodging and feinting and 'proper stance' work is hard on a girl. You realize it's summer, right? My body's trained for sleep and as much laziness as I can get in between chores."
"The best defense is avoidance," Bill replied, adopting again the tone she referred to as his "teacher voice" which he had been using all morning. "You don't ever want to be where a dangerous spell might hit you. Only use defensive magic when you absolutely have to, because it pits your strength to shield against your opponent's strength to strike at you, and you can't always be certain who will win."
"I know," Ginny told him, and she did—he'd told her all this before they'd started their training session. Even so—she made no effort to get up again.
"And you can't use defensive magic effectively if you don't use the proper stance. You'll never be quick nor agile enough to properly shield yourself if you don't train your body to move correctly."
"I know," she agreed.
She could practically feel Bill eyeing her critically, and when she refused to open her eyes to look at him, heard him sigh. He reached out and lifted her wrist from the ground before letting it go. She made no effort to stop him, and her hand hit the ground with a dull thud. Bill sighed again.
"That's it," he muttered, "I'm putting you on a strict exercise schedule too. You're going to do stretches and dueling drills for at least half an hour every day until you don't have this problem anymore."
"Ew," she groaned, but offered no other protest. She might not enjoy this aspect of her training, but she really did want to learn it; she wanted to be able to defend herself in the field, to be one less person for others to worry about defending. What was the point in healing others if she couldn't keep from being the one who needed healing herself?
Bill laughed at her, then reached out and ruffled her hair. "I think we'll start on spell-work next week or the week after, depending on how soon I can get permission for you to do underage magic outside of school and how you're doing with your exercises. We'll start with the real basic stuff first until I get a feel for how much you already know—besides you never know when one of those elementary little spells might save your life—but eventually we'll get to things like the Homorphus Charm or Protego, and then—"Bill trailed off when he caught sight of the look on Ginny's face. "What?
She blushed, and threw an arm across her eyes as though to protect herself from embarrassment. "Ummm…I already know that one," she told him quietly, voice slightly muffled.
"You know protego?"
"Yeah."
"But even some of the sixth years have problems with that one. I remember how much—"
"I know Bill," she interrupted, "but Harry taught some of us back when we were part of DA, and—I don't know, it just clicked with me."
"Wow, Gin...For a witch of your age—well," he seemed impressed. "I always knew you were powerful, but... wow."
"You already said that," she pointed out helpfully.
"Cute." She could hear the grin in his voice. "All right, we cut protego then and just work on the Homorphus Charm and maybe some stealth sensoring spells. I'll have to work on a list of offensive spells you should probably learn too, but for now, let's take a break, since you seem so determined to laze in the sun. The twins should be here in less than an hour anyway, and unless we want to be answering half a dozen questions about what we're doing, it's best that we—" He cut himself off again when she jolted upright, staring at him with a horrified expression. "What?"
"The twins are coming when?"
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Looking around, taking in the soft blues and lavenders, the pale pinks and baby yellows that decorated her entirely too vulnerable bedroom, Ginny began to curse.
This was bad.
Fred and George were supposed to arrive today. How had she forgotten that Fred and George were supposed to arrive today? Today! And she hadn't even begun to prepare.
This was so bad.
Not that she didn't love her brothers. She did, with unashamed abandon, she adored the twins; she always had. And they adored her too. And they were most aggressive protectors. Not in that look-at-her-wrong-and-I'll-tear-your-head-off sort of way that Ron possessed, but in a dangerously underestimated we-may-goof-off-and-play-the-fools-but-we're-actually-really-powerful kind of way, an of-course-we're-smart-we-don't-own-our-own-joke-shop-for-nothing-just-think-of-what-we-could-do-to-you sort of way. They had protected her from everyone, family, friend, or foe from the day she was born. Problem was, there was no one to protect her from them.
No one messed with Fred and George's little sister. Except Fred and George.
Something made her pause in her frantic thoughts. Some sound, some kind of movement, something.
What? she thought, desperately, and flung herself over her bed to the door, pressing her ear against it, listening for more telltale sounds.
And there were sounds, something drifting up the stairwell from the entryway or maybe as far away as the living room, almost a murmuring…
Ginny quietly edged the door open, not enough to make the hinges squeak, but just enough to discern the sounds better. The murmuring was louder now, and she could almost tell what it was.
