1: Quidditch: Rejection, Selection

Quidditch Captain Ginny Weasley looked around the pitch in dismay. There were about sixty students sitting on the benches, watching her, waiting. At least twenty were first years. It didn’t take a genius to realise that this was many more than the number of students in Gryffindor House. She was glad that she’d taken the Head Girl’s advice and put up a notice in the Gryffindor common room.

Hermione claimed to know very little about Quidditch – Ron claimed that his girlfriend knew less than nothing about the sport of wizards, and, for once, Ginny agreed with her brother. But, whatever else she was, Hermione was certainly a good organiser. Ginny pulled the list from her pocket, looked at the names, and then at the assembled students: Demelza, Ritchie, Jimmy and, unfortunately, Dean and Jack, were all there. She recognised a few of the others, too.

‘Right, you lot,’ she shouted. ‘When I call out your name, come here and bring your broom with you! If I don’t call out your name, the Head Girl will want to speak to you to find out why you’re here. This is a closed try-out for the Gryffindor team. If you’re not in Gryffindor or you didn’t put your name on this list, I advise you to get out of here, now!’

Almost half of the students immediately stood and left; Ginny smiled and began to read out the names. When she’d finished, there were still three girls left on the benches. She sighed.

‘Who are you, and why are you still here?’ she shouted.

‘We want to try out for the team,’ the tallest of the girls yelled.

‘That’s my sister, Veronica, and her friends Kate and Alice,’ a boy said dismissively. ‘They’re all second years, and they’re rubbish.’

Ginny looked at the boy; he’d tried out last year when he’d been a second year. She searched her memory for his name—John Bulcock. He hadn’t been much good, but she’d put him on the reserve list anyway. There hadn’t been much option. At the start of last year, being a member of the Gryffindor Quidditch team had been like having a target painted on your back. Every member of the team had been on the receiving end of some very unpleasant hexes.

There had only been one game, Slytherin versus Gryffindor, which Amycus Carrow had refereed. Slytherin had won, of course, after the dirtiest game – and the most biased refereeing – that Ginny had ever seen. She had been crying in frustration by the time Slytherin finally caught the Snitch. Three members of her team had been injured during the match, two with broken bones. Carrow had refused to halt the game to allow them to be treated. Astonishingly, a Slytherin parent had walked onto the pitch and treated their injuries, much to Carrow’s disgust.

Even some of the Slytherins had been embarrassed by their violent, bloody and unjust victory. When Snape cancelled all subsequent matches, no one had complained.

‘Hermione,’ Ginny called. The Head Girl looked up from her studies.

‘If you wanted to try out, you should have put your names on the list,’ called Hermione. ‘I made the announcement in the common room on the first day of term.’ She waved her copy of the notice. ‘No exceptions!’

For a moment, it looked like Veronica would argue, but after a whispered discussion, the three second-year girls stood and left dejectedly. Ginny was tempted to call them back and let them try out. It was always possible that one of them had talent. But Hermione was correct – if they’d wanted to try out, they should have signed the list. She watched them leave and turned to the twenty-five remaining students.

‘Everyone, mount your brooms, fly round the hoops at each end of the pitch, then land back here.’

That simple test allowed her to dismiss eleven more students – a lot more than she’d expected to lose. She looked at the remaining fourteen. Somewhere in this lot were her team. She’d hoped that she would have more choice.

‘Beaters,’ she ordered. Four boys stepped forwards. ‘Names, please,’ she requested.

‘Euan Abercrombie,’ a tall boy said.

‘Hi, Ginny.’ Burly fifth-year Jimmy Peakes smiled. ‘Me’n Ritchie are back.’

Ritchie Coote grinned. Now in his fourth year, Ritchie had grown over the summer; he was Harry’s height, still skinny, and half a head taller than the older Peakes.

‘Stanley Cresswell,’ the other boy announced his name sadly.

Ginny nodded. Cresswell’s father had been a Muggleborn, one of many who had been murdered last year.

She sent the four boys up for flight and target practice. Abercrombie she dismissed within minutes, but there was little difference between the other three. Cresswell wasn’t as accurate as Ritchie or as hard a hitter as Jimmy, but he was a good all-rounder. After twenty minutes, she finally made her decision. Ritchie and Jimmy knew each other, and had worked well together in the past, while Cresswell was the outsider.

‘Sorry, Stanley,’ she said, ‘I’m sticking with Ritchie and Jimmy, but I’d like to keep you in reserve, just in case of injuries. If you three can all wait on the benches until I’ve finished looking at the rest, please.’

Cresswell shrugged disconsolately.

‘Keepers,’ requested Ginny. Jack Sloper stepped forwards and smiled. He was the only one to do so. Ginny tried not to look desperate when she turned to the remaining nine students.

‘No one else?’ she asked. No one moved. Ginny cursed; she wanted a good team, a strong team, and Sloper was really keen, but terrible. Typical! She had three decent Beaters, but only one poor Keeper.

‘It looks like you’re on the team, Jack,’ she said, trying to hide her disappointment.

‘Seekers,’ she tried, hoping that she’d have a choice. Two girls and a boy stepped forwards. All were small, first or second years. Not necessarily a bad thing for a Seeker, she hoped.

‘We’d like to try for Chasers, too,’ the boy said.

‘Me and my twin,’ the taller of the two girls continued seamlessly. ‘I’m Alizon Devine.’

‘And I’m James,’ the boy finished. Ginny looked at the other girl, a tiny, dark-haired, white-faced first year who hadn’t spoken.

‘Maisie Cattermole, Miss,’ the girl said. She’d actually started to put up her hand before she spoke. Ginny looked at her curiously. Maisie looked terrified, but determined.

Ginny’s heart sank as she looked at the three. If they were no good, she’d have to take the position herself. She didn’t want that. She wanted to be a Chaser. She wanted to impress the scouts. She and her brothers, and Harry, had spent hours flying over the summer. Harry and Charlie both thought that she could make it as a professional. She knew that Oliver Wood had been signed up after he’d been noticed at school.

If she wanted to be a professional Chaser, she needed to work hard and do well. Plus, she needed a decent Seeker. Watching the youngsters carefully, Ginny pulled a catapult from her pocket and picked up a golf ball from the bucket at her feet. She had enchanted the balls to swerve randomly and she fitted one into the catapult.

‘Mount up.’ She waited for them to obey before pulling back the elastic. ‘Now, catch this.’

The speed at which the golf ball left the catapult caught them by surprise.

oooooOOOOOooooo

The Weasley Slingshot Supreme was guaranteed to launch a Weasley Dungblaster Missile accurately over at least a quarter of a mile. It was both fast and accurate, Ginny knew - she’d tested it. Standing under a Disillusionment Spell at the far end of the dungeon corridor, she had managed to launch three Dungblasters into the Slytherin common room on the second day of term. She’d been ready and waiting when a couple of first years opened their portrait. She could have made it four, but she’d taken her time with the third shot and had managed to hit the Slytherin Quidditch Captain, Aaron Wylde, in the chest, finally getting payback for last year’s defeat.

She’d written a glowing report about the catapult/missile combination to George, but ordered him to tell no one. The Headmistress, the Head Girl and the Head Boy had all spoken out against “the dungbomb incident� at breakfast the following morning. Professor McGonagall had told the entire school that hexing or attacking students would not be tolerated. The Headmistress also announced that any Quidditch player caught attacking another player off the field would receive a year-long ban. That announcement had initially resulted in Ginny angrily resolving not to get caught. Later, after an exchange of letters with Harry, she’d found herself promising her boyfriend that she wouldn’t hex anyone, not even a Slytherin Quidditch Captain whose father was an identified Death Eater and on the “Wanted by the Auror Office� list.

When they had left the Great Hall after breakfast, Hermione had asked her if she’d thrown dungbombs into the Slytherin common room. Ginny had been outraged at the suggestion.

‘I did not!’ she replied honestly. I fired Dungblaster missiles using a catapult, she thought smugly, which is not the same thing. ‘But, even if I had, I’d be stupid to confess to the Head Girl, wouldn’t I?’ continued Ginny. Hermione had frowned and protested, and then realised that Ginny had indeed been responsible.

When Hermione had started a lecture about honesty and responsibility, Ginny had stormed off. Head Girl Hermione was proving to be extremely dull and serious. It was astonishing how much difference the absence of Ron and Harry made to Hermione’s behaviour. It had taken Ginny several days to make up with Hermione. It was her admission to the Head Girl, late one evening, that she’d promised Harry that she would not hex anyone which had finally resolved their argument.

oooooOOOOOooooo

James Devine landed in front of her and handed her the golf ball. Ginny had been daydreaming; she hadn’t been watching the Seekers. She brought herself back to the job at hand. She was Quidditch Captain, after all.

‘Again,’ she ordered, re-launching the golf ball. This time, Maisie caught it.

She didn’t wait for them to return; she simply launched ball after ball and carefully watched the three youngsters. James was fairly good – certainly not as good as Harry, but better than his sister, and certainly good enough to play in that position. Maisie was – mad – or stupid – or at least completely, foolishly, fearless.

Maisie managed to beat Alizon for the number of catches made and was only one catch behind James when Ginny fitted the last ball into the catapult. The tiny first-year girl crashed into the ground and broke her arm in a desperate attempt to reach the final ball before it hit the ground. Neither James nor Alizon were even close. Maisie was carried, crying, from the pitch to the hospital wing by Hermione. Had Maisie caught the ball despite breaking her arm, Ginny would have chosen her over James.

‘James, you’re our Seeker,’ Ginny told the curly-haired boy. She looked at the remaining seven students. Demelza Robins grinned. ‘One to keep an eye on, that Maisie. If you’d selected her, she’d have taken Harry’s record as youngest Seeker ever.’ Demelza, it seemed, had been doing some research on the students who’d put their names down.

‘Checking out potential rivals?’ Ginny asked Demelza, smiling.

‘Checking out to see who was likely to be any good,’ Demelza corrected. ‘Didn’t you ask around?’

Ginny shook her head. ‘I like to see them flying.’ She turned to the remaining students.

‘Chasers, let’s fly,’ she ordered, kicking her broom skyward to join the remaining seven students. She made her selection within minutes. Demelza and Alizon Devine easily outflew all of the others. She offered a reserve place to Demelza’s fellow fourth-year and close friend Enid Plews. She wasn’t great, but she was as good as Dean, and if she had to chose between the two…

‘What about me?’ Dean asked, as they dropped to the ground. He sounded hurt.

‘I think that Enid’s better, sorry,’ Ginny lied. ‘But if I lose two Chasers, you’re next on the list,’ she told him carefully.

‘Thanks, gorgeous.’ Dean winked at her. He is going out with Luna, so he should not be calling me ‘gorgeous’, she thought.

‘Ginny!’ she snapped. ‘My name is Ginny.’ When they’d been going out, he’d called her “gorgeous,� she remembered, and “darlin’,� and sometimes “red.� At first, she’d thought it was wonderful; later she’d wondered if he could remember her name.

‘Sorry, Ginny.’ Dean smiled – he had a nice smile. That and his curly black hair were his best features. Quidditch Captains need to inspire their team, not annoy them, she reminded herself.

‘Right, team,’ Ginny told them, ‘first practice is tomorrow morning. I want you all here, including the reserves. Remember this. We are this year’s cup winning team. See you tomorrow.’

Her team cheered, turned and left.

‘I hope,’ she muttered under her breath.

oooooOOOOOooooo

Just over a week later, Ginny walked into the Great Hall with her team. Their second practice session had gone pretty well, and there had been no spies from the other teams. She was grateful for that. As she walked over to greet Hermione, Ginny felt a warm glow in her pocket. Harry had sent the message she’d been expecting. She stopped and pulled her DA galleon from her pocket.

The message read: 12:00 – 3 Oct – 54 gallons of ale.

Ginny grinned. She wondered who would be able to figure it out and who would need help. She looked around the Great Hall, searching for the five other DA members still at school. Three sat at the Gryffindor table. Hermione was examining her Galleon, a puzzled expression on her face, and so was Dennis Creevey. Dean Thomas was already eating his dinner. Typical Dean, Ginny thought, he never carries his galleon. If he had, he might have been spirited into hiding last year instead of having to go on the run. At the Ravenclaw table, Luna was putting hers back inside her robes and smiling. At the Hufflepuff table, Head Boy Justin Finch-Fletchley looked puzzled for a moment, then his eyes lit up as he saw her watching him. He grinned and winked.

On October the third, during the first Hogsmeade visit, Ginny would see Harry for the first time since he’d taken her to Kings Cross and the Hogwarts Express. She had three more weeks without Harry, and no opportunity to have fun without him.

Making mischief was, unfortunately, not an option. The new regime had made sure of that. Justin and Hermione, the Head Boy and Head Girl, were both members of Dumbledore’s Army and heroes of Hogwarts. Both were Muggle-born, and both had missed school last year. Headmistress McGonagall had made a political statement with her choice. Ginny, however, rather wished that someone else had got the jobs. Dean and Luna would have been better. Luna would have made a very interesting Head Girl, and Ginny knew that she could still get around Dean provided she didn’t lose her temper with him. With no opportunity to make mischief, she would concentrate on Quidditch, on her team.

They had the makings of a good team, but they would need to improve, especially Jack Sloper. After their first game against Slytherin, it would be obvious to the other two houses that their Keeper was their weakest link. Ginny could think of only one solution. They had to score a lot more goals than the opposition and catch the Snitch first. But, she smiled ruefully, that was the whole point of the game.

2. Hogsmeade: Anticipation

It was the first Saturday in October, the day of the first Hogsmeade visit. Ginny hadn’t seen Harry since she’d left for Hogwarts, since he’d kissed her goodbye on the Hogwarts Express. Unfortunately, today Ginny wasn’t going to have her boyfriend to herself; she’d have to share him because Harry had organised a DA meeting, a reunion, for today.

Ginny appreciated the sentiment; the group had been formed three years earlier at the first Hogsmeade visit of that year. She had discussed the meeting with Harry on a lazy Sunday in the summer and had actually encouraged him to organise something. It been a great idea at the time, but now, after more than a month without him, all she really wanted was for them to have some time alone together.

She was eating breakfast in the Great Hall when the post arrived. There was a letter for her. She recognised the writing on the envelope; it was a letter from Harry. He was still using post owls, as he stubbornly refused to replace Hedwig. She opened his letter and read quickly.

Ginny,

Ron finally confessed; he did give Hermione a hint. She wrote to him three days in a row, asking him for some clue to the “54 gallons� reference. He gave in and told her “six firkins,� and apparently that was enough. So, despite what she told you, the Head Girl didn’t manage to figure out our message alone. We stumped the great brain!

I wish I’d seen her face when Luna told her that it was easy! I bet she spent the day in the library.

‘She did,’ Ginny said aloud to her absent boyfriend, grinning as she did so. A firkin was nine gallons, six firkins was 54 gallons, or one Hogshead, of ale. This oblique reference to the Hog’s Head had been Hermione’s dad’s idea. Ron, Ginny and Harry had approached him at the end of the summer holidays and asked him about things Hermione didn’t know. “Beer and cricket� had been his answer. When they’d told him the name, he’d said, “Hogshead is a barrel size; she won’t know that.� He’d been right.

Luna had known immediately. Ginny had watched her read the message “12:00 – 3 Oct – 54 gallons of ale,� and smile in understanding. Luna also knew that there were forty poles to the furlong and four pecks to the bushel. When Ginny asked, the blonde Ravenclaw witch had been astonished that these weren’t facts that everyone knew. Head Boy Justin knew beer, as his father owned a chain of Muggle pubs, among other things. The pubs often used the word “firkin� in their name, because it sounded a bit rude. Because of that, Justin knew barrel sizes and had figured it out very quickly. Dean, once a puzzled Dennis had told his fellow Gryffindor about the message, simply asked Luna who told him the answer.

Ginny had warned every DA member still at school not to tell Hermione. She was enjoying seeing the Head Girl looking puzzled. Under Headmistress McGonagall, opportunities for practical jokes were limited, so she had to get her pleasures some other way. Smiling to herself, Ginny read the rest of Harry’s letter. He told her how his Auror training was going (very well) and how he was missing her (very much). The last, short, paragraph was almost a postscript; her pulse raced as she read it.

I’m going to go to the Hog’s Head at eleven to help Aberforth set things up. How soon can you get out of school? I’ll be outside Honeydukes at half past ten; I hope that you can meet me then.

She’d expected to meet him at twelve; in his last letter, he’d said that was the earliest he could get to Hogsmeade. His plans had changed, apparently; she’d see him sooner but, that wasn’t what was making her heart beat faster. He had ended the letter:

All my love,

Harry x

Ginny read the valediction again and again.

One kiss was all she ever got. Harry’s first letter to her had been waiting for her when the train arrived in Hogsmeade; he had finished it:

Yours,

Harry x

She’d replied immediately, and had put two dozen kisses on her reply, adding, “ps One measly little kiss? Don’t I deserve more?� His reply had been waiting for her the following morning. “One kiss is enough, providing that it’s a good one, and believe me, that was a very good kiss.� That joking exchange had led to her following Harry’s lead. Since then, one little “x� was all they sent each other. But, until today, until this wonderful letter, all of his letters had finished simply, Yours, Harry x. That had been enough; she had been happy with Yours, because it was true; he was, after everything that had happened, hers.

All my love… that was new; that was wonderful.

She whooped with joy.

Everyone on the Gryffindor table stared at her. ‘Letter from Harry,’ she explained. Heads returned to their breakfasts, curiosity satisfied. She checked her watch; she would be seeing him in just over an hour. She wolfed down the rest of her breakfast and dashed off to the Prefect’s bathroom, thankful for the privilege that being Quidditch Captain gave her.

While she bathed, Ginny thought back to a conversation she’d had with Hermione in the summer. They had been on holiday in France and had shared a room. Ron and Harry had shared another, and Hermione’s parents had made sure that things stayed that way. On their last night, at about midnight, she and Hermione had found themselves awake, and a little depressed that their holiday was ending.

oooooOOOOOooooo

‘Hermione?’

‘Mmm?’

‘Has Ron ever told you that he loves you?’

Hermione gave an embarrassed laugh.

‘That is a very personal question, Ginny,’ she said seriously. ‘Why do you want to know?’

‘Has he?’

‘Yes,’ Hermione sighed sadly. ‘Lots of times; but only twice since we started going out together.’

‘What?’ Ginny was confused.

‘He used to say it all the time,’ Hermione told her, ‘even when he was going out with Lavender.’

‘Truthfully?’

‘Yes … I think it’s because you’re from a big family,’ Hermione explained. ‘I expect you say it all the time to each other, and I think Ron used to say it without thinking; it was just a bigger and better thank you. When I helped him, I sometimes got an “I love you,� instead of a “thanks.� Since we started going out, he’s said it twice; once in Australia, when we were arguing about my parents, I ignored him—’ Hermione lowered her head sadly, ‘and once over the phone, early in the summer. I think he meant it, but he wouldn’t repeat it. Why do you want to know?’

‘Dean used to say it all the time,’ confessed Ginny, ‘but …’

‘Harry never has,’ Hermione concluded.

‘No,’ Ginny confirmed.

‘Dean just wanted to get into your knickers—or, at the very least, get his hands inside your blouse,’ Hermione told her friend frankly, making Ginny very uncomfortable. He managed with the blouse, but I’m never telling anyone that, except Harry, and not even him until he’s ready, she thought, and Dean is never going to talk. Or else!

‘Harry …’ Hermione continued, oblivious to Ginny’s thoughts, ‘Harry … well, think about it, Ginny, how many people have told you they love you? Your parents, your brothers, other relatives, Dean … and Michael for all I know.’

‘Not Michael,’ said Ginny.

‘Seriously? Well, how many people do you think have said those three words to Harry?’ she asked

Ginny was silent, thinking.

‘None,’ she replied.

‘Possibly Sirius.’ Hermione conjectured. ‘But you’re probably right, no one. I expect that his Mum and Dad did, but he won’t remember that.’

‘So…’

‘So, when Harry does say it,’ advised Hermione, ‘he’ll mean it. He will really mean it.’

‘Maybe I should tell him, first,’ Ginny suggested, though she knew even before she spoke that she should not.

‘No! You know Harry better than that, Ginny; he’ll feel obliged to say it back to you even if he’s really not ready to say the words.’

Ginny nodded sadly; she did know better, but she’d needed confirmation from Hermione.

‘You need to be patient, Ginny; he does love you, desperately. He’s quite pathetic about it, and I saw him obsessing over the Marauders Map most of last year. He’ll tell you when he’s ready. But the words won’t come easy to him. As for Ron…’

‘You’re right about Dean, Hermione,’ Ginny interrupted, ‘he would say things he didn’t really mean, just to get … his own way. Ron won’t do that to you.’ Ginny grinned, ‘My brother can be an idiot, but he’s a bit like Harry. The next time he says the words to your face, he will mean it.’

‘But when?’ wondered Hermione.

‘Boys!’ Ginny sighed.

‘Boys!’ Hermione confirmed.

‘You can’t live with them,’ Ginny said, ‘and you can’t live without them.’

‘And you can’t hex them into oblivion,’ Hermione added.

‘I can,’ Ginny announced. ‘Six brothers; I’ve had lots of practice.’

oooooOOOOOooooo

Smiling, Ginny returned to the present and hauled herself out of the bath. Clean, and smelling fresh and flowery, she returned to the Gryffindor common room and climbed up the stairs to her dormitory. What should she wear? She pulled item after item from her trunk.

Her black dress; Harry liked it, but they were going to a DA meeting, not a party—and anyway, she’d worn it to Colin’s funeral. Her new short skirt—no, she was saving that for a very special occasion. Ron would object to it, anyway. And Harry would be embarrassed if Ron created a scene. Robes; definitely not! Something casual—something Muggle—she made her decision. She pulled on a new low-cut vest. It was short and white, with the Gryffindor lion in red on the front. Her jeans were new, too. She examined herself in the mirror and decided to make some improvements. Taking her wand she spent some time carefully shrinking various parts of both jeans and vest, making certain that they fitted very, very snugly. The only other time she’d tried that, a week after the battle, the effect on Harry had been remarkable.
Jeans and vest top, her brothers couldn’t complain, and Harry would think that it was normal. He’d never realise the efforts she’d gone through. He would notice her, but not immediately, she decided. She pulled on a long, baggy bright green sweater. It covered her hips and instantly transformed her look from skin-tight back to slightly-scruffy normal.

It was almost half past ten; where had the time gone? She pulled on her school cloak, grabbed her broom, and opened the window. She could only leave through the school gate, but the broom would get her to the gate, and then on to Hogsmeade, quickly. She leapt out and flew to the Hogsmeade exit. There was a queue of students waiting to leave.

‘I’m meeting Harry; I’m late,’ she told the people there, using her well-practiced innocent and flustered look. It worked; everyone let her pass. Only one boy, a burly Slytherin fifth year, looked like he would argue; but Colin Creevey’s friend, and Ginny’s only Slytherin friend, Fenella Gray, intervened. ‘Just let her through, Shuttleworth,’ Fenella pleaded in a whisper. Shuttleworth glared at Fenella, but she was almost a foot taller than Ginny, a seventh-year, a Slytherin, and a Prefect. The fifth year didn’t argue, which was fortunate, as Ginny knew that Fenella was far from forceful and would probably have backed down.

Once outside the gate, Ginny re-mounted her broom and flew to Hogsmeade. She landed at the far side of the village, away from the school; she was late. Walking quickly along the street, she approached Harry from behind. He stood outside of the door to Honeydukes, looking anxiously in the opposite direction, up the path which led from the school.

Ginny slowed down and approached him quietly, watching; he hadn’t seen her. He was nervous. He was always nervous when they first met—it was as though he thought she might not turn up, the silly boy! He always looked cute when he was nervous, too. Any second now, he’d take off his glasses and polish them.

He did! She grinned.

‘Hi, Harry,’ she called, throwing back her cloak and swinging her hips as she walked towards him. She feigned nonchalance, though her heart was close to exploding. ‘I haven’t seen you in a while.’

He hastily replaced his spectacles and smiled that heart-melting smile of his.

‘More than a month,’ he told her, correctly, ‘thirty two days…’ He was going to tell her the hours, too, but his smile had been too much for her; she wasn’t going to waste time talking. Before he could say anything else, she stepped up and kissed him. She’d missed him, and he’d missed her; the long, passionate kiss was confirmation of that. She felt one hand in her hair, the other on her back. She slid her arms round him, pulled him closer, and squeezed his lovely bottom. Behind them, the shop door opened.

‘Oi,’ a voice called, ‘stop blocking my doorway, how can my customers get in?’

Ginny rounded angrily on the shopkeeper, reaching for her wand.

‘Sorry, Ambrosius,’ apologised Harry, grabbing Ginny’s wand hand and smiling at the startled little wizard. ‘We’ll have two hot chocolates, please.’ He led her into the shop and sat her down at the nearest of half-a-dozen small tables, which were a new addition to the shop.

‘Certainly, Mr Potter,’ the elderly wizard scuttled back behind the counter, looking warily at Ginny.

‘Is hot chocolate okay?’ asked Harry, suddenly concerned.

‘Honeydukes’ Finest Hot Chocolate? Perfect,’ Ginny smiled at him.

‘Did you … did you get my letter this morning?’ he asked nervously, looking anxiously into her face.

‘Obviously,’ she said offhandedly, choosing to tease him, ‘otherwise how would I have known to be here?’

‘Oh, good,’ he said. He looked down at the table in embarrassment. ‘That’s good, great.’

Ginny suddenly understood. He’d been hoping for an opening, a chance to actually say the words, and she’d casually dismissed his letter. She knew Harry; he needed a serious moment to say a serious thing. The moment had gone, and it was her fault.

‘So, Ron gave Hermione a clue about the message,’ Harry continued, still looking down at the table.

‘Yes, you told me,’ agreed Ginny.

She placed her elbows on the table, rested her chin on her hands and sat in silence. She watched him carefully; she couldn’t push him because he’d resist.

The school separation was proving difficult for her; difficult for him, too, she suspected as she watched him fidget nervously. Last year, she’d missed him and worried about him, but last year there had been so many other things to worry about; like rescuing students from the Carrows. This year was different. Her official Harpies 1998 calendar had the dates of every Hogsmeade visit, every holiday, and every Quidditch game, ringed. Nothing else mattered.

Harry looked up. She lifted her chin from her hands and let them fall to the table, palms uppermost. Harry grasped them eagerly. This simple contact brought a much needed smile to their faces. They continued to look at each other in silence, holding hands across the table. They didn’t need to speak; they were both remembering, thinking. Ginny knew that patience and silence were necessary for Harry. Give him enough silence and, eventually, he’d fill it; he’d tell her what was on his mind.

It was five months since the battle. Harry still had some dark days, she knew. He’d stayed at the Burrow for much of the summer and she’d heard his cries and seen his tangled sheets. She had wanted to go in, to comfort him. She had done, once or twice, when her mother wasn’t around. Simply holding his sweaty, shaking body and whispering words of comfort was enough. He had seen so many deaths, and he re-lived them all.

She remembered those precious times they’d snatched together. Not as many as there might have been, as Harry had gone straight into Auror training and she’d been working for George, keeping an eye on her grieving brother over the summer. Every moment she’d had with Harry was treasured. The holiday with the Grangers had been the best – two weeks away from her Mum. They’d enjoyed some very passionate snogs on that holiday and things had got very hot more than once. Ginny smiled encouragingly; Say the words, she willed. Harry remained silent.

In all those months since the battle, Harry had never said ‘love’ to her. He’d used ‘need,’ or ‘like,’ or ‘fancy,’ instead. Ginny hadn’t minded; he had been honest and passionate, and on the day they’d got back together, almost a week after the battle, he’d told her that he wanted to be with her forever. That had been an emotional day, and Harry hadn’t even realised what he’d said; but he had meant it, she knew that.

Harry still needed time to come to terms with his feelings, with his future. Her Dad hadn’t helped. “Don’t rush into things,� he’d told Harry. To her annoyance, Harry had listened. He was ever the patient Seeker, watching, waiting for the moment to snatch the prize. She was the active Chaser, looking for action. Perhaps that was why they made a great team.

Their hot chocolates arrived. They drank, and Harry finally began a conversation—but not the one Ginny had hoped for. He chatted. They talked about Head Girl Hermione, about Trainee Aurors Ron and Nev (who Harry still insisted on calling Neville), and the other two Trainee Aurors, Susan and Terry. They talked about the Auror Training Programme, about Quidditch, about her new team. Ask me about the letter again, give me an opening, she willed. He didn’t.

When they finished their drinks, Harry paid, took her hand, and led her out through the streets of Hogsmeade towards the Hog’s Head. Several students stared at them. Some, Ginny knew, hadn’t believed the stories that Ginny Weasley was Harry Potter’s girlfriend. There were no photographs of them together, and this was the first time that they’d walked, hand in hand, through a magical location.

Many witches and wizards called out ‘Hello, Mr Potter,’ and Harry returned their greetings, using their names if he knew them. But he didn’t stop to talk, though it was obvious that many people wanted him to. He only stopped when they met Justin Finch-Fletchley, who was arm in arm with a pretty, dark skinned girl.

‘Hello, Harry, hello, Ginny. We’re meeting at noon, aren’t we?’ he asked. ‘Raveena, these are my friends Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley—this is Raveena Singh.’ The girl ignored Ginny, but couldn’t take her eyes off Harry. Ginny determinedly kept her expression neutral as Raveena stammered a ‘Hello,’ and stared at Harry’s forehead.

After confirming the time of the meeting with Justin, Harry and Ginny continued on their way to the Hog’s Head. A notice on the door to the pub read, “Closed for Private Party.� Harry ushered Ginny inside. The scruffy bar had been roughly cleaned and cleared; one large, circular, table with twenty-five chairs dominated the room. Aberforth Dumbledore looked up from his bar and nodded.

‘Harry, Ginny,’ he grumbled.

Harry walked over to two large boxes. He opened the first and brought out two dozen bottles of Madam Rosmerta’s oak-matured mead. Aberforth scowled.

‘You don’t have any mead to sell, Aberforth,’ Harry reminded him. ‘But we’ll drink your Butterbeer and Firewhisky. I’ve hired the whole place, remember, and I’ve organised the catering. The food’s arriving at one o’clock.’

‘You’re not going to make a habit of this, are you?’ Aberforth grumbled. ‘I’ve got my regulars to consider, you know.’

‘I’m sure that they’ll both be able to make alternative arrangements this afternoon,’ Harry grinned. Aberforth grunted and turned his back, his shoulders shaking slightly. Ginny was convinced that he was quietly laughing. Harry opened the second box; it was full of banners and balloons.

‘What’s going on,’ asked Ginny, ‘I thought that this was a DA meeting?’

‘It’s a DA thank you party,’ Harry told her, ‘from me, to all of the people who’ve stuck with me over the years. I’ve paid for everything. I’ve booked this place until six o’clock tonight. I thought that we should celebrate the three years since we formed … and remember our friends …’

Ginny was astonished, Harry was throwing a party. Typically, though, he hadn’t actually told anyone that it was a party. She looked him in the eyes.

‘We agreed, you promised me, Harry; no more secrets,’ she teased him.

‘This isn’t a secret; it’s a surprise,’ he explained, a twinkle in his eye.

‘You sneaky sod, Potter,’ Ginny laughed, wondering how long he’d been saving that excuse. ‘I’m going to need to watch you carefully, aren’t I?’

He smiled shyly. ‘I can’t object to that. After all, I like watching you.’

She put her hands on his chest and pushed him backwards into the nearest chair; then she sat astride him and pulled herself close, very close.

‘You say the nicest things,’ she whispered huskily, ‘and you wri…’

The door to the pub burst open and Ron and Hermione walked in, hand in hand.

‘Bloody hell, Ginny, gerroff him,’ said Ron by way of greeting. ‘That looks positively…’

‘Fun?’ Hermione suggested. Ron blushed, but Ginny didn’t laugh; another moment was gone. She was, however, relieved to hear Hermione crack a joke, no matter how feeble. Hermione definitely needed to see more of Ron and Harry. At school, she was constantly the serious and proper Head Girl. After four weeks, Ginny had seen only a few glimpses of her best friend behind the façade. She needed to get Hermione to loosen up before she turned into a female version of Percy.

‘We thought that you might need help with the decorations,’ her brother continued.

So, Ron had known about the party, but he hadn’t told her. Bloody Ron. He had spoiled another opportunity for her. He always interfered when she got cosy with Harry, too; a Bat-Bogey, that’s what he needed. She slid off Harry’s lap and turned to face her brother.

3. Hogsmeade: Miscommunication

Ron took a step backwards and swiftly drew his wand. He was fast, a lot faster than Ginny had expected. Auror training was obviously doing him good. Ron watched her warily, Hermione glowered angrily, and Ginny considered her options.

Behind her, Harry spoke, ‘C’mon, Ginny,’ he suggested quietly as he stood and tenderly placed his hand on her shoulder, ‘let’s get these decorations put up.’ She lowered her wand and turned. Her boyfriend held up some streamers and looked at her hopefully. Her anger faded. This had been Harry’s idea. He had organised everything himself. She was not going to be the one to spoil it for him. She smiled and kissed him.

‘Good idea,’ she said, smiling at her brother. ‘Come on, Ron, what’re you waiting for?’

The Hog’s Head was soon unrecognisable; streamers, banners and balloons were hanging everywhere. Aberforth Dumbledore scowled and grumbled as the four worked, though, just for a second, Ginny thought that she caught a twinkle in his eye. It wasn’t long before the walls of the dingy old pub were hidden behind a riot of colourful decorations. The largest banner read “Dumbledore’s Army, 3rd Anniversary Party.�

Ginny and Hermione were still busy decorating the tablecloth when Luna and Dean arrived hand-in-hand. A solemn Dennis Creevey followed closely behind. Luna and Dean, at Ginny’s suggestion, added the Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff crests to the cloth. They worked well together and produced an impressive and colourful table decoration. Justin, the last of the students, arrived ten minutes before noon; he was sporting a black eye.

‘Raveena’s brother doesn’t like me,’ he explained, as Hermione treated his bruise.

‘He can’t go around punching people,’ said Hermione crossly, ‘especially not you, Justin, you’re Head Boy. You should report him to the Headmistress.’

‘I was giving his sister a goodbye kiss; he took offence at my behaviour,’ Justin explained, shrugging off the injury. ‘Raveena didn’t tell me that she was only fifteen, but I should have realised. We’re not in school now, Hermione, and he thought that I deserved it.’

‘Was it worth it?’ asked Ginny, grinning. ‘Did the kiss make up for the black eye?’

‘No,’ Justin said sadly, ‘not really. It was rather disappointing, in fact. It doesn’t matter, though. There are plenty of other pretty girls in the school, and a lot of them are closer to my age.’ He smiled at Ginny as he spoke. She laughed at him.

By noon, the room was ready. They were finished just in time; almost everyone arrived within the next ten minutes. The original Dumbledore’s Army came in a confusing and good-natured rush, and the bar was suddenly filled with gossip and banter.

George Weasley had been the first to arrive. Before greeting his brother and sister, he strode over to Dennis Creevey and slapped him on the back, almost flattening the small fifth year. George was followed in by three Hufflepuffs. Justin hugged Susan Bones, who responded coolly, then shook Ernie Macmillan’s hand. He greeted Hannah Abbott rather awkwardly, shaking his ex-girlfriend’s hand embarrassedly before moving away.

Katie Bell arrived with Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet, who was arm-in-arm with Lee Jordan.

Lavender Brown arrived with the Patil twins and Seamus Finnegan. Lavender was still in her wheelchair. She was pale and emaciated; her violet eyes were sunken and dark-rimmed under her dark brown curls. Harry and Ginny immediately made their way across to speak to her. The Healers’ latest prognosis wasn’t good; “unlikely ever to walk,� Lavender told them. She was understandably bitter and uncharacteristically bad tempered and snappy, especially with poor, doting Seamus.

Neville, Seamus, Lavender and Parvati had been the only four seventh-years in Gryffindor last year; Seamus and Lavender had become close, and Ginny had watched their relationship develop until her sudden departure at Easter. Now, Seamus considered it his duty to stick by his injured girlfriend as she’d stuck by him after the beatings he’d received from the Carrows.

Half an hour later, after everyone had complimented Harry and expressed their surprise at the party, various groups had formed. Harry was talking to the old Quidditch girls and Lee. Katie was trying to persuade Harry to attend another charity ball. He was, as Ginny expected, bringing up dozens of objections. In different circumstances, she might have tried to persuade her boyfriend, but the ball was during term time, and as she would not be able to attend she selfishly left them to it and did a head count. There were twenty-three people in the bar, not counting Aberforth. Two people hadn’t arrived. She checked; the two missing were Cho and Neville. Bloody Cho, bloody Romilda, Ginny thought.

Ginny looked around the room, glancing from group to group, observing the changing relationships with interest. Lavender, she noticed, was sitting alone, looking lost and miserable. The Patil twins were both talking to the Ravenclaw boys. Seamus, unusually absent from Lavender’s side, was relaxed and laughing alongside Dean and Luna. Ginny strolled over to Lavender, pulled up a chair and tried to cheer up the wheelchair-bound witch.

‘He doesn’t laugh often these days,’ grumbled Lavender, nodding towards Seamus, ‘and never when he’s with me. He needs a girl he can dance with.’

‘Perhaps he needs you,’ suggested Ginny. Lavender shook her head.

‘We were on the verge of splitting up when Harry arrived in May,’ Lavender confided. ‘If he hadn’t been so badly beaten the week before Harry arrived, and if I hadn’t been crippled, we’d both be unattached. He thinks he’s being noble, but he’s not; he’s being stupid. I’ve told him, but he just tells me that I’m not thinking straight and blames it on the lack of painkillers. He needs to get a life.’

‘Would you like me to talk to him?’ asked Ginny.

‘No point,’ said Lavender. ‘Parvati and Padma have both tried.’ She shrugged her shoulders and turned to Ginny. ‘Oh, sod him!’ she said, grinning conspiratorially. ‘Tell me about school. I hear that the new Head Girl is a complete pain in the backside, and the Head Boy snogs fifteen-year-olds.’

‘At least you’re keeping up with the gossip,’ Ginny laughed. Lavender managed a giggle, and then frowned.

‘Even laughing hurts,’ Lavender grumbled. She was, as usual, full of juicy gossip. Ginny discovered that both Padma and Michael were working in the Department of Mysteries. In return, she told Lavender that Katie had refused an offer of a place as Chaser for Puddlemere United in order to continue her charity work. Katie had been signed up the previous year, but the Muggle-born Registration Commission had put a stop to that. As a Muggle-born instead of a promising Quidditch career, Katie had been forced to go on the run.

Parvati, Ginny was surprised to discover, was training to be a Healer. She gossiped with Lavender for some time. The latter had just asked Ginny about Harry when Cho Chang finally arrived. She looked flustered, but glamorous in a smart Muggle suit.

Harry’s former girlfriend burst through the door, offering extravagant apologies for her late arrival. She made a conversation stopping entrance. She always did. Ginny scowled – then, realising what she was doing, tried to set her expression into one of disinterested neutrality. The pretty, dark haired girl was still smiling at everyone and saying hello when the pub door opened again.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ Neville Longbottom peered apologetically around the door. ‘I can’t stay, sorry.’ Everyone turned to see the last arrival. Ginny smiled at him; brave, clever, wonderful, noble, hopeless Neville.

‘Bloody Romilda,’ muttered Lavender. Ginny nodded.

‘Of course you can stay, Nev,’ Ginny told him, dashing to the door. She grabbed his arm and pulled him unto the room. ‘Harry’s organised a surprise party for us all.’ Neville looked around the room, taking in all of the smiling faces; he looked worried.

‘But, Romilda,’ Neville began, ‘she’s outside, she’s waiting for me.’

‘Didn’t you tell her about the meeting, Nev?’ Lavender asked, wheeling herself over to join them.

‘Yes, but …’ Neville looked at Lavender in confusion, ‘she, er…’

Ginny smiled grimly. ‘I think that I need to have a word with Romilda! You can’t be the only one missing, Nev. Not after everything you did last year.’

‘I’m coming, too, Ginny,’ announced Lavender, loudly, ‘will you help me to get outside, please? Come on, girls.’

As Ginny began to push Lavender towards the door, Luna broke free from Dean, who had an arm around her waist. Ignoring his protests, Luna moved towards the door. Susan, Padma, Parvati, and, for some reason, Hannah Abbott followed.

All but Hannah had been at Hogwarts last year when Neville, Ginny, and Luna had taken charge of the DA. Ginny looked at the determined expressions on the girls’ faces; they certainly weren’t going to let Neville leave. When the scar-faced trainee Auror moved to follow them, Hannah stepped between him and the door and put a hand on his arm. Neville stopped instantly, terrified. Ginny smiled ruefully as she wheeled Lavender outside. Neville could face Death Eaters and even Voldemort with grim determination. Girls, on the other hand … he was almost as bad as Harry.

When the six girls stepped outside, they discovered a small crowd. Romilda Vane stood in the centre of the cluster of curious onlookers. Neville’s girlfriend was wearing very low-cut robes, which were attracting a lot of attention from most of the males in the crowd.

‘What’s going on?’ someone shouted.

‘Private party,’ said Ginny, dismissively, ‘can’t you read?’

‘Romilda,’ called Lavender, ‘find something else to do. Nev’s staying.’

‘How dare you-’ Romilda began, striding towards the pub.

‘Easily,’ snapped Lavender angrily. ‘I’d dare pretty much anything these days. Want to try me?’

While Lavender was sniping at Romilda, Susan and Padma walked over to the Gryffindor sixth-year. Susan put a hand on Romilda’s bare shoulder and whispered something in her ear.

‘What?’ squealed Romilda.

‘You heard,’ Susan said quietly. ‘Do you want me to repeat it loudly, or are you leaving?’

Romilda blushed scarlet, turned on her heels, and stormed off. ‘Keep him! I’ll find something better to do!’ she snapped.

‘What on earth did you say to her?’ Lavender demanded. Ginny was curious, too. Perhaps those rumours about the Prefects catching Romilda in a compromising position with a Slytherin boy last year were true. Susan shook her head, refusing to speak. Padma glanced at Susan, then at her twin before speaking.

‘We know things about Romilda, things that we suspect she hasn’t told Nev. She obviously hasn’t,’ Padma told Lavender.

‘Tell me,’ Lavender pleaded as the six young women returned to the bar, ignoring the questions from the crowds. Padma shook her head, but Parvati winked at her friend. ‘Later,’ she whispered.

‘Romilda’s gone,’ Lavender told Neville smugly.

‘She says that you can stay,’ Padma added, ‘and that she’ll find something else to do.’ Neville nodded uncertainly.

Ginny looked around the room, trying to find Harry. It took her some time to find him. He was in a corner at the opposite side of the table and was talking to Cho. She had her arm on Harry’s shoulder, and they were gazing intently at each other. Ginny hadn’t been outside for more than three or four minutes!

‘Hot in here, isn’t it?’ Ginny asked, and pulled off her jumper. The silence was sudden and absolute. No-one spoke, no-one moved. All of the boys were looking at her chest, she realised. Most of the girls were staring at her, too. Ernie Macmillan’s mouth was hanging open. Michael Corner looked wild-eyed. Dean gave a wink and a wolf-whistle. Ron was looking at her in disgust and blushing. Hermione shook her head in disapproval.

George rolled his eyes and asked, ‘Did you paint that on?’

‘It is rather tight,’ Luna confirmed.

Ginny glanced down at her vest top. It was very tight; tighter than it had looked when she’d checked herself in the mirror in the dorm, and a lot tighter than she’d intended. By pure force of will she did not blush, but determinedly tried to brazen her way out of the situation.

‘If you don’t approve, you don’t have to look,’ she announced. She glanced towards Harry, hoping to see his appreciation. She was disappointed; Harry turned his back on her and returned to his discussion with Cho. As the conversation level slowly rose to a low muttering, Ginny heard her name on several people’s lips. She, it seemed, was going to be the new topic of conversation.

She stared at Harry in disbelief; he continued to ignore her, talking quietly to Cho. She had made him uncomfortable. More than that, she’d embarrassed him, she realised. She could tell by his stance, even from behind. But she couldn’t simply put the jumper back on again, not immediately; that would be an obvious capitulation. Her stubborn streak took over. She could, and would, brazen this out.

Several boys were moving towards her, Michael and Justin were at the fore. Looking for an escape route, she spotted Neville. She strolled over to him and rescued him from an earnest and surprisingly nervous sounding Hannah Abbot. Neville was hesitantly telling Hannah about his last year at Hogwarts. Ignoring Hannah’s protests and pretending not to notice the smile from Anthony Goldstein, who was also trying to attract her attention, Ginny grabbed Neville by the arm.

‘Tell me about Romilda,’ she asked her best male friend apart from Harry as she linked her arm through his and began to drag him through the room. She hauled him closer to both Harry and Cho as she tried to hear what Harry was talking about.

‘There’s not much to tell,’ Neville blushed. ‘I … sort of … asked her out, she said yes, and we’ve been together for four months, since just before my eighteenth birthday.’

‘What’s she like?’ Ginny asked as they walked. She kept Neville in a tight grip, desperate to make sure that he didn’t try to escape. Her vest was making him nervous. She linked her arm through his and pulled him in closer.

‘She’s …’ Neville paused uncertainly, ‘… I think that she’s nice, although Gran doesn’t like her for some reason. She’s a bit bossy sometimes, but she knows what she wants, and she works to get it.’

‘Like a hero of Hogwarts?’ suggested Ginny acidly as she continued to drag Neville closer to Harry and Cho. There was a sudden lull in the conversation.

‘…ten weeks, that should be plenty of time.’ Ginny heard Cho tell Harry, ‘I’ll see you on Wednesday.’

The volume of conversation rose as suddenly as it had fallen. Ginny heard no more. But those few words were enough. She was no longer interested in what Neville was saying. She stopped listening to him, interrupted his reply, excused herself, and left him bewildered and alone. She strode determinedly towards Harry and Cho. Ten weeks, Cho had said: it was ten weeks until the end of term. She was furious, and desperate to discover what they had been talking about.

Ginny found her route to Harry suddenly blocked by several young men. She seemed to be surrounded by blokes. All were much taller than she was. That was nothing unusual, most people were – she was smaller than everyone here except Dennis, and even he would soon pass her. She could no longer see Harry past the guys. Anthony Goldstein smiled shyly at her, Justin grinned, Michael loomed, and Ernie hovered in the background.

‘Hi, Ginny …’ Michael began. Ginny growled.

‘Out of my way all of you, or you’ll regret it,’ she ordered through clenched teeth. She glared angrily at them. They moved, but not far. She could reach Harry, but only by walking through the very narrow gap they’d created, she would have to brush past them. She wasn’t going to give in; she rudely elbowed her way between Anthony and Justin, who made no effort to move aside, but simply grinned at her. Anthony seemed to enjoy the contact.

Harry still had his back to her. Cho had gone. The cow!. Harry was now, once again, talking to Katie.

‘Hi, Ginny,’ Katie said, warning Harry of her approach. Ginny glared at her.

‘When’s your next Charity Ball, Katie?’ asked Ginny sharply.

‘Halloween.’ Katie sounded surprised at the question.

‘Are you going?’ Ginny quizzed Harry. He looked puzzled.

‘Do … do you want me to?’ he stammered, ‘I wasn’t going to go, not without you.’

‘You could always take someone else,’ suggested Ginny, her emotions in turmoil as she tried to decide whether he could be lying, whether he was taking Cho. She waited for his reaction.

‘You want me to take someone else?’ asked Harry; he was confused, horrified, and suddenly very worried. As Katie watched the exchange, she looked more and more uncomfortable.

‘I think that you two need to talk,’ suggested Katie firmly, ‘I’ll leave you to persuade Harry to attend the ball, shall I?’ She left rapidly. Harry and Ginny glanced at each other. Harry looked away, and then down.

Ginny’s anger evaporated. Suddenly worried, she examined her boyfriend carefully; he was slumped and sad. His head was down, his shoulders drooped. He was looking intently at his feet, at his shining black boots.

‘Harry,’ Ginny spoke his name softly and he lifted his head slightly. He was looking at her body, but not in the way she’d hoped and expected. He still wouldn’t look into her eyes. She began to panic. Was he trying to finish with her?

‘Are you all right, Harry?’ Ginny asked hesitantly. ‘Are we all right?’

Harry looked up. Ginny stepped closer and gazed up into his eyes. He looked almost frightened; his wonderful green eyes were clouded and sad. ‘I don’t know,’ he asked. ‘Are we?’ She was confused.

‘I thought you’d like the vest …’ she began. He shrugged non-committally. What was wrong? She reached out an arm; he stepped back, avoiding her touch. This was serious. She remained silent, waiting.

‘I don’t like the way most of the other guys are looking at you,’ he finally admitted. She was relieved. Was that all?

‘Jealous?’ she teased huskily. His face fell, so did hers. Judging by his expression, that one word had been a mistake, too. He was supposed to be turned on, not upset; this was not going according to plan. The day was turning into a disaster. Before she could apologise, he spoke.

‘Should I be?’ he croaked, his voice catching in his throat. He sounded extremely worried, almost desperate. ‘Do you want to finish with me? Have I done something wrong?’ he asked, his voice was barely more than a whisper.

‘NO!’ Ginny shouted in her panic. She had not intended to say the word so loudly. The room fell silent and everyone stared at them. Harry took a step backwards, and another, his back hit the wall.

Their stance, their attitude towards each other, everything about them was wrong; it had been almost since they’d met. She had teased him in Honeydukes; but she’d teased him before, often. What had happened? He was again looking at her chest, not her eyes; Harry was worried and unhappy. She looked down – the vest was almost obscenely tight. She had definitely overdone it. She again tried to catch his eyes with hers, she couldn’t.

He was embarrassed to be with her.

4. Hogsmeade: Conversation

Ginny fought to stay calm, watching Harry carefully. He’d backed away from her and she’d followed; now, there was nowhere for him to go. His back was literally against the wall, and she was the cause. The realisation worried her. She gently put her left hand on his shoulder, deciding not to drop the jumper she still carried in her right. She stepped closer and finally, by moving almost toe to toe with him she managed to catch his sad green eyes. ‘You haven’t done anything wrong,’ she said forcefully, though her voice was barely more than a whisper. ‘But I think I’ve been a bit stupid today.’

The room was still and silent. She did not need to turn to know that everyone was watching them; she could feel the pressure of their curious stares and realised the effect that being the centre of unwanted attention at such a personal moment was having on Harry. She lowered her voice further. ‘I don’t want to finish with you, Harry, I…’ She stopped mid-sentence, somehow managing not to say the ‘L’ word. ‘… I don’t want to be with anyone but you.’

His relief was obvious on his face and in his stance; it was so palpably clear that there was no need for her to ask him anything else. Her concern about Cho vanished; she cursed herself for her stupid jealousy.

She smiled at him. ‘We need to talk, Harry; let’s go outside for a minute,’ she whispered, shivering theatrically. ‘Now, I’m cold,’ she said loudly. ‘I think I’ll put my jumper back on.’

As she pulled the thick green wool over her head, lunch arrived, delivered magically to the table. There were gasps of surprise from the group. There were meat pies, quiches, hams, cold beef, salads and pickles - a massive cold buffet. Harry looked helplessly at Ginny when her head emerged from the jumper.

‘Later,’ she reassured him before tipping her head forward, sliding her hands around her neck and freeing her hair from beneath her jumper. ‘We’ll talk after we’ve eaten.’

‘This is my thank you,’ Harry muttered awkwardly to the group, trying to break the uneasy silence that had fallen around them, ‘my thank you to all of you for sticking with me, for being there when I needed you and for all of the amazing things you did last year.’ He looked at Ginny; she smiled encouragingly, took his hand, and led him to the table.

There was a great deal of embarrassment and confusion as everyone found a place and sat down. Dennis, still only fifteen, remained standing. He filled his goblet with butterbeer and raised it. Everyone else hastily filled their goblets with mead.

‘Fred Weasley,’ Dennis said, nodding to George, who was sitting next to him.

‘Fred.’ Everyone raised their goblets; George stood.

‘Colin Creevey,’ he announced, returning the toast.

‘Colin,’ everyone replied. Even Aberforth Dumbledore had raised a glass to the two fallen members of the DA, Ginny noticed, though he had turned his back on the room, trying to conceal the fact.

After a few moments of mournful silence, George asked, ‘What’re we waiting for? The grub’s going cold.’

There was rather more laughter than should have been expected from such a feeble joke, and much of it sounded self-conscious. The atmosphere between Harry and Ginny combined with Dennis and George’s determined remembrance of their dead siblings had brought a fug of discomfort and depression into the room.

‘Thanks, Harry,’ sang Luna, when the laughter died down, ‘you really are very nice.’

Harry blushed.

Cho stood, raised her glass to Harry, and smiled. ‘To Harry, who really is very nice,’ she said.

There were cheers and more laughter as Harry managed a shy smile. Ginny forced herself to smile and raise her glass, wishing that she’d thought of doing what Cho had done. Cho’s act had unsettled her once again; she was up to something. But whatever was going on, Ginny was sure that, at least so far as Harry was concerned, it wasn’t romantic. That fact had been obvious from Harry’s desperate plea before the meal, and that was all that mattered.

‘We should have a reunion every year,’ Ron suggested. There were mutters of agreement as everyone began helping themselves to the food.

As people began to eat, drink and gossip, the atmosphere began to improve. The meal progressed slowly as those who had left school told each other where they were working and old acquaintances were renewed. Ginny watched Harry carefully from the corner of her eye, trying not to make her observation apparent to anyone.

He relaxed noticeably as attention moved away from him. He was sitting between her and Hermione, who was firing dozens of questions about Auror training at Ron and Harry. Listening to the conversation, Ginny discovered that she already knew everything that Hermione was being told. Harry’s letters to her were obviously much more informative than the ones Ron sent to Hermione.

While trying to keep an eye on her boyfriend, Ginny held a half-hearted conversation with Neville, who was on her right. She amused herself by trying to analyse the seating arrangements. Everyone had simply grabbed a seat with their friends. Luna was between Neville and Dean; then came Seamus, Lavender and Parvati. Michael had squeezed himself between the twins, meaning that he had probably wanted to chat one of them up. As he was working with Padma already, Parvati must have been his target. The other Ravenclaws were clustered together. Then there was Hannah, sitting between Terry and Ernie. She was as far away from her ex-boyfriend as she could manage and still be with her fellow Hufflepuffs. She and Justin hadn’t spoken, and Justin’s tale of his black eye hadn’t gone down well with either Ernie or Susan. As she watched the Hufflepuffs, Hannah glared at her, and Ginny suddenly realised why. Hannah would be better for Neville than Romilda. She must get them back together; she owed Hannah that.

There was no point in confronting Harry about his feelings, not here and now. Getting him talking would require time, tact, patience and privacy. For a moment, Ginny considered the possibility of simply dragging him away from the Hog’s Head. She dismissed the idea soon, however. It would spoil the party, and it was selfish of her; she couldn’t keep him to herself all of the time, though it would have been nice to have him alone more than she’d managed so far today. How had they ended up here, and what were her options?

She’d hurt him. He pushed himself to the front and took control only when necessary. He tolerated being the centre of attention, but he didn’t like it. He had never liked the stares and whispers or the fame; he had simply become good at ignoring them. This, of course, made his life ridiculously complicated. He’d spent years ignoring the gawkers and gossipers. He would, she realised, spend the rest of his life trying to be less famous than he was while doing a job which would often get him in the papers.

It would never be “Aurors Arrest,� after all; it would be “Potter Arrests� in the papers, even if all he did was stand around while Ron did the work. She and Ron had joked about that over the summer. Ron would love the publicity, but he knew that it would never be his. She’d wondered aloud why Ron didn’t get more annoyed. “I don’t need to,� he’d told her, “Harry gets annoyed enough for both of us.� It was during that conversation that she had realised how selfless her youngest brother could be.

Over the summer, they had spent most of their free time in the Muggle world. Harry was so much happier there; where no one pointed or stared at him. It was, he’d often told her, like wearing an Invisibility Cloak but still being seen.

It was amazing how frequently he appeared in the Wizarding press. Most of the reports were nonsense, and Harry seemed to be impervious to the many wild, hurtful, press stories, presumably because he’d been at the centre of so many over the years.

Her choice of clothes today had been an attention-grabbing mistake, as had her first, joking, response to Harry when they’d met. Harry, she knew from experience, could be very insecure. He had managed to reach the conclusion that she wanted to ditch him based on almost nothing; she tried to work out how. As she tried to analyse what had gone wrong, a series of unpleasant thoughts crossed her mind.

He’d told her, in his own clumsy way in his last letter, that he loved her, and she had made a joke. She suspected that, as a consequence, he’d concluded that she didn’t feel the same way. She had dressed rather more provocatively than she’d intended. She’d done it for him, but he seemed to have assumed that she’d done it to impress the other boys. Then, when she’d suggested that he take someone else to the Charity Ball; he’d thought that she was telling him to find someone else. Damn!

Harry was still in mid-conversation with Hermione. She didn’t interrupt; she simply slid her arm around her boyfriend’s waist, squeezed him tightly, and rested her head on his shoulder.

‘I’ve missed you so much,’ she whispered. That was enough, she felt him relax; though not completely. There was still something wrong, something worrying him; should she mention the letter? She decided against it. She simply stayed close throughout the meal. She touched him, held him, and reassured him at every opportunity. Knee, arm, hand; regular, gentle contact.

‘Speech,’ everyone shouted as the plates were cleared away. Harry shook his head.

‘You’ve got to say something, Harry,’ Hermione whispered; Ron nodded his agreement. Harry looked at her, hoping for an ally.

‘Sorry,’ she whispered apologetically. ‘They’re right, you really should say something.’

Harry reluctantly stood and looked around at his friends.

‘I didn’t invite you here to listen to me talk,’ he began, ‘just to say thank you.’

‘So, I’ll simply propose a toast.’ He looked down at Ginny, she smiled encouragingly. As he gazed into her eyes, his own suddenly brightened and sparkled, and he grinned mischievously.

‘This group doesn’t owe its existence to me; I simply ended up as its leader,’ he began with a shrug, ‘and I’ve no idea why!’

Everyone laughed.

‘It was probably because no one else wanted the job. But, Dumbledore’s Army isn’t mine; not really. It belongs to all of us; especially after the amazing things you all did last year. But as for the beginnings, well, this little group of ours owes its creation to a very special lady. A lady who, almost from the day our school year started, just over three years ago, worked tirelessly to make sure that Dumbledore’s Army came into existence.’

Hermione looked down, embarrassed. Ginny watched Harry shrewdly, he was choosing his words very carefully. She caught George’s eye, he was grinning; he saw her and winked, giving her unneeded confirmation that she was right.

‘Without her drive, her passion and her strongly held beliefs, we would never have started this group. I’m sure, by now, that you’ve all guessed who I’m talking about. I have to say that I’m happy to see that she’s finally been rewarded for her efforts; that she has at last got some well-deserved recognition for her talents.’

Hermione blushed furiously.

‘So, everyone, please raise your glasses and join me in a toast … to Dolores Umbridge; may she rot in Azkaban.’

Ron howled with laughter; Hermione’s jaw dropped, and then she, too, joined in the laughter. Through cheers, Ron kissed his girlfriend, and the meal ended on a happier note than it had begun.

Ginny had planned to grab Harry the moment that the meal was over, but he was busily apologising to Hermione. Her brothers collared her before Harry had finished. Almost as soon as the dirty dessert plates disappeared from the table, Ron and George arrived. They lifted her bodily from her seat and dragged her to a quiet corner of the room. She wasn’t really surprised and didn’t protest.

‘What the hell are you wearing?’ Ron asked angrily, ‘are you trying to make everyone think that you’re … you’re …’

‘…a shameless hussy?’ George interrupted, grinning at Ron’s discomfort. ‘Seriously, not-so-little Ginny, that’s not the sort of top you should be wearing in public. I’m not sure that you should be wearing it in front of Harry in private, either; although I don’t think that you were expecting the reaction you got, were you?’

‘No,’ Ginny murmured sadly.

George pulled her into a powerful hug. ‘What was the idea?’ he asked.

Ginny returned the hug and told her brothers. ‘I haven’t seen him in a month; I thought that I’d give him a treat.’

‘You gave every bloke in the room a treat,’ Ron told her.

‘Except us, of course,’ George added, ‘you just made your two favourite brothers unhappy; don’t do it again, or I’ll be forced to take serious measures.’

‘What could you possibly do?’ snorted Ginny dismissively.

‘I’ll take a photograph of you in that top.’ George told her.

‘And then what?’ she rejoined sarcastically, curling her lip.

‘He’ll send it to Dad,’ Ron informed her, a wicked smile on his face. George grinned at Ron’s observation and at Ginny’s look of abject horror. He slapped his brother on the back.

‘He’s not as thick as he lets everyone think, is he?’ George chortled.

‘You can relax, boys,’ sighed Ginny, ‘I’ve learned my lesson; I really have. I’ll save the mini-skirt and halter top for a day when I can guarantee that I’ll get the desired reaction from my boyfriend.’

Ron blushed to the tips of his ears; George laughed loudly and pulled his sister into another tight hug.

‘You’d better be careful, little Ginny,’ he told her. ‘Remember; if you can’t be good, be careful.’

‘Good,’ boasted Ginny, laughing at last at the ridiculous situation she’d put herself in, and thankful to George for lifting her spirits, ‘I’m not going to be good, I’m going to be bloody brilliant, and so’s Harry!’

George laughed. Ron, however, was obviously uncertain whether to laugh or not, so he changed the subject.

‘Found out anything about the Slytherin team?’ he asked her.

Ginny nodded and proceeded to tell her brothers about her upcoming first match against Gryffindor’s fiercest rivals. For several happy minutes, she forgot her worries as she entertained her brothers with the information she’d discovered about her opposition.

‘Girls?’ Ron snorted in disbelief, ‘they’ve never let girls on their team before.’

‘You probably won’t be able to tell the difference,’ said George. ‘Most of the Slytherin girls look like blokes, anyway. There was one in our year who had a moustache; and that Fenella Gray girl, the one we met at Colin’s funeral, is taller than every bloke in this room except Ron, and possibly Terry.’

‘Fenella’s okay,’ Ginny said, ‘she helped Colin and Dennis, remember?’

George nodded and looked around the room at the mention of the Creeveys, ‘The little squirt is looking lost again; he really misses Colin, you know,’ he said, and strolled off to talk to the fifth year.

‘George and Dennis,’ said Ron curiously as he watched his brother amble across the room, ‘d’you think that they’re good for each other? Sometimes I think that they just argue about whose brother was the best.’

‘They are helping each other cope,’ considered Ginny, ‘George has us, but Dennis has no other brothers or sisters. George thinks that he’s doing Dennis a favour, being a surrogate big brother. I reckon that he’s actually helping himself more than he’s helping Dennis, but Dennis appreciates the attention, especially from one of the oldest DA members; he’s so much younger than the rest of us.’

‘He’s two years below you,’ Ron told her, ‘that’s the difference between George’s year and us, it’s not that much.’

‘He’s going to be an Auror, you know,’ Ginny told her brother.

‘Dennis!’ Ron looked astonished, ‘he’s got about as much chance as Lavender.’

‘He’s as determined as Lavender,’ Ginny said, ‘he’ll do it.’

Ron shrugged, took a deep breath and asked the question Ginny had been waiting for ever since George had left them.

‘How’re things between you n’ Harry? Hermione held me back when you took off your jumper; she said that Harry wouldn’t want a scene, that you n’ Harry would sort it out. But you haven’t, have you?’ Ginny gazed up into her brother’s deep blue eyes, almost a foot above her own, and wondered why she was trying to sort things out by herself.

‘Ron,’ Ginny, admitted, her face serious, ‘I’ve hurt Harry. I didn’t do it deliberately, but I did it. I need a few minutes alone with him; will you help me to prise him away from everyone else?’

‘Of course I will.’ Ron smiled. ‘I know what he’d be like if you two don’t sort this out. So do you. He’ll brood until it is sorted, and I couldn’t cope with him being like this until the Slytherin game.’

Ron stopped, then spoke solemnly. ‘You know, there’ve been loads of times over the last couple of years where I’ve had a go at Harry; told him not to mess you about. He didn’t always appreciate it, and neither did you. But now, I’m going to tell you! He’s my best mate, Ginny; don’t you mess him about, either, be straight with him. If you two split, it will be hell for everybody; you could break him.’

Ginny began to protest.

‘Let me finish,’ ordered Ron firmly. Astonished, she did.

‘If you intend to dump him, do it sooner, not later. Me n’ Hermione’ll pick up the pieces. If you’re serious, and now that I’m living with him I can tell you that I’m absolutely bloody certain that he is, don’t let him brood.’ Ron looked over the top of her head, ‘Now’s our chance’ he’s with Hermione and Neville. Let’s go.’

Ginny hugged her brother and they walked rapidly towards Harry. Michael Corner had obviously failed to impress Parvati; he moved to intercept them, but Ron blocked his approach, grinning as he placed a firm hand on the dark-haired Ravenclaw. Ron had never liked Michael.

She continued past Ron and a protesting Michael, but found her path blocked by Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell.

‘Can I ask a personal question?’ Alicia asked cautiously.

‘I think you just have,’ Ginny sighed, ‘but yes, I’m still going out with Harry.’

‘That’s not what I want to know,’ Alicia said, a surprised look on her face, ‘I’m not interested in Harry, Ginny,’ she said, ‘frankly, I still see that scrawny undernourished little first year whenever I look at him. I don’t think many of the girls here are interested. He’d be too much hard work.’

‘No more than I am,’ observed Ginny wryly, ‘so, what did you want to ask me, Alicia?’

‘How did you do it?’ Alicia asked.

‘Do what?’

‘The vest top, how did you make it so tight?’ the older girl asked in a whisper.

Ginny grinned. ‘Carefully applied Shrinking Charms plus a Cushioning Charm for the chest. It isn’t really very difficult. I can show you, but not now; I really need to speak to Harry.’

‘Okay, thanks.’ Alicia smiled and let Ginny pass.

As she continued towards Harry, Ginny saw Hannah Abbott standing alone and looking rather lost. She approached the blonde witch and looked up into her grey eyes.

‘I was rude, before, Hannah,’ apologised Ginny, ‘I shouldn’t have interrupted your conversation with Nev.’

Hannah said nothing.

‘Let’s both go and talk to Harry,’ Ginny suggested, Hannah glanced towards Harry, Hermione and Neville and nodded silently.

When they reached Harry, they discovered that he was involved in a complicated discussion with Hermione about werewolf rights. Neville was looking bored.

‘You were telling Hannah about last year at school, Nev,’ Ginny said, ‘but I interrupted. Hannah’s been asking me about it,’ she lied, ‘but I thought, as you were there right to the end and I wasn’t, you could answer her questions.’

‘What do you want to know, Hannah?’ Neville enquired.

‘Well, just, what really happened,’ said Hannah nervously.

‘That will take all day,’ Neville told her, smiling, ‘I hear that you did a good job, too, eavesdropping on Death Eaters, passing information to the resistance.’

‘It wasn’t much...’ The buxom blonde witch smiled modestly and took a step backwards. Ginny watched with interest as Hannah backed away from Harry and Hermione. Neville followed almost unconsciously.

Harry and Hermione were still discussing werewolves. Ginny listened to them in silence. She was desperate to interrupt, but she was happy to be close to a Harry who was obviously passionately interested in the topic of conversation. Ron joined them, winked at his sister, and changed the subject, teasing Hermione about being Head Girl. Ginny took the opportunity to move her boyfriend away from Ron and Hermione.

‘I seem to have made a bit of a fool of myself today, Harry,’ she said. ‘Thank you for the party; it was a great idea, and we should do it again next year. If we do, I promise that I’ll behave myself.’

Harry looked at her, sadly, ‘I’m sorry if I’ve done something to upset you, Ginny; I’ve really missed you this last month.’

‘I’ve been missing you, too, Harry; shall we go outside for a while? We could try to find somewhere quiet to talk.’

Harry nodded; he rather hesitantly reached forwards. He was even uncertain whether it would be all right for him to take her hand. She grabbed it eagerly and gave a squeeze of encouragement. He led her towards the door. At last, time alone, Ginny thought.

A bell chimed, the noise coming from inside Hermione’s robes.

‘Hogwarts students,’ the Head Girl announced, ‘we have half an hour to get back to school before Filch closes the gates and reports us to the Headmistress. It’s a fifteen minute walk, so we need to be getting ready to leave.’

5. Hogsmeade: Reconciliation

Hermione’s announcement stunned Ginny. Half an hour! That was not long enough. It was unfair. She swore loudly, prompting an annoyed, ‘Really, Ginny!’ from the Head Girl.

Ginny ignored her friend’s scolding, concentrating on what was important. ‘What happens if we’re late?’ she asked Hermione.

‘Hogsmeade privileges are revoked for one or more visits,’ Hermione said. ‘It’s the Headmistress’s decision.’

‘Damn,’ said Ginny, scowling. She would have accepted a month of detentions and she’d even have considered a Quidditch ban, but missing Hogsmeade meant missing Harry’s next visit.

Harry looked downcast again. ‘I’ll see you at the Slytherin match,’ he said sadly, ‘and then at the November Hogsmeade visit, unless you don’t make it back in time today.’ He shifted his feet nervously. ‘Do you want me to walk you back to school? Or would you rather fly?’

‘Being with you is better than flying,’ Ginny told him forcefully. He finally cracked a smile, the first real smile he’d given her since she’d surprised him outside Honeydukes several dark bleak days ago. ‘Walk me to the gates, please, and we can talk on the way. We can stay outside the school gates until the last possible minute.’

She scurried to the pegs by the door and hurriedly searched through the cloaks to find her own. Several others had been hung on top of it. She hauled them off and threw them at Ron.

‘Sort these out for me, please,’ she begged. Ron smiled and nodded. She looked around for her broom; it was missing. She panicked for a second, until she realised that Harry, his coat already buttoned, was holding it for her.

‘I’ll see you later,’ said Harry, waving farewell to the DA as he opened the door. Ginny felt a sudden pang of jealousy. Harry could come back, the party could continue, and she’d be stuck in school. He allowed her to step outside first. She stepped into the lane, and into a series of camera flashes.

‘Mr Potter, Mr Potter,’ a reporter called, ‘is it true that you’re entertaining a dozen girls in there, some still at school?’

‘Sod off!’ Ginny exploded. Harry, his face pale, stood in the pub door and said nothing. The camera continued to flash. Ginny fought back the urge to hex the photographer. Instead, she slipped past her boyfriend and darted back into the pub.

‘Guys,’ she begged, in her best “little-girl-lost� voice, ‘could you give us some help, please? The press are outside.’

George was at the door in an instant. He was closely followed by Dennis, Ron, Lee and Neville. Harry stepped aside and let them pass. George moved towards the photographer, trying to keep himself between the camera and Harry. He pulled several Weasley products from his cloak and began a well rehearsed sales pitch, trying to sell them to the photographer. Ron, Neville and Dennis did their best to prevent the photographer from avoiding George. Lee, meanwhile, approached the journalist and began asking him questions.

Ginny and Harry finally had their opportunity to escape. She grabbed his hand. ‘Wanna fly my broom?’ she asked. ‘I wouldn’t let anyone else do it!’ she added with a smile.

Harry grinned and straddled the broom. She sat behind him and wrapped her arms tightly around his chest. He was still lean, but he was getting noticeably more muscular.

‘As fast as you like,’ she suggested. He kicked off and they shot almost vertically into the air. He was flying away from the school, towards the village. As he pushed the broom at maximum acceleration, Ginny’s cloak and her unbound hair fluttered in the slipstream.

‘How d’you think the press found out?’ Harry asked as he levelled off the broom. Ginny’s first (and uncharitable) thought was to blame Cho. But that, she admitted to herself, was unlikely.

‘Keep flying fast,’ she shouted, ‘it helps me think.’

‘Me, too,’ he replied, taking a hand from the broom and squeezing hers, which were still clasped around his chest. For a moment, she was thankful that the press had come. Flying was a passion for Harry; he used it to clear his head. It was the same with her. She took a few minutes to gather her thoughts while simultaneously concentrating on the pleasure of tightly holding Harry’s chest. He dropped the broom low and turned sharply. She heard his gasp of pleasure at the manoeuvrability of her Nimbus Stormcloud as they sped back towards the school.

‘No one in the DA,’ she assured Harry, confident that her trust was justified. But who else knew?

‘Romilda,’ decided Ginny. ‘Nev will have told her where he was going, and she was annoyed that we took her boyfriend away from her.’ She felt a pang of guilt when she said that. Neville and Hannah had been talking intensely when they had left. She didn’t like Romilda, but Nev apparently did. She shouldn’t have encouraged Hannah.

‘Romilda?’ queried Harry. ‘Do you think so? What should we do?’

She should try to be nice to Romilda, for Neville’s sake, she knew. But how could she be nice to Romilda Vane, the girl who had almost got Ron killed – even for Neville? She couldn’t.

‘There’s nothing we can do about it now, Harry, except hope that Nev ditches her.’

‘That’s unlikely,’ replied Harry. ‘I sit next to him at work, and he never talks about anyone else. Ron says that he’s as pathetic as…’

Harry stopped in mid-sentence and Ginny felt him tense. They were rapidly approaching the school gate, but that wasn’t the reason for his tension. She gave him an encouraging hug.

‘… as pathetic as we are,’ Harry admitted. ‘Three trainee Aurors and three schoolgirls. The older guys rib us constantly. At least Ron and I only have to wait until next summer. Neville has still got another year to be teased. I’ll talk to him about Romilda on Monday, if you want me to.’

‘No,’ Ginny said firmly. ‘We don’t know that it was Romilda. I could be wrong. Let’s just forget it.’

Harry pulled up the broom and they landed gently a few yards away from the gate. Several younger children were already making their way back into the school grounds. A giggling group of third year girls stood and stared as Ginny and Harry dismounted. Harry handed her the broom and ignored the whispers from the girls. Ginny curled her lip at them and snarled; the girls fled through the gates.

‘It flies well. It’s not quite as fast as a Firebolt,’ he said nervously, ‘but it seems to be more manoeuvrable. Do you like it?’

‘Of course,’ Ginny smiled, ‘it was a seventeenth birthday present from my boyfriend. I love it and treasure it.’

Harry looked pleased, but confused, too. ‘Have I been stupid again? Am I being stupid again?’ he asked.

Ginny shook her head firmly. He was blaming himself again. He probably always would – for everything, Harry “it’s my fault� Potter.

‘Not as stupid as I’ve been, Harry,’ she assured him as they walked towards the school gate.

‘Pupils only,’ Filch reminded Harry bumptiously.

‘That’s fine,’ snapped Ginny. ‘I’m staying out here until it’s time for you to close the gates.’ She grabbed Harry’s hand and led him off the path along the edge of the high boundary wall. They scrunched through the piles of autumn leaves, scattering a rustling line of scarlet, amber and brown in their wake. The leaves had formed a wind blown and unstable embankment against the high stone wall surrounding the school. As they walked alongside the wall, the smells of autumn greeted them; damp air, wet leaves, early leaf mulch, and decaying timber pervaded the atmosphere. They stopped a few dozen yards from the gate.

‘I wanted today to be perfect for us,’ began Ginny, leaning against the wall. The dry leaves almost reached her knees. ‘It’s been good, and the party was a great idea, but between us, it’s been a bit of a disaster, hasn’t it?’

‘Sorry,’ apologised Harry.

‘What are you sorry for?’ she asked quietly. ‘I don’t think that you’ve done anything wrong. What do you think that you’ve done that you need to apologise for?’

‘Er,’ Harry began. There wasn’t time for Harry’s “er’s,� though, so she interrupted him.

‘You miss me; that’s obvious, and I miss you, too. I miss you so much that sometimes I think I’m going crazy. At least you write to me; you write wonderful letters to me.’

‘You write great letters to me, too,’ Harry told her seriously. She waited silently, but he didn’t take the bait; he didn’t talk about his last letter. She tried a different line.

‘Ron told me off today,’ Ginny informed her boyfriend. ‘He told me not to mess you about,’

Harry gave her a rueful smile. ‘I hope that you weren’t too hard on him; he means well. He’s a good man, your brother.’

‘I know,’ said Ginny, ‘he wouldn’t be your best friend if he wasn’t. I wasn’t hard on him at all. He’s not the most sensitive person I know, so if he spotted that I’ve hurt your feelings, then…’

Harry stopped her by gently placing an ice-cold finger on her lips. He wasn’t dressed for flying, but neither was she; she shivered.

He looked seriously at her. ‘It’s not your fault, either, you know; I have been a bit foolish today. I was worried and confused and jealous. I was a bit crazy, I … the other guys … they … that vest.’

‘Next time,’ she reassured him, ‘I won’t wear the vest.’

Harry raised an eyebrow, then began to chuckle. It was a low, almost dirty, noise she hadn’t heard before. He was blushing at the same time.

‘You should definitely keep your jumper on, in that case. No matter how hot it is. Otherwise you’ll cause an even bigger fuss amongst the other blokes.’

She slapped his arm softly. ‘That’s not what I meant, and you know it,’ she began to protest. Catching the twinkle in his laughing green eyes, she began to giggle, and then she burst out into hopeless, helpless, relieved laughter. She fell into his arms, slipped her arms around his back and then slid them up to hold his shoulders.

‘Oh, Merlin, Harry, I’ve missed you.’

She hugged him tightly. Taking a deep breath, she pulled herself together, looked up into his eyes and tried to explain.

‘The vest was for you,’ she clarified.

‘It definitely won’t fit me,’ Harry replied, his expression serious, his eyes mischievous. She fought down her frustration. Her attempt to have a serious conversation was being met by humour. It was Honeydukes, but in reverse. She pulled herself up towards him and tried to kiss him. It was a feeble attempt; his response was cautious, tentative.

‘That doesn’t count,’ she announced, ‘it certainly wasn’t one of them.’

‘One of what?’ asked Harry curiously.

‘The kisses from your letters,’ she explained. ‘Remember what you wrote: “one’s enough, if it’s a good one.� You owe me sixteen good kisses, Harry.’

‘And you owe me fourteen, and, if that was one of the ones from your first letter, twenty-three more not-so-good ones,’ he replied. He looked serious; the mischief was gone from his eyes, and Ginny, for once, was having difficulty recognising his mood.

She released him, reached up, and cupped his cheeks in her hands. Sliding her fingers back around his ears and into his hair she interlocked them at the back of his head and gently pulled him down towards her. Standing on tiptoe, she kissed his chin.

‘Twenty-two,’ she said. She continued kissing him tenderly. Her lips travelled up his jaw, and she counted down all of the way. Upon reaching eighteen, she traversed his cheek. She reached his nose on fourteen and continued across the other cheek (ten) and back down his jaw to his chin. ‘Six,’ she smiled. He smiled cautiously back at her. She pulled his head lower, kissed his nose, then his eyebrows, ‘five, four and three,’ then kissed his forehead ‘two, one,’ she murmured, ‘and finally, zero.’ She gently kissed his scar. The skin was smooth but hard against her lips; she held him there for some time, held her lips to his scar until his hands, which had remained hanging loosely by his side throughout her kisses finally, tenderly encircled her waist. She gently lowered herself down and looked into his eyes.

‘Your turn,’ she told him, ‘the first of sixteen good kisses, please.’ Harry hesitated.

‘Do you want to talk?’ she enquired. ‘Ask me anything. I promise that I’ll tell you the truth.’

Harry sighed, returned her gaze, and made a decision.

‘Honestly, why did you wear such a tight vest?’ he demanded.

‘For you, I thought that you’d like it,’ she replied. He looked at her in disbelief. ‘You did the first morning after you came to The Burrow, in the summer.’

‘At The Burrow it was just us, in my bedroom—Charlie’s bedroom. The only blokes around were your brothers, and they were downstairs, and it wasn’t so tight,’ he emphasised. ‘If that’s what you were doing, why did you hide it under a jumper?’

‘I wanted to surprise you, too.’

‘Surprise me! You surprised everyone,’ he retorted, ‘so why did you take it off when you did?’

He was hurt; his questioning was almost aggressive. Ginny looked into his eyes. “No secrets,� she reminded herself. Perhaps honesty was the best policy.

‘You were talking to Cho,’ she admitted. ‘I don’t like you talking to Cho, sorry.’

Harry looked at her in stunned silence. Ginny watched and waited. He looked surprised and carefully mulled over what she had. His expression moved from surprise, through bemusement, and finally came to disappointment.

‘Say something!’ she begged. ‘Please.’

‘Jealous?’ he teased. She realised she deserved that.

‘That’s the truth,’ she told him. ‘Sorry.’

‘Why?’ he asked. ‘Why Cho?’

‘She kissed you first.’

‘Michael kissed you first,’ he said reasonably, ‘but I’m not bothered by him talking to you.’

Ginny caught the inflection in his voice; Harry obviously was worried about someone else. Now was not the time to admit that Michael was not the first boy she’d kissed.

‘I’m not interested in anyone else, Harry. Not Michael, not Dean, no one but you,’ she reassured him. ‘I…’ she caught herself again; don’t say the ‘L’ word. ‘I fancy you. I want only you.’

‘You will have kissed and been kissed by dozens more people than I have,’ observed Harry thoughtfully. ‘The first kiss I remember was from Hermione. You’re not jealous of her, too, are you?’

‘Of course not,’ said Ginny dismissively. ‘She’s my friend, and she’s never fancied you … I’ve been kissed by my parents, aunts, uncles, brothers.� She stopped. “Oh, damn it, Harry!’ she exclaimed at last. ‘You don’t need to worry about them, or about my old boyfriends. I just want to make up with you. To kiss and make up.’

‘Sometimes, I worry too much. I’m sorry,’ he asserted. ‘So there’s no one else?’

‘No,’ she assured him, ‘and you’re not trying to get back with your ex?’

‘Definitely not,’ he emphasized, ‘I’m not sure what I saw in her. She’s quite pretty, I suppose, but…’ He looked into her eyes and she gazed back into the clear green depths of his.

‘Do you realise how beautiful you are?’ Harry asked.

‘What? How can I answer that?’ she protested. ‘If I say yes, I’m big-headed. If I say no, then I’m simply fishing for compliments. Anyway, according to Aunt Muriel, I’m short and stocky and ginger and freckled.’

‘You’re petite, curvy, chocolate-eyed, flame-haired and perfect,’ he told her forcefully. ‘And…’ he hesitated.

‘And?’ she asked hopefully, her heart pounding.

He put two fingers under her chin and gently lifted her head. ‘And I owe you sixteen very good kisses.’

At Harry’s words, Ginny realised that it wasn’t going to happen, not today. The three little words she’d hoped for hung unsaid between them, waiting for another time. The next time we meet, she promised herself, after he’s written more letters. He’ll say it the next time. He will definitely say it if we beat the Slytherins in five weeks time. Her eyes lit up at the thought of post victory celebrations with Harry. But now, she faced more than a month without him.

He cupped her cheeks in his hands; his thumbs were together at the point of her chin. He slowly lowered his lips towards hers. As he did so he slid his thumbs down her chin and neck, halting at her clavicle. For a second his hands encircled her neck before they moved apart. It was an odd, slightly unnerving gesture. Then his right hand slipped back up into her hair, his left slid down to the small of her back and continued down to her bum. His tongue darted out to moisten his cold and dry lips.

His kiss was tentative and tender; his lips brushed hers lightly. His hand held the back of her skull firmly as he deepened the kiss. He was breathing softly through his nose. She felt the warmth of his breath on her cold cheek. His tongue caressed her lips but travelled no further. It was a kiss of restrained passion. I want you, it told her. And I want you to want me. He closed his mouth, let his lips linger on hers for a teasing second, and then pulled away. He sucked in a deep breath.

‘Was that a good kiss?’ he asked. She almost asked, “Have you been practicing?� but decided not to tease. Instead, she nodded.

‘My turn, I think,’ she said. She unbuttoned his overcoat and slipped her arms around him. ‘My hands are cold,’ she explained. She grabbed his well-muscled backside and pulled him close.

‘You’re mine, Harry, I want you, no one else.’ She stood on tiptoe and kissed him, gently nibbling his lower lip until he began to respond, to return the passion. She pulled herself forwards, trying to press every part of her body against every part of his. She felt his hands slide inside her cloak and down onto her rear, pulling her closer. She wrapped one leg around his and pulled herself even closer. When she did so, she felt him physically reacting to her closeness, her passion. She let out an involuntary moan and pressed herself into him.

They stayed like that until they were interrupted by Hermione hissing. ‘Harry, Ginny, the reporter is on his way, and it’s time to go back into school.’

Ginny reluctantly released her boyfriend.

‘I’m closing the gate in one minute,’ Filch snarled.

‘C’mon, Ginny, please,’ Hermione begged. She stood in the gate alongside Ron, their arms wrapped around each other. Ginny wondered how long they’d been there.

Ginny stepped back from Harry, who was as reluctant to let her go as she was to release him. She smiled sorrowfully at her boyfriend.

‘See you at the match,’ she told him, as brightly as she could. Hand in hand, they ran to the school entrance. Ginny released Harry’s hand and squeezed past Ron and Hermione, who were snogging in the gateway, physically preventing a complaining Filch from closing the gate. As Ginny squeezed into the school, Hermione’s watch chimed again. Hermione stepped sadly back from Ron.

‘Bye, Harry. Bye, Ron,’ Hermione called. Ginny turned and waved, but didn’t speak. Ron, she noticed, had a consoling hand on Harry’s shoulder.

‘Now,’ Hermione told Filch, thrusting her watch under his nose, ‘it’s time for you to close the gate.’

‘Bye, Ginny. I miss you,’ Harry shouted. Filch leered maliciously at Ginny and banged the gate closed in triumph. Ginny glared hatefully back at the caretaker and wondered how easy it would be to fire Dungblaster missiles into his office. She turned to see Hermione watching her. The Head Girl was smiling sadly. Together, they trudged disconsolately back to the school.

6. Quidditch: Auror Action

It was a bitterly cold day, but thankfully the northerly gale had blown itself out. The November sky was striped with hopeful shades of grey. Bright threads of sunlight slipped between dark grey clouds. A glowing white patch of cloud showed where the sun was struggling to break through. Close to this bright blot on the grey, there were even a few tiny patches of blue sky. Good conditions for Quidditch, thought Harry.

He walked up to the main gates of Hogwarts School alongside Ron and Neville. The three trainee Aurors weren’t alone. Ahead of them were recently promoted Senior Auror Aubrey Williamson and Aurors Philippa Fortescue and Leonard Lister. At least none of them were wearing their navy blue Auror uniforms. Harry had persuaded Deputy Head Auror Patience Blood that casual clothing would be best.

Harry hadn’t had time to send Ginny an owl to tell her the bad news. Their mission had been authorised only two hours earlier, after a review of yesterday’s interview. They had been in the mission briefing until a matter of minutes ago.

The Headmistress stood at the gates to meet them. Williamson sent his Patronus through the closed gates to speak to Professor McGonagall. She waved her wand and the gates opened. As she glanced at Harry, he caught the tiniest wrinkle of a smile in the creases around her eyes.

‘Do you really think that he’ll turn up, Auror Williamson?’ Minerva McGonagall asked, a serious expression on her thin lips.

‘Probably not,’ the pony-tailed Auror admitted. ‘It would be very foolish for a wanted Death Eater to attend a Quidditch game here. But Madam Blood has been persuaded that it’s worth checking out.’ He glanced at Harry as he spoke. ‘According to his wife, Wylde watched every game he could when his son was selected, and, this year, his daughter is playing, too.’

‘Girls on the Slytherin team,’ grinned Ron, ‘the world has changed.’

‘I hope that it has, Mr Weasley,’ said the Headmistress severely as, with a flick of her wand she re-secured the school.

‘Well, I’ll leave you to get about your business, Auror Williamson. You can find your own way down to the Hogsmeade gate, I’m sure.’

‘Yes, Professor,’ said Williamson ‘…Headmistress,’ he hastily corrected himself after a single twitch of McGonagall’s right eyebrow.

‘And, Williamson.’

‘Yes, Headmistress?’

‘If your activities in any way disrupt today’s game, or worse, injure any of my students, I will be very unhappy.’

‘Er, right; we’ll do our best, Headmistress.’

‘Good,’ Minerva McGonagall turned and strode towards the Quidditch pitch. Williamson rolled his eyes exasperatedly at his fellow Aurors.

‘Do that again, Williamson,’ said the Headmistress, without turning round, ‘and I’ll be having words with Head Auror Robards about your attitude.’

‘Sorry, Headmistress,’ Williamson spluttered.

A subdued Williamson led the team stealthily and silently through the school grounds, past the pitch, and down to the small wooden gate leading to Hogsmeade village. As they walked, Harry gazed lovingly around the grounds. He wanted to walk down to the lake, to the tree which had been his – and Ginny’s – favourite hiding place. He wanted to see inside the rebuilt school. Most of all he wanted to see the Quidditch pitch, to see Ginny’s first game as Captain.

He was concerned that he might not see Ginny. He might even miss the game. Ginny didn’t know where he was or what he was doing and he could not tell her. Only two hours after suggesting the idea to Deputy Head Auror Blood he was regretting it.

‘Are you certain that you’ll be able to identify him,’ Williamson asked, ‘even if he’s taken Polyjuice potion?’

‘Yes,’ replied Harry.

‘Good,’ Williamson turned to the others, ‘Form a circle, sixty yards across,’ he ordered. ‘Space yourselves out equally.’

‘We can remember your briefing, Aubrey,’ Philippa Fortescue observed quietly. ‘You only finished it a quarter of an hour ago.’

‘Well, get on with it then,’ said Williamson grumpily.

Harry left them to it. His instructions were to wait by the gate. He watched as the three Aurors, Ron and Neville Disillusioned themselves.

‘Hold your positions until the target is identified,’ Williamson ordered.

‘We’ve done this before, Aubrey,’ Philippa told him, her exasperation obvious in her disembodied voice.

‘The trainees haven’t,’ Williamson replied. ‘Everyone, be quiet!’

Harry was left, apparently alone, by the gate. He pulled on his invisibility cloak. The moment he did so the path to the pitch became deserted and silent to any casual observer. On the other side of the gate, Harry now knew, there would be a queue forming. Many local residents, together with several proud parents who had made the journey to Hogwarts, would be waiting to be allowed into the grounds to watch the first Quidditch game of the year. Parents and Hogsmeade residents had, apparently, always been allowed into the Hogwarts grounds to watch the games except, for security reasons, during his third and sixth years.

As he stood next to the wall by the gate, Harry withdrew the Marauders Map from his pocket. Ginny’s last letter came out with it. Harry’s heart began beating rapidly, and not because he was on his first real mission as a trainee Auror. He should open the map, prepare himself. Instead, he opened the letter and re-read the last few lines.

You must come to the changing rooms before the match. Don’t be late!

Forever yours

Ginny x

Harry sighed. What was happening between them, he wondered? When they had been together over the summer things had been wonderful. But these days, they weren’t together. He was in London and she was in Hogwarts. He wondered how serious Ginny was about their relationship. She had told him, often, that she was serious. But she didn’t always act like she was. She was just seventeen, and still a young schoolgirl, as several of his fellow Aurors never tired of telling him. She was certainly young enough to be frightened of commitment, they told him, especially to “the Chosen One�, or “the Boy Who Lived.�

Aurors Strang and Lister, in particular, never let up. Both were older than Harry, about the same age as Charlie Weasley. Both were married men, and both constantly ribbed him (and Ron and Neville) about going out with schoolgirls. They also advised the young men not to get married, to play the field. Harry had lost count of the number of times that Dominic Strang had leeringly told him that he could have any witch he wanted. What frightened Harry was that this might possibly be true. Lots of girls flirted with him, something he’d never get used to. He’d even been propositioned by some of the Ministry staff. Harry didn’t want to play the field, though; he wanted Ginny. But did she want him?

He had ended the letter he’d written just before the first Hogsmeade visit “all my love,� but when they met Ginny had made a joke and changed the subject. She obviously hadn’t wanted to talk about it. Then, at the party in the Hog’s Head, she had been determined to make certain that Neville stayed. After revealing the tight vest she was wearing, she had wandered around the room arm-in-arm with Neville. Harry had been more than a little worried about the way she had resolutely clung to his friend and fellow trainee Auror.

When he’d got back to the party, after taking Ginny back to school, he had questioned Neville. He’d had to prise his friend away from an annoyed Hannah Abbot to do it. According to Neville, Ginny had been acting oddly at the party. She had asked Neville lots of questions about Romilda, but she had not been listening to his answers. When Harry had flown Ginny back to the school gates, she had – Harry’s heart lurched when he remembered – suggested that it would be a good thing if Neville and Romilda broke up.

He consoled himself by remembering their conversation at the school gates. He’d asked Ginny about her behaviour. She had admitted that she was jealous. Jealous of Cho, of all people! He’d wondered if Ginny’s behaviour towards Neville had been due to that. But she’d been keen to make sure that Neville stayed before Cho had approached him with her news.

At the gates they had talked a little, kissed a lot, and sort of made up. Ginny had assured him that everything was all right between them. She’d kissed him goodbye mere feet from where he now stood. At the other side of this very gate. The memories of that farewell kiss still sent shivers down his spine, even now, five weeks later. The passion of it had resulted in several very wild dreams which he could not discuss with anyone, certainly not Ron.

Yet, despite that goodbye kiss, Harry had dwelt on the party in the Hog’s Head for days. There was no one he could turn to for advice. He couldn’t ask any of the Weasleys. His only real alternative, Hermione, was at Hogwarts and sharing a dorm with Ginny.

Ginny certainly had something on her mind when they parted. It was as if she’d been waiting for something, as if there was something unsaid between them. It showed in their correspondence, too. Their subsequent letters had been polite, chatty and full of news, but somehow also slightly stilted and formal. He had gone back to ending them “yours, Harry,� as “all my love� had not been well received.

He had brought up the subject of Ginny with Neville so often during training that Neville had thought it necessary to assure him that he thought of Ginny in the same way Harry thought of Hermione. Neville was one of the most honest and trustworthy people Harry knew, and he certainly seemed to be besotted by Romilda. But, in his darkest moments, Harry admitted to himself that Neville was the one bloke he was worried about. Neville was clever, resourceful and brave. He had almost been the chosen one, and Neville had asked Ginny out, too; he had taken her to the Yule Ball. He must have fancied her, way back then, when Harry had barely noticed Ron’s little sister.

Harry’s dark and depressing musings were, fortunately, interrupted. Sadly, the distraction was Argus Filch, who was stomping down towards the gate. Harry hastily prepared for his mission. Putting Ginny’s letter carefully back in his pocket, he opened the Marauders Map. He was ready just in time.

Filch opened the gate and the spectators began to enter the school in twos and threes. Harry watched as their names appeared on the map. The first person through was a determined looking middle aged woman who the map told him was called Branwen Lloyd. Harry recognised the name from Quidditch Weekly; she was the assistant trainer and scout for Holyhead Harpies.

Name after name passed him. This was a foolish mission. Williamson was probably correct; the chances of a felon turning up to see his children play Quidditch were between slim and none. Then, to Harry’s surprise, Ariadne Wylde arrived. The wanted man’s wife was a pale, curly haired, wide-hipped woman. He hadn’t expected to see her. He sadly watched her walk up the path.

---

Harry had been field training with Auror Philippa Fortescue for the past week. They had interviewed Mrs Wylde yesterday. Ariadne Wylde had begun the interview by claiming to be a half-blood, and had nervously provided documentation to prove it. Despite reassurances from both Philippa and Harry, she refused to believe that blood status was no longer important. She was extremely nervous and terrified of authority.

Harry had been fascinated by Philippa’s interrogation technique. It was much closer to gossip over tea and biscuits than formal cross-examination. The plump, jovial, round-faced witch was an unlikely-looking Auror, but she got results. By the end of the interview, though Mrs Wylde had admitted nothing and Philippa hadn’t pressed her, both Harry and Philippa were certain that Ariadne Wylde was Muggle-born and that her pureblood husband had somehow protected her.

Harry was disturbed by the Wylde case. Wilberforce Wylde had worked at St. Mungo’s. He’d been a respected Healer, until he became the Muggle-born Registration Commission’s representative at the hospital. He had then been instrumental in removing Muggle-born healers from St. Mungo’s as part of the “unfit to practise� legislation drafted by Umbridge. The hospital had lost a third of its staff as a result.

It was now six months since the battle, but many of the former Healers, and many other Muggle-borns, remained missing. Some were, in all probability, dead; others, it seemed, had simply turned their back on the magical world which had treated them so badly.

Harry was anxious to find a link between the Death Eaters and the Muggle-born Registration Commission. He was desperate to bring as many charges as possible against Dolores Umbridge. He, Ron, and the other trainee Aurors were pursuing Umbridge with a vengeance.

The Death Eaters captured after the battle had stolen and murdered with impunity. They had behaved as if they were untouchable, because, for some time, they had been. Consequently their offences had been easy to prove. Umbridge, however, had written a discriminatory law, had it ratified, and then applied it. Until the Wizengamot decided which, if any, of the laws passed while Thicknesse was supposedly in control were lawful all the Auror Office had against Dolores Umbridge was theft and misuse of power. Her prosecution depended upon the Wizengamot deciding that the law had not been legally sanctioned.

This should have been easy, as almost half of the Wizengamot had gone into hiding when Thicknesse was installed as Minister and many of the rest had family members held hostage by Death Eaters to ensure their compliance. Twice already the Wizengamot had decided that the Thicknesse regime was unlawful and that none of the discriminatory laws passed had been properly approved. However, they were being scrupulous in their deliberations. A third and final appeal had been submitted. Harry was finding the legal process interminable, but Kingsley was determined that he would not rule by decree and was busily removing many of the powers his office had accrued since Voldemort’s first rise to power.

Only four known Death Eaters remained free. Wilberforce Wylde and Rabastan Lestrange were the only two on the run. It was therefore essential that they were captured. The other two Death Eaters not in Azkaban were Lucius and Draco Malfoy; both were in protective custody and were collaborating fully with the Auror Office.

The two male Malfoys had named names and provided details of every known Death Eater hide-out in order to avoid incarceration. Their co-operation had resulted in the rapid round up of most Death Eaters, dozens of Snatchers, and many other Riddle supporters within the first two months after the Battle. The Malfoys remained wandless. Lucius’ wand had been destroyed by Riddle, Narcissa’s had been lost by Draco, and Harry still retained Draco’s own wand.

Lucius Malfoy was under house arrest, restricted to the grounds of his home. As an escaped prisoner, he had been sent back to Azkaban to serve the remainder of his sentence. He had lasted a week before a carefully orchestrated diversionary riot had allowed half a dozen incarcerated Death Eaters to attack him. He’d barely escaped with his life, but would forevermore be walking with a cane. He’d been removed from the prison for his own safety, but he was not allowed to leave Malfoy Manor. Narcissa was running the family businesses, with some assistance from her reclusive son.

The Wylde family, however, puzzled Harry. By all accounts, Wylde had been a decent family man and a doting father, but he had suddenly become a Death Eater four months before the battle. Witnesses had confirmed that Wylde bore the Dark Mark and had joined Riddle at Hogwarts for the final battle. But, surprisingly, there was no evidence that he had actually fought. Dozens of witnesses placed him in the Forbidden Forest, but, despite rigorous investigation, no one on either side had seen him in the combat.

Wylde was one of many who had gone on the run after the battle. Unlike the others, no-one, not even his wife, knew why. He could have “done a Malfoy,� an expression which was becoming popular among the wizarding community (it meant switching sides, betraying former friends, courting favour with those in power). He had not. Wylde must have something to hide, but what?

One particularly nasty rumour was that Wylde was Voldemort’s personal physician and that he had spirited away the body in order to once again bring Voldemort back to life. Despite the fact that almost every member of the Wizengamot had seen Riddle’s body and most of them had made public statements to that effect, the “He’s Back!� rumours continued sporadically. Capturing Wylde would lay to rest one more rumour. One that Harry, the Auror Office, and the Minister, definitely wanted to stop.

---

There were now only ten minutes until the start of the match, and Wylde hadn’t arrived. If the man didn’t come soon Harry would miss the start of the game; he would miss Ginny.

Five minutes!

Four!

The name Wilberforce Wylde suddenly appeared on the Marauder’s Map. He was a small, grey-haired man with a bushy beard. He looked nothing like the tall dark-haired and clean shaven man on the wanted posters. He was almost certainly using a Polyjuice potion. Harry let him get fifty yards inside the gate. Then, as planned, he ran to his intercept position and silently fired a colour-changing spell onto his target’s pointed hat. The man didn’t notice.

Harry threw off his cloak and aimed his wand at the wizard, trusting that everyone else was still in position. Williamson appeared directly in front of their quarry.

‘Auror Office!’ Williamson identified himself. ‘You are Wilberforce Wylde, wanted for questioning.’

As the Senior Auror appeared and shouted the warning, Ron, Neville and the other Aurors revealed themselves, surrounding the startled man. Wylde tried to Disapparate.

‘You can’t Disapparate within Hogwarts grounds, Wylde,’ called Philippa. ‘Put your wand on the ground and come quietly.’ The fugitive staggered and fell to his knees, weeping.

‘I’ll tell you everything,’ the man sobbed, holding up his hands, ‘on one condition.’

‘No conditions. Surrender, or else,’ Williamson told him.

‘What do you want?’ asked Harry. Williamson glared at him.

‘To see my children play Quidditch.’

‘Nothing else?’ Williamson asked.

Wylde shook his head sadly and held out his empty hands, accepting his capture. ‘Just let me see the game, please. I’ll come quietly. I’ll tell you everything.’

Harry looked at Williamson because he knew that the Senior Auror was a fan and there was no doubt that Williamson, too, would like to see the game.

‘Okay,’ Williamson agreed, ‘but you’ll be wandless and handcuffed.’ Wylde nodded.

‘I’ve got to go,’ Harry called.

Ignoring Williamson’s angry shouts, Harry sprinted towards the Gryffindor changing rooms.

‘Slytherin:’ he heard the voice of an unknown announcer call as he reached the Gryffindor changing room door, ‘Pinder, Pepperell, Zoë Wylde, Hockaday, Shuttleworth, Chatterton and Captain Aaron Wylde.’

He burst, breathless into the changing room to see Ginny, white-faced and nervous, marshalling her team at the pitch-side exit.

A ragged cheer broke out from the stadium.

‘Sorry,’ he gasped.

She ignored his apology.

‘I need a warm-up,’ she announced, running towards him. She jumped on him, throwing her arms over his shoulders and around his neck.

‘Gryffindor:’ the announcer began. The team remained in their dressing room while their captain, her arms and legs wrapped around her boyfriend, snogged him passionately.

‘Wait!’ Harry heard Demelza Robins order. He breathlessly concentrated on the kiss.

‘Gryffindor:’ the announcer said a second time after the team failed to appear. A nervous silence fell over the stadium.

‘Ginny,’ called Demelza urgently, ‘we need to go or we’ll forfeit the match.’ Ginny unwrapped herself from Harry.

‘Fine,’ she said. ‘We’ll win, now.’ She lightly smacked Harry’s bum, told him, ‘Next time, don’t be late,’ and motioned her seeker to the door.

‘Gryffindor,’ the announcer called for a third time. The relief in his voice was noticeable when the young Seeker flew onto the pitch. ‘James Devine, Robins, Alizon Devine, Captain Weasley, Peakes, Coote and Sloper.’

Harry stood in the changing room, bent double, his hands on his knees. He desperately sucked in air. He’d been out of breath when he arrived and the subsequent kiss from Ginny had taken every last gasp of air from his lungs. He hadn’t even spoken to her.

‘Slytherin score!’ the announcer shouted.

Hoping that Hermione had saved him a seat, Harry rushed out into the stands.

7. Quidditch: Slytherin Solution

Gryffindor had already evened the score to ten points each by the time Harry reached his seat. He waved back to a wildly gesticulating Hagrid who was sitting at the back of the stand, gave Hermione a brief hello, and settled down to watch the game. Ron was sitting on her other side, already engrossed in the match.

‘Ron’s told me what you’ve been doing,’ began Hermione excitedly, ‘and that you caught him.’ She obviously wanted to start a conversation. He hadn’t seen Hermione since the Hogsmeade visit, but Ginny was captaining her first game against Slytherin. Although they had a lot to talk about, they could talk later after the match.

‘Yes,’ said Harry abruptly. He then pointedly ignored her and turned to look out over the pitch. Hermione sighed, and she, too, turned toward the game.

The Slytherin team were unlike any Harry had seen before. All three Chasers and the Seeker were girls. Only the Beaters looked like they belonged in one of the old Slytherin teams, they were a couple of burly thugs. The Keeper and captain, Aaron Wylde, was busy shouting instructions to his team, oblivious to the fact that his father had just been arrested by the Auror Office.

Harry settled back in his seat and watched the game in fascination. Sloper was hopeless, the worst Keeper he’d ever seen. Much worse than Ron on a bad day, worse even than Percy. It was obvious that Ginny was well aware of her Keeper’s shortcomings. Jimmy Peakes was playing defensively, staying close to the Gryffindor goal to provide additional cover for Sloper. On two occasions, when Slytherin looked certain to score, Peakes hammered a Bludger at the attacking Chaser, causing them to miss.

As Harry expected, Ginny and Demelza worked well together. The new Chaser and her twin, the new Seeker, were both nervous and inexperienced; nevertheless, the score soon reached 50-20 to Gryffindor. His team - Ginny’s team, he corrected himself, were out-flying Slytherin, and their lead was slowly increasing. The game would, however, almost certainly be won by one of the Seekers. Harry pulled out his Omnioculars to get a better look at them.

High above the other players the two Seekers watched and waited. The Slytherin Seeker, Pinder, was a thin-faced and lean fourth year girl. She was circling the nervous looking James Devine and talking constantly. ‘Don’t listen to her,’ Harry muttered, imagining the stream of off-putting insults coming from Pinder.

‘Penalty to Slytherin,’ the announcer boomed.

‘What happened? I was watching the Seekers,’ said Harry. He looked past Hermione to Ron, who was booing, for an explanation.

‘Ginny cobbed their biggest Chaser,’ said Ron angrily, ‘but only because she was going to cob her.’

Harry trained his Omnioculars on the Slytherins as they prepared to take the penalty. Their oldest chaser, Hockaday, looked to be about Ginny’s age, but she was a lot bigger than his girlfriend. She had a bloody nose, and was being consoled by her team mates. Then Harry noticed the other chaser, Pepperell, give Hockaday the thumbs up. He recognised Pepperell from somewhere. Racking his brain he remembered that she was a Prefect, he’d seen her in the Prefects’ carriage at King’s Cross when they were saying goodbye to Hermione. He watched the Slytherin team closely and realised that Hockaday wasn’t being consoled; she was being congratulated. But why?

Zoë Wylde took the Slytherin penalty and easily scored past Sloper.

‘Slytherin 30, Gryffindor 50.’

Ron swore. ‘Sloper’s complete bloody rubbish! Why did Ginny pick him?’

‘He was the only one who applied for the position,’ Harry said bitterly. ‘Ginny wrote and told me. She reckons that he’s marginally better than leaving the hoops undefended. She also said that she’d thought about putting him in a Full Body Bind once the game started. She reckons that he’d be better if he couldn’t move. At least then there’d be a chance that some of the Quaffles would bounce off him.’

Ron laughed sarcastically. ‘Good idea. I reckon the Cannons should try that, too.’

Harry watched the Slytherin team carefully, trying to work out their tactics. Their Beaters were targeting young Alizon Devine and trying to make her nervous; it was working. Ginny’s tactic of keeping Peakes back to help Sloper meant that Ritchie Coote was struggling to defend his new young team mate from both Slytherin Beaters.

Alizon swerved wildly to avoid a Bludger and dropped the Quaffle. Hockaday caught it and zoomed towards the Gryffindor goal. Ginny and Demelza covered her, waiting for a pass. Ginny was alongside Slytherin’s penalty taker, Zoë Wylde. Zoë moved in closer, accelerated past Ginny, slowed and raised her elbow; she was trying to cob Ginny. No chance, Harry thought, Ginny zigzagged and elbowed Zoë instead. The whistle went again.

‘Another foul by Weasley, another penalty to Slytherin,’ called the announcer.

Harry let loose a string of invective to which Hermione loudly objected.

‘I hope Ginny saw that,’ he said after he’d finished swearing.

‘Of course she did,’ Ron said, ‘she only cobbed her in retaliation.’

Harry shook his head, ‘No, Ron, that’s what the Slytherins want her to think. They’re pretending to play dirty, getting Ginny angry, and letting her commit the fouls.’

‘What?’ Hermione asked, puzzled.

Ron looked at his girlfriend, then at Harry. His jaw dropped as he, too, recognised the Slytherin team’s plan.

‘They haven’t committed one foul yet, they’ve just looked like they were going to,’ Ron explained.

‘Slytherin 40, Gryffindor 50. Zoë Wylde scores again for Slytherin.’

‘It’s brilliant tactics, Hermione. Slytherin have finally given the Captaincy to someone with brains and cunning,’ Harry said in admiration. His friends looked at him in horror.

‘Everyone expects them to play dirty, especially Ginny after last year, but they’re not,’ Harry continued. ‘The Wylde girl dropped her elbow when Ginny got close, she’d have let her fly past, but it riled Ginny enough to retaliate.’

‘They’re having trouble getting past “Mighty� Peakes’s Bludgers to score, but they’ll always be able to score past Sloper from a penalty,’ Ron added, nodding his agreement while unconsciously giving Jimmy Peakes a new nickname which whispered its way away from him into the surrounding students.

‘I just hope that Ginny figures it out,’ said Harry worriedly. ‘So far she’s the only one who’s committed any fouls.’

He returned his gaze to the game where Ginny was talking to Alizon and Demelza. When the Quaffle was released, Ginny intercepted it and hurtled towards the Slytherin goal. Both Bludgers were hit towards her. She passed the Quaffle to Demelza and the Slytherin Keeper moved to cover. Demelza dropped the Quaffle and it fell into the hands of Alizon, who zoomed in and scored.

‘Slytherin 40, Gryffindor 60. Alizon Devine scores her first goal for Gryffindor,’ proclaimed the announcer

Harry cheered while watching in fascination. The goal was a set piece, no doubt. It had been a risk, but it had paid off, Alizon’s first goal had banished her nerves and, high above, her jubilant twin had rounded on the Slytherin Seeker. If she’d missed Harry thought that could have been the end for Gryffindor.

When the game restarted, Slytherin tried their “fake foul� tactic again. It didn’t work. Harry punched the air when Ginny ignored the upraised elbow and passed the Quaffle to Alizon, who rolled under a Bludger and passed to Demelza whose shot was saved by the outstretched fingertips of the Slytherin Captain. Harry joined in the groans at the save, but Ginny’s team were flying well - they were on form and they were at last playing as a team.

Pinder dived suddenly as though she’d seen the Snitch. It was a good stratagem; James Devine followed her for a few seconds, but seemed to have realised that she was feinting. He quickly climbed back to his watching position and grinned when Pinder rejoined him.

The score slowly crept upwards. Once she had identified the Slytherin tactics, Ginny had regained her fighting spirit. She was now completely into her game and was playing brilliantly, inspiring her fellow Chasers, and inspiring her team. Ginny’s team scored goal after goal. Harry hoped that the scouts were paying attention.

‘Slytherin 80, Gryffindor 210,’ said the announcer. ‘Weasley scores her tenth goal of the game.’

Two more goals, Harry thought. Then he saw the Snitch. So did James Devine. The young Seeker dived straight for it. Harry groaned. The Slytherin Seeker was bigger, older, and more experienced. She followed James into the dive, watching the Snitch carefully. Then everything happened at once.

Shuttleworth, the burliest of the Slytherin Beaters hammered a Bludger towards James Devine. Ritchie Coote dived to try to intercept the Bludger, but he was much too far away. Ginny was closer, and her Stormcloud was much faster than Ritchie’s Cleansweep. She did the only thing she could. She desperately dived between the Bludger and her seeker, taking the full impact from the heavy iron ball on her side.

Harry leapt to his feet as the Bludger bounced off his girlfriends ribs and he gasped with the rest of the crowd. Ginny had successfully protected her Seeker but was desperately trying to regain control of her broom while tumbling and rolling towards the ground. She landed heavily, falling from the broom. Gasping for breath she struggled to remount. By the time she had the game was over.

The Snitch had suddenly changed direction and the more experienced Pinder was ready. The slim Slytherin Seeker turned quickly and sped past James with her hand outstretched. But Jimmy Peakes had abandoned his defensive position.

Peakes had been trying to keep control of the second Bludger to help defend the Gryffindor goal. He now hit it as hard as he could. It cannoned towards Pinder, but she swerved smoothly out of its way. Unfortunately for her, she moved directly into the path of the other Bludger; the one Ginny had taken in the ribs. Ritchie Coote had continued to follow his captain into her dive and had managed to catch the Bludger after it had bounced off Ginny. He had also correctly judged the way Pinder would move to avoid Peakes’s Bludger. Her right arm was still outstretched, her hand mere inches from the Snitch. Harry heard the crack as Coote’s Bludger hit Pinder’s left arm, breaking it.

Harry watched in admiration. The lean Slytherin girl faced “the Seeker’s choice�, fall from her broom while trying to catch the Snitch, or forget the Snitch and grab her broom with her remaining good arm. She did what Harry would have done, what any good Seeker would do.

Her flailing fingers failed to snatch the Snitch by little more than the thickness of her gloves and she tumbled helplessly from her broom. James Devine took the opening and, to Gryffindor cheers, he caught and held up the Snitch. Ritchie Coote, who had been following his Bludger, dived and caught the Slytherin Seeker around the waist as she plummeted towards the pitch.

‘Gryffindor win: 360 points to 80 points.’ The stadium erupted. More than half of the Slytherin supporters were cheering their team for their valiant effort, rather than booing their opponents. Harry was filled with hope.

‘Poor Ginny,’ Hermione squealed.

‘Poor Ginny?’ said Ron, astonished. ‘We’ve won, she was brilliant.’

‘She’s hurt,’ Hermione scolded.

‘She’s fine,’ Harry assured her as he watched his girlfriend leaping for joy. Ginny’s ecstatic team had landed alongside her. She hugged and kissed twelve-year-old James, then her two Beaters and her fellow Chasers. They deserved it, they had played brilliantly Harry thought, wondering why he didn’t feel even slightly jealous. Jack Sloper, the only boy in Ginny’s year, also moved forwards hopefully. Ginny ignored him and limped over towards the Slytherin Captain, her hand outstretched. Aaron Wylde shook it and they smiled at each other.

‘Merlin, I love that girl,’ Harry announced loudly in the heat of the spectacular victory.

‘Good!’ asserted Ron forcefully. At which point Harry realised that he’d actually spoken the words aloud.

‘Perhaps you should go down and tell her instead of telling us,’ suggested Hermione smugly. Harry blushed then grinned at his friends.

‘I will,’ he said determinedly. Hermione beamed at him.

Harry looked around the stands; everyone except three Aurors and their prisoner was on their feet and streaming onto the pitch. The Polyjuice Potion had worn off, showing that the man flanked by Williamson and Lister was definitely Wilberforce Wylde.

‘Potter,’ Williamson called, ‘never leave an incident until you’re dismissed.’

‘Sorry, sir.’

‘You will be, Potter,’ Williamson continued. ‘Lister and I will take Wylde to the office now. We’ll need to ask Wylde’s wife a lot more questions, too. Find her and bring her in to the office for questioning, but do not tell her or her children that we have their father. Phillipa, you’re in charge of the trainees. Potter, you’re on duty, remember! This is not an opportunity for you to socialise with your girlfriend, so you’re not going to, do you understand?’

Harry nodded, his heart sinking. This was the start of Williamson’s punishment for his leaving the arrest scene.

‘Weasley,’ Williamson added, ‘find Longbottom; he’s vanished, too. He should be here, have you any idea where he’s gone?’

‘No,’ Ron lied to their boss.

‘And Weasley, you should be here with us, not sitting with some girl. Now go and get Longbottom.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Ron pulled an unhappy face at Hermione and scurried away.

Harry and Phillipa followed the crowds onto the pitch. The Gryffindor team were in the centre of a huge scrum of people. Harry smiled as he saw Luna’s lion hat in the throng. The Slytherins were being consoled by a smaller crowd. He was desperate to see Ginny, but it would take ages to fight through that crowd. Besides, he was in enough trouble with Williamson, and he had a job to do. He led Phillipa over to the Slytherin team. As they approached, the chatter ceased and the small crowd parted. He walked up to the team. Madam Hooch was ordering Jeanette Pinder to the Hospital wing. The Seeker was pale and shaking. Aaron Wylde was consoling his weeping sister. As Harry expected, their mother stood next to them, too.

‘Good game,’ Harry said, holding out his hand to the astonished Slytherin Captain. ‘Clever tactics, too. You’ve put together the best Slytherin team I’ve ever seen. It was a closer game than the final score shows.’

‘Thanks,’ Wylde grunted, shaking Harry’s hand.

‘Hi, Harry,’ Ritchie Coote appeared alongside him.

‘Hello, Ritchie,’ Harry smiled, ‘well played! That last Bludger hit of yours won the game.’

‘Yes … sorry about that,’ said Ritchie. Harry was startled until he realised that the apology was directed at the Slytherin Seeker.

‘Let’s get you to the hospital wing,’ Ritchie continued. He pulled Jeanette Pinder’s good arm over his shoulder, grabbed her around the waist and helped her from the pitch.

Aaron Wylde watched their departure in amazement.

‘Mrs Wylde,’ began Phillipa. ‘We are here in an official capacity. I must ask you to accompany me to the Auror Office for further questioning.’

The little colour that remained fell from Mrs Wylde’s face and she staggered. Harry moved forwards to catch her, but was pushed violently out of the way by her son.

‘I’ll look after her, Potter,’ he snarled viciously.

Phillipa stepped forwards, and with a flick of her eyes ordered Harry to step back. He did.

‘You can walk to the Hogsmeade gate with us, Mr Wylde, and you too, Miss Wylde, but we do need to ask your mother some more questions,’ Phillipa said.

Harry looked over at the Gryffindor team. The crowds were thinning as they got ready to go indoors. They would soon be heading for the Gryffindor common room to celebrate their victory.

Now, he’d go and tell Ginny no matter what Williamson said! He caught Phillipa’s eyes and looked at her hopefully. She smiled and nodded.

‘Be quick, and hope that Williamson doesn’t see you,’ she ordered. Harry left Phillipa with the Wyldes and dashed nervously over to Ginny. She had her back to him, and had lifted up her shirt.

‘Ginny,’ he called.

She turned. He saw the huge purple circle of the Bludger bruise. She was brilliant, brave, and badly hurt. He had to tell her.

‘Ginny, I…’ he began. He saw the hurt and anger in her eyes.

‘Here at last, Potter,’ she interrupted, ‘had to see the Slytherins first, did you?’

‘Auror Office business,’ he explained. He lowered his head so that Ginny wouldn’t see the sorrow in his eyes.

‘Harry,’ she began very quietly, and then Alizon Devine screamed. Harry looked up, Ginny had collapsed. Blood dribbled from her mouth. Harry dashed to her side and pulled up her shirt. He looked at the bruise.

‘Broken ribs, internal bleeding,’ he diagnosed. She was hurt. He should have realised. The Bludger hit had been hard, but she’d been straight back up on her feet. He’d assumed that she was all right, and so had Ron. But she’d been celebrating on the adrenalin of the win. He was not starting his “Combat, Curse and General Injuries� course until next week. He couldn’t help her himself. He did the only thing he could; he lifted her into his arms, grabbed her broom and flew to the Hospital Wing.

‘I love you, Ginny Weasley,’ he told her unconscious form as he soared through the Hogwarts corridors. Years of experience had taught him the fastest route to the hospital wing.

---

‘She’ll be fine, Mr Potter,’ Madam Pomfrey assured Harry after he had delivered his unconscious girlfriend into her care. Ginny’s other team-mates dashed into the ward while Ritchie left the bedside of Jeanette Pinder, whose arm was already in a sling, to rejoin his team-mates. Harry looked at the worried faces of the Gryffindor team.

‘She’ll be okay in a day or two, don’t worry,’ Harry reassured them. ‘Well done, all of you. You played brilliantly. Good tactics, good play, and you didn’t fall into the Slytherins’ trap. You’re a great team.’ They beamed at him.

‘Quidditch,’ the school nurse grumbled, ‘first game of the year and I’ve already got two girls with broken bones.’

‘How is she? ‘Hermione cried, dashing into the ward.

‘She will be fine, Miss Granger,’ Madam Pomfrey said. ‘What she needs is rest, and I need to have a few minutes of privacy in order to treat her. So – get out, all of you.’ The nurse looked sadly at Harry. ‘You certainly can’t stay, Mr Potter. You’re not a student, you’re not a teacher, and you’re not a relative. You should not even be inside the school buildings. I must insist that you leave my Ward.’ The school nurse began to shoo Harry away from his girlfriend’s bedside.

Harry began to argue, but Ron’s patronus arrived. ‘Where are you, mate? Phillipa’s ready to leave and Williamson will do his nut if you’re not with us when we get back.’

‘Just go, Harry,’ Hermione ordered, grabbing his arm and attempting to pull him out of the ward, ‘you’re in enough trouble with Williamson already. There’s nothing you can do here, we’ll be here for her when she wakes up.’

‘Look after her please, and tell her I’m sorry.’ Harry struggled free of Hermione and kissed his unconscious girlfriend gently on the lips. He sighed, and then allowed Hermione to escort him from the ward.

‘I’ve got to go, Auror Office business,’ Harry told Ginny’s team, who were all anxiously waiting outside. He wondered how many times he’d be telling Ginny that in the future.

Harry sprinted through the school and across the fields to the Hogsmeade gate. Ron and an embarrassed looking Neville were waiting for him.

‘How’s Ginny?’ Ron asked.

‘Broken ribs,’ Harry panted, ‘she’ll be okay.’

‘Did you talk to her?’

‘Sort of,’ said Harry morosely.

‘So much for getting paid to watch the match and seeing the girls for a couple of hours,’ frowned Ron. ‘I never thought that the git would show up. Now we’ve got all that paperwork to do, too. Today’s been a washout, hasn’t it? Except for Nev, of course, Romilda’s been giving him some exercise.’

Neville blushed scarlet. ‘We’d best get back to Williamson,’ he muttered, and strode off.

‘Let’s get out of here, eh, mate?’ Ron suggested. Harry nodded.

8. Hogsmeade: Cancellation

Ginny was lying in bed feeling sorry for herself and re-reading Harry’s last letter. She didn’t need to; she knew it by heart, remembered every word. But she needed to read it, to reread the entire letter, simply to read the final words.

When she reached the valediction, she smiled sadly.

All my love,

Harry x

Almost two months ago Harry had used those words in a letter for the first time: the letter she’d received on the morning of that less than successful Hogsmeade visit, the day of the DA party. Afterwards, for five weeks, Harry had returned to using:

Yours,

Harry x

That change had hurt her more than she’d expected. She’d tried changing the way she closed her letters to him.

She’d used, yours always, yours forever, your girl, only yours … She’d even made a list to make sure that she didn’t repeat herself. How pathetic was that? Nothing had worked; he remained stubbornly “yours.�

Since the Quidditch match against Slytherin, however, for the past two glorious weeks, it had been again “all my love.� It had begun with the “Get Well� card he’d sent. She picked it up and re-read the hastily scribbled card.

Ginny,

I’m sorry that I didn’t see more of you before the match. I couldn’t stay afterwards, either. I was on a mission for the Office. I’ll write and explain properly tomorrow. (I’m writing this at work, when I’m supposed to be writing my mission report.)

You played brilliantly and inspired your team. You’re a better Captain than I was. I wish that I could have congratulated you properly.

I can’t wait to see you. Only two weeks to the next Hogsmeade visit, and this time it will be just you and me, I promise.

Ginny sighed sadly as she read on.

I was prepared to stay, despite orders, but Madam Pomfrey threw me out of the hospital anyway! After all those years of steady work I gave her, too!

This card is probably too late, I expect that you’re out of the hospital wing already, if my experiences are anything to go by.

(He’d been wrong about that; Madam Pomfrey had insisted that she remain in the hospital wing overnight, and all of the following day.)

Take care, keep training, and win that cup for Gryffindor.

I miss you.

All my love

Harry x

P.S. There were scouts from both the Harpies and the Tornadoes at the game.

From then onwards, on seven letters, all of which were currently lying on her bed but which would soon be returned to their box and locked in the bottom of her school trunk, it had been “all my love.�

She hadn’t seen him on the day of the match, not really. They’d had a quick snog in the dressing room before the match. A warm-up, she’d told him. That was a private joke. A week after the battle, they’d had a three-a-side game at the Burrow. For the first time, she’d snogged him in front of all of her brothers, at least all but Bill. She’d told them she was warming up for the game, and for the remainder of the summer, their pre-match snog had become an essential start to all of their knockabout games at The Burrow.

In that first game, Ginny, Ron and Harry had trounced Charlie, George and Percy. That had been a turning point for her. Her brothers had accepted Harry as her boyfriend, and she’d beaten Charlie.

Charlie never lost. Her playing had impressed her “could have been a professional� brother. He thought she was good, very good, and Harry had encouraged her, too. Suddenly, her crazy dream to play professional Quidditch didn’t seem crazy after all.

After the Slytherin match two weeks ago, she’d shouted at Harry because he’d gone to see the Slytherin team first. Then she’d collapsed and, she’d discovered later, he’d flown her to the hospital wing. He’d told her team that they were brilliant. She’d seen the look in the Devine twins’ eyes when Demelza had repeated that statement. Harry Potter told them that they were brilliant! It showed in their practices. Everyone (except Jack, unfortunately) was improving. Her kiss was still a talking point among her team, too, Ginny knew. But Harry had said more to her team than he had said to her.

When she had recovered consciousness in the hospital wing, Hermione had been at her bedside. Her first question hadn’t been the concerned, “How are you, Ginny?� she’d been expecting; it had been an excited “Did he tell you?� Ginny had been confused; Hermione, embarrassed.

Ginny eventually wheedled the story from her friend, about the last-minute Auror operation and about what Harry had said at the end of the game. Harry had been on active duty, Auror Potter at work. Ginny had been furious with herself again. She felt stupid, especially after his get well card. She’d written and told him so, although she hadn’t mentioned her conversation with Hermione. She’d finished “all my love, Ginny x�

In his reply he’d told her again (in four pages of full, match-deconstructing detail) that she was a great Quidditch Captain with a good team – a team she was turning into a great team. He’d told her that the game had been the best Quidditch match he’d ever seen, that he was proud to be her boyfriend. He had admitted that he’d been formally reprimanded and had lost Auror course points because he’d run off after an arrest (to receive that kiss). Sometimes, she thought that she didn’t deserve Harry Potter. She’d written back and told him so.

He’d written back and confessed that sometimes he thought that he didn’t deserve Ginny Weasley. He’d told her astonishing things, many of which she hadn’t even shared with Hermione. He’d said that she was bright, beautiful and clever, and that he was constantly afraid that she’d find someone better than him. Things that he obviously hadn’t been able to say to her face were appearing in ink – his fears and worries, his hopes and dreams. She longed to hear him speak, to say the words he’d written.

Suddenly, their letters had become open and frank since the Slytherin match. Her heart had lurched when, in his second letter, he’d admitted his worries about her feelings for Neville. She had tried to explain what her relationship with Neville was, what it had always been. They were friends, but nothing more. She was, she told her boyfriend, the “Neville� of her dormitory. Harry had written back, puzzled, and asked for an explanation. She still remembered the words she’d used.

In your dorm, like mine, there were five occupants. Harry and Ron, inseparable, together through thick and thin; Seamus and Dean, always best mates; and Neville, everyone’s friend but no one’s best friend. In my dorm, it was Sarah and Amanda; Tabitha and Jacqueline; and I’m Neville.

She hoped that the explanation would help Harry understand the bond she felt with Nev. It was something, she now knew, they must talk about face to face. She needed to make him understand how silly it was, that it was like her being jealous of Hermione.

All things considered, she had been looking forward to the next Hogsmeade visit, counting down the days, and she knew that he had, too. It was tomorrow. She sighed and looked at her watch. It was half past midnight; it wasn’t tomorrow, it was today.

Ginny still couldn’t sleep. She opened her curtains and picked up her gently glowing wand. Tiptoeing over to Hermione’s bed. she opened the curtains. Hermione, too, was awake. She was lying on her stomach, her chin cupped in her hands. Under the faint wand light. she was gazing at a photo of Ron.

‘Oh,’ Hermione blushed when she saw Ginny.

‘And I thought that I was desperate,’ whispered Ginny, smiling at her friend. ‘D’you want to talk?’

Hermione nodded, and then whispered, ‘Let’s go down to the common room so that we don’t disturb any of the others.’ Ginny smiled in agreement. Hermione hadn’t really made friends with any of the other girls in Ginny’s dormitory, the girls Ginny had shared a room with for seven years. But then, Ginny thought, Hermione hadn’t really made any friends in her own dorm, either. Hermione wasn’t very good at making friends.

‘Prefects’ bathroom,’ Ginny suggested.

‘That’s out of bounds,’ Hermione reminded her. ‘I’m Head Girl, remember!’ Hermione took her responsibilities so seriously that Ginny could hear the capital letters of her title when she spoke. The Head Girl must always set a good example, Ginny thought wryly.

‘You’re the girl who’s been out of bounds with two blokes every year since you started at this school,’ Ginny observed in a whisper. ‘What’s turned you into Little Miss Proper this year?’

For a moment, Hermione looked angry. Then, instead of the ‘Head Girl argument’ Ginny had expected, she saw Hermione’s silhouette slumping into a despondent droop in the near darkness.

‘You really miss them both, don’t you?’ Ginny asked.

‘Even more than I expected,’ Hermione admitted. ‘This is the longest I’ve been separated from them since I was … thirteen, probably.’

‘You’d do it for Ron and Harry,’ murmured Ginny.

‘Okay, Prefects’ bathroom, nowhere else,’ hissed Hermione. Ginny grinned triumphantly. For the first time this year, the real Hermione, the girl who would risk all for her friends, had somehow managed to overpower the serious Head Girl. Ginny walked to the door. Hermione swung her legs out of bed and opened her trunk. There was a muffled clunk, and Tabitha Tunnock, in the next bed, gave a loud, grunting snore. Hermione ignored the noise, tiptoed to the dormitory door, and crept down the dark stairs behind Ginny.

The two girls stopped in the Gryffindor common room, and Hermione turned up a lamp. They looked at each other and grinned mischievously. Hermione carried two old socks, each obviously containing a bottle. She wore bright pink pyjama trousers and a faded orange t-shirt with the faint remains of the letters CC on the front. Ginny immediately recognised the t-shirt as a very old one of Ron’s.

‘Orange and pink, a very attractive combination,’ Ginny observed.

Hermione blushed. ‘I packed the t-shirt for Ron last year. He told me that it was too small for him, but I kept it.’

‘Pathetic,’ Ginny said, ‘totally pathetic. You’re like a schoolgirl with a crush.’ As she gently teased her friend, she made a mental note to make sure that the torn old t-shirt of Harry’s at the bottom of her trunk remained well hidden from Hermione.

‘I am a schoolgirl with a crush,’ said Hermione archly, ‘and so are you, Ginny Weasley … and at least I’m decently covered.’

Ginny grinned and looked down at her green Harpies vest. ‘It covers my boobs, just; and my bum, just.’ She shrugged her shoulders.

‘Not when you do that it doesn’t, Miss Red Knickers,’ Hermione told her. Ginny laughed.

‘What’s in the socks, Hermione?

‘Booze, Muggle beer,’ announced Hermione proudly. ‘If we’re going to break rules, we might as well do it in style.’ She pulled a brown pint bottle from one of the socks. The label read IPA. Ginny grinned at her friend. This was going to be fun.

‘Ippah?’ she asked.

‘I.P.A.’ Hermione corrected, ‘India Pale Ale, Dad drinks it. It took me a while to get used to the taste, but it’s not bad, really. I bought a couple of bottles in for Ron to try. He wanted to know what Dad drinks. I was going to share it with him at the last Hogsmeade visit, but then Harry organised that party. I can get more at Christmas, so I thought that we could drink them. Damn!’

Hermione had pulled out the second bottle only to discover that it wasn’t beer, it was a green wine bottle – Muscadet.

‘That’s the wine we had on holiday, on Harry’s eighteenth birthday,’ Ginny observed. ‘The one Ron liked.’

‘I bought three bottles to bring home. I was saving this one for a special occasion.’

‘Involving Ron, I expect,’ smiled Ginny wickedly, ‘Well, hard luck, Hermione, my need is greater; I “specially� need cheering up.’

‘We don’t have a corkscrew, Ginny.’

‘We have wands, Hermione.’

‘Are you going out dressed like that?’

‘I’m not going back upstairs for my dressing gown,’ Ginny told her friend, ‘but it doesn’t matter, I can wear a bathrobe on the way back, and we’ll be naked in the bathroom.’

‘We will?’ Hermione sounded surprised.

‘I will, Hermione, I’m going for a midnight swim. You can just sit and watch if you like.’ Ginny pushed open the portrait of the Fat Lady and stepped out into the corridor. They crept through dark corridors and reached the Prefects’ bathroom unnoticed. Locking the door, Ginny turned on the taps.

‘Open that beer, Hermione. We can stay in bed all day tomorrow, because there’s no point in going to Hogsmeade.’

Hermione used her wand to flick the top off the beer bottle; she took a swig from the bottle and passed it over to Ginny.

‘Hermione Granger, you have been hanging around with my ill-mannered brute of a brother for far too long,’ Ginny scolded, wagging her finger exaggeratedly.

‘Which “ill-mannered brute of a brother� are you talking about?’ Hermione teased.

‘How many of them have you snogged?’ asked Ginny wickedly.

‘Let me think.’ Hermione lowered her head, and began silently counting on her fingers, Ginny watched in amazement.

‘One,’ Hermione announced seriously after much careful deliberation.

‘So, he’s the one to blame,’ Ginny laughed, ‘for a moment there, I thought that you were going to admit to a secret crush on George…’ Ginny stopped suddenly; Hermione had looked away and wouldn’t meet her eyes.

‘No!’ she howled. ‘Not seriously?’

Hermione shook her head, and stared into Ginny’s eyes. ‘Not George,’ she said dismissively, ‘don’t you dare say anything to anyone, especially Ron. But when I first started school, when I was eleven, for a few weeks I thought that…’

‘Perfect Prefect Percy, the pompous prat,’ Ginny interrupted, suddenly seeing her bespectacled brother through Hermione’s eyes, ‘clever, hardworking, law-abiding…’

‘And usually dreadfully, desperately dull,’ Hermione finished. ‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t be! I agree with your assessment of Percival Ignatius. At least Ron can crack a joke.’ Ginny conjured herself a glass and poured half of the foaming amber liquid from the bottle.

‘Cheers.’ Ginny raised her glass. ‘You can drink from the bottle if you like, Miss Head Girl Granger, but I am a lady, and after your shocking revelation, I need a drink.’ She took a long swig of beer, pulled a face, snorted, and belched loudly.

‘Very lady-like,’ Hermione said as she burst out laughing.

‘How much of this do I have to drink before I start to like it?’ Ginny asked.

‘It gets better after the first bottle, so it’s a shame that we only have one.’ Hermione sighed. ‘Why are we here, Ginny?’

‘Because we can’t sleep. Because we’re lovesick. Because we were going to meet our boyfriends in Hogsmeade tomorrow—today. Because they had to cancel because of work. Because Harry got into trouble the last time he was here, and that git Williamson is still making him pay. Because now we won’t see them until the Christmas holiday. Because…’ Ginny stopped. ‘Your turn, Hermione,’ she said, settling down to drink more beer.

Hermione transfigured the beer bottle into a glass. ‘Now I’m a lady, too,’ she declared, clinking her thick brown glass against Ginny’s crystal.

‘Cheers,’ continued Hermione. ‘Because our boyfriends are going on a potentially dangerous mission and we don’t know what it involves. Because we’re stuck in school. Because I miss Ron, and Harry.’

‘Because I miss Harry … and even Ron, a bit, I suppose,’ Ginny added.

‘Because Ron didn’t really talk to me the last time he was here,’ Hermione added. ‘He just watched the Quidditch game and scarpered. Because we haven’t really seen them since the first Hogsmeade visit seven weeks ago, and we won’t see them for another four weeks now.’

‘Tell me again,’ Ginny ordered, changing the subject before Hermione made her even more depressed.

Hermione sighed. ‘I’ve told you about the end of the Quidditch game dozens of times, Ginny, there’s nothing more to tell.’

‘What did he look like?’

‘Rather embarrassed,’ Hermione remembered, ‘I don’t think that he actually meant to say the words aloud.’

Ginny felt like screaming. Instead, she took another sip of beer, pulled a face at the taste, and tried to keep the exasperation from her voice while she spoke. ‘You haven’t told me that, before, Hermione. So there obviously is more to tell. What else haven’t you said? What happened before he spoke the words?’

Hermione thought carefully and tried again. ‘You’d been hit by the Bludger, but you were back on your feet with the team. You were jumping up and down like a maniac. Then you hugged and kissed the boys.’

Damn! Ginny remembered.

‘Three of them, anyway, you missed the Keeper for some reason.’

Because he’s a rubbish Keeper, Hermione, haven’t you noticed?

‘But Harry was just staring at you, watching you like there was no-one else on the field.’

You didn’t tell me that before, either!

‘Then he said it! He said “I love that girl�.’

Ginny grinned, took off her nightclothes, and jumped into the warm foamy water. She ducked below the surface and shook out her hair, enjoying the sensation of the long strands floating around her head. After holding her breath for as long as she could she pushed herself down to the bottom of the pool and jumped, for the simple joy of life.

‘Open the wine, ‘Mine,’ she called after crashing back down into the water with a splash.

‘Hermione,’ Hermione corrected crossly.

‘Ron started calling you ‘Mine over the summer, I heard him,’ Ginny shouted as she swept wet hair from her face and swam across the pool.

‘He’s being sweet, if possessive, so I’ve been letting him get away with it, very occasionally, and in private,’ said Hermione. She used her wand to chill the white wine, uncork the bottle, and rinse the glasses. She poured the dry white wine and handed a glass to Ginny, who pulled herself out of the water to collect it. Hermione averted her eyes.

Ginny laughed at her friend. ‘We’ve shared a room since you first came to The Burrow; you’ve seen it all before.’

‘There wasn’t so much to see when you were thirteen.’

‘D’you think I’m fat?’ Ginny teased.

‘No, Ginny, you’re not fat, you’re beautiful. Fit and … curvaceous … boys like that. Ron likes curvaceous; he still drools over Rosmerta.’

‘Ron likes you!’

‘Does he? Really?’ Hermione looked worried.

‘You know he does.’ Ginny suddenly thought of something … I’ve been stupidly self-absorbed, why haven’t I asked Hermione?

‘Hermione, when Harry said the words, Ron was sitting next to you, wasn’t he?’

Hermione nodded. Ginny pulled on a fluffy white robe.

‘What did he say; what did he do?’

Hermione sighed. ‘He said “Good!� to Harry, then Williamson shouted at him and he went off to find Neville. He didn’t even say goodbye to me!’

‘My youngest brother is a complete git.’

Hermione gulped back half of her wine, then magically refilled the bottle.

‘Do you think that he’s having second thoughts about us?’ Hermione’s worries came tumbling out. ‘He doesn’t write often, and he couldn’t finish with Lavender; he just couldn’t bring himself to hurt her.’

‘You’re mistaking cowardice for sensitivity,’ Ginny snorted.

‘Harry and Cho just sort of drifted apart…’ Hermione began.

‘She was wrong for him, too old and too emotional.’

‘Everybody knows that you’re still jealous of her, Ginny!’ Hermione informed her friend.

‘Everybody?’

‘Ron’s noticed,’ said Hermione acidly.

‘Bloody Hell! I didn’t think I was that obvious!’

‘What’m I gonna do ‘bout ‘im?’ Hermione asked, finishing her wine in a second gulp, pouring herself another glass, and magically refilling the bottle again.

‘Dean asked me if we were going into Hogsmeade even though the boys aren’t.’

‘No!’ Hermione said forcefully. Then, suddenly curious, she added, ‘Isn’t he taking Luna?’

Ginny laughed, opened her eyes wide, and tried to make them pop out.

‘Ginny,’ she began, in a good approximation of Luna’s sing-song voice, ‘Dean wants us to get more physical. He’s very nice, he has lovely shoulders, but I’m not sure about some of the things he wants. You’ve kissed him, haven’t you? Did you enjoy it? I think his tongue is over-enthusiastic, and his hands seem to be everywhere.’ Ginny wriggled her fingers while moving her hands up and down an imaginary body. ‘I think poor Dean must have Blaster-Mites. They can be transferred by kissing, you know. I asked him. He said there were no such things. I don’t think that we’re suited.’

‘Poor Dean,’ Hermione said, laughing.

‘Clever Luna,’ Ginny corrected, ‘she didn’t want to move as quickly as he did. He gave her an ultimatum and asked her to choose, so that’s the end of it.’

‘But why?’ Hermione asked.

‘Dean knows what Nev and Romilda have been getting up to, and he knows about Seamus and Lavender. He thinks that you and Ron and me and Harry have done it, too. I haven’t corrected him, so he thinks that he’s the only boy in his year who hasn’t.’

‘We could tell Dean…’

‘We could not, Hermione; it’s none of his business. I’ve written to Harry and told him that Dean has invited us both to Hogsmeade. Harry is certain to tell Ron. You need to keep my brother scared, Hermione, be more unpredictable.’

Hermione shook her head forcefully. All previous attempts to make Ron jealous had been disastrous for Hermione, Ginny knew. She watched her friend closely.

‘There’s something else bothering you, isn’t there?’ she asked.

‘I’m worried,’ Hermione confessed, ‘whatever they’re doing tomorrow, it’s likely to be dangerous.’

‘What’s Ron told you?’

‘No more than Harry’s told you, I expect. It’s all vague hints carefully hidden across several letters.’

Ginny nodded. ‘They can’t say much in their letters.’

‘I think that they’re going to be involved in a dawn raid tomorrow,’ Hermione said, ‘in the Midlands.’

‘Somewhere in Yorkshire,’ corrected Ginny. ‘It’s big, and it’s something to do with Wylde.’

‘I think every Auror is involved.’

‘And some Hit Wizards,’ Ginny said.

‘Really? Ron didn’t mention that.’ Hermione gasped, and stared at her friend. ‘They’re not going to be together,’ she panicked, ‘Yorkshire and the Midlands! There are going to be two raids.’

‘There’s been nothing in the paper,’ Ginny said, ‘according to The Prophet, the Aurors aren’t doing enough. The Ministry haven’t even announced that they’ve captured Wylde. I wish that we knew what was going on.’

‘They’d tell us, if they were here; Ron promised me that.’

‘Harry promised me, too,’ Ginny said.

‘But you’re right, Ginny, they’re not stupid enough to put anything about a secret mission in a letter.’

‘Was it worth it, Hermione, coming back here?’ asked Ginny thoughtfully after a while. ‘This place was no fun last year, but this year it almost feels worse. Harry’s alive and as safe as he can be, given that he’s an Auror. But I feel like I’m locked up here, being kept away from him for no good reason.’

‘We’ll get all of our NEWT’s, not just two or three, like the boys,’ stated Hermione, but Ginny caught an edge of uncertainty in her friend’s voice. They both missed their boyfriends, and now they wouldn’t see them until Christmas. They sat in silence, sipping wine and thinking.

Ginny had hoped to see Harry in October, when the exams cancelled from the previous year had taken place. But she’d been in lessons during the three exams Harry and the other trainee Aurors had taken; Transfiguration, Charms and Herbology. The Defence Against the Dark Arts exam had taken place at the Ministry, because no-one at Hogwarts last year had actually been taught the subject. The five trainee Aurors had been the only ones to take the DADA exam; all had passed, Harry with an Outstanding. Hermione had been offered the opportunity to take some of her exams early, too, but had decided to wait until the end of the school year. Ginny wondered if she now regretted her decision to wait until she had “had a full year of proper lessons.�

‘If you really want to play professional Quidditch, you need to play here,’ Hermione said after a few minutes, still trying to justify their attendance at school. ‘It’s only seven more months.’

‘Thirty weeks,’ said Ginny, ‘two hundred and ten days before we’re at Kings Cross for the last time.’

‘Not that you’re marking the days off on a calendar or anything.’ Hermione smiled sardonically. ‘But it won’t be the last time we go to Kings Cross,’ she continued ‘I expect that we’ll be putting our own children on the Hogwarts Express one day.’

Ginny snorted with laughter. ‘Planning a decent Weasley-sized family already, are you?’

Hermione blushed. ‘A boy and a girl would be nice, but not for at least five years, possibly ten.’

‘It would,’ Ginny laughed, ‘but that’s what Mum thought, too. Personally, I think that I would give up after three boys, or three girls.’

They sat in silence, thinking about what they’d said about their future, and finished their wine in silence.

‘I’m clean and dry,’ Ginny announced, ‘and it’s almost three o’clock. Let’s go back to bed.’

9. Hogwarts: Information?

Hermione noticed a tall, dark skinned girl nudge Romilda when she and Ginny walked into the Great Hall for dinner. Romilda’s friend, Frances Curling, was only an inch or so shorter than Harry. Everyone called her Frankie. Romilda whispered something to her other friend - chunky and brown-haired Thomasina Tuck. The three girls gleefully watched Hermione and Ginny approach. Despite her headache, which the hangover potion she’d made for herself and Ginny had not completely cured, Hermione sensed trouble.

‘You’re obviously not giving your boyfriend what he wants, Ginny,’ announced Romilda. Frankie and Tommy giggled.

‘Peeping Potter,’ continued Romilda, holding up a copy of the Evening Prophet, the main headline of which she had just proclaimed loudly. The photograph of Harry was the one snapped outside the Hogs Head in October; he looked startled and rather angry. It was the most recent photograph the Prophet had and they used it regularly. Ginny was likely to rise to Romilda’s baiting and explode. Hermione prepared herself to intervene.

The students surrounding Romilda and her cronies fell nervously silent as the Head Girl and the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain approached. One or two of them even moved their hands towards their wands. Looking at the Evening Prophet’s front cover which Romilda was smugly displaying to them, Hermione saw a smaller headline underneath the main one. It read “Spellfire and Explosions as Aurors Raid Several Sites.� She glanced at Ginny, whose worried expression showed that she’d seen the more important headline, too.

Romilda turned the paper over and read the article gleefully, obviously misunderstanding the look of concern on their faces. ‘At dawn this morning, Harry Potter burst into my bedroom and dragged me from my bed. I always sleep naked, said attractive eighteen-year-old Pansy Parkinson…’

‘Well there’s the first mistake, in the very first sentence,’ snarled Hermione. ‘Pansy, attractive!’

Ginny sniggered.

‘Aren’t you worried about what your boyfriend was up to?’ said Romilda, surprised at Ginny’s reaction.

‘He’s an Auror,’ Ginny snapped sarcastically, ‘He will have to deal with a lot of nasty, horrible, things. Hauling a naked slapper out of bed when he’s on a raid won’t be the worst of them. I couldn’t care if it was Pansy, or even you.’

Hermione groaned. Ginny was trying to pick a fight, too. Fortunately, Romilda had missed Ginny’s final insult; she’d stopped listening at the word “raid,� when she’d given a tinkling, dismissive, laugh. Frankie had heard, but fortunately Romilda was ignoring her friend.

‘Raid,’ Romilda interrupted, talking over the end of Ginny’s sentence, ‘he wasn’t on one of the raids, you stupid little girl, he had an exam, like my Neville. You ought to be worried about what he was doing in Pansy’s bedroom.’

‘An exam?’ Ginny snorted dismissively. ‘Is that what Nev told you?’

Hermione knew that usually there wasn’t much new news in the Evening Prophet, but they had known about the dawn raids. She should have ordered a copy, just for today.

How could she get one? The Hogsmeade visit was over and the newsagents in Hogsmeade would now be closed, so sending an owl order wouldn’t work. Hermione craned her neck, trying to read the paper, but Romilda was holding it at an angle, ensuring that she couldn’t.

What would Ron do? Hermione wondered. That was easy: he’d make up a reason to confiscate the paper from Romilda. But—that was an abuse of power. It was wrong, she was Head Girl, she couldn’t do that, could she? No!

However, she realised Romilda and Ginny were both snarling and hissing, squaring up for a fight. She needed to do something.

‘How many dawn raids were there?’ Hermione asked as politely as she could, well aware that a hush had fallen across the table. Everyone was trying to listen.

Startled, Romilda scanned the bottom of the page. ‘Five, each involved two squads of Aurors,’ she read.

‘Then that’s wrong, too,’ Hermione told Romilda, forcing herself to keep her voice polite. Perhaps, she thought, she could persuade Romilda to share the paper if she explained. At least Neville’s so-called “girlfriend� had, for the moment, turned her attention away from Ginny.

‘At full strength, the Auror Office was only about forty people,’ Hermione said. ‘They lost about half of them last year, they’re severely understaffed. Ten squads would be thirty Aurors. Even if Harry, Ron and all of the other trainees, and even Mr Robards, went on the raids, that’s only twenty-four.’

‘Hit Wizards,’ Ginny reminded her. Hermione’s brain accelerated to top speed.

‘Five raids,’ she calculated, ‘they probably sent one trainee on each raid, and supplemented the squads with Hit Wizards. Was anyone hurt?’

Hermione’s hands were now twitching as she desperately tried to stop herself from snatching the newspaper. She tried to regain control of her emotions. Ron must be all right. If he wasn’t, she’d have heard. Harry, too. Nevertheless, she could feel the “always in control� Head Girl façade she had so carefully maintained since the beginning of term starting to crack. Ginny was watching her, a look of concern on her face.

If those two boys had only listened to her! she thought angrily. They should be safe here at school with her, not off risking their lives somewhere. They should have taken their final year exams properly, but they had ignored her advice and now they needed her. Ron needed her, and she wasn’t there for him.

Romilda looked from Hermione to Ginny in astonishment. Perhaps if I beg, Hermione thought wildly, she might let me see the paper.

‘There was an explosion and spellfire at the Birmingham Office of Smith and Son Publishing,’ read Romilda.

‘Ron!’ Hermione squealed. This was too much for her. She dashed forwards and tried to snatch the paper from Romilda, who held it high above her head. Ginny took one look at Romilda’s smug expression and pulled out her wand.

‘Please,’ Hermione begged. Romilda was so surprised by the anguished entreaty that, with a shocked expression, she wordlessly handed over the paper. Hermione pushed forwards and hastily spread the paper out on the table. She beckoned urgently to Ginny. For a moment, she thought that Ginny was going to hex Romilda anyway. Hermione decided to ignore the altercation, reading the article was more important. Ginny lowered her wand with a regretful snarl.

‘Do you really believe that Neville was sent on a raid?’ Romilda asked curiously. Hermione clenched her fists, maddened by the girl’s obvious lack of concern, but simply continued reading.

‘Of course he was, you ignorant tart,’ Ginny snapped as she pushed Romilda aside.

‘May I?’ Ginny asked, pulling the front page from the newspaper. Hermione let her. Harry always made the front page. Hermione knew that she’d find the article dealing with Ron’s raid hidden inside somewhere. She was right, it was on page six.

‘What…’ Romilda began, colouring angrily, but Ginny interrupted.

‘Neville’s an Auror, so he was on one of the raids,’ Ginny said with certainty. ‘They all were, Harry, Ron, Susan and Terry, too.’

‘No injuries,’ Hermione announced in relief as she quickly finished the article. Perhaps now she should try to stop the argument between Ginny and Romilda. ‘Mr Ezekiel Smith was taken in for questioning,’ she told them.

‘Pansy’s Dad “was taken from his Pontefract home in handcuffs.� No one was hurt,’ Ginny announced. She’d been quickly scanning through a different article. ‘Poor Harry, he always gets the headlines for the wrong reasons.’

‘What about Neville?’ Romilda asked. She had finally been infected by some of the anxiety Hermione and Ginny were displaying.

‘Where was he?’ asked Ginny angrily. ‘Do you even know?’

‘He said that his exam was in Wales.’

He dropped you a hint, but you didn’t pick it up, thought Hermione. She wondered how much Neville was telling Romilda. Not as much as Ron and Harry told them, she hoped. She scanned another article.

‘Found it,’ she announced. ‘He was in Pwllheli. “Four individuals were taken into custody at a Smith and Sons warehouse. The Auror Office has refused to give any details. A scar-faced youth claiming to be an Auror forcibly ejected a Prophet reporter from the building and illegally confiscated his camera.�’

‘Well done, Nev.’ Ginny grinned.

‘No injuries at the other two raids,’ Hermione announced in relief. She calmed herself down and returned to her Head Girl tones. ‘One was “at the Somerset home of Mr Theodore Nott, son of convicted Death Eater Thornton Nott.� The other was “in Auchtertool, Fife, at a farm owned by Einar Rowle, brother of the Death Eater Thorfinn Rowle (deceased).�’

‘At least everyone’s okay.’ Ginny sighed. ‘We’ll find out what’s been happening eventually.’

‘You’re not seriously worried about Harry Potter, are you?’ Romilda sounded amused. Hermione rounded on her, but Ginny replied first.

‘You really are as stupid and self-centred as you appear to be, aren’t you?’ Ginny exploded. ‘Why does everyone assume he’ll be all right? Everyone seems to think that he’s indestructible or something. He’s not superhuman; he’s got scars enough to prove that. He’s just … Harry.’

Romilda laughed dismissively. Hermione rolled her eyes, once again wondering why Neville was going out with this silly girl.

‘The Ministry are trying to put them through a three year Auror training course in two years,’ Ginny snarled at Romilda. ‘One-and-a-half years if they can manage it. And they were also studying for their NEWT’s until last month. And they get sent on active missions, too. Of course, I’m worried! Aurors get killed. Hermione’s just told you that the Auror Office lost half of their staff last year! I worry about Harry. I worry about all of them. If you really care about Nev you should be worried about him, too.’

‘If I care,’ Romilda began, outraged. ‘If I care! How dare you! Everyone knows that you only started chasing after Harry when he got interesting, after he fought Y-y-you-Know-Who at the Ministry.’

Hermione realised things were starting to get out of hand again

‘The so-called “Lord Voldemort� was named Tom Riddle,’ Ginny snapped. ‘And he was a lying, cheating, evil, little sneak even when he was at Hogwarts. And for your information, I was at the Ministr,y too. So were Nev and Luna and Hermione! You have no idea about Harry and me, you daft bint, none at all.’

‘I know that you dressed like a slut at that Hogsmeade party, and that you and “The Chosen One� argued!’ Romilda spat vindictively. ‘And I know that your precious boyfriend is still moping about it!’

Ginny’s face fell; Romilda smirked triumphantly. Damn her, Hermione thought. She might as well shout “Bat-bogey me, now,� at the top of her lungs. Ginny was again reaching for her wand, she was going to oblige. I can’t let her do it, Hermione grabbed her friends wand arm. It took both hands and all her strength to stop Ginny from raising her wand.

‘Sit down, Romilda,’ Hermione ordered, ‘and be quiet or else.’

‘Hiding behind the Head Girl, are you?’ Romilda asked. Ginny struggled to free her wand hand from Hermione’s grip. Hermione was tempted to let go. One more word from you, Romilda, she thought and I will.

‘Miss Weasley, Miss Vane,’ the Headmistresses voice rang out from the top table. ‘Show some decorum, please. Five points, each, from Gryffindor. Now sit down or I will put you in detention … together!’

Romilda’s friends grabbed her arms and pulled her down into her seat.

‘Come on, Ginny,’ Hermione begged, dragging her furious friend away from Romilda, to the opposite end of the Gryffindor table. ‘I really don’t know what Neville see’s in her.’

‘She’s already let him see everything she’s got,’ Ginny spat. ‘I think that’s the attraction.’ She was seething and continued to struggle with Hermione.

‘Calm down, Ginny, and let’s eat.’ Hermione begged. ‘Don’t let her get to you. She doesn’t know anything.’

‘She bloody does,’ Ginny snapped. ‘Nev must have told her about the party! I’ll be writing to him tonight! Has Ron said anything to you?’

Hermione pulled Ginny down into a seat. ‘About Harry being upset?’ she asked. ‘No, not really.’

‘Not really!’ Ginny said angrily. ‘What the hell does that mean?’

‘Ron said that Harry was a bit down for a couple of weeks after the DA party,’ Hermione explained hastily, quailing under Ginny’s anger. ‘But he’s been fine since the Quidditch game, since he decided to tell you…’

Ginny glared at her. ‘Why didn’t you say something?’

‘It was just a few flippant comments from Ron about Harry moping, and it was weeks ago,’ she protested. Why was Ginny being so unfair? ‘You get at least three long letters from Harry every week, Ginny,’ she said crossly. ‘I only get one short one from Ron, two if I’m really lucky. I assumed that Harry had told you.’

Ginny sadly shook her head; her anger ebbing away as quickly as it had risen. ‘Getting lots of letters from him is great, but sometimes I need to see his face. You know what he’s like for pretending that everything is all right when it isn’t.’

‘You’re right,’ Hermione agreed, as her friend revealed the reason for her concern. ‘Sorry, Ginny, I do know what Harry’s like. I’ll tell you next time Ron mentions anything. We need to compare notes more, don’t we?’

‘If I can’t see him, I can’t tell if he’s upset about something and not telling me. He can hide stuff in letters, Hermione. Next time you hear anything from Ron, tell me, and I’ll do the same for you, I promise. Ron…’ Ginny hesitated. ‘Harry’s told me a lot about Ron, too, I know why his letters are so short. I promised Harry that I wouldn’t tell you.’

‘You did what?’ Hermione hissed. ‘Why?’

‘Harry’s trying to shield Ron from your temper, Hermione. He knows what you’re like about schoolwork and responsibility,’ Ginny sighed. ‘I’m going to tell you anyway. But first you must promise not to tell Ron.’

Hermione glared at Ginny, willing her to speak, but the redhead simply waited silently for an answer.

‘I promise,’ Hermione sighed and gave a reluctant nod.

‘Ron isn’t working as hard as the others in Auror training. Harry stays at home, working and swotting, but Ron goes out a lot.’

‘What, where, why?’ Hermione panicked. ‘Is he ... has he … is there someone else?’

‘Yes.’ Ginny grinned mischievously while nodding. ‘George. He’s helping George in the shop. He’s there so often that he’s relying on Harry to help him through the Auror exams, and he’s so busy that he’s simply scribbling short letters to you. He’s been trying to persuade Harry to write to me less often so that you won’t get suspicious. He worries about what you think of him, he doesn’t want to disappoint you.’

‘Then why isn’t he working?’ Hermione snapped. ‘He’s the one who wanted to be an Auror.’

‘The shop is in trouble, Hermione, serious trouble. George needs help, and Ron is the only one who can give it.’

‘But they were doing so well, before…’

‘Before the war,’ Ginny finished the sentence. ‘Yes, they were, but not as a joke shop.’

‘What?’

‘Ron’s been through the books, he’s told Harry. He’s told George, too, but George won’t listen, because the joke shop was Fred’s idea and George doesn’t want to disappoint Fred.’ Ginny paused for breath.

‘Apparently they’ve never made very much money from the jokes; they were only making a couple of sickles from the skiving snackboxes. Our Headmistress isn’t as easy going as Dumbledore, and you’re not helping by announcing a ban on Weasley products. They simply aren’t selling so much. The fireworks made them money, but it was the defensive items that were the money spinners. They made their money from Shield Cloaks and Decoy Detonators and stuff like that.’

George is concentrating on rebuilding the joke shop business, he’s re-employed all five members of staff they had before the Death Eaters closed them down. Ron knows that the business can’t afford it. The shop was destroyed. George has received compensation, but he’s frittering it away paying his staff to manufacture stuff that just isn’t selling. Ron’s really worried about what might happen to George if the business goes bust.’

‘He’s working hard to get the business back on track. He’s jeopardising a career as an Auror to help George. He’ll never be able to persuade George to let the business collapse, because “it’s Fred’s legacy�. Harry reckons that Ron should quit the Auror Office to go and help George full time, but he won’t. You know how pig-headed Ron can be.’

‘It’s not pig-headedness,’ Hermione said defensively. ‘He’s caring and considerate and he doesn’t like letting people down.’

‘He’s really got you, hasn’t he?’ Ginny laughed. ‘But, he’s trying to do two jobs and both of them are more than full time.’

‘Poor Ron,’ Hermione said with a sigh. ‘Tell him you’ve told me, then I’ll be able to let him know that it’s okay.’

‘I can’t,’ Ginny replied. ‘Ron made Harry promise not to tell anyone, not even me. I don’t know anything I’ve just told you, so you certainly don’t, sorry. Ron does miss you, you know. He doesn’t know it, but the other trainees have a sweepstake on how often he says “I wish Hermione was here�. The record is thirteen.’

‘Thirteen times in one week?’ Hermione smiled happily. Ron was working hard, trying to help his brother, and he missed her. It would be nice if he wrote more often, but at least now she knew why he didn’t.

‘Thirteen times in one day,’ Ginny grinned. Hermione’s heart leapt. Then she remembered her midnight excursion with Ginny. She’d risked being caught out of bounds as Head Girl; she had risked a detention.

‘Why didn’t you tell me last night,’ she asked, suddenly annoyed, ‘when I was so depressed about Ron?’

‘It’s another thing that I promised Harry I wouldn’t tell you,’ Ginny admitted. ‘Ron still doesn’t know about the sweepstake and Harry was sure that you’d tell him if you found out. But if you’re going to tell me what Ron says about Harry I can’t keep things like that secret, can I? I’ll write and tell Harry that I’ve broken my promise.’

‘Don’t,’ Hermione advised, mollified. ‘I won’t say anything to Ron, I promise.’ She began planning. ‘I can surprise him with it when I see him and you can confess the next time you actually meet Harry. If you choose your moment he’ll forgive you instantly. I watched you and Harry over the summer. You know exactly how to make him do anything for you.’

‘I thought I did,’ Ginny replied, ‘but after Hogsmeade I’m not so sure.’

‘You overdid it,’ Hermione told her.

Ginny nodded. ‘I know, I didn’t mean to, I just…’

‘…Had a wardrobe malfunction?’ Hermione asked.

Ginny laughed. ‘I’ll tell Harry that.’

Hermione smiled. ‘They get teased a lot, you know, all three of them,’ she added, trying to make peace.

‘Teased?’ Ginny asked.

‘They get ribbed about us, about having schoolgirls for girlfriends,’ Hermione told her friend. ‘At least two of the Aurors give them a hard time about it.’

‘Harry mentioned that, when we were outside the school gates, but we had more important things to talk about. Do you know which two Aurors?’ Ginny asked.

Hermione shrugged. ‘Ron hasn’t told me. He thinks it’s funny.’

‘Harry probably doesn’t,’ Ginny said. ‘That’s why he won’t have mentioned it in his letters.’

What else didn’t Ginny know about Harry? Hermione wondered.

‘Do you know that Harry regularly gets invited to all sorts of Ministry functions and private parties?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ confirmed Ginny.

‘Do you know that all invitations are to Mr H J Potter and guest?’

‘He’s told me that, too. But he doesn’t even go unless Kingsley asks personally,’ said Ginny. ‘That’s only happened twice. Kingsley only insisted that he take a guest the first time. After that the Minister decided that it would be best to let Harry go alone.’

‘Ron didn’t tell me that.’ Hermione was curious. ‘Who did Harry take?’

‘Andromeda Tonks, but she had to bring Teddy, too.’ Ginny grinned. ‘Four month old babies don’t care whether it’s a private formal dinner or not. They cry and fill their nappies when they want to.’

‘Andromeda Tonks?’ Hermione was surprised.

‘Harry sees ‘Dromeda and Teddy at least twice a week,’ Ginny said. ‘When I found out, I wrote to her to ask how Harry’s coping. She’s turning into another of Harry’s many “more mature� conquests. She and Mum should start a club for older Potter fans. “He’s a wonderful godfather to Teddy and he’ll make a great Dad one day�, Mrs Tonks told me when she wrote back. She also says that he’s a “Keeper�.’

Hermione laughed, then glanced up at the top table and lowered her voice. ‘I think that our Headmistress would join that club, too, provided that she could do it anonymously.’

Ginny’s face creased into a smile and she gave a rich, deep chuckle. ‘It’s not as well kept a secret as Minnie the Moggy likes to think.’

‘Minnie the Moggy!’ Hermione was shocked at such disrespect.

‘Not so loud,’ Ginny hissed. ‘You must have heard that name before.’ Hermione shook her head.

‘But loads of people use it!’ Ginny sounded amazed.

Deciding not to comment on the Headmistress’s nickname, she lowered her voice. ‘Did you know that girls regularly approach Harry at work, and sometimes even in the street, to ask him out? And that he gets sent a love potion at least once a week?’

‘No … well … sort of … yes,’ Ginny replied thoughtfully. ‘He’s made a few jokes about that in his letters. But he’s never mentioned how frequent it was. It gets him down, doesn’t it?’

‘Yes, it really annoys Ron, too,’ said Hermione. ‘He’s very touchy about love potions, you know.’

‘With good reason,’ said Ginny. The two girls glared down the table at Romilda.

‘Ron often shouts at girls who pester Harry. He’s even made a few of them cry.’

‘Leave him alone, you little tart,’ Ginny growled, mimicking her youngest brother, ‘he’s going out with my sister.’

‘That’s about right,’ Hermione laughed. ‘Ron says that Harry hardly ever goes to Diagon Alley. He walks through Muggle London from the Ministry to Grimmauld Place and stays there most nights, working and studying.’

‘I wish that we knew what had been happening today,’ said Ginny. ‘I don’t suppose that Romilda will let us read her Evening Prophet now.’

‘Not likely,’ Hermione agreed.

‘You’re Head Girl, you could just confiscate it from her.’

‘I can’t, not without a good reason,’ Hermione said, suppressing a smile and wondering if all of the Weasleys thought like Ron.

‘I could plant some banned Weasley products on her,’ Ginny offered.

‘No, Ginny, I won’t do it.’ Hermione folded her arms and firmly reminded herself that, tempting though it was, such an act would be an abuse of her position. ‘Anyway, you shouldn’t have any “banned products� to plant on her because they are banned!’

‘Oops.’ Ginny pulled a panicky face before grinning. ‘Am I in trouble, Madam Head Girl?’

‘You should be,’ Hermione started, but gave up. She didn’t want to fight Ginny, though her friend could be as insufferable as Ron sometimes. ‘Oh, forget it. There’s no way to get a paper now.’

‘You’ll have to subscribe to the Evening Prophet, too,’ Ginny suggested.

‘No, most of the time there’s not much of a difference from the morning paper,’ Hermione told her. ‘Anyway, why should I get two papers. You could take out a subscription.’

‘Can’t afford it,’ Ginny grinned cheerfully. ‘Not unless I cancel my subscriptions to Quidditch Today, Quidditch Weekly and The Quibbler.’

‘The Quibbler!’ Hermione snorted. Ginny could be annoying sometimes. ‘And why get two different Quidditch…’ she began.

‘�Today� is best for match analysis, “Weekly� is best for equipment reviews,’ interrupted Ginny. ‘The Quibbler is always good for a laugh. Nothing is more important than Quidditch and the Quibbler, Hermione. Nothing except Harry, of course.’

With a sigh, Hermione acknowledged to herself that this was another discussion that she’d never win.

‘You’ll just have to wait until I get the Sunday Prophet tomorrow morning,’ she told Ginny. ‘And I’m not going to let you read it over my shoulder. You can wait until I’ve finished.’

‘You don’t even look at the back pages. You could give me those to read. I need to see the match reports.’

‘Are they more important than the headlines?’

Ginny grinned, ‘Usually, yes, but you’re right, not tomorrow they’re not. I want to find out what’s been happening to the boys. They should be off duty by now. I wonder what they’re doing?’

10. Grimmauld Place: Explanations

‘Sorry I’m late,’ muttered Ron apologetically, as he hurried into the dark oak-panelled dining room on the ground floor of 12 Grimmauld Place. ‘I called in to see George, to go through the books with him again. It took longer than I expected.’

Ron looked at the four people sitting around the long, dark oak table. They were already eating. The table was much too large for the five places set. His fellow trainees were huddled at the end nearest to the only window.

It was late, and it was dark outside. It had been dark when Ron was released from duty at six o’clock, more than two hours ago. It had been dark when they’d reported for duty at six this morning, too. Ron had seen little daylight; he’d been indoors most of the day.

The light from the chandeliers appeared to be being sucked into the darkness of the walls. Despite Kreacher’s best efforts, polished dark wood was little better than dirty dark wood and the room remained dingy. Ron shivered and hoped that this room would be the next to be redecorated.

The dining chairs were also dark oak. The two dozen chairs around the table were solid, cumbersome and high-backed. Above them he could see the backs of two heads. The flaxen hair, tied in a tight bun, belonged to Susan Bones, while the cropped dark brown hair belonged to Neville.

Harry sat next to Neville, at the head of the table with the window behind him. He looked up and smiled as Ron scurried around to the vacant place. Ron’s seat was next to Harry, opposite Neville. In the seat beside Ron, a head of close cropped and thinning brown hair lifted momentarily. The burly, plain featured and jug-eared young man, Terry Boot, acknowledged Ron’s arrival with a nod, then went back to the serious business of eating.

Opposite Terry, dimple-chinned Susan had followed Ron’s hasty entrance with her piercing blue eyes.

‘Better hurry, Ron,’ she advised. ‘It’s Kreacher’s vegetable broth and Terry’s on his third helping.’

‘Fourth,’ corrected Neville. ‘There’s not much left.’

‘How much is not much?’ Ron panicked. He looked at their faces. They were teasing him, he knew, but he’d had nothing, other than a hastily snatched ham sandwich, since breakfast. He was starving.

‘Don’t worry, mate,’ Harry told him. ‘I wouldn’t let them start without you.’

‘Start?’ Ron asked as he peered anxiously into the tureen. ‘It looks like you’ve almost finished.’

Everyone laughed at him.

‘We haven’t started anything important, Ron. Our guests are here to discuss today’s missions, remember?’ said Harry.

Ron ladled the steaming broth into his bowl, grabbed the remaining four crusty rolls and piled them on his side plate.

‘I’m starving,’ said Ron unnecessarily. He broke a bread roll in half and crammed the largest part into his mouth while slurping the broth.

‘You always are, Ron. But don’t worry, there’s steak au poivre, chips and salad for the main course,’ Harry continued. ‘Why don’t you start, Terry? It will give Ron a chance to catch up with the food. I know from long experience that he doesn’t operate well on an empty stomach.’

‘Okay,’ Terry began, his voice a deep bass rumble. ‘Edmund Byers was in charge of my team, at least in theory,’

‘The potions expert?’ asked Neville.

Terry nodded, ‘He’s apparently brilliant in the laboratory, and I can see why Mister Robards likes to keep him there. He was pretty ineffectual in the field. We were outside Rowle’s place about an hour before dawn. I assume that you were all in position then, too.’

Everyone nodded.

‘I was with Byers, Ottilia Ball, Polly Protheroe and a couple of Hit Wizards. We used the standard approach-and-enter technique that Auror Fergus has been drilling into us for weeks.’ Terry paused and watched his fellow students smiling – Fiona Fergus liked rote-learning.

‘On approach, check the area for alarm spells,’ Terry began the chant.

‘When satisfied, cast an Anti-Apparition Jinx over the area,’ Susan parroted.

‘Approach the target cautiously, continually detecting for dark magic,’ Neville added.

‘En’er kick’ly ‘n ‘nounce y’r ‘den’ty,’ mumbled Ron through a mouthful of broth, while Susan watched in disgust.

‘Rapidly secure the area using maximum force,’ Harry finished, smiling. ‘I expect that we all did the whole operation strictly by the book.’ All but Susan nodded.

‘We entered quickly, all right,’ Terry continued. ‘Polly Protheroe blew out the door and a good chunk of the wall with the Reductor Curse. I’m glad that I was standing a long way behind her.’

Ron looked up and saw Harry lean forward, mouth half-open, obviously waiting for an opportunity to interrupt. He’d want to know about the Reductor Curse. Terry noticed, too. The burly trainee paused, looked at Harry and smiled.

‘I asked Protheroe about her Reductor Curse,’ Terry told them. ‘She uses a final wand-flick to increase the power. She said that it’s a trick she learned from old Mad-Eye during training. She agreed to show us how it’s done next weekend.’ There were murmurs of approval from around the table.

‘Byers announced our presence,’ Terry continued. ‘No one answered and he dithered, so Protheroe took over.’

‘She’s the one who shaves the sides of her head and dyes her hair black, isn’t she?’ Susan observed. ‘She looks rather scary. But she’s not that much older than us.’

‘She’s got a blackbird tattooed inside her left ear, too,’ Terry observed.

‘She’s the same age as Tonks, they trained together,’ Harry supplied. Everyone turned to look at him and listened with interest as Harry continued. They always did, Ron knew, even the senior Aurors stopped and paid attention if Harry decided to speak. Ron listened to his friend, too, but didn’t stop eating – he had a lot of catching up to do.

‘We were alone in the office together a couple of weeks ago and she asked me if I wanted a cuppa. She knew I was Teddy’s godfather and we got talking,’ Harry explained.

‘The tattoo inside her ear is a raven, not a blackbird, Terry.’ Harry smiled wryly. ‘You should’ve known that, she’s one of your lot. She’s got a Raven’s claw on her left shoulder blade to prove it. And a dragon, a Hebridean Black, all the way up her right arm.’

Ron hastily swallowed his broth. ‘Did she ask if you fancied going to the pub later, or did she offer to show you her other tattoos?’ he teased Harry.

‘We just chatted, Ron, that’s all,’ said Harry, grinning.

‘She’s good, imposing,’ Terry resumed his story. ‘There was only one person in the house, Einar Rowle. Protheroe located him. She told the two Hit Wizards to cover the door and we followed Rowle. He had Disillusioned himself, but Protheroe didn’t let on that we knew where he was. She decided that he probably knew what we were after, so she ordered us to keep back. She used the Invisibility Revealer to keep track of him and realised that he was heading for the cellar. She was slick. We stayed on the ground floor and kept almost directly above him. When he stopped moving Protheroe guessed that he’d reached his files, so she blasted a hole in the floor and we Stunned him. There was really no need for the Stunning Spells; the blast had already knocked him flat.’

‘Anyway, we found the list of names,’ Terry went on. ‘There were over eighty Muggle-borns on it. Byers brought Rowle round and told him what we knew. He tried to bargain with us, but Protheroe just laughed and told him that she was Muggle-born, that some of the names on the list were friends of hers, and that if he knew where any of them were, he’d better tell us. He did. We found ten of them locked in a barn, all wandless. He’d been using them as farm labourers. They were terrified when we broke in, he’d told them that…’

‘That Harry was dead and Voldemort had won, right?’ Neville interrupted grimly. ‘That he was keeping them safe from the Death Eaters who were rampaging across the country and slaughtering every Muggle-born that they could find; that they should be grateful little slaves!’

Terry nodded. ‘How many did you all find?’ he asked his friends.

‘There were more than four dozen in Pwhelli,’ Neville said angrily. ‘All of them malnourished and beaten. We had to pull in the entire Cardiff Law Office to help us. Auror Topping took six of the Muggle-borns straight to St. Mungo’s because they were so close to death. They were all former Healers, too. All sold into slavery by Wylde. I thought that Madam Blood was going to explode. She told Uriah Smith the grisly details of the interrogation techniques she’d used on Death Eaters at the end of the first war. She told him that she was a little out of practice, so there was the possibility that she might accidentally kill him.’

‘Minister Shacklebolt has banned all dangerous and violent interrogation techniques,’ Susan interjected angrily. ‘The Deputy Head Auror shouldn’t be…’

‘I know,’ interrupted Neville, smiling apologetically. ‘Deputy Head Auror Blood told him that, too … but not until after he’d turned green and confessed. He’s in the Auror cells at the Ministry now.’

‘Parkinson had no slaves.’ Harry was next to take up the story. ‘He didn’t even put up a struggle; he just sat quietly in his living room and confessed. Robards was astonished, and really annoyed. He was expecting a big fight. I think that he was hoping for a big fight. He’s been trying to arrest Parkinson for years apparently.’

‘Parkinson claimed that he’d been blackmailed into helping the gang by Wylde. He admitted that one of his great grandmothers was Muggle-born and claimed that Wylde had found out. It was a rather disappointing raid, nothing exciting happened. Everyone was in bed when we blasted through the front door. We hauled everyone downstairs, kept them separated and questioned them all individually. Pansy and her mum did nothing but cry the whole time we were there. It wasn’t pleasant.’

‘No Muggle-borns?’ Neville asked.

‘No, we looked everywhere, too. Piers Parkinson claimed to have wanted nothing to do with the slave trade. He seemed genuine, but he’s a really arrogant sod,’ Harry observed. ‘He reminded me a lot of Lucius Malfoy. The old smarmy and supercilious version, not the babbling drunken wreck Lucius was the last time I saw him. But Parkinson co-operated with us and it looks likely that he’ll get off with a hefty fine.’

Ron hastily gulped down his broth. ‘There were no Muggle-borns in Birmingham either,’ he told his friends. ‘Ezekiel Smith denied all knowledge of any criminal activities. He even invited us to search the place, the smug git – not that we needed his permission. We searched for hours; we didn’t even stop for lunch, I’ve had one sandwich since breakfast! But we didn’t find anything. Eventually, Phillipa Fortescue left me and Keen to question the greasy little pillock while she went for a cuppa. At least, that’s what she said.’

‘We were getting nowhere,’ Ron continued as Kreacher cleared their plates away and began serving the main course. ‘He just denied everything. Then Gryfudd Llewellyn from Nev’s team arrived with the evidence from Pwhelli. We confronted him with it, but he claimed that his cousin, Uriah, must have been doing it without his knowledge.’

Ron paused, broke the last bread roll in half and used it to mop the last drops of broth from the tureen before Kreacher removed it. He hastily swallowed the roll, hardly bothering to chew, and continued his story. ‘We thought that we’d have to let him go, but Phillipa turned up with all of Smith’s files. They gave us proof of his involvement, so we arrested him. It turns out that Phillipa had asked Smith’s secretary to make them both a cuppa. While they were drinking tea, she managed to persuade the secretary to tell her where the confidential files were hidden. Wylde, Parkinson, Rowle, and Nott had quite a business going, I’m not sure how they started…’

‘I am,’ Susan picked up the story. ‘Wylde was the Muggle-born Registration Commission’s representative in St Mungo’s. He was sent lists of suspected Muggle-borns by Umbridge’s office. He passed the names to his gang before summoning any of the Muggle-borns before the Commission. That allowed Parkinson to arrange “escapes� for the Muggle-borns and their families. They handed over all their money for safe passage, then they had their wands taken and were effectively enslaved. Wylde used Parkinson because –unlike both Rowle and Nott, he’s never been associated the Death Eaters.’

‘But the Law Officers are certain Parkinson is linked to a lot of criminal activities,’ Harry observed.

‘Criminal,’ Susan pointed out, ‘not Death Eater or Dark Magic, so that’s for Magical Law Enforcement, not us. The Sheriff of Yorkshire might not have been able to catch Parkinson, and Robards is a friend of the Sheriff, but it looks like he hasn’t found much, either. What was Smith’s involvement?’

‘Smith was simply in the market for cheap labour, no questions asked,’ Ron said.

‘During the war he had them mass producing Anti-Muggle-born pamphlets for the Ministry,’ Neville said, holding his steak knife like a dagger and waving it violently. Ron was glad that none of those arrested in Wales were in the room. He’d never seen Neville so violently angry.

‘Theodore Nott,’ Susan announced, ‘is completely innocent.’

‘Really?’ Ron asked.

Susan scornfully raised a fine blonde eyebrow. ‘I doubt it, but we’ll probably never know. We “checked the area for alarm spells,� but we must have missed something, because when we approached the house, Nott opened the door and invited us in. Williamson was livid; he blamed McLoughlin for some reason. He’s a cool one, Theodore Nott. Did any of you get to know him at school?’ asked Susan.

The young men all shook their heads.

‘He was a real loner,’ Terry declared.

‘I saw him hanging around with Zabini sometimes,’ Neville observed, ‘but I think that they were just together because they didn’t want to hang around with Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle.’

‘Theodore Nott certainly didn’t have the reputation among the girls that Zabini had,’ Susan observed.

‘Reputation? What reputation?’ Neville asked. Susan, to everyone’s amazement, blushed.

‘He was supposed to have had lots of girlfriends, that’s all,’ she explained. ‘He could be a real charmer.’

‘Speaking from experience?’ Ron grinned.

‘He didn’t get anywhere with me,’ said Susan matter-of-factly, pursing her lips and looking very severe. ‘But he did try. Parvati said that I should be honoured, that he was very picky, but I’m not so sure. Lavender said that last year he got off with Daphne and Pansy, and Padma and I caught him with…. But that’s not important, and it has nothing to do with Nott. He answered all of Williamson’s questions quickly and, apparently, honestly.’

‘Theodore Nott claims that his father, Thornton Nott, forbade him from having anything to do with Voldemort and that his father rejoined the Death Eaters simply because the alternative was death,’ Susan announced.

Ron grumbled under his breath while cramming steak into his mouth.

‘He came up with a plausible story,’ Susan said quietly. ‘His father was a Death Eater, we all know that. Thornton Nott had joined Riddle early on, even before Lucius Malfoy.’

‘Theodore – I’ll call him Theodore and his dad Thornton to avoid confusion.’ Susan sounded unhappy about using the young man’s forename. ‘Theodore claims that, after Voldemort’s first defeat, his dad decided that the unbeatable “You-Know-Who� wasn’t unbeatable after all.’

Ron snorted disbelievingly, dribbling pepper sauce.

‘Ron, you are the most disgusting eater I’ve ever seen,’ Susan remarked, shuddering before returning to her story.

‘Unlike the Malfoys, Thornton kept in the background. He did what he was ordered, but no more. He didn’t offer Theodore a chance to join. In fact, he told him to keep out of it. Theodore is actually proud of his father. He admitted that if Voldemort had won, he would have joined his father in the ranks of the Death Eaters, but he lost, and Theodore, unlike Draco Malfoy and Gregory Goyle, remains blameless.’

‘I wish we knew where Goyle is hiding,’ Harry grumbled. ‘I can’t believe that he’s still on the run.’

‘I thought I saw him in the summer,’ Ron observed, ‘in the gorilla enclosure at the zoo, but it was just an exceptionally ugly gorilla.’

Neville and Terry snorted with laughter.

‘He’s still free,’ Harry reminded them seriously. ‘But what about “Theodore�, he must have known something.’

‘About Voldemort? Lots, but he claimed to be too frightened to talk and we know how good that defence is. It was true for a lot of people, “keep quiet or die!�’

‘I meant about the slavery business,’ corrected Harry.

‘That’s what Williamson argued, too,’ Susan replied. ‘But Nott claimed otherwise and he was at school when all of this was going on. As he reminded us. He asked us what we wanted, so Williamson told him.’

‘Why?’ Terry grunted.

Susan shrugged as she delicately chewed a small piece of steak. ‘We hadn’t found anything during the search. He had no choice, really.’

‘When Williamson told Theodore, he summoned a house-elf, Shilly, and asked her if his father had ordered her to hide any papers. The poor thing started hitting her head on the table. Nott ordered her to stop and reminded her that, as his father would never be released from Azkaban, he was now the head of the house. To cut a long story short, old man Nott had hidden some stuff. Theodore ordered her to retrieve them and handed them all over to us. They confirmed his story. They did it brilliantly. It’s as though his father had actually written them to make certain that Theodore had no case to answer.’

‘He probably did,’ observed Harry.

‘This all confirms Wylde’s story,’ Ron pointed out. ‘Just because his Wylde’s wife thinks he’s innocent, it doesn’t mean that he is. We’ve got his confession under Veritaserum, it’s an open and shut case. Wylde agreed to take Veritaserum, too. I still think that Kingsley’s made a mistake banning its use without agreement from the suspect.’

‘The court is told if the accused refuse to take Veritaserum, Ron,’ Harry pointed out.

‘Does anyone know if there’s any way to fool Veritaserum?’ Ron began, ‘I’ve often wondered what would happen if…’ He stopped mid-sentence and watched Kreacher enter the room with Harry’s newspapers, the Evening Prophet and the Muggle Evening Standard.

‘What does that headline say?’ Ron spat angrily.

Harry took the papers from his house elf and swore. He showed the front page to his friends.

It said: “Peeping Potter�.

Harry read the first few sentences of the article aloud, his voice trembling with anger. ‘I suppose it’s too late for me to tell you that I did drag Pansy from her bed,’ he sighed. ‘But she was not naked.’ He shuddered at the thought. ‘She was wearing pyjamas, purple ones I think. I wasn’t paying attention I just wanted to get her out of her room and downstairs so that Fiona Fergus could search the place.’

Ron burst out laughing. ‘I believe you, mate, it looks like you’re going to be sick at the thought of it.’ He moved his fork hopefully towards Harry’s plate and his still unfinished main course. ‘If you are feeling sick, I can finish your steak for you.’

Harry grinned and protected his food from his friend. ‘Gerroffit, Ron. The thought of a naked Pansy isn’t quite enough to put me off my dinner.’

‘That’s ridiculous!’ Terry snapped. ‘We raid five properties, rescue more than sixty imprisoned Muggle-borns and finally announce the capture of one of the only two known Death Eaters still on the run. But the paper prints that as its main headline!’

‘Welcome to the world of Potter, mate,’ Ron grinned. ‘It doesn’t matter what we do, if Harry’s involved, he’ll get the headlines … and they’ll probably be wrong.’

‘Sorry, Terry,’ Harry apologised. ‘Like I said, it’s not even true, I can try to get Pansy to withdraw her allegation, but I can’t make the papers print what they should.’

‘It’s not your fault, Harry,’ Neville said. ‘It was the same when we went to the Ministry, and after the Battle, it’s like the rest of us are invisible.’

‘IT’S WRONG,’ Harry shouted, suddenly angry. ‘Why do they do this? Why did Pansy lie?’

‘She got her name on the front page, Harry,’ said Susan, her voice dripping with sarcasm. ‘That’s probably all that “attractive eighteen-year-old Pansy Parkinson� wanted.’

Harry swore under his breath. ‘I’ll have a word with Kingsley, tonight. We’ll get a factual press statement out for tomorrow’s Sunday Prophet. But first I’d better write to Ginny and explain.’

‘She’s not daft,’ Ron reassured his friend, ‘she’ll know that it’s a load of bollocks. Look on the bright side, we’ve all got through our first proper mission, and it’s been a success, apart from the headlines.’

‘Not completely, Ron,’ Harry said morosely. ‘I was convinced that either Nott the Death Eater, or Parkinson the criminal were behind the slavery business and that Wylde was just a stooge.’ Harry shook his head sadly. ‘I know that Wylde has confessed, but I’ve talked to his wife several times. She’s completely convinced that he’s innocent and he just doesn’t seem the type to me.’

‘There are still a lot of people missing,’ added Neville grimly. ‘Wylde claims that he has no idea where they are.’

‘We’ve been through the paperwork, Ron,’ said Harry. ‘There are eighty-four Muggle-borns named on the lists we recovered from Rowle’s places. We’ve found sixty-three of them. There’s no sign of the rest. Twenty-one men, women and kids have just – vanished. Katie and Leanne have been preparing a list of “The Missing� for the Society for the Assistance of Muggle-borns, too. Not everyone we’ve found was even reported missing. Katie reckons that there are probably still more than a hundred Muggle-borns missing, or dead.’

‘We could torture Umbridge until we find them,’ Ron suggested.

‘Ron!’ Susan was shocked. ‘She doesn’t know where they are, she was simply the reason that they fled.’

‘It would make me feel better,’ Ron scowled.

‘It wouldn’t, mate,’ Harry said quietly.

‘I know!’ said Ron, nodding sadly. He crashed a fist down on the table in frustration. ‘It’s just the … injustice … of it all. That evil bloody woman! It might’ve been Hermione in one of those places! She might be missing, or worse.’

Ron paused and looked thoughtfully at his friends, ‘But we’re better than Umbridge, we pursue the guilty, not the innocent, don’t we?’

‘I hope so, mate,’ Harry said.

They finished their meal in a morose silence. Neville, Terry and Susan stayed late, drinking Butterbeer and re-analysing their missions. It was almost midnight when the three visitors left Ron and Harry alone in Grimmauld Place.

After they had left, Ron watched Harry carefully. His friend was sitting at the dining table once again looking through the list of those missing. Ron recognised the signs; Harry was beginning to obsess, to push himself. It was hard for anyone not to get emotionally involved, but for Harry, it was impossible. He would never give up, Ron realised.

‘We’ll find ‘em, mate,’ Ron said quietly.

‘Dead or alive?’ Harry asked bleakly.

‘A lot of people were killed, Harry,’ Ron told his friend gently. ‘It’s possible that the best we’ll be able to do is find out where they were buried, and, hopefully, who killed them. Today was a good day, half-a-dozen people arrested and more than sixty freed. And…’ he grinned, ‘it’s not every day that you get to see Pansy naked!’

‘I told you I didn’t…’ Harry began angrily, before seeing the mischief on Ron’s face. Harry laughed. ‘This is just great! It’s bad enough when you take the mickey about the stupid things I have done.’

‘It’s Mum you need to worry about, mate,’ Ron smiled, ‘and Bill, probably, but me and Ginny, we’ll just…’

‘Tease me unmercifully, I know.’ Harry smiled. ‘So, how’s George?’

'Business isn't getting any better, so I spoke to the staff, told them that we can't afford to pay them all and asked if any of them wanted to work part-time. George and Fred hired extra staff when they were raking money in from the Ministry contracts a couple of years ago. They should never have promised to re-employ them “when this is all over.� It turns out that Verity had been offered a better paid job at Honeydukes, but she was frightened to tell George. We let her go immediately. George wanted to give her a month's pay, but she wouldn't hear of it, bless her,' Ron said.

‘Big Mac and Little Mac have both agreed to go part time ... Gordon McNamara and Tammy MacLeod,’ he explained to a puzzled Harry. ‘It’s not enough, we’re still making a loss, but it will help.’

Ron stopped and looked carefully at his friend. ‘I’m in trouble with the Portkey Office, too,’ he admitted. ‘I was looking through some experimental stuff and I found a book…’

Ron looked around the room and made sure that no one else was listening, though there was no need as there was no one else other than Kreacher in the house.

‘George’ll tell you anyway,’ he whispered. ‘The book was called Witches Wearing Nothing. I opened it.’

Harry sniggered.

‘You would’ve too!’ Ron protested. ‘Anyway, as soon as I opened it there was a blue light and I ended up in the street, but my robes stayed behind, I was in the middle of Diagon Alley in nothing but socks and boxers, and still holding the bloody book. I Apparated straight back to the shop but the Porkey office had spotted the unauthorised Portkey and they sent some of their staff to both origin and destination. That’s the real reason I was late.’

Harry howled with laughter.

‘The Portkey guys told me that it was impossible, that Portkeys could only be operated by either touch or a timed switch, not by opening a book. But, like a lot of things, nobody had bothered to tell Fred and George that it was impossible, so they did it anyway. The pages were blank by the way, Fred’s a… Fred was a… bollocks, I can’t call a dead man names.’

'I really don't think he'd mind,' suggested Harry quietly. 'In fact I reckon that he'd probably be pleased.' Ron nodded thoughtfully and looked up at the ceiling.

‘You’re still a pain in the bum, Fred,’ Ron said, smiling sadly.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ Ron continued, looking serious. ‘I think that we could enchant our handcuffs as Portkeys so that as soon as we close them the suspect is sent to a cell.’ Ron looked carefully into Harry’s face and watched his friend see the possibilities.

‘That’s brilliant, Ron,’ said Harry.

‘Thanks,’ Ron said, grinning, ‘I thought so, too. Don’t tell anyone until we have a prototype ready to demonstrate to the Ministry. This might be the thing me and George need. We could save the company and, because that Portkey book was Fred’s idea, George will be up for it.’

‘Save the business?’ Harry asked. ‘Are things really that bad?’

‘Almost. We desperately need more money spinners and less staff,’ Ron admitted. ‘If the company goes bust then you’ll never see the money you gave the twins.’

‘I don’t want it back, Ron. I never did,’ Harry told him.

‘You’re going to get it,’ Ron replied forcefully. ‘You’re going to get it from me and you’re not going to tell George until after I’ve paid you back. Because then he’ll owe me that money, not you! That’s when the stubborn one-eared sod will discover that he has a banker who wants to get involved in the business. Me!’

11. Dungeon: Discussions

Fenella Gray was the tallest girl in the school; she knew this because she’d checked. The fact that she had finally stopped growing was no comfort to the seventeen-year-old student. She desperately wanted to be smaller.

Fenella was being backed into an alcove in the Slytherin common room and was blinking rapidly under the gaze of the angry trio facing her. When the back of her calves hit an armchair, she slumped gratefully into the seat and hunched downwards, shrinking as much as she could. She always felt more comfortable when she was seated, when she was not looking down on people.

Pushing her thick black-rimmed glasses back up over the bump on her nose, Fenella used the action to observe her cousins Aaron and Zoë Wylde. They, and her little brother Archie, moved in closer and stared at her. Fenella was beginning to panic. She hated being the centre of attention, but she was the Prefect, so they expected her to do something.

Her cousin Zoë was a slim and athletic fourth-year girl. She was also almost a foot shorter than Fenella. Zoë was everything that Fenella wasn’t, but somehow they were still friends.

Fenella watched Zoë run her fingers through her curly brown hair. Actually, Zoë had placed both hands on her cheeks and pushed them up her forehead and through her hair. The fourth year girl was brushing tears from her eyes while trying not to let anyone see what she was doing. Fenella recognised the action; it was something that she had done often enough herself.

Zoë’s brother, Aaron, was the Slytherin Quidditch Captain. A tall, stocky young man whose shoulder length hair was as curly as his sister’s, Aaron was in Fenella’s year and was almost as tall as she was. But, for a boy, six foot one inch was a good height to be. Aaron had his arm around his sister. He was scowling and the copy of the Sunday Prophet in his hands rustled as he shook it angrily.

‘We should hex them,’ Fenella’s brother Archie suggested.

‘Who?’ Fenella asked, though she knew the answer.

‘The Weasel and the Mudblood,’ Archie said.

‘Archie,’ Fenella scolded her brother and gave her appalled cousins an apologetic look.

She glanced quickly around the Slytherin Common Room. The dimly lit room, with its collection of alcoves and corners, was designed to create a lot of quiet areas for whispered conversations. Some of these recesses were badly designed, making it possible for people to eavesdrop. Fenella suspected that this was deliberate. After seven years, Fenella knew the best locations and this was her favourite niche. Satisfied that no one could overhear, she leaned closer to her brother, who had pulled up a chair in front of her and whispered, ‘You should know better than to use that word. Just think about what would’ve happened to Aunt Wendy last year had anyone known.’

‘Sorry,’ Archie Gray apologised to his cousins. ‘But we should do something to them. They’re the only members of Potter’s gang we can get to.’

‘They haven’t done anything,’ Fenella said. ‘It was the Aurors who arrested Uncle Will.’

‘Potter and Ron Weasley are Aurors, and their girlfriends are here,’ Archie pointed out.

‘Never mind them. This is all lies.’ Aaron waved the paper in Archie’s face.

‘I know, Aaron,’ said twelve-year-old Archie, quailing under his cousin’s anger. Aaron and Zoë perched themselves on the arms of Archie’s chair and leaned in close.

‘But what can we do about it?’ Fenella asked nervously. ‘We’re still at school.’

‘So what? Potter, Granger, the two Weasleys, Longbottom and even “Loony� Lovegood broke into the Ministry when they were fourth and fifth years,’ Zoë pointed out.

‘They all fought in the battle last year, too,’ Aaron reminded Fenella.

‘Exactly,’ Fenella announced triumphantly. ‘We’re not like them! We’re just ordinary. Head Girl Granger is a genius. She takes more classes than everyone and she’s top in all of them.’

‘The Weasley girl’s ordinary enough apart from when she’s flying – and that hair of course,’ Aaron argued. ‘Her brother is positively thick, Lovegood is completely insane and pretty much everybody thought that Longbottom was completely useless until last year.’

‘Zoë fancies Longbottom,’ said Archie, smirking.

‘I do not,’ Zoë protested, angrily thumping her cousin on the arm.

‘You said that he could do a lot better than the vain Romilda,’ argued Archie.

‘That doesn’t mean that I fancy him,’ said Zoë, blushing.

‘Who do you fancy then?’ asked Archie, grinning.

‘Archon Wylde,’ Fenella used her brother’s hated forename, making him scowl. ‘Just you be quiet.’

‘Potter claims that he’s ordinary, too,’ said Zoë. ‘You told us so, Fenella, after you’d been to the Creevey boy’s funeral.’

‘They did seem sort of ordinary at Colin’s funeral,’ Fenella admitted. ‘At least they did until that reporter showed up. Then it was all shouted orders from Potter and everyone else running around doing exactly what he asked.’

‘What do you think was going on between Granger and the Weasel, and Vane last night?’ Zoë asked. ‘It looked to me like Vane was teasing Weasley about Potter.’

‘About Parkinson, probably,’ Aaron observed. ‘Potter managed to get that story squashed quickly, but surely no one will believe these lies.’

Aaron laid his crumpled copy of the Sunday Prophet on the table, smoothed it out, and the quartet crowded round to reread the front page.

Sunday Prophet: 22 November 1998

Aurors Make Arrests

The Auror Office made several arrests in a series of dawn raids across the country yesterday. Head Auror Gawain Robards declared Operation Wildcard a complete success. The Auror Office informed us that several people were taken into custody yesterday and that a large number of Muggle-borns were released from captivity.

Our reporter was told that these arrests resulted from significant information gained over recent weeks. Information received subsequent to the previously unannounced arrest of wanted Death Eater Wilberforce Wylde. When questioned about the secrecy surrounding Wylde’s arrest which (reporters were informed yesterday) took place several weeks ago, Head Auror Robards told us that keeping the arrest secret was essential while further investigations took place.

The Head Auror refused to speak further about Wylde’s arrest. When asked if yesterday’s arrests had anything to do with Wylde’s attempts to resurrect He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. The Head Auror said, “Of course not! There was not, and has never been, any such plot. Voldemort is dead, how many times must I tell you that?� The Head Auror then read out a prepared Ministry statement.

(See page 5 for the full Ministry Statement – together with an in depth analysis.)

Yesterday’s arrests included that of Mr Ezekiel Smith, the Managing Director of Smith and Sons. Mr Smith was arrested in Warwickshire, at the firm’s Birmingham Head Office, and has been charged with kidnap. Late last night a spokeswizard for the firm condemned the arrest, claiming Mr Smith had bravely risked his life and livelihood by protecting Muggle-borns. The spokeswizard, Mr Zebediah Smith, brother of the arrested man, told the Sunday Prophet that the Muggle-borns found at the Caernarfonshire parchment manufacturing business (see article, page 3) had been relocated by the Smiths to keep them safe from the Muggle-born Registration Commission.

The Auror Office, however, claim that the fifty two individuals released from Smith and Sons Pwhelli factory were unaware of the defeat of You-Know-Who. When asked about this claim Mr Zebediah Smith admitted only that the Muggle-borns released were wandless. He claimed that their wands had been removed for their own safety. “They were fighting among themselves, you know what these Muggle-borns are like,� he said. Mr Smith went on to dismiss the Auror Office claims that the Muggle-borns were being held captive and had been forced to work long hours or face starvation.

Mr Zebediah Smith was unable to answer any further questions, as during the interview he, too, was taken in for questioning by two uniformed Aurors who gave their names as Lister and Strang.

In yesterday’s other raids, a dozen Muggle-borns were released from the Rowle Farm in Fife, where Mr Einar Rowle was arrested. The Auror Office has charged Mr Rowle, brother of the Death Eater Thorfinn Rowle (deceased), with kidnap.

In the West Country, the home of imprisoned Death Eater Thornton Nott was also raided. The Death Eater’s son Mr Theodore Nott was not arrested. In an exclusive interview, he told the Prophet:
“I, personally, have never been involved in any activity which could be construed as supporting ‘Lord Voldemort’ or whatever you want to call him. My father’s involvement was, unfortunately, necessary as he made the mistake of becoming a Death Eater during the first war, and disloyalty, as everyone knows, was rewarded by death. I have done everything possible to assist the Auror Office. All of the raids yesterday resulted in arrests, all, that is, except the raid on my property. I cannot be held responsible for my father’s activities and I want nothing more than to return to obscurity.�

(Read the full interview “Death Eater’s Son Speaks Out� on page 9.)

Piers Parkinson, well known entrepreneur and long time business associate of Death Eater Lucius Malfoy was arrested at his Yorkshire home. Mr Parkinson has also been charged with kidnap. His wife Priscilla and daughter Pansy are currently under Law Office protection at an undisclosed location. Mrs Parkinson and her daughter have, however, issued a statement in which they rebut the comments attributed to Miss Pansy Parkinson in yesterday’s special edition of the Evening Prophet. Mrs Parkinson states that her daughter was not naked, as claimed yesterday. She added: “My daughter is a very close school friend of Mr Potter. They shared many classes at Hogwarts and she has always been willing to assist him in any way possible. Mr Potter and his squad of Aurors behaved courteously and professionally. I am confident that they will soon discover that my husband was blackmailed into assisting the Death Eater Wilberforce Wylde.�

Zoë was sobbing quietly when she finished the article; Aaron and Archie were white faced and angry. Fenella, who had already read the article several times, watched her family with concern.

‘Death Eater!’ Zoë sniffed.

‘He has the mark,’ Fenella nervously reminded her cousin. Aaron Wylde glared at her.

‘He does,’ Fenella protested in an anxious whisper. ‘The Aurors have tests, they have witnesses, too.’

‘They are all wrong,’ protested Zoë. ‘I know that they are. They must be!’

‘That’s impossible, Zoë,’ said Archie sadly. ‘He’s confessed, too, under Veritaserum.’ Archie was close to tears as he spoke.

‘My father is not a Death Eater,’ Aaron Wylde snarled angrily. ‘He was a Healer!’

‘You’re really certain that he’s not a Death Eater?’ Fenella asked nervously, whispering the last two words. Her cousins nodded, Zoë was crying. Aaron had clenched his jaw and was cracking his knuckles. Fenella was close to tears herself; she needed to do something.

‘If you’re sure, we need to prove it,’ Fenella squeaked. ‘Let me think.’

She leaned back in her chair and slouched even lower, silently pondering the problem while Archie, Aaron and Zoë read the other newspaper articles.

Fenella wished that her Gryffindor friend, Colin Creevey was still alive. He would have helped her; he would have been happy to give her advice. Her size had never bothered him, and he’d been her only real boy friend – boyfriend! She hastily pushed that thought to the back of her mind.

She’d met Colin in the school camera club in their first year. He’d been small even then, but at eleven she had been nowhere near as big as she was now. He’d started talking to her. He was Muggle-born and excited and he knew nothing. He didn’t even know enough to know that Gryffindor students, especially Muggle-borns, shouldn’t be getting friendly with pure-blood Slytherin girls. He’d been passionately interested in photography, but he’d known nothing about wizard cameras, so she’d helped him.

Colin had been a brilliant photographer. He had even photographed her. She now had all of the negatives, and the only photograph of her he’d printed. She kept it very well hidden.

Of course, he was also a typical Gryffindor, often raging about injustice, especially in his last year at school, his OWLs year.

His pictures showed his passion. Hers, he’d often told her, were technically better, but she knew that he was being polite. The “mistakes� in his photographs, whether a slight over-exposure or lack of focus (or whatever other trick he decided to use) was always deliberate and invariably improved the final image.

Colin Creevey could capture moods and feelings and personalities with his camera. She could only capture facts with hers. Fenella desperately wished that she could talk to him. He’d know what to do. She blinked tears from her eyes at the memory.

She’d tried to keep Colin safe last year. She’d warned him to go into hiding as soon as her father had told her about the Muggle-born Registration Commission. Colin could have just vanished, but instead he’d warned his friends and joined some resistance group. Then he’d come back in May and fought, and died. “You have to fight injustice,� he’d told her that when he was fifteen.

As she sat and thought, Fenella had an idea, she had several ideas. Common sense told her to say nothing, to do nothing, but Colin’s words continued to haunt her. “Fight injustice.�

She sighed and, with Colin’s words still ringing in her ears, she finally spoke. ‘If we’re going to prove that Uncle Will is not a Death Eater, we need to know why the Aurors think that he is. We need to find out what they know about him. We also need to know if there is any way to fool Veritaserum,’ Fenella announced. She blinked rapidly, took off her glasses and polished them and then beckoned everyone closer.

‘Archie,’ she began. ‘You’re the best of us at potions and you’re already one of old Sluggy’s favourites. Try to butter him up. Take your time, take as long as you need to get into his good books, but when you think he’s ready ask him if there is any way to fool Veritaserum.’

‘Zoë,’ said Fenella. She hesitated before continuing nervously. ‘You know that Trudi Pepperell’s been a bit funny with you since the Gryffindor game?’ Zoë nodded.

‘D’you know why?’ Fenella asked.

‘No,’ Zoë shook her head.

‘She’s been trying to get off with Colin’s brother, Dennis,’ Fenella whispered. ‘He’s the Gryffindor Prefect in her year, but Dennis is always asking Trudi about you. He’s asked her if you have a boyfriend, I know because Trudi asked me if you did.’

Archie Gray sniggered; Aaron Wylde smacked him gently over the head.

‘You’re the littlest one here, Archie,’ said Aaron threateningly, ‘just keep your mouth shut, or I’ll shut it for you.’

‘What, exactly, do you want me to do?’ Zoë asked.

‘I don’t know, but there’s a chance that Dennis might know something. He was in Potter’s gang with Colin, and he went to that horrible old pub with them all last month. Even if he doesn’t know anything, he might be able to find out, if you ask him nicely. He wants to be an Auror. You could tell him that you’re interested, too,’ suggested Fenella. ‘I don’t know what else to tell you, because boys never look at me, but the Vane girl’s been boasting that she can make Longbottom do absolutely anything, and you’re a lot better looking than she is.’

‘Zoë is fourteen!?’ hissed Aaron angrily.

‘And I’m certainlynot doing the things Romilda’s been doing,’ Zoë announced.

Fenella blushed and carefully examined her fingernails while replying. ‘No … not … not … No! Just be nice to him, that’s all—he’s only fifteen. See what he knows.’

‘What about my team?’ Aaron asked aggressively.

‘Team?’ Fenella looked at him blankly.

‘Quidditch,’ said Aaron. ‘I don’t want two of my Chasers falling out with each other over a scrawny little Gryffindor boy!’

‘Dad is more important than Quidditch,’ Zoë said firmly. ‘What are you and Aaron going to do, Fenella?’

‘I’m going to research the Ministry. I’ll write to Father and tell him that I’m doing a project on filing systems for the camera club and I’ll ask him how the Ministry organises its files. I’ll say that the camera club need to catalogue our photographs, he’ll believe that,’ said Fenella.

‘And … and … and … I’ll … try to get close to Granger, Lovegood and Weasley. They were nice – at least Ginny Weasley was nice – to me at Colin’s funeral and father said that I should get close to them, too. He said that they are the new elite and that promotion within the Ministry isn’t based on what you know, but who you know,’ she added.

‘Your Dad’s been saying that for years, and look where it’s got him. My Dad thinks that he should just try working a bit harder instead of always complaining. So, what about me?’ Aaron asked.

‘You’re the tactician. We need a plan, and we need those files. See if you can find any plans of the Ministry, and plan a way to break in and steal the Auror files,’ whispered Fenella, deciding not to argue with Aaron about her father.

‘Break into the Ministry?’ said Aaron loudly. He was astonished by her suggestion.

Everyone looked worriedly around the common room, but it appeared that no one had heard his outburst.

‘Like Zoë said, Potter and his friends did it when they were fifth years,’ Fenella reminded him. ‘So, what do you think?’

Aaron Wylde nodded, as did his sister. Archie Gray beamed.

‘Wow, ‘Ella,’ he told his sister. ‘I didn’t think that you had it in you.’

Fenella lowered her head and nodded while looking at her lap. She didn’t want them to see the horror in her eyes. They had all agreed! Not one of them had argued! Now she’d have to actually go through with this preposterous and dangerous plan. Aaron was rubbing his chin, a sign that he was he was already planning. Zoë had swivelled on the chair arm and was looking carefully at her fellow chaser, Trudi Pepperell. Archie was positively bouncing with excitement.

Fenella decided to leave them to it. Hopefully within a few days they’d realise that it was impossible. She stood and tried to escape to the girls’ dormitory corridor, but Aaron grabbed her arm and pulled her close.

‘Scouting mission,’ he whispered. ‘We need to get into the Ministry, and we need to know where we’re going once we manage to get inside. I’ll have a word with Professor Slughorn and suggest that the school arrange a trip to the place for any final-year students interested in a career there. Old Sluggy will probably take credit for the idea himself, and it’ll be better for us if he does. You had better come too, Fenella, and photograph everything.’

---

The end of term feast was over and the Slytherin common room was almost deserted. Most students were in the dormitory corridors, packing for the train home in the morning. Fenella beckoned her brother and cousins across and they all sat for a hasty conference.

‘I finally got a decent reply from father today,’ announced Fenella. ‘It wasn’t easy asking those questions without him realising what we were trying to find out. Every department has a different filing system and they aren’t compatible. The Auror Office keep their files secure, so do Magical Law Enforcement. They are in locked filing cabinets in locked rooms at the end of locked corridors, there’s no way to get to them.’

Aaron Wylde scowled. ‘We’ve been wasting our time. Are there no copies anywhere else?’

Fenella sighed. She had hoped that would be the end of it, but Aaron had asked the right question and he always knew when she was lying. Everyone always seemed to know when she lied. She nodded timorously.

‘Yes. A copy is sent to the Department of International Magical Cooperation, for the International Magical Office of Law. Their filing room is on Level Five and it should be a lot easier to get in to their files.’

‘Brilliant,’ Aaron beamed, ‘I think that I know when, too, thanks to Zoë.’

‘I’ve just lost Slytherin ten points,’ Zoë said, blushing. ‘Dennis trapped me under some mistletoe and Trudi Pepperell caught us both. She was furious.’

‘Slytherin Prefects never take points off fellow Slytherin’s. I told her that at the beginning of the year,’ said Fenella.

‘They do now,’ Zoë told her. ‘Dennis doesn’t know much, but he did tell me that the Ministry will be almost deserted on Sunday afternoon, and evening. Everyone will be at the Mage’s Hall. Dennis has just asked me to go to the Minister’s Presentation Ball with him. I turned him down. I told him that he shouldn’t be asking a Death Eater’s daughter out to a Ministry function. He said that I wasn’t a Death Eater, and I’d always seemed … nice. He’ll hate me when he finds out what I’ve been doing.’

‘So what?’ Archie asked as he fidgeted excitedly. He groaned. ‘Oh, NO, don’t say that you really do fancy the little twerp. I’m already bigger than he is, and I’m only twelve.’

‘She doesn’t,’ Aaron Wylde told his cousin. ‘Do you, Zoë?’

His sister shook her head, but Fenella noticed that she kept her eyes down so that her brother couldn’t see them.

‘Have you got anywhere with Professor Slughorn yet?’ Fenella asked her brother, changing the subject.

‘I had a word with him after the feast,’ Archie said. ‘He was rather drunk, so I thought he’d be easy to get an answer from, but he’s sly. He just laughed and asked me what a lad of my age could possibly have to hide. He said “There is an antidote. A carefully prepared wizard who takes the antidote within a day of being questioned can freely lie under the potions influence� and he asked me a question.’

‘Antidote!’ Aaron was surprised.

‘But even if Dad had taken an antidote,’ Zoë said, ‘why would he lie to incriminate himself?’

Aaron shrugged. Archie folded his arms and glared at the others.

‘D’you want to hear the question?’ he asked.

‘Is it important?’ Zoë asked.

‘Yes,’ Archie nodded firmly. ‘He asked, “what does Veritaserum do?�’ Archie looked at his sister and cousins.

‘It makes people tell the truth, of course,’ Aaron said dismissively. Archie rolled his eyes.

‘Now I know why you dropped Potions, Aaron,’ he snorted. ‘No subtlety. I’ve been thinking about what old Sluggy asked and I’m fairly sure what he was hinting. Aaron, pretend that you’ve taken some and answer these two questions, okay?’

‘Is this a joke, Archie? Because if it is, you’ll be in trouble,’ Aaron warned.

‘No joke, honest, Aaron. First question: does Zoë fancy Dennis?’

Zoë glared at her young cousin.

‘No … I don’t think so … I don’t actually know for certain,’ announced Aaron after some thought.

‘Exactly! Now, the second question, suppose that…’ Archie stopped and nodded over Aaron’s shoulder. Trudi Pepperell had arrived in the Common Room and was watching them suspiciously.

‘I’ll tell you all on the train, tomorrow,’ Archie announced.

12. Christmas: Definite Declaration

The lights of Muggle factories, shops and houses slipped past the windows as the train rattled closer to Kings Cross Station, closer to Harry. Ginny looked nervously at the compartment’s only other occupant, Luna Lovegood.

Leaving the dark green calf-length dragonskin coat which George had bought her for her seventeenth birthday on the seat, Ginny stood and carefully examined her reflection in the window. The Muggle clothes she was wearing would be fine, Hermione had assured her. She straightened the hem of the short, but not too short, denim skirt. Her black tights were thick and warm, as was the bright green jumper she’d worn at that less than perfect Hogsmeade visit eleven weeks earlier.

It was six weeks since she’d last seen Harry and that had been for only a few, fleeting moments just before, and just after, the Slytherin game. Ginny sighed.

‘You look lovely, beautiful,’ Luna observed, ‘and I’m sure that Harry will think so, too.’

‘Thanks, Luna. I hope you’re right. I thought that I knew what Harry finds attractive. Now I’m not sure,’ said Ginny uncertainly. ‘I wonder if he’ll approve, and what he really likes.’

‘You,’ Luna told her with certainty. ‘Just the natural you, especially your hair and your eyes. He isn’t bothered about make-up, or fancy clothes; so long as you look like you.’

‘Are you sure?’ Ginny asked, unconvinced.

‘Oh, yes,’ said Luna. ‘Certain, I asked him at the DA reunion party.’

Ginny burst out laughing. ‘Why didn’t you tell me sooner?’

‘You didn’t ask me,’ Luna told her seriously. ‘Daddy says that you must never expect to be told things. If you want knowledge you must seek it, then you must check the facts. I asked Harry, he told me. You asked me, I told you. Now you must check the facts.’ Luna gazed openly into her friends face and gave her a lop-sided smile.

Ginny sat down next to the blonde witch and hugged her, ‘Are you all right, Luna? You’ve been very quiet all day.’

‘I’m very well, thank you, Ginny. I’ve been thinking.’

‘About Dean?’ Ginny asked. Luna nodded.

‘You’re not still upset about him?’

‘Because he’s stopped wanting to kiss me?’ Luna asked. ‘No, we really weren’t suited. He’s very demanding, isn’t he?’

‘He’s certainly very physical. He’s a doer, not a thinker,’ agreed Ginny. Luna laughed rather more than the remark deserved.

‘He’s become very interested in wandlore you know, since he lost his own wand,’ Luna told her friend. ‘Mr Ollivander says that wandmakers are artists; that they need to feel the magic of wandwood and core, to match the wood with the creature. I think that Dean would be a good wandmaker. He’s a talented artist, clever with his hands; and very good with them too,’ Luna seemed lost in contemplation for a minute or two. ‘But relationships need to be more than just physical, don’t they?’

‘They do, but after eleven weeks of letter writing, with our last kiss six weeks ago, physical will be a very pleasant change for me, Luna. Physical can be a lot of fun, with the right person,’ said Ginny.

‘From my, so far, very limited experience,’ she added thoughtfully. ‘But, Luna, if you are unhappy, if you want someone to talk to, please tell me.’

‘I will,’ Luna replied, ‘thank you, Ginny. You’re my best friend, you know. Now I have lots of friends, I think that Fenella wants to be my friend, too.’

‘And you’re one of my best friends, Luna.’ Ginny smiled fondly at her. ‘You, and Hermione. Fenella is all right for a Slytherin, I suppose, though she’s been asking an awful lot of questions about Harry and the Auror Office. But Colin liked her, and she helped him.’

The train began to slow, Ginny got excitedly to her feet, thankful that she’d left her trunk at school. After saying goodbye to Luna she picked up her coat and dashed into the corridor. She elbowed her way past several protesting younger children in order to get to the door first and peered out of the open window. The bitterly cold December wind sent her bright red hair flying. Her eyes watering in the icy air, she pulled her head back inside and shrugged on her coat.

Platform 9¾ was thronged with people and Ginny’s mind filled with anxious thoughts. How would she be able to find Harry? How would he see her? She lived several inches below most people. She was the one at the front in photographs, because if she was at the back no one would see her unless she stood on a box.

The brakes squealed and the train shuddered. She looked down the platform and laughed at her foolish anxiety. Harry was easy to see. There was a space around him. A ring of people were watching him carefully, but they were keeping a respectful distance from him. They were unsure whether they dare approach “the Chosen One�.

He saw her, smiled and waved. Even before the train had stopped, she had opened the door. She jumped onto the platform and ran towards his smile. Then she was kissing him and he was kissing her, and their two and a half months apart were over, just like that.

His lips were cold, but she soon warmed them up.

Breathless from the kiss, she stepped back and looked at him. He was wearing the multi-coloured scarf her Mum had knitted and wrapped for him last Christmas (more in hope than anything else—twelve months ago no one had known where he was). His black dragonskin coat hung open revealing a bright red shirt and black trousers.

‘You’re looking good, Weasley, very good,’ he told her. Her hair was windswept, she was wearing almost no make-up, her jumper was baggy and far from new, and she was showing very little flesh. She noted his approval.

‘So are you,’ she smiled. ‘So, apart from getting four NEWTs and passing your year one Auror exams after only six months training, what have you been doing, Harry?’

‘Work, and not much else,’ he told her with a smile, ‘that’s the only way to pass exams. Just don’t tell Hermione that I’ve finally figured that out. I’ve heard her “I told you so� lecture far too many times already.’ Ginny laughed.

---

There really wasn’t any news. Harry had told her everything; he wrote three letters a week, sometimes four and she replied to them all. The only thing she had to tell him was the Headmistress’s request, at the end of term feast, for pupils to work harder to bring the houses together.

Ron was working until eight this evening. He wasn’t able to meet Hermione from the train and Ginny hadn’t seen her at all on the journey The Head Girl had been in the Prefect’s carriage, “Organising as only Hermione can,� Ginny told her boyfriend, making him laugh. Hermione was going to do some Christmas shopping before going to Grimmauld Place to meet Ron.

The selfish part of Ginny was pleased that Ron wasn’t able to meet Hermione off the train. When the Headmistress had asked who was interested in a Ministry career a couple of weeks earlier, only a half-dozen seventh year students had shown an interest, and Hermione had been one of them. Ginny had been furious when she later discovered that Professor Slughorn had arranged a trip to the Ministry, during term time, for those who were considering working in the Ministry. Hermione had arranged to meet both Ron and Harry in the Auror Office, and gone for lunch with them. In Hogwarts, Ginny had sat in a jealous sulk.

Two weeks ago, just days after Hermione’s Ministry visit, Harry had written and warned her that he, along with Ron and the other trainees would be on duty over most of the holiday period “to allow those Aurors with families to spend some time at home.� Harry was working on Christmas day, eight until eight. It was unfair she thought, but there was nothing she, or he, could do about it.

Ron, she knew from discussions she’d had with Hermione, had been given the same shifts as Harry, except for today. Ron had protested at the Christmas shifts, but had been told that “families� meant wife and children, not parents and siblings. He had, however, continued to argue with Senior Auror Williamson. The outcome of this argument was that he had not only been refused leave, he’d been formally reprimanded by Gawain Robards.

Afterwards, Williamson had coolly reminded Harry that he had no family at all, and Harry had known that he had no chance of getting any leave.

Ron and Harry visited the Burrow regularly for Sunday dinner and the Sunday after the Christmas shifts were announced, Harry and Ron had told Molly about the arrangements.

Harry had described Ginny’s mother’s reaction to the shifts, and to the “no family� remark in one of his letters. He had not needed to. No imagination was needed; Ginny could clearly see her mother exploding on being told. Her Mum had, apparently, actually barged her way into Kingsley’s office and demanded that Harry and Ron get special treatment, but to no avail. Kingsley had refused and consequently the Minister wouldn’t be receiving an invitation to dinner at the Burrow for quite some time.

Harry, Ginny knew, wouldn’t have accepted special treatment anyway. He wanted to be ordinary, to be treated like everyone else.

Given the limited time they had, she and Harry had carefully planned their time together. One of Harry’s precious days off coincided with the Weasley family’s “obligatory, compulsory, be there or else� completely unavoidable trip to Aunt Muriel’s. Ginny had written to her mother and told her that she wouldn’t be going, that she’d be seeing Harry instead. Instead of the Howler she’d expected she got a letter saying “that’s fine�, because Harry had already asked. Harry, she realised, seemed to enjoy all of the advantages of being a Weasley, but with none of the disadvantages. They would have five full days together, and several evenings. Plus tonight; and Harry had been very mysterious about tonight.

---

‘Where are you taking me?’ Ginny asked.

‘It’s a surprise,’ Harry told her. ‘But I’ll tell you if you really want to know.’

‘I don’t need to know,’ she said honestly, ‘so long as I’m with you I’ll be happy.’ Her words were rewarded by his very best smile.

‘I hope that you will be happy,’ said Harry a little nervously. ‘I’m taking my girlfriend on a date.’

‘So, where are we meeting the lovely Pansy?’ asked Ginny; a twinkle in her eye. After the smile he’d just given her, and after rereading all of Harry’s recent, wonderful letters on the train she knew that this time she could risk teasing her boyfriend. He looked down into her mischievous face and burst out laughing.

‘You, Ginny Weasley,’ he smiled, ‘are my friend, my girlfriend, the girl of my dreams and …’ he swallowed, and gazed into her eyes ‘… and … the girl … I love.’

Ginny beamed. Hearing the words; watching Harry’s bright green eyes shine as he shyly stuttered his love, was so much better than reading them. She grabbed his hands and smiled encouragement.

‘Tonight, Ginny, it’s just us two,’ he told her. ‘I love you, Ginny, I’ve loved you for years and I’ve been too stupid to say it, I’m sorry.’ Ginny kissed him lightly, because she needed to stop him apologising. But the kiss had to be short, so that she could look up into his eyes to tell him what she needed to say, and what he, there was no doubt, needed to hear.

‘I love you, too, Harry, and it sometimes seems as though I’ve loved you forever,’ she told him. ‘You haven’t been stupid, but you have been bloody slow in telling me. I forgive you. Now, kiss me again, and then take me away from this station and its curious crowds.’

Harry looked up, he hadn’t been paying any attention to the fact that their reunion was public, that they were surrounded by an audience of pupils and parents. He’d been too wrapped up in the moment, in finally saying the words. He grinned, ignored the crowds, and kissed her softly and gently, one arm around her waist, one hand in her hair. She slid her hands around his waist and held him tightly. Someone on the crowded platform took a photograph, someone else cheered; then people began to applaud. When they finally parted, Ginny turned to the crowd, smiled, and curtseyed. Harry self-consciously followed her example, taking a bow. Ignoring the shouts and questions from the crowd he took her hand and they moved towards the magical barrier.

The crowd parted and he led her from platform 9¾ and onto the Muggle station where they walked down into the Underground and Harry bought two tickets to Leicester Square. Ginny’s curiosity finally got the better of her.

‘So, what are we going to do, Harry?’ she asked.

‘I suppose I can tell you,’ Harry smiled. ‘I haven’t even told Ron where I’m taking you. He’s been asking me every day for the past two weeks. I think he suspects that I’ve booked a sleazy hotel somewhere.’

‘That would be fine by me,’ Ginny told him breathlessly, her voice filled with rather more animal lust than she’d intended.

‘Sorry to disappoint you,’ laughed Harry. ‘We’ve never been on a real date, so that’s what we’re doing.’

‘I’m taking you out for a meal, and then we’re going to see a film. I’m sure you’ve never been to the cinema; neither have I. The Dursleys just left me with Arabella Figg when they took Dudley, but I’ve seen films on the television. Muggle boys always take their girls to the pictures, on a date,’ he explained knowledgably as he led her through the labyrinthine tunnels of the Underground station to the Picadilly Line platform. They arrived just as a train was leaving so they passed the few minutes until the next train kissing.

When the train arrived, Ginny slipped her arm around her boyfriend’s waist, ‘This is going to be great,’ she told him.

The tube train was packed and they were crushed together in a corner by the door on their short trip to Leicester Square. After leading her up through the station and into a street bustling with Christmas shoppers Harry took Ginny down a side street to a Chinese restaurant. He had a table booked.

They could have stayed at the restaurant talking all night. It was remarkable how much they found to talk about. They had no real news, their frequent correspondence meant that there was very little that they hadn’t told each other, but somehow they found things to discuss. Harry almost fell off his chair laughing as Ginny described Luna’s antics at the Slug Club Christmas Party. They were having such a good time that they had to run to the cinema in order to catch the start of the film.

---

It was after eleven when Harry and Ginny climbed out of the black cab at Grimmauld Place. After paying the cabby Harry watched him drive around the corner. When the coast was clear he took Ginny’s hand, led her up to the front door of number twelve and ushered her inside. Ginny was astonished at how the place had changed.

The hall had been completely redecorated. The walls were painted a light green and the floor was covered in a thick, plain, deep green carpet. The portrait of Walburga Black and the trolls leg had gone from the hall, as had the House-elf heads from the staircase.

‘How?’ Ginny asked as they walked down the bright hall and hung their coats on a large wooden stand next to the kitchen door.

‘I made a deal with Kreacher, “Master Regulus’s room� is now the Black family shrine; everything Black related is in there. The things most important to Kreacher are on display, including the tapestry, and, unfortunately, the mistress’s portrait and the elf-heads—I couldn’t persuade him to get rid of them. I haven’t given up yet. But at least the rest of the house is mine,’ Harry told her.

‘What about the permanent sticking charms?’ Ginny asked.

‘If “The Master� wants something moved, a house elf can find a way to move it,’ Harry explained. ‘I’ve been very careful in what I’ve asked for. I’ve stuck with green and white paint and wallpaper in most rooms, Sytherin colours. It wasn’t my first choice, not for the whole house, but it keeps Kreacher happy and it’s a lot better than unremitting black,’ Harry smiled as he spoke. ‘That reminds me, sometime over the holidays you’ll need to visit the Black Family room. I hope that you’ll be impressed, and that you’ll tell Kreacher. I want to keep a contented house-elf.’

He led her upstairs to the first floor sitting room. Music blared through the closed door.

Harry turned the doorknob and pushed, the door silently swung open. The formerly dark and cluttered room was almost empty. Ginny looked around in wonder. It was changed beyond recognition, the floorboards had been sanded clean of their ancient, dark, varnish and re-stained a pale light oak and the glass fronted cabinets at either side of the fireplace had been given the same treatment as the floor. They now contained photographs of Harry’s friends and family. The walls were a green so pale as to be almost white. The back of a large, modern, black leather sofa faced the door. It was flanked by two matching chairs. No other furniture was visible from the door, although Ginny soon discovered a low glass table between sofa and fireplace. A round glass clock face hung above the fireplace, a black pendulum swinging back and forth beneath it.

‘Wow!’ Ginny said as she stepped into the room. There was a low muffled grunt and a high pitched shriek. Ron’s startled head appeared above the back of the sofa.

‘Harry,’ he squeaked. He hastily stood up, tucking his shirt back inside his trousers.

‘Hi, Hermione,’ Ginny called.

‘Just a second,’ shrilled Hermione, panic obvious in her voice. Ron’s blush spread rapidly from the tips of his ears down to his neck.

‘We weren’t expecting you back yet, Harry,’ Ron accused.

‘That’s obvious,’ Ginny told her brother. Hermione’s head appeared over the back of the sofa, her hair even bushier than usual.

‘Hello,’ she stammered, ‘have you had a good time?’

‘Great!’ Ginny said as she and Harry walked around the sofa to stand in front of the warming fire.

‘You’ve missed a button, Hermione,’ Ginny said, nodding at her friend’s blouse, which was open at the navel. She hoped that she didn’t sound jealous as she watched Hermione hastily fasten herself up.

‘Have you had a good time?’ repeated Hermione, red-faced and completely failing to cover her embarrassment.

‘Harry took me out to a Chinese restaurant, and then we went to the pictures,’ said Ginny proudly, ‘we’ve been on a date, to see a film. It was fun.’

‘Great! I’m glad that you enjoyed it,’ Hermione prattled in an obvious attempt to prevent any questions about what she and Ron had been doing.

‘I think I’ve only been to the cinema once since I was eleven,’ Hermione continued almost without pause, ‘what film did you see? Where did you go?’

‘Something called Rush Hour. It was funny and rather violent, in a very silly way.’ Ginny told her friend. ‘Did you manage to do your Christmas shopping, Hermione?’

‘Yes, I only got here a couple of hours ago, it took a lot longer than I expected and the tube journey was a nightmare, but Ron had dinner waiting for me,’ Hermione looked fondly at her boyfriend.

‘Kreacher had dinner waiting for you, more like,’ Ginny snorted. ‘So what have you been doing since you got here?

‘Nothing,’ Hermione squeaked, ‘just…’ she stopped, flustered.

‘Listening to the wireless,’ supplied Ron, grinning smugly. ‘We were just listening to the radio.’

‘Ronald Weasley,’ shouted Ginny, folding her arms and using her “Molly� voice, ‘do I have to give you “the talk� again!’

At the sound of his mother’s voice, even coming from his sister Ron leapt backwards and fell onto the sofa.

‘And you, Hermione Granger,’ Ginny switched to the Headmistress’s Scottish brogue. ‘I’m extremely disappointed in you. You are Head Girl, you should know better. What sort of an example are you setting for the younger girls?’

Harry saw Ron’s horrified face, heard Hermione’s panicked protestations and collapsed into a chair in helpless laughter.

‘Sod,’ Ron told his sister.

‘Lothario,’ Ginny retorted.

‘Some hope,’ said Hermione dismissively.

When everyone had stopped laughing, they settled down in the comfortable room and began to talk and joke. Ginny sat on Harry’s lap. Ron and Hermione sat side by side on the sofa. The first time Ron tried to move closer to Hermione, Ginny loudly cleared her throat and glowered, setting them all laughing again.

Ron asked lots of questions about cinemas, he was having difficulty in grasping the concept. Hermione reminisced about the films she’d seen.

Sitting on his lap, Ginny discovered, was a good way for her to evaluate Harry’s mood. He was completely relaxed. One hand rested lightly on her thigh, his other arm was wrapped around her waist. The first time he had slid that hand under her jumper he’d stammered. He obviously hadn’t expected to discover only bare flesh. Now he simply held her, his hand warm on her belly.

Ginny turned and leaned forward to tell Hermione about the film, about the Muggle who could run up walls. Harry made her stammer in return by moving his hand onto her bare back and running his thumb gently up and down her spine. Hermione, Ginny could tell, knew that something was going on. Ron, fortunately, hadn’t noticed what his best friend was doing.

The clock chimed midnight. Ginny looked sadly at Harry. He grinned, and slid his arm back down around her waist, ‘how long have we got?’ he asked.

‘Mum said that if I wasn’t home by midnight, she’d come and find me,’ she said, ‘so, actually, I’ve got about fifteen minutes. After that it’s a scolding. She really will come looking in an hour.’ Ginny looked at her brother, ‘I’ve got until half-past, if you come home with me and tell her we’ve been together since eleven.’

‘We’ll get some hot chocolate from the kitchen,’ suggested Harry. ‘Then you can Floo home. I’ve had the kitchen fire attached to a secure Floo connection. There is only one destination, The Burrow.’

The two couples walked down to the kitchen to find four freshly made mugs of hot chocolate waiting for them when they entered. Kreacher was nowhere to be seen.

‘Very slick,’ Ron muttered approvingly. Hermione tutted, but gratefully drank the chocolate.

As they stood in front of the fire drinking, Hermione seemed to remember something. She looked directly at Ginny, glanced at Harry, and then returned her gaze to Ginny while raising an enquiring eyebrow. Ginny beamed happily and gave an almost imperceptible nod. Ginny then looked from Hermione to Ron and back, and raised her eyebrow. Hermione frowned in realisation, gave her head a hardly noticeable shake and took a step sideways, away from Ron.

‘What just happened?’ asked Ron, panicking.

Harry laughed and shrugged, ‘girl-talk, but without words,’ he said. ‘Which means we’re not supposed to know, I think.’

‘But…’ Ron began.

‘Mind your own business, Ron,’ Ginny told her brother.

Ron said nothing, but Ginny watched him puzzle over her silent exchange with Hermione’s. He kept glancing at Hermione, too. He had no idea why she had moved away from him, Ginny realised. Harry said the words, Ron, she thought happily, and Hermione knows that he did, that’s all it takes.

Finally, just before half past midnight, Ron picked up Hermione’s shopping and took her back to the Burrow. She wanted to leave some Christmas presents at the Burrow before Apparating back to her parents’ house. Ginny turned to Harry and smiled.

‘Ron will keep Mum busy for a minute or two,’ she said, stepping up to him. ‘Thanks for a wonderful night, Harry, I’ll see you tomorrow.’

He put his hands onto her hips, slid them under her jumper and around to the small of her back.

‘I thought that you were joking, in Hogsmeade, when you told me that next time you wouldn’t wear the vest,’ he told her. His hands slid up her back to her shoulder blades, his fingers gently tracing her spine.

‘I was, at the time,’ she admitted. ‘But I had expected to see you before today.’

‘Goodnight, gorgeous Ginny, I hope you sleep well, and that you have pleasant dreams,’ he said. He kissed her lightly on the nose and pulled his head back, grinning.

‘Not good enough,’ Ginny growled, eagerly seeking his lips. She wrapped a leg around his, preventing his escape, and, standing on tiptoe pulled his head towards hers. She felt his hands slide down and round onto her ribs, his thumbs moved up to caress soft flesh. She moved her hands downwards, hastily and violently untucked his shirt, and responded in kind, pressing herself tightly into him. When they finally parted, she gasped.

‘I’ll have some very pleasant dreams, I expect,’ she grinned, ‘bye, Harry.’ She took a pinch of Floo powder and throatily and reluctantly murmured, ‘The Burrow,’ before disappeared into the green flames. Harry hastily tucked in his shirt before Ron returned.

13: Christmas: Ron’s Revelation

Ron had been dreaming of Hermione. She’d been telling him off again, but now that he was awake, he couldn’t remember why. He looked at his alarm clock, it was half past nine; he really should get up.

He blinked up at the ceiling. He was miserable, and the cause of his misery was Hermione.

He remembered the formal and stilted goodbye and the cursory peck on the cheek his girlfriend had given him before she’d Apparated home from the Burrow. She was annoyed with him, but why? Come on, Ron, he cajoled himself, prove that you’re not as thick as everyone thinks you are.

He thought back over the previous evening.

Hermione had arrived at Grimmauld Place not long after he’d got in from the office. She’d had a successful shopping expedition and had been tired but happy. After they’d eaten they had gone upstairs to the sitting room and they had got comfortable on the sofa and … had he been to forward? Had he pushed her too far? She’d seemed to be enjoying herself. She’d acted as if she’d been enjoying herself despite his clumsy, fumbling fingers failing to even open a single button.

She’d done that for him, so she must have been willing.

Harry and Ginny had arrived. It was probably just as well that they hadn’t walked in ten minutes later. Hermione had been embarrassed, but so had he. Then they had settled down and chatted and laughed. She had been fine.

So, he had not done anything to upset her, he was now sure of that. Therefore, by the twisted logic of females (which he still did not fully understand) he had failed to do something she had expected him to do. It was obviously something important to her (and therefore, by default, to him), but what?

The kitchen, he remembered! Something had happened last night between Hermione and Ginny. Up until that silent exchange Hermione had been fine. Afterwards, for some reason she’d been annoyed with him. He knew that Hermione wouldn’t tell him what had happened. Asking her would just provoke a lecture on how stupid and insensitive he was. He’d have to try to figure it out himself.

Not for the first time, he wondered why girls didn’t come with an instruction book or something. Where had he put that copy of “Twelve Fail-safe Ways to Charm Witches�? Not that it would help. Being complimentary and thoughtful was actually fairly easy, when he remembered. Trying to figure out why she was unhappy with him, however, was difficult.

What he needed was some sort of mind-reading spell. Unfortