Antithesis

Disclaimer: I don't own anything even remotely related to Harry Potter, except a little bit of merchandise. The characters, world, ideas, etc. belong to that wonderful J.K. Rowling and the WB movie people.

Notes: So, my best friend looked at me one day, out of the blue, and said to me, "Hey, did you ever finish that Harry Potter story you were working on? The one about Harry and Ginny?" I blinked. "Not yet," I said. "I've been meaning to, but I've been somewhat distracted." "Oh. Well, I waned to know what happened." Aren't best friends wonderful motivators? This chapter's for you, my dearest friend, because you're constantly encouraging me (read: nagging, threatening and guilting me) into writing more often. And to my readers who have stuck with this story despite its frequent, long, and unintentional hiatuses.

Chapter Six: Boys Boycott

After some discussion, Ginny and Hermione had come to the conclusion that their best bet for a boy-free day would be a trip to Diagon Alley. Not because there were no boys in Diagon Alley, but because none of them were Weasleys (or honorary Weasleys) and could therefore be ignored. The two girls were securely ensconced in Ginny's room for the duration of this discussion, Hermione having decided they would never make it out of the house if any of the Weasleys overheard their conversation (which, she pointed out, was pretty likely if they held it in the living room). So they had snuck up the stairs, locked the door, and huddled together in their pajamas in the middle of Ginny's bed as they plotted their escape from the males of their acquaintance in soft voices and the occasional whisper.

"We can use Harry's birthday as an excuse," Hermione said, pretending not to notice that Ginny was still cringing every time a male name was mentioned. "I'll tell your mum I still need to buy him a gift, and that I don't want to go shopping alone."

"You haven't bought him a gift yet?" Ginny looked at her friend with something akin to shock on her face. They were only weeks away from Harry's birthday; this sort of procrastination was extremely unusual for Hermione.

"Of course I have, don't be silly."

"Then…"

"It's an excuse, Ginny," Hermione huffed.

Ginny's eyes widened in realization. "You're going to lie? To my mum?"

Hermione's gaze was as flat as her voice. "Do you want Girls' Day or not?"

Ginny nodded.

"Well then," Hermione said primly.

Ginny had let Hermione talk to her mother about their proposed Girls' Day, primarily because she couldn't think of anything that would convince her mother to let them go to Diagon Alley by themselves. "We'll have to do it in the morning," Hermione said. "If we do it too long beforehand, she'll come up with some way to stall us, or send an escort."

"If we catch her first thing, she'll be more agreeable," said Ginny.

Hermione nodded. "And no one else will be up to ask questions yet. Good idea."

So, Hermione had woken Ginny at first light the next morning. They got ready quickly and hurried down the stairs to the kitchen just as Mrs. Weasley was starting breakfast.

"Morning, Mum!" Ginny greeted. She leaned over to give her mother a kiss on the cheek and then reached to remove the kettle from the stove, deftly pouring hot water for three cups of tea.

"Well, good morning girls!" Mrs. Weasley accepted her cup from her daughter and looked back and forth between the two. "What are you doing up so early?"

Ginny and Hermione exchanged looks. "About that," said Hermione. "Mrs. Weasley, do you think I could talk to you for a minute? In the other room?"

Mrs. Weasley looked startled, then looked down at the food she already had going. "Well, of course, dear, just let me—"

"Don't worry, Mum, I'll get it." So Ginny had stepped in and quietly taken over making breakfast while Hermione took her mother into the living room to make their request. Mrs. Weasley had been hesitant at first, unwilling to let the girls go off on their own with Voldemort on the loose, but Hermione reminded her of their more than adequate knowledge of Defense Against the Dark Arts, as proven by their actions in the Department of Mysteries the previous school year. "Besides," Hermione had added, "You-Know-Who's not likely to be parading about in the middle of wizarding London in broad daylight, is he? Especially when the public is so painfully aware of him." Then, to Ginny's delight, Hermione had ignored her self-imposed rule to keep her nose out of whatever conflicts arose between Ginny and her brothers and strengthened their argument by telling Mrs. Weasley exactly why she thought Ginny needed a break from the house. Mrs. Weasley was furious of course. After all, it hadn't been so long ago that several of her sons had put her only daughter in St. Mungo's, so she was perhaps a little over-protective where Ginny was concerned lately. Combined with her lack of enthusiasm for the twins' pranking in general, the incident more than convinced Mrs. Weasley that the two girls needed out of the house while she sorted things out with the boys. "I suppose Diagon Alley should be safe enough," Mrs. Weasley had capitulated. "Just be very careful and be back before dark." She'd even dug around until she found a few of sickles and a handful of knuts to send with them. "For lunch, dear," she'd explained as she tucked them into Ginny's pocket, "and maybe some ice cream after."

Even so, standing in the living room a short while later, lunch money jangling away in her pocket and both their wallets carried in Hermione's purse, Ginny could still hardly believe they were actually being allowed to go.

"Are you sure you don't want to take Ron along at least?" Mrs. Weasley asked as the two girls prepared to leave. She'd made them stay long enough to eat a quick breakfast, but she had agreed with Hermione that it would be better if they were gone before the others were up.

Hermione shook her head. "He can't keep a secret to save his life, Mrs. Weasley; he'll tell Harry what I bought the first time he asks."

"Besides," added Ginny, "he'll only complain when we make him carry our packages."

"Well, all right then." Mrs. Weasley still seemed a little uncertain, so Hermione smiled at her reassuringly.

"We'll be fine, Mrs. Weasley," she told her.

"And back by six?"

"And back by six."

"All right then," she said again, businesslike this time, "off you go dears." She shooed them towards the fireplace, and took the pot of Floo powder down from the mantle. "Hermione first, then you, Ginny," she said, twisting the lid off. "Make sure you stay in public places and bright, broad streets. Don't go sneaking down any of those dim little side alleys. And don't you worry about the twins, dear," Mrs. Weasley told her daughter while holding the pot out to the Gryffindor prefect. "When I'm through, they'll be sorry they ever learned the meaning of the word prank."

"Yell at them where Charlie can hear," Hermione said, her mild tone belied by the sly glint in her eyes. She scooped up some Floo powder and threw it into the fireplace.

Mrs. Weasley's eyes lit up. "What a clever idea," she murmured.

Hermione grinned and winked at Ginny, then went spinning away to Diagon Alley. A few moments later, Ginny followed her.

The two girls arrived at The Leaky Cauldron without mishap and, after dusting themselves off, they headed excitedly for the courtyard in the back. Hermione did the honors, and the wall soon opened up to reveal—

"Freedom!" Ginny squealed excitedly, snatching Hermione's arm and pulling her through the archway onto the cobbled street of the hub of wizarding London. "I've never been here on my own before, can you believe it?"

"Knowing your mum, yes I can."

Ginny glanced at her, amused, and asked, "What should we do first?"

"Have you bought Harry a birthday present yet?"

Ginny, who had been peering longingly at a window display full of high-quality cauldrons (Potions buff that she was), paused and shifted her weight nervously. "Er…no. Mum was going to take us a bit later to do that."

"Let's do that first, then," Hermione said.

Ginny tilted her head at her friend. Something in her tone was off…Hermione looked a little uncomfortable too, and Ginny couldn't understand why. Hermione wilted a little under the redhead's regard, then scowled.

"I don't like lying!" the brunette finally exclaimed. "At least this way, one of us will have bought Harry a present!"

Ginny laughed. "Better head for Quality Quidditch then," she said, and the girls began walking again. When they'd gone a little ways, Ginny suddenly asked, "What did you buy him, Hermione?"

"Harry?"

Ginny nodded. "I haven't a clue what to get him."

Hermione avoided meeting Ginny's eye, and the redhead thought she looked rather nervous. "You won't like it Ginny," she hedged.

"What? Why? What did you get him?"

"Well, a new jar of broom handle wax, for a start," she began.

Ginny smiled. "He'll like that; he needs it."

"I know," Hermione laughed. "He's been complaining he's almost out. Daft boy. He could just order a new one."

"He forgets," said Ginny.

"I know." The girls shared an understanding smile. Even after five years, the boy who was raised in a cupboard often forgot he now had the means to do things like order broom handle wax. Wealthy as he was, he could certainly afford it, but he tended to forget he had money at all. "Anyway," Hermione continued, "that's not the part you'll dislike." She took a deep breath. "I also got him some quills, you know, the kind they sell with the logoed stems? And a Quidditch patterned stationary kit."

"Stationary? Why would you get Harry—" She stopped. Thought. Gasped. "You're leaving!" she accused.

Hermione winced.

"Why?" Ginny wailed. "How could you leave me alone in that house? You've seen what it's like! I'll go insane!"

"I have to!" Hermione cried in self-defense. "My parents want to take me on holiday as an early birthday present. We're to spend two weeks touring Italy and Greece before the start of term."

"Two weeks!"

"It won't be for a while yet, Ginny," Hermione assured her with a sigh. "It's still ages away. Besides," she added, "you know the house will clear up after Harry's birthday. Charlie and Bill will go back to work, the twins will go back to their shop, and Harry will be there to distract Ron, so it won't be nearly so bad."

"That's something anyway," Ginny muttered. "Still."

Hermione sighed, knowing there's was nothing more she could do or say to make it better. "Come on. Let's go see what we can find for Harry's birthday."

As it turned out, they could find quite a bit. Quality Quidditch Supplies was, as usual, chock full of interesting Quidditch gear and paraphernalia. When they first arrived at the store, Ginny was momentarily distracted by the new racing broom in the window, but Hermione pulled her away; she opened the door and tugged a protesting Ginny through after her, and the protests died on Ginny's lips. The redhead took a deep breath, just one as she crossed the threshold, and savored it, lost to the smell of broom polish and dragon hide. Hermione watched her do this, mystified. It was the same thing Ron and Harry did whenever they came in here and she just didn't understand it. She could allow that the store smelled nice (who didn't love the smell of leather?) but there was something almost ritual about the way they took that first breath—eyes closed, motionless, breathless for several seconds, then the exhale and the smile…

Ginny let her breath out and smiled, earlier pique forgotten. She caught Hermione's questioning look. "What?"

"Why do you do that?" Hermione had never had the courage to ask Ron and Harry, but this was Ginny. Somehow that made it safer.

"Do what?"

"That breath thing. Ron and Harry do it too."

"Do they? It's just, it smells like Quidditch."

"Of course it does; it's a Quidditch store."

"No. I mean it is but…but this is what Quidditch smells like. Like broom polish and dragon hide and wood. And sometimes wet wool," she added, plucking at a woolen jumper hanging from a nearby rack that was charmed to be waterproof. "It's only missing the smell of the wind."

"I don't get it."

"Yes you do." She sighed at Hermione's blank expression. "Look, when you come in here, what does it make you think of?"

"I don't understand." Hermione was clearly starting to feel distressed.

Ginny lead her to an out of the way corner and told her to close her eyes. "Now," she instructed when Hermione had done so, "take a deep breath. What's the first thing that comes to mind?"

"Ron." Hermione's eyes popped open, startled. "Why is that?" she asked, blushing faintly.

Ginny grinned. "Because Quidditch players smell like Quidditch. You can always tell a Quidditch player by the lingering smell of broom polish and dragon hide and wind on their clothes. And Ron is your favorite Quidditch player."

"Well that's hardly true. Harry plays too and they're both my best friends."

"You don't fancy Harry," Ginny told her placidly.

Hermione spluttered. "I don't fancy Ron either!"

"Hmmmmm." Ginny was smelling a pair of dragon hide gloves. "I love these. Charlie brought me a pair on his last trip home. Even if they weren't the best gloves a girl could have, I'd love them just for the smell."

"And because they're from Charlie," a still blushing Hermione reminded her.

"True. I love pretty much everything Charlie gives me." Ginny grinned. "The question is, if he didn't have such wonderful taste, would I love it half so much?"

"You're horrible," said Hermione. "And you're not buying Harry gloves; he has a perfectly serviceable pair already. So put them down."

Ginny did so. "I don't know what to get him though."

"Ginny, you have a whole store full of possibilities here."

Ginny made a face. "I know. But in a way that just makes it harder."

Hermione shook her head. "Come on."

The two girls shopped around for a while, picking things up and setting them back again when Ginny rejected them ("too plain…too ugly…too expensive…" that last one came up a lot). Eventually they wandered over into the team-specific section of the store, and Ginny's face lit up. Hermione backed away a couple of steps when she saw it—that particular expression rarely led to good things.

"What?" Hermione asked her warily.

Ginny laughed. "Harry's favorite team is Puddlemere." Ginny was especially happy about this because it was her favorite team too, although he probably didn't know that.

"I know," said Hermione, because she did.

"Ron doesn't," Ginny told her, expression turning absolutely wicked.

"Really? How—never mind. I don't want to know. Why does it matter?"

"Because, Harry doesn't really own any Puddlemere gear. He won't buy any because he feels a bit bad about it—you know, about not liking Ron's team."

"Oh for—" Hermione rolled her eyes.

Ginny nodded. "I know. Which is why it's going to be so brilliant when I give him this!" She motioned with her hand to the large poster on the wall behind her. It was one of the really big ones—"wall sized," five by five feet—printed on cloth to prevent wrinkling or tearing, and made to hang like a banner from a wooden dowel threaded through loops at the top. It featured moving segments of the more spectacular moves and tactics recently performed by the current Puddlemere team—shown one after the other, like a slide show—in the main portion, with the team logo and the year emblazoned in bold lettering across the bottom.

Ginny watched as Hermione tilted her head, thinking. Ron would absolutely hate it, Ginny knew. Harry, who felt bad about purchasing things for himself in general, and about this in particular (out of loyalty to Ron), would love it. He would feel bad about selfishly betraying Ron's trust that they loved the same team, but because it was a gift, he would gladly accept. Ginny figured it was time for Ron to realize Harry could make his own Quidditch decisions anyway. This would be an effective—and quick—way to get it through to him.

If Hermione's sudden grin was anything to go by, she understood the logic behind the purchase and agreed with it.

Ginny smiled back when she caught sight of Hermione's grin and nodded. "Exactly," she said.

"You're going to start a war in your house if you do this," Hermione warned.

Ginny shuffled through the boxes beneath the desired poster, looking for just the right one. Many of the palm-sized boxes the shrunken poster (and all it's shrunken accompanying parts) came in were less than perfect. She wanted a perfect one—lacking dents, scratches, bent corners, or signs of a previous customer's obvious attempts to have opened it.

"I know. It's going to be fun—I miss the Quidditch wars we used to have on match days." The Weasley children, who mostly favored different Quidditch teams, used to have full-scale arguments (that occasionally digressed into actual fistfights and wrestling matches among the boys) about their teams of choice when all the boys still lived at home. Occasionally the subject still popped up in conversation if a family gathering happened to occur on the same day as a prominent Quidditch match, but the current conversations lacked the intensity of the old mock battles, and Ginny kind of missed them. "This will definitely liven things up again," she added with a grin, holding up her chosen poster box.

"Sadist," said Hermione, amused.

Ginny just laughed. "Let's go check out," said the redhead. When they reached the counter, Ginny did some quick mental calculation and decided she had enough to throw in a package of chocolate Snitches. Hermione had bought some for her the following year when she'd made Seeker in Harry's absence. A lot like Muggle truffles but with moving wings (if you let them go, you could actually chase them about a bit before the charm wore off), chocolate Snitches were one of her favorite treats. She figured Harry, with his odd affinity for Chocolate Frogs (or any chocolate really, something that was unusual for a boy in her experience), would probably like them too. The cashier quickly wrapped her purchases in plain brown paper and packed them into a small bag with the Quality Quidditch brand name stenciled on the front. Ginny accepted it from him, along with her change, and skipped out the door.

"I feel much better now that that's done," she said, smiling at Hermione. "Maybe there's something to this no procrastination thing."

"You think?" Hermione rolled her eyes, but she was smiling too, and Ginny laughed.

After that, the girls shopped around without any particular goal in mind—they chose their stops primarily on window display or individual interest. They did spend an hour or so in Flourish and Blotts, but Ginny had expected that from the start, and she wasn't adverse to bookstores anyway, being fond of reading herself. What she didn't expect was for Hermione to hand her a thick, heavy book from her bag after they exited the store.

"What's this then?" she asked examining the book. It was leather-bound and very pretty. The title embossed on the cover and spine in flowing silver script read "The Secret of the Animagi." For all its pristine condition, it was clearly rather old. "Hermione?"

"It's a mystery novel," she said. "I've read several other books by that author, and they're really good. The story was written a hundred years ago, so it's not modern storytelling, but I've seen you reading several things from that era, so I didn't figure you would mind and when I saw them on sale and I thought you might enjoy it. I got myself a copy too," she added, tugging a matching book from her bag. She shrugged. "Apparently they've been having trouble selling them; I got them really cheap."

"Hermione!" Ginny stared at the book, then, unexpectedly, threw her arms around the older girl. "Thank you, thank you, thank you! I haven't had anything new to read in ages!" She stepped back. "You didn't have to get me this though. You could have just offered to let me borrow yours."

"Ginny, it's not a big deal; they weren't expensive and I thought it would be fun to have somebody to discuss a book with for once." Ginny snickered at the idea of Ron and Harry sitting around discussing literature with Hermione. "And you're always welcome to borrow books from me."

Ginny gave her a sideways look. "I'll take you up on that, I hope you know."

Hermione smiled and then flushed when her stomach growled unexpectedly. She looked at her watch. "Goodness! How did it get that late?"

"How late?"

"Just after noon."

"Wow. We've been here four hours and it's hardly felt like any time at all!"

"Glad to know I keep you entertained," was Hermione's wry response. "Where shall we go for lunch?"

They found a small open café on one of the quiet side streets off the main alley that they liked the looks of and ordered a nice lunch of sandwiches and salads with ice-cold pumpkin juice. They chose a small table nearest the street and ate at a leisurely pace, and when they were finished, they sat back in their chairs and talked and watched the people passing by. Eventually they left the café and wandered around some more, but neither of them saw anything they were particularly interested in, so their wanderings were mostly aimless. This sort of pointless movement was never really a good idea with Ginny, unfortunately. She tended to get bored. And when Ginny got bored, she came up with ways to escape her boredom. All sorts of ways. Outlandish ways that Hermione found irresponsible and shocking and secretly enviable because she would never dare do those things herself.

At some point during that early part of their afternoon, while Hermione was gazing absently at a moving display in a nearby shop window, Ginny decided she was bored…

"Hey," Ginny said suddenly, brightly, wickedly (Hermione's heart clenched in fear), "we should go to Muggle London."

"Whatever for?" Hermione asked.

"Because we can. Because I've never been and I happen to have the perfect Muggle city guide standing right beside me. Because I'm bored, Hermione!"

"You're serious!" Hermione exclaimed, shocked.

"Yes," Ginny agreed.

"Oh no!" said Hermione.

"Come on, it'll be fun!"

"No, it won't. We're bound to run into some kind of trouble; this is you we're talking about. And even if we don't have any problems in the city," Hermione added when it looked as though Ginny were about to protest, "we'll get into trouble as soon as we get home."

"How?" Ginny demanded.

"Your mum'll know we were in Muggle London, Ginny. Of course we'll get in trouble for it."

"What? How would she ever know we were in Muggle London?"

"Someone will see us and tell her. We'll drop an Underground ticket on our way through the kitchen. She'll look at us. How should I know?"

"Hermione—"

"Your mum will look at us, and she will know."

"That's ridiculous, Hermione. And I never thought I'd be the one saying that to you."

"Allowing us to come to Diagon Alley alone is a big show of trust, Ginny, and I've already lied to your mum once today. We don't need go about breaking any more rules."

"She'll never know unless you go telling her. And it'll be fun!" Now that she'd hit on the idea, Ginny was determined.

"No. It isn't safe, Ginny," Hermione reminded her. "What if You-Know-Who—"

"He's not likely to go parading about Muggle London in broad daylight anymore than he's likely to come here. Even if he were looking for us, which is really unlikely, he wouldn't look there. We'll be careful, we'll keep our eyes open, and we've got our wands. We'll be fine."

"We haven't the money for it," Hermione said, switching tactics.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "So we'll make a trip to Gringott's and exchange some. Hermione, please!"

Hermione gritted her teeth. "We are not going to Muggle London."

Twenty minutes and a trip to Gringott's later, Hermione was still protesting.

"We're not dressed for Muggle London, Ginny."

"We're both wearing jeans and tee shirts under our robes, Hermione. All we have to do to fit in is take our robes off," Ginny told her, making her way back to The Leaky Cauldron and determinedly pulling Hermione after her.

"Wouldn't you rather have some ice cream?" Hermione asked, pointing at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor as she was dragged past it in a last ditch effort to distract her companion.

"Later," Ginny replied, sensing imminent victory.

"At least our bags and things are fairly non-descript," Hermione muttered reluctantly. "Nothing we can do about the Quidditch bag, but likely no one will think much of it. So long as we take our robes off and keep all our purchases out of sight in their bags, I suppose we'll be alright."

"Yes!" crowed Ginny.

The trip through Muggle London was interesting for both girls: for Ginny because she'd never been in a big Muggle city unless she was passing through on the way to the train station, and for Hermione because Ginny was so enthusiastic. She wanted to see everything: clothing stores, art stores, a home appliance store, a hundred different bookstores, even a small corner market. Hermione suggested a compromise and took her to a nearby chain store that that had a bit of everything and Ginny spent a couple hours leading Hermione about as she explored. Every so often Ginny would see something she didn't understand or that particularly piqued her interest, and she would stop and quietly ask for an explanation: What is this? What is that? What's this for? What's this? And Hermione would answer: A washing machine. A mechanical pencil. A toilet brush, for cleaning toilets ("Ewww! They do that by hand?"). A coffee maker. Everything was so new to Ginny; even the advertisements on the streets they had passed through were a novelty. In a way, it made Hermione look at everything with new eyes too. Each item, so mundane on any other trip, took on new points of interest, and Ginny quickly came to the decision that the older girl was thoroughly enjoying explaining everything.

They were nearing mid-afternoon when Hermione decided they'd better head back. Ginny was disappointed, but agreed, and the two girls stopped by the checkout stand so that Ginny could purchase a Muggle candy bar; she'd been curious about them for ages. The store had a stack of free catalogues by the checkout stand, and Ginny watched as Hermione picked one up on their way out.

"What's that for?" Ginny asked, taking a bite of her candy bar. It was pretty good, she thought, and took another bite.

"It's a catalogue. I thought, since you were so curious, maybe we could flip through it later. It has pictures, so you can see what I'm talking about while I explain it; I thought it might be a good teaching tool…" she trailed off uncertainly. "And if you're not interested, I thought your dad might like to look at it. I could pretend it came in the post."

"Are there more Muggle appliances in there? I want to know more about all the weird stuff in their kitchens, like the toasters." Toasters had been particularly fascinating to the redheaded witch. "Also, plum…plumping? With the pipes."

"Plumbing?"

"Yeah. I still don't understand how they get everything set up and running in their bathrooms without magic."

"Hmm. I might have to do some research there. I don't know much about plumbing myself."

"And about washing machines," Ginny added, who had liked that appliance almost as well as the toasters. She grinned at her older friend, who smiled back in relief. "You should pretend it came in the post anyway," Ginny continued, referring to the catalogue. "That way Dad can see it too."

"That's probably best anyway," Hermione murmured thoughtfully. "Then no one will ask questions about where we got it."

"Hey, what's this?" Ginny had stopped, head tilted to one side, to examine one of the storefronts they were passing on their way back to Diagon Alley.

"A second-hand shop, I should think. You have to be careful with those, because sometimes they're really shabby, but some of them sell some really interesting things you just can't get anywhere else." This particular shop seemed to be one of the latter, if the display window was anything to judge by. "Want to go in?"

Ginny hesitated, then nodded.

Hermione checked her watch. "Okay," she said. "But we can't stay long."

The girls went in and wandered around for a bit. Ginny laughed at some of the things they found there, but she also found a few things she decided she couldn't do without, including a pair of like-new corduroy pants she determined were too soft and comfortable not to take home; a big, slouchy cloth purse; and, to Hermione's fearful amusement, a couple of ribbed black ski masks.

"What are these for?" Ginny had asked when she'd spotted them. The look on her face was…adoring. As if she already knew of all their diabolical uses. As if she already had plans to use them for those purposes. As if they were calling her to do so.

Hermione had felt an odd lurch in her stomach at the thought. She hesitated. Somehow, she just knew this was going to come back to bite her. "Those are ski masks. They're supposed to be worn to protect the face from the cold when skiing but—" Hermione stopped, uncertain how to continue; unsure she ought to, considering her audience and the look on her face.

"But what?"

"But criminals wear them too, to keep their faces from being recognized. These masks are almost known better for that than for their original purpose."

"Incognito," Ginny murmured, and looked at the masks, considering (and cuddling them to her chest). "I like them," she decided (and Hermione mentally groaned). "They could be…useful."

"Useful?" Hermione despaired.

Ginny's answering grin was wicked. "I haven't had my revenge on the twins yet. Something like this," she held up the masks, "could be useful."

"And you'd need two?"

"Maybe," said Ginny mysteriously.

Hermione shook her head. "I don't even want to know."

Ginny grinned and made her purchases, delighted by the low cost of her good-as-new acquisitions. She was in an exceptionally good mood by the time they made it back to the Leaky Cauldron—where they pulled on their robes and stuffed their Muggle purchases deep inside the bags they were already carrying from their morning shopping—and was practically skipping along beside Hermione (who was nowhere near as embarrassed by this as Hermione felt she should be) when her sweet tooth made itself known.

"I think I'm ready for some ice cream," she told Hermione. "What about you?"

"We'd better eat some now if we're going to at all," Hermione replied. "It's getting late and we don't want to ruin our dinners."

This was such a Hermione thing to say that Ginny found herself giggling a bit. Hermione looked at her strangely, but Ginny just shook her head. "I think I want chocolate-chocolate fudge flavor," she said. "In a big sugar cone."

They had just left the Leaky Cauldron with the intent of heading over to Florean Fortescue's when Ginny spotted a familiar figure just down the road. It was the pale blond hair shining in the sun that first caught her attention, worn loose as it was and floating about its owner's slim shoulders, but the slender build and the girl's singular way of almost dancing as she walked were just as familiar.

"Is that Luna?" asked Hermione, having seen the girl herself.

"I think so." Ginny stood on tiptoe, trying to see better. The girl was short, and Ginny wasn't very tall herself…

Hermione, who was taller, tilted her head and nodded. "I think so too." She paused for a moment, sighed resignedly. "How would you feel if we asked her to join us?"

Ginny grinned at the older girl. "That would be brilliant."

"We'd better catch her then."

They hurried after the elusive blond, but she glided easily around and among the crowds of people on the busy street (despite the fact that she was taking one step backwards for every three steps forward) where Hermione and Ginny couldn't seem to take more than a couple of steps without bumping into someone. Finally they were close enough that they could see her clearly.

"Luna!" Ginny called. The Ravenclaw turned at the sound of her name and smiled demurely when she recognized them.

"Hello, Ginny, Hermione," she said, her voice soft and dreamy.

"Hi," Ginny answered, grinning. "What are you doing here?"

"Daddy is here on business," she replied, smiling in her distant way. "I'm along to have a bit of a holiday. And because Daddy didn't want to leave me home alone. It's not safe, you know."

"I thought you were going to Sweden this summer," said Hermione. "To look for…"

"Crumple-Horned Snorkacks," Ginny filled in, looking sternly at Hermione, who just looked mildly back. She appeared to be curious rather than making fun.

"Yes, we're leaving next week. We're going to spend a month there, you know. Daddy and I have been doing research; we have a list of places they've been spotted recently."

"That sounds lovely Luna," said Ginny, grinning good-humoredly. "Listen, we were just heading over to Fortescue's for some ice cream. Want to come along?"

"This is very serendipitous," said Luna serenely. "I was just heading there myself. Daddy and I are supposed to meet for an ice cream when he's finished his business, you know. I think I would prefer walking in your company to going by myself." She started walking: three steps forward, one back; three steps forward, one back. Ginny and Hermione walked slowly to keep pace without having to mimic her odd walk, Ginny grinning in wide amusement the whole way. (Especially when she caught sight of Hermione's carefully controlled expression. The older girl liked Luna well enough, but Ginny knew she often considered the Ravenclaw to be impractical, illogical and odd, three things Hermione didn't necessarily deal well with nor have much patience for.) This was one of the things Ginny loved about Luna; she was never afraid to be herself no matter where she was or what other people thought. Her carefree nature and positive outlook could always lift Ginny's spirits and make her laugh. And she had never judged Ginny or shied away from her because of the events that took place in their first year. For these simple reasons, Ginny loved Luna as a best friend and willingly defended her (against the world, if she had to).

Hermione had first put up with her for Ginny's sake, but Luna had a way of growing on you, even when she was being thoroughly, unreasonably, and irritatingly odd…

"What have you been doing while you're dad's working?" Ginny asked, noticing the bags her friend was carrying. "It looks like you've been shopping.

"I've been buying supplies for our trip," Luna replied. "It takes a lot of material and careful planning just to catch sight of the elusive Crumple-Horned Snorkack, you know." And she launched into an explanation of all the strange herbs, potions, baits and accessories required to search out Crumple-Horned Snorkacks.

Somewhere near the end of this monologue, the three girls arrived at the ice cream parlor where, to Luna's delight, Mr. Lovegood was waiting.

"Hi there, Pumpkin," he greeted his daughter, smiling and dropping a kiss to her brow. "Who are your friends?" Luna introduced the two girls, and Mr. Lovegood enthusiastically shook their hands in turn. He then insisted on buying them all ice cream.

The rest of the afternoon (what little there was of it) passed very pleasantly. A little after half passed five, Mr. Lovegood stood and motioned to his daughter, explaining it was time they were heading home.

Hermione checked the time and gasped. "We'd better go too. We don't want to be late getting back," Hermione told him, and shook his hand again when he offered it.

Ginny accepted a handshake of her own. "It was very nice to meet you, Mr. Lovegood."

He beamed at them both. "And you, and you! It's always nice, meeting friends of my Luna."

Then with hugs and smiles and promises to see each other on the train on September first, the three girls separated. Hermione and Ginny walked quickly back to the Leaky Cauldron, happily discussing their day and laughing over their forbidden trip. "I still can't believe I let you talk me into that," Hermione muttered, checking one last time to make sure all their Muggle purchases were tucked away out of sight. "If I die of guilt before morning, I hope you feel properly remorseful over it," she added with a sniff. Ginny laughed, and then the two Flooed home before it got any later.

As it happened, they arrived home exactly at six—just half an hour before dinner (which had been Mrs. Weasley's plan from the beginning). "Hello girls!" she called when she heard the fireplace flare twice followed by the sound of their voices. She peered into the living room, mixing bowl stirring itself under one arm where she could keep a close eye on it. "How was your day?"

The two girls grinned at one another. "Oh, Mum, it was brilliant," sighed Ginny.

Mrs. Weasley looked back and forth between them, taking in their bags and packages, the flush to their faces, and their smiles. The strained air she had seen that morning—mostly hanging about Ginny, but touching Hermione as well—was noticeably absent. She smiled, delighted that she had allowed this obviously necessary trip, and tearing up because she felt she should have known without their asking that they needed something of the sort. "I'm so glad," she said, then, because she had always been emotionally effusive, she rushed forward to give each girl a tight hug with her free arm, sniffing back her tears. "All right then, dears," she said, "go and take your packages upstairs and take off your outdoor things. It'll be dinner in just a bit."

"Do you need us to set the table, Mrs. Weasley?" Hermione asked, because it was usually their task to do so.

"No, dear," said Mrs. Weasley firmly. "The twins will do that when they get in from the garden." She smiled, and it was late enough in the day that the expression was only slightly colored by the anger of that morning. "If they've time to scheme up pranks, they've clearly too much time on their hands. Time they could be spending cleaning out the attic," she added under her breath.

There was a scuffling sound from the back of the house, followed by a familiar squeal and a distant thud. This had been happening throughout the conversation, Ginny realized, but it took her awhile to figure out what it was because there was no cheering involved. She'd never heard that noise when there wasn't cheering.

"Are they de-gnoming?" she asked.

Mrs. Weasley smiled grimly. "Yes they are. And if they know what's good for them they'll not miss any either. Now you two run upstairs and put your things away. Dinner's in twenty minutes."

The girls headed up the stairs to Ginny's room, chatting happily about their day. They were making enough noise that Harry and Ron heard them from Ron's room and came down to see them.

"Is it safe to come in?" asked Ron from the doorway.

"Why wouldn't it be, Ron?" asked Hermione, giving him a funny look. He didn't usually ask to come in. He usually just barged in and got yelled at.

"After everything that's been going on, we're a little nervous to be around Ginny," he said, leaning against the doorjamb with his arms crossed. "We don't want to come in if she's going to bite our heads off for it like yesterday."

"You can come in, Ron," said Ginny, rolling her eyes. Ron didn't move, but continued to block the door with his wide frame, forcing Harry to lean against the jamb on the opposite side just to see in around him. The be-spectacled boy didn't really seem to mind.

"What do you mean, 'all that's been going on lately'?" asked Hermione. "What's been going on?"

"Well, first there was yesterday, when she tried to kill me," he said, ticking the reasons off on his fingers as he went, "and then this morning, she got Fred and George yelled at by Mum, and then Charlie told them off this afternoon, and when they mouthed off, he hit them, and then—"

"He what?" Ginny gasped.

"Oh he didn't!" Hermione cried, trying hard, and failing, to look disapproving. A faint laugh escaped when Ron nodded.

"Yeah. Right good punch to the eye, too; one for each of them," Ron explained. "Then Mum refused to heal them when she found out what happened. And it all has to do with you, Gin." He eyed her suspiciously. "Neither of us," he motioned to Harry and himself, "really know what's going on, but we do know it's your fault. So we just want to make sure we're not signing our own death warrants by walking in here, you see."

"I'm actually not so terribly concerned," said Harry dryly. "I just can't get in the door."

Ron glared at him but moved out of the way. Harry sat down near the foot of Ginny's bed, pulling his legs up so he could sit cross-legged, and watched, smirking, as Ron took the only logical spot left: the foot of Hermione's bed. He sat stiffly, feet firmly planted on the floor, and looked everywhere but at Hermione (whose face was a little pink). Harry's smug, knowing little smirk (exchanged quickly with Ginny when the other two weren't looking) grew a bit when Ron shifted back and forth uncomfortably.

After a long, smirky moment, Harry finally broke the tension.

"What's all this then?" he asked, making as if to look in one of Ginny's bags (and pretending not to notice Ron's and Hermione's sighs of relief). Ginny snatched it from him before he could peek, then gathered the rest of her bags and shoved them all under her bed on the side furthest from him.

"You can't look," she told him firmly, glaring at him for trying.

"Why not?" he asked, attempting to look innocent. The look was ruined by the mischievous smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Hermione snorted. "You know full well we went shopping for your birthday today, Harry Potter," she told him. "Stop pretending you don't know that; you're not very good at it."

Harry grinned unrepentantly.

"What about me?" asked Ron, peering over the edge of one of Hermione's bags (the one from the bookstore, ironically enough). "Can I know?"

"No Ronald," Hermione told him, looking cross.

"Why not?"

"Yeah," Harry echoed, looking very carefully innocent again. "Why not?"

Hermione shot Harry a knowing look, then turned to Ron. "Because you'll tell Harry."

Harry, his master plan to discover the nature of his presents through Ron thoroughly foiled, spluttered a laugh.

"I will not!" Ron denied.

"Ron," said Ginny patiently, "I love you dearly, but you can't keep a secret from Harry to save your life."

"That's not true!" Ron insisted.

"Of course it is," said Hermione.

"It is not! Harry, tell them it's not true!"

Harry was laughing and didn't answer.

"He can't Ron," Ginny answered for him, "because it would be a lie."

"What about last summer?" Ron tried. "I didn't tell him about the Order of the Phoenix for a whole month, remember? He got all furious, because of it, and he yelled…a lot."

"And Dumbledore had to swear you to secrecy to manage it too," Hermione said.

"Plus," Ginny pointed out, "Harry wasn't there to tempt you either. He was still at the Dursleys'"

"If you will swear to Dumbledore that you won't tell Harry, and then go away for the time between now and his birthday, I will tell you what we got him," said Hermione.

Harry laughed louder, his eyes tearing slightly.

"I can keep a secret," said Ron, gritting his teeth. "And when Harry's done laughing hysterically he'll tell you so."

This statement was not conducive to stopping Harry laughing. In fact, it seemed to have the opposite effect.

"He was going to use you to find out what his presents were," Hermione informed Ron.

"What?"

"Harry was going to—" Hermione began.

"I heard you the first time!" Ron snapped. "But he wouldn't—Harry?"

Harry fell over, shoulders shaking with his laughter, splayed across the bottom half of Ginny's bed. Ron glared at this wordless admission of guilt and punched him, but Harry just laughed harder, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes.

"I can keep a secret; I don't care what you say," he muttered, turning away from his traitorous best friend to glare at Hermione. The two continued to bicker over the subject, but Ginny shifted her attention to the laughing boy sprawled on her bedspread and leaned down as though to examine him for obvious signs of madness.

"Are you broken?" she asked, patting his head in a consoling fashion. She was feigning concern, but inside she was joyously happy. She'd not seen Harry this carefree in more than a year. And she couldn't remember him laughing since before Sirius died.

Harry caught her hand before she could pull away, suddenly straight-faced and looking up at her with vivid green eyes from close proximity. She caught her breath. "No," he told her slowly, drawing the word out, wicked amusement in his eyes (at what? she wondered, but felt rather certain it was at her expense), "I don't think I am."

"I—you—" She was unable to form words and it was infuriating. She felt a hot flush rising up her neck and across her cheeks.

"I—you—" he mocked, leaning up on one elbow and teasingly tugging on a strand of her hair. He smiled at her, slow and brilliant.

She pushed his hand away, recovering quickly. "Prat," she said. "I don't give presents to people who can't be nice."

The smile widened. "I can be nice," he told her in a low voice.

She blushed again (Why?) but sniffed in disbelief. "I'll believe it when I see it, Potter."

"Fine!" cried Ron, lurching to his feet and glaring down at Hermione. "Fine! I can't keep a secret! I agree with you!"

"Ron—" Hermione began.

"No!" said Ron, turning his face away and holding a hand up to stall her speaking. "You'd better not say anything, Hermione. I can't keep a secret. If you were to slip and say something important, I might accidentally tell someone. Like You-Know-Who. And that could get Harry killed, and I don't want to be responsible for that. Best not to say anything at all."

"Ron!"

"Ron, we only said you can't keep a secret from Harry," Ginny reminded her angry brother. She was trying not to laugh but it was so hard!

"He's still got a point," said Harry thoughtfully. "I mean, there's that whole Voldemort-reading-my-mind factor. So I suppose if he told me a secret there's a chance it might get back to Voldemort…" He trailed off, straight-faced.

There was silence for a long, shocked moment, and then, all at once:

"H-Harry!" Ron spluttered.

"Harry, don't say such things!" gasped Hermione.

Ginny, raised with six brothers, just punched him in the shoulder. Hard.

"Ow!" He glared weakly, rubbing his shoulder.

"You deserved it," she said with a sniff. "Now get out, both of you. We have presents to wrap, before somebody manages to get a peek at them. It would be such as disaster if that git Tom Riddle found out what I bought you for your birthday."

There was another bout of shocked silence, and then Harry burst out laughing. Soon all four of them were collapsed across the beds, tears streaming down their faces, laughing hysterically. In that moment, they were utterly and completely happy.

The following afternoon, Ginny was in the middle of writing one of her summer assignments when she realized she felt rather hungry, so she gathered up her parchment, books, and ink and took herself off to the kitchen to make a quick sandwich while she finished up. She was just sitting down at the scrubbed kitchen table, writing materials spread out around her, when she became aware of a conversation taking place in the next room. Being the Weasley that she was (meaning she knew the value of information), she had no qualms about listening in with half an ear while she worked.

"How long do you think she'll be angry?" a voice was saying. (Ginny knew it was Fred because she could tell the twins apart, even by voice; she was the only one in the family who always knew which twin was which.)

"Yeah," said an almost identical voice, "how long?"

There was an extended silence, and then Ron snickered. Charlie spoke after another short pause, in which Ginny knew he was probably glaring at Ron, although his tone of voice told Ginny he was holding back a wicked laugh of his own.

"Well, she didn't speak to us for a whole day. But we only injured her and embarrassed her a little—"

"And she got revenge on us," added Ron.

"—whereas you tried to turn her into a boy—"

"Which made her mad enough to leave the house and kept her from taking revenge on you," Ron interrupted again.

"—so there's really no telling."

"No revenge means longer exile. It could be months," Ron pitched in helpfully.

"Months?" cried Fred.

"Well. You did try to turn her into a boy," reasoned Charlie.

"What was that about anyway?" Ron piped up suddenly.

"Never you mind," said George loftily.

"And anyway," said Fred, "she had mum sic you on us. I'd say that's revenge enough for her!"

"That wasn't Ginny's revenge," said Charlie. "That was mum's."

"It wasn't either. It was Hermione's," said Ron smugly.

"What do you mean?" asked George. Ginny could almost see his eyes narrowing. She smiled, feeling a little smug herself as she added a couple of lines to her essay.

"Hermione and Ginny are really close friends. (Ginny felt warm-fuzzy feelings towards Hermione at this confirmation of their friendship—if Ron was calling them close friends, it was because Hermione was calling them close friends. Ginny tested the newly official term in her mind—Ginny loved Hermione; she was Ginny's close friend—and grinned happily around a mouthful of sandwich.) When Ginny is upset, Hermione tends to be unhappy about it. It's not really a good idea to upset a witch as clever as Hermione."

"The bookworm?" (Ginny felt a stab of renewed anger at Fred for saying this about her close friend. And George for, she was sure, silently agreeing with him. And herself because she'd gripped the quill too hard while she was writing and made a blot on her essay. She sighed and reached for some sand to absorb the excess ink.)

"If you'll recall," said Charlie quietly, "this is the same witch that sneaks around Hogwarts after curfew with our brother and their best friend, breaking rules left and right and generally spoiling Voldemort's plans in between times."

Fred swore. "He's right!"

"Forgot about that," added George.

Pause. "How?" asked Ron. "It's happened pretty consistently for the past five years."

"She doesn't seem the type." Ginny could hear the shrug in George's voice.

"So what'd she do then, tell Mum to sic Charlie on us?" asked Fred.

"I'm not sure what she did. She just looks smug when I ask." (Ginny loved her secretive friend Hermione.)

"Huh," said George.

"I still say it should count," muttered Fred.

"It won't," said Ron. "And also," he added after a moment's thought, "we begged for forgiveness afterwards." (Ginny paused in her reading and smiled at the memory, tapping her quill against her chin thoughtfully.)

"You begged?" Fred gasped.

"Like, on your knees?" cried George.

"Just about," Charlie murmured.

"We groveled," said Ron. (Ginny snickered very quietly and stood up to take care of her empty plate.)

"You poor, pathetic…" George trailed off.

"Ginny wouldn't make us do that, anyway," laughed Fred. (Ginny froze half way to the sink.)

"How do you figure?" asked Charlie, sounding amused himself.

"Well, we are her favorite brothers." (Ginny snorted.)

"That's true!" (Ginny rolled her eyes.)

"What?" cried Ron. (Ginny was pretty sure Ron thought he knew better than this.)

"You're sure about that?" asked Charlie calmly. (Ginny knew Charlie knew better than this.)

The back door opened behind Ginny while she was putting her plate in the sink, and she turned around to see Hermione stepping in from the backyard. "Hey Ginny," she said. She glanced at the table, looking at Ginny's assignment, riffled through a couple of her books. "Do you know where Charlie is?"

Ginny pointed silently to the door dividing the living room from the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water, which she carried over to the table.

"Thanks," Hermione said. "Try that one," she added, pointing to one of the books she'd been paging through. The paragraph she'd selected was the perfect complement to the section Ginny was writing. The redhead sat down to read it.

Meanwhile, the conversation in the living room continued:

"By their disbelieving tones, I'd say they're jealous, George," Fred was saying.

"Green even," George agreed.

"We'll have to prove differently, won't we, George?"

"Absolutely, Fred."

"Charlie?" Hermione's voice interrupted their conversation as she poked her head into the room. "Your mum's out back asking for you."

"Thanks Hermione."

Hermione smiled at Ginny and headed back outside as Charlie's footsteps grew louder. "You two are delusional," Charlie said, very nearby. Ginny suspected he'd probably stopped just on the other side of the door. "She's going to make you lick her shoes before she lets you off the hook." He seemed to take some delight in saying this, Ginny thought, taking a drink of water and reaching for her quill. She heard the door swing open and shut.

"Oh," said Charlie. Ginny lowered her glass to see him looking at her knowingly. Ginny smiled back innocently, and he raised an eyebrow (You can't fool me, that look said. Who do you think you're dealing with here?). A wicked grin spread slowly across his face. "Hi Ginny," he said loudly. Loud enough to be heard in the other room, where there was complete silence. Then he ruffled her hair and disappeared into the mud room. Meanwhile, Ginny could hear the twins hurrying to the kitchen.

"Ginny!" said Fred, ever the opportunist, as they barreled through the door.

Ginny rolled her eyes but they couldn't see it behind her hair as she bent over her assignment.

"Our darling, beloved sister!" added George.

Ginny dipped her quill in her ink, and kept writing.

"Speak, oh loveliest girl-child!"

"Let us hear once more the dulcet tones of your voice, that we may die in peace!"

Scratch, scratch, scratch went Ginny's quill without pause.

"Ginny!" Fred protested. "Aren't you happy to see your two favorite brothers?"

Ginny glanced around the room before returning her gaze to her parchment. "Well, I would be," she told Fred and George absently, "but I don't see Ron or Charlie anywhere."

In the living room, Ron roared with laughter.

Well, I know the Ginny/Harry moments were few and far between, but this was a very necessary chapter, I promise. A chapter full of accomplishments, first steps, and familiar things! Anyone who's read Seasonal Suffering should have found quite a few familiar things in this chapter: the buying of the Quidditch birthday gift, the "Origin of the infamous ski masks," the first ever Girls' Day! Admittedly, it was rather mild, but it was the first one. Remember, Ginny still has a long road ahead of her, getting Hermione to loosen up enough to steal presents, have charms battles in the corridors, and go on breaking and entering trips to visit famous Quidditch players. Give her some time. At least she got her to break a rule! Until the next chapter! (I'm thinking it will be Harry's birthday, which, I promise, will be both funny and eventful!)