Wiggling and contorting in all sorts of uncomfortable ways, Ginny squeezed—practically oozed—into her doorframe in an attempt to get her ear a little closer to the source of the noise. Finally, Ginny managed wrap herself around the door enough to get her head out into the hallway without opening the door any farther. Resting her chin on the floorboards—her hands being otherwise occupied supporting her position and holding the door in place to keep it from squeaking—she listened, hard.
Voices!
Like a shot, Ginny was on her feet and back inside her room, slamming the door shut behind her and leaning back against it as she caught her breath. That murmuring sound she'd heard before was definitely the sound of voices and unless she was mistaken, several of them belonged to the twins. At least four or five! Possibly ten! How did they always manage to multiply like that? It seemed like the less prepared she was to defend herself against them, the more of the twins there seemed to be.
What was she going to do? Any moment they could come up here and find her, helpless, hopeless, defenseless in her own room…
That was it! They'd come looking for her in her room, so if she wasn't in her room…she would be safe!
Instantly Ginny was out the door and flying down the hall towards the stairs and the promise of safety in Ron's room. She climbed them in an instant, not bothering to close doors behind her, and skidded to a stop before Ron's bedroom just as a familiar voice floated up to her from way down below, "Hey, where's Ginny?"
They were hunting her! The only way she could possibly hear them from way up here is if they wanted to be heard. They must be practically shouting down there. Oh, this was bad! So, so bad!
Dancing with impatience and a growing sense of dread ("yes," said a matching—menacingly evil!—voice downstairs, "where is our darling little sister?"), Ginny knocked twice on Ron's door and barely forced herself to wait for the soft, "Come in," before throwing it open and flinging it shut behind her. She threw both locks, cursing that she was still underage and unable to add a few locking charms for good measure, then leapt away from the door with a gasp as she heard feet pounding up the stairs.
"She's not here, George," she distinctly heard Fred say loudly from the vicinity of her room, and let out an especially vulgar expletive that had someone chuckling somewhere behind her. She heard footsteps coming across the bedroom, but didn't have time to really think anything of it, because she heard George mention that they should ask Ron, and the sound of feet on the stairs, which meant they were coming here! To Ron's room! And she was turning to run for cover beneath the bed, Harry's cot, inside the wardrobe, in the shadows of a dark corner, anything so long as the twins didn't get a hold of her! And even as she turned to go, there was a pounding on the door, a wiggling of the handle, a startled "It's locked! Well, that just won't do." And she only managed to take three half-running steps towards supposed safety before she was running into someone (again!) and then she was stumbling, falling, except that Harry caught her by the elbows, steadied her, helped her upright, and, looking amused, told her that this habit she was forming of throwing herself at him at every opportunity was getting rather ridiculous, really. Stunned, Ginny flushed from toe to hairline just as the twins burst through the doorway.
And came to a sudden screeching halt.
Taking in the situation rather suspiciously, Fred eyed Harry and crossed his arms over his chest.
"Here now, what do you think you're doing with our little sister, Potter?"
"Yes, what do you think you're doing?" George echoed, looking them over and frowning.
"What?" Ginny screeched, turning even redder, if possible.
Harry just snickered a little and released Ginny's elbows. "I believe I was preventing her from falling on her face. Or from hiding in Ron's wardrobe, I'm not quite sure. Either way, I believe she was attempting to escape from something; she came in here in some kind of panic just a moment ago. Would either of you know why that might be?" Harry returned their suspicious looks, but looking up at him, Ginny could see the laughter in his eyes.
"Panic? Here now, Ginny-girl, what's the trouble?" George demanded.
There was a slightly deranged gleam in Fred's eye as he agreed with his brother—the one they always got when vengeful prank opportunities cropped up. "Yes, just tell your big brothers what's bothering you, Ginny-my-Ginny, and we'll take care of it straight off."
Ginny, admittedly, was rather embarrassed by this whole situation. She hated to admit weakness in front of her brothers, especially these brothers. It was all she could do to convince them all of her ability to take care of herself as it was, she didn't need them knowing that there were things she actually had trouble dealing with. Especially when two of those things happened to be her brothers themselves. But she knew Fred and George. Now that their overprotective brother hackles were up, they'd not drop the subject until they obtained the information they wanted—in this case, that she was afraid of confronting their pranks. Oh the shame of having to admit that to them! Especially when she normally dealt with them just fine. It was just the rare moments when she was unprepared, like today! Really! And—Oh! Curse the twins, both of them! In addition, this was the—the—the—she couldn't even remember how many times it had been, but she knew she'd ended up in Harry's arms far too many times in the last few days—most of them completely unintentional—and every time it did strange things to her. Like make her blush uncontrollably, or stammer, or turning her into this timid speechless lump of embarrassed Ginny, and she was never like that! She hated being like that! It just went to show that she absolutely did not fancy Harry Potter; how could she fancy someone who made her feel like something she hated?
Take that Hermione! And Charlie! And anyone else who might decide to bring the possibility up, ever, for the rest of her life!
"Ginny?"
Abruptly shaken from her thoughts, Ginny blushed again and inwardly cursed George for triggering the seemingly automatic new response. When she caught his inquiring look, she blushed harder and mumbled something unintelligible.
"What was that, love?" Fred asked.
Not quite believing she was doing this, Ginny moaned, knowing that avoiding the issue was a lost cause. She waved her hands, flustered, and opened and closed her mouth in an effort to speak. "It's the two of you!" she cried finally, and without even thinking about it, she turned quickly to Harry, gripping the sides of his shirt and hiding her face against his chest in mortification, only burrowing closer when he instinctively embraced her and took a step back to balance them. No matter how awkward she felt in his presence lately, she subconsciously knew the safest place in any room was the place where Harry stood; the closer she was to him, the safer she felt. In this moment of fearful uncertainty, her brothers watched as, for the first time they could remember, she instinctively turned to someone else for protection and support. The motion triggered matching looks of dawning understanding on the twins' faces, which almost instantly transformed into wicked, tight-lipped smiles paired with dangerously sharp-eyed gazes aimed directly at one Harry Potter. He didn't understand the reason for the sudden menace being shown him by men he had, until two seconds ago, considered good friends, but was smart enough to understand it that boded ill for him regardless, and probably had something to do with Ginny.
The brave, selfless, noble future hero of the wizarding world gulped at the promise in their eyes. Satisfied, the twins turned their dangerous looks to the back of their sister's bent head.
"Now, now, Ginny, nothing to be worried about," George reassured her, his innocent, calming voice a direct contradiction to the light of danger in his eyes. Head still bent into Harry's chest, Ginny missed the duality, and trustingly pulled her head back a little to glance at him out of the corner of her eye.
"Why not?"
"My dear sister," Fred began, voice equally deceptive as he physically removed Ginny from Harry's arms and firmly tucked her under his own, "we just came up after a little Quidditch, that's all."
"Really?" she asked, glancing suspiciously back and forth between them. "No tricks, or pranks, or anything else?"
"No tricks, we promise," George assured her, coming up on her other side. "We just want a good game, and we can't have it without our number one Seeker."
"I thought you said last time that Charlie was your number one Seeker?"
"Yes, well, Bill picked Charlie for his Seeker, which leaves us you for our number one. Isn't that spiffing?"
"Gee, thanks," she muttered. "I think I'll play Chaser."
"Wonderful!" George cried. "We were hoping you'd say that. Harry!"
"What?" Harry was still eyeing them suspiciously; the twins were sending him matching disarming grins, as if their eyes hadn't been tearing him limb from limb not five minutes ago, and it was making him nervous.
"We need you to play Seeker, old chap!" Fred told him. "No offense, love," he added, turning back to Ginny, who was scowling. "We asked you first, didn't we?"
"Out of love and loyalty, perhaps," she muttered, peeved.
"Perhaps," George agreed, "but we did ask you. Now!" He clapped his hands together, "all this hiding and scowling is just not on. We've only just arrived, and—"
"—we haven't seen you in ages!" Fred finished. "Come give us kisses, Ginny-love, and show your brothers how much you miss us when we're away!"
Never having been able to resist their charming smiles and enthusiastic demands for attention, Ginny found herself grinning despite herself and gracefully giving in as they led her out the door.
Left standing alone in the empty orange room he shared with Ron, Harry found himself thinking, with a shudder, that it might be much safer for him to just stay in for the rest of the summer. Or follow Ginny's example and hide in the wardrobe. Even the Dursleys had to be better than facing the twins again.
Well, they can't be worse than Voldemort.
Right?
Sighing, the Boy-Who-Lived gathered his broom and his Quidditch gloves and headed out the door like a man to his doom.
What did I ever do to deserve this life?
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"Yes, Mum, I know. Be careful. Don't fly too fast. Don't get too rough with the boys, in fact, don't roughhouse period. Don't fly too high. Don't do any risky tricks or take any other unnecessary chances. Don't have any fun whatsoever, so on and so forth. I know, Mum. I'll be careful."
Molly ignored her daughter's griping and continued readjusting the straps on Ginny's armguards for her. "You forgot 'don't fly too close to the other players,' and 'keep both hands on the broom at all times,' dear," Molly corrected. "There," she added, flattening the last strap into place and stepping back to admire her handiwork. "That's perfect. I suppose you may go on down to join the others now. That is, if you're sure you wouldn't rather help fix lunch…?" She looked hopefully at her youngest, who blew her long fringe back out of her eyes in frustration and sighed.
"Good-bye, Mum," she replied rather pointedly instead, and hurried out the back door before her mother changed her mind. Never mind that Ginny had been secretly riding a broom since she was old enough to know what to do with one, never mind that she had aced the broom riding class in her first year or that she was currently the best Chaser on the Gryffindor house team, never mind that she should have more than proven herself on a broom by now, her mother persisted in thinking Ginny was incapable of flying without falling off every two seconds or somehow getting herself injured. And more often than not her brothers seemed to agree with her. Ginny shook her head as she made her way down to the Weasleys' makeshift pitch. She was just going to have to prove herself again, she supposed, and this game was as good an opportunity to do so as any.
As she came through the trees that hid the pitch from the sight of any accidental passersby, Ginny caught sight of several of her brothers, Charlie and Ron amongst them, holding some kind of debate near the far goal area. Charlie seemed to be protesting something Ron was saying but Ron, as always, was apparently insistent. She observed the argument curiously, but before she could work out what was going on, Charlie suddenly threw his hands into the air and stalked off, shaking his head and muttering under his breath. Ron was just opening his mouth to call after him when George caught sight of her and nudged him in the ribs. Ron elbowed him back, but grinned up at their sister and handed her a broom as she reached them.
"What was that all about?" she asked cutting off his greeting and nodding to Charlie.
"What? Oh—er, nothing. It was nothing," he muttered, turning slightly pink and averting his eyes.
Ginny's own eyes narrowed in suspicion at his evasive reaction, but before she could enquire further, he waved his arm over his head and shouted to the others: "Hey! Ginny's finally free, let's get going already!" This inspired a final mad rush for brooms and gear before everyone sat down to rehash and renegotiate family rules. By the time the game finally began, Ginny had forgotten all about her brothers' odd behavior and threw herself whole-heartedly into the game. Her team won by several points, thanks to some rather surprising goals she had made when Ron wasn't looking…surprising because Ron never let the Quaffle through anymore. If Ginny hadn't been so caught up in the celebrating of the win by way of the Fred/George/Ginny Masterful Dance of Unimpeded, Undoubted and So-Ridiculously-Expected-Why-Did-You-Bother-Playing-Against-Us Victory (Complete with lyrics, coordinated movements, and out of key melody), she would have been very suspicious indeed. As it was, she finished the MDoUUaSREWDYEBPAUV with the usual flourish and boisterous laughter, and led her brothers (and Harry) inside without a second thought. It wasn't until after lunch, when she had returned to her room to put away her Quidditch things, that she remembered what she had witnessed and what had occurred afterwards, and felt suspicion flare anew in her mind. After several moments spent creating and discarding one flawed plan after another, she finally came down to her usual failsafe: go find Charlie and wheedle the information out of him.
After much searching, high and low, she finally located her brother is his childhood room. He was sitting at the desk writing a letter when she snuck in and quietly shut the door behind her. Being careful not to disturb him, she crept silently across the floor and flopped down across his bed. Crossing her arms under her chin and her legs at the ankle, she kicked her feet back and forth and traced the quilted seams of his comforter with a finger while she waited for Charlie to finish.
"What do you want, Pest?" he asked several minutes later, affectionately using the childhood nickname he'd always used whenever he thought she was being bothersome. Pest, he had once explained, was a humorous variation of Gin-bug, his usual form of address. "Get it, Gin-bug?" he had asked, snickering. "You're a Gin-bug, and bugs are pests! Get it?" He had felt bad afterwards, of course, because the comparison made her cry, but he'd continued to use the name anyway.
"What were you and Ron arguing about earlier?" she asked him, still tracing the seams with her fingertip.
The scratching of his quill across the parchment paused for a moment, then picked up again. "When?"
"Before the match, when I was just coming down to the pitch."
"Nothing you ought to worry about, Gin-bug."
"It obviously concerned me; why shouldn't I worry about it?"
Charlie shot her an amused look before sprinkling sand across his parchment to absorb the excess ink. "Because every argument the rest of us have must be about you, huh, Pest?"
Ginny scowled at him. "That isn't what I meant, you great prat. I know it was about me; when George saw me coming, he stopped Ron from saying anything else. Why would he do that if it wasn't about me?"
Charlie sighed and tapped the parchment carefully to remove the sand, rolled it up, and tied it with a piece of twine. "It really doesn't matter, Gin," he said finally, and glanced at her from the corner of his eye.
"Charlie!" she whined, pulling herself upright.
"Ginny!" he said in the same tone.
"Charlie, please!" Ginny grabbed hold of her brother's arm and leaned her head against his shoulder. "Please!" she added, widening her eyes and pouting somewhat as she twisted to look up at him from her awkward vantage point.
Charlie's eyes widened in sudden comprehension. "Gin, no—"he began.
Ginny fought back a triumphant grin and hurried to interrupt him. "Charlie, I just wanna know." She widened her eyes a bit more and added a slight tremble to her bottom lip and a quaver to her voice. "Please?" She tightened her grip on his arm and snuggled further into his shoulder as she pouted up at him. The position was awkward and the whining a bit debasing, but she knew from a lifetime's experience that it was extremely effective. Especially since the wide-eyed thing tended to make her eyes water a little…just as if she were about to break into tears.
Boys will do anything to keep a girl from crying. Even if the girl is their sister.
"Ginny, come on, don't do that! Please! It's so unfair, and I just don't see what good it would do you if you were to know that Fred and George convinced Ron to throw the game for you—" he stopped as soon as he felt his sister go still against him.
"WHAT!" Ginny's reaction was immediate. She jerked upright, hands still clutching his arm as she glared at him. "They what?"
"Oops," Charlie muttered, closing his eyes in a slow wince. "Gin, I—"
"How could they do that?" Ginny leapt to her feet. Charlie opened his mouth to respond, but she kept going. "Why would they do that?"
"Gin—"
She threw her hands in the air. "Do they really think me incapable of playing well without their intervention?"
"Ginny, of course they don't, but—"
"Because it's not like I've held my own against you all in every Weasley pick-up match I've ever played—"
"Gin—"
"—or made the house team on my own merit or anything."
"Gin—" Charlie tried with a sigh.
"It's not like I've played against other teams—"
"Ginny."
"—or fought off cheating Slytherins, or endured injuries and played well despite them."
"Wait, what?" Charlie looked at her sharply
"Noooo!" Ginny continued to ignore him, moving to the end of the bed so that she could pace properly. "I've never done any of those! So of course I can see why they felt the need to throw a game. I fully understand! Poor little Ginny, she's just a girl. It's not her fault that she can't keep up with us big, strong male types. Let's throw the game for her, and make her feel better about herself, since she's clearly incapable of winning without us!"
"Ginny!" Charlie was getting aggravated.
"And you!" she rounded on him suddenly. "You let them do it. How could you let them do it? Why didn't you tell me, or defend me or—"
"Ginny, enough!" Charlie shouted suddenly, surging out of his seat to glare down at her. Ginny quailed at the sight of him towering over her, arms crossed and eyes hard. Charlie very rarely got angry, but when he did, it was never over unimportant trifles. He had been one of the few of her parent's children to inherit their father's gentle, calm demeanor and slow anger. And he had only once been truly angry with her before.
"I'm sorry, Charlie," she whispered.
Her brother sighed, and with the exhalation all the tension left his body, though his face was still guarded. "I understand your anger, Pest; I'd be angry too. But I don't deserve to bear the brunt of it. I'm the brother who let you hammer the nails in the tree house, remember?"
"I remember," she replied. When they'd built the tree house in the backyard, her brothers had refused to let her help, or handle the dangerous tools, out of fear that she might injure herself. But Charlie had snuck her up with him, and set her to hammering nails into one of the floorboards under his careful supervision. He had also stubbornly defended his decision to Bill, Percy, Fred and George, and even to her father when he had expressed his doubts. He had then spent hours after she got bored finishing the task and making sure none of her crooked nails would present a danger to anyone else. As a result, there was one very sturdy, but hideously constructed, floorboard in the tree house, and Charlie was permanently elevated to second-favorite-brother status. Not because of the floorboard incident, per say, but because he was the brother who best understood her need for adventure and independence, and the one who created opportunities for her to do the things inspired by these tendencies instead of preventing her from doing them.
Something in her face must have alerted him to what she was thinking, because his expression softened. "That was a good day."
She smiled up at him. "The best."
"For now," he murmured, and the piercing look he gave her then was almost frightening. It was as though he knew something was coming that would change her mind about that, and it made him sad. The look frightened her, because she didn't want to know what he could possibly foresee in her future that could so easily knock him from his esteemed place in her regard; that she could possibly do something in her life to sadden him so. Feeling as unsettled by her own thoughts now as she had been by his look, she sought to ground herself in the familiar feel of a Charlie hug, and promptly flung her arms around him.
"I'm sorry, Charlie," she repeated against his shoulder.
"It's alright, Pest," he said, hugging her back, tightly but briefly, before pushing her out to arms' length. "And just so you know, I don't think they did it to be mean, or because they don't think you're perfectly capable of doing well on your own, they did it because they had already upset you once today, and they wanted the game to cheer you up…but you got put on the team opposing Ron, and you always complain about having to try to score against him in practice, and how impossible it is so…they just wanted you to have a good time. If they'd been smart about it, they just would have made sure you and Ron were on the same team…but then again, I don't suppose that's very fair to the rest of us, especially since they had Harry for Seeker."
"You're just as good, Charlie," Ginny told him loyally, even though she knew it probably wasn't true—she had never seen him play in any official match, but she had been told that Charlie had been an amazing Seeker. But Harry, these same informants told her, was on a whole different level.
Charlie smiled at her as though he knew she was lying. "Thanks for saying so, Gin-bug, but it wouldn't be true even if I weren't several years out of the kind of practice Harry gets regularly. I wasn't the youngest Seeker in a century."
Ginny gave him a hard look. "You may not be as good, but you're still being overly modest, brother-mine."
He smiled at her. "That's not the point. The point is that no matter how skewed their reasoning was, their hearts were in the right places. So try not to be too hard on them, okay?"
She grumbled to herself a moment before sighing and shaking her head slightly. "Okay. I won't murder them out of hand, and I'll try really hard not to jinx them on sight."
"Or…"
"Or use my Bat Bogey Hex on them."
"And?"
Ginny growled, and rolled her eyes. "And…I won't tell Dad or Bill or Harry about this," she added, mentally sighing at the loss of that supremely appealing option. It had been her best hope for quick and easy retribution, as any of the three would make Fred, George and Ron regret ever even thinking about treating her as an inferior. Mr. Weasley would have made them sit down and have "the chat" about showing respect for their sister, in this case by not making her feel inadequate or inferior. Bill would have beat them up for upsetting her, and Harry…well, no one liked to have Harry mad at them. There was just something about him when he was seriously angry. Ginny sighed in regret, this time out loud. Really, it would have made life so easy…
Charlie laughed and pulled her in for another brief hug. "That's my girl," he told her, then he slung an arm around her shoulders and mussed her hair affectionately ("Charlie!" she squealed, slapping his hand away). "Now go away and let me finish writing."
"Charlie," she protested, clinging to his arm, "how can you want to be rid of me already? I haven't seen you in ages and you're trying to kick me out?"
Charlie rolled his eyes at her dramatics and guided her firmly toward the door. "Seriously Gin, you have to go. I've a whole stack of letters to send off today, and—" he cut himself off to pry her arms from his neck as he opened the door for her, grasping both her wrists in one hand above her head to manage the feat without allowing her to cling on to him again. "—and if you want to come with me to the Preserve next week, you'll have to let me write the letter to my boss. Otherwise, I'll be going without you."
"Okay, Charlie," she called out, instantly cooperative. She stopped struggling and stepped out the door of her own free will, then turned and hugged him briefly before skipping off down the hall. "Write pretty," she called over her shoulder, and clattered down the stairs. She hit the first floor at a trot, and skipped her way through the living room and kitchen, out the back door, and down the lane toward the lake. She was headed for the tree house, memories fresh in her mind, when she caught sight of Ron and Hermione sitting by the lakeshore. She jerked to a stop and whirled to face them. "You!" she cried, pointing a finger accusingly at her brother. Both heads jerked around at the sound of her voice, and Ron's eyes widened dramatically upon seeing her finger pointed straight at him.
"What'd I do?" he asked, sounding panicked as he stumbled to his feet.
"You threw the game!" she accused, stomping her way through the grass toward him. "You," she shoved her finger into his chest, "purposely let me make those shots! You cheated!" She crossed her arms.
"Oh, Ron, you didn't!" Hermione looked scandalized.
Ron spread his hands, "Gin, I'm—I'm sorry!"
She glared at him as he spent the next several moments opening and closing his mouth, searching for words. Then she remembered her conversation with Charlie, and saw the remorse in his eyes, and relented. She dropped her arms and sighed. "It's fine, Ron." She waved her hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it."
"Really?" His look was incredulous.
"Really. But don't do it again," she added, giving him a hard look.
"No!" he agreed, shaking his head so violently, she was afraid he was going damage himself. She snickered when his balance wavered, and opened her mouth to speak when a voice behind her stopped her in her tracks.
"Hey, Ron, Hermione, Ginny," Harry called, coming across the grass.
Ginny felt heat creep into her cheeks at the sound of his voice, but forced herself to relax and calm down before he reached them. Hermione shot her an amused glance that she pretended not to see, but Ron was too busy throwing panicked glances back and forth between his sister and his best friend to notice anything. Harry had always been more perceptive than Ron though—and if her brother didn't stop acting oddly, Harry was going to realize something was up. She really didn't want to get Ron in trouble with Harry, not to mention breaking her promise to Charlie, so she had no intention of telling Harry about the game—but she had never been very good at lying to him, and if Harry asked why Ron was behaving oddly, somehow, she just knew the whole story was going to come out. She was just about to tell Ron to knock it off when Harry reached them.
Grinning, the tall brunette slid an arm around Ginny's shoulders and asked, "Who's up for a game of Exploding Snap?"
Ginny's brain promptly shut down. Harry Potter, of his own volition, had just put his arm around her as if it were something he did every day. And not loosely either; he didn't have his arm casually slung around her, the wrist resting lightly against the shoulder, arm barely making contact with the back, the hand hanging limp over the arm in the manner that boys often adopted when they used such gestures. No, he had wrapped his hand around the joint of her shoulder and tugged her in fully against his side so that his arm was flush with her back and she could feel acutely every shift in his muscles everywhere they touched, every time they moved. She could feel the heat of his body seeping through the side of her shirt, and from this close, she could smell the subtle scent of his soap and shampoo as well. She could feel a slow, burning heat creeping up her neck and face and burning across her cheeks as a result. There was a deafening rush in her ears behind the magnified sound of her beating heart, and she felt warm and somewhat lightheaded too. She was sure she would have swayed on her feet if Harry's arm hadn't been (unbeknownst to him) anchoring her in place. The close contact had caught her completely off guard, and it was all she could do to stand still and endure it. She hoped, somewhere deep inside herself where some small portion of her brain was beginning to process again, that if she stood perfectly still, then she might not notice the contact so much, and the situation couldn't get any worse. How could it? But he was warm and he smelled good, and he was practically embracing her! and she quickly became too afraid to even breathe properly for fear of touching him more than necessary and sparking further reaction.
Needless to say, any thought she had had about heading off Ron's little guilt complex was gone the moment Harry touched her. In fact, she was so distracted by the situation that she almost missed the smug little smile Hermione was shooting her from her place at Ron's side. Almost.
Ginny relaxed somewhat as Hermione's expression distracted her, and she was just working up to a really good glare when she realized that she was breathing normally, causing her shoulder to brush against Harry's side…Her blush renewed with a vengeance and she dropped her arms to her side in an attempt to gain some space. It didn't really work the way she'd hoped, but at least she wasn't pressed against the boy as tightly as she had been.
Harry was oblivious to all this, apparently, because he glanced around between his friends, and focused his attention on Ron. He frowned. Ron's eyes widened even further at this, and he threw another panicked glance at Ginny. Harry followed his gaze to the girl at his side (please don't notice anything, please don't notice anything) then threw a questioning glance at their female best friend. "What's going on?"
Hermione, still looking amused, shook her head. "Don't look at me, Harry. This is between the two of them."
Harry looked back and forth between them, and apparently misinterpreted the cause of her blush as the Weasley fury. "Ron," he said firmly, settling a suspicious gaze on the taller redhead, "what did you do?"
Ginny breathed a sigh of relief. If Harry misunderstood the reason for her blush, then he wouldn't ask any awkward questions she was still fooling herself enough to be unable to answer. Then Ron opened his mouth and the reason for this little confrontation came flooding back to her.
Please, Ron, she willed her brother silently, just don't say anything about the game!
"Er, I…uh," Ron said. "Well, I might possibly have thrown—"
So much for that. "Harry," Ginny cut in suddenly, desperate to prevent Ron from getting himself into trouble with his best friend over something she had already forgiven him for, "want to come down to the tree house with me?"
Harry blinked and looked down at her. "What?"
"I said, do you want to come down to the tree house with me?"
"The tree house?"
"Yes. I was just on my way down there when I got distracted, and I thought you might like to see it, since you haven't…" Ginny trailed off when she noticed that everyone was staring at her. She flushed when she realized what, exactly, she had just asked.
Good going Ginny! You manage to avoid Harry's suspicion only to make it completely obvious by asking him to come with you. Alone! What "it" was that she was making so obvious, she didn't know, but obvious it would be nevertheless. She caught the smug look spreading over Hermione's face and inwardly groaned. See!
"All right."
"What?" Ginny looked at him, startled.
"All right, I'll come with you to the tree house."
"Really?" Disbelief colored her tone.
"Did you not want me to?"
"No! I mean yes! I mean—" Ginny closed her eyes and took a deep breath to calm herself. When she opened them again, her breath caught in her throat as her eyes locked with a pair of bright green eyes framed by thick black hair way too close for comfort. Harry was just inches away, leaning around slightly to peer down at her. When his gaze caught hers (mercy, that's completely unfair), he raised both eyebrows in question, a warm amusement in his eyes she was almost too distracted to notice.
"You mean what, Ginny?" he asked, voice low, and she shivered slightly.
"Um. Ummm—" There was a smile playing about his lips now, which pulled her gaze momentarily from his eyes, and that flustered her even more. She jerked her gaze back to his, then slammed her eyes closed again for fear she'd give…something…away. If she didn't die of asphyxiation first. The simple act of breathing had never been so hard. "I mean," she said softly, when she had recovered a bit, "that I want you to come to the tree house with me." She took a deep breath, hardly believing what she had said, what she was saying, but…she'd already opened herself up to a world of embarrassment here, if she could gain some time with Harry in the mix, well...they were friends after all. She mentally braced herself and opened her eyes to meet his. "There's a swing," she told him bravely, "and I've hardly seen you since you've been here. Ron and Hermione have been monopolizing you; it's my turn."
He stared at her for one, long, agonizing moment, and then that slow, blinding smile spread across his face—the one he reserved for people he liked and truly happy moments.
"Well then," he said, "it would be rude of me to refuse, wouldn't it?"
"Very," she agreed, and was surprised at how cool and firm her voice sounded, when inside she was panicking.
Harry moved away and folded into a gallant bow. "After you," he said gesturing in the direction of the path she'd been following earlier.
"Why, thank you," she replied, surprised to find herself snickering at his behavior despite her lingering embarrassment, and even more surprised to find herself participating by thrusting her nose into the air in a parody of a noble lady and sauntering past him. He laughed and hurried to catch up, talking animatedly as they walked side by side away down the path.
"Well that was weird," said Ron, staring after them.
Hermione stared at him in disbelief, then rolled her eyes. "You're hopeless, Ronald," she told him, her tone disgusted, and headed back toward the house.
Ron looked confused for a long moment, gazing after her. "What did I do?"
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Well, that's it for this chapter. I've got the next one started already (as it was originally supposed to be the second half of this one before this half ran away with me and became huge), and it's all planned out, but I'm not making any promises about when it will be out. It seems every time I do that, it takes forever to finish the next chapter. Maybe this time, by not setting a date, I'll finish it quickly. Sigh. Leave me a review and tell me what you think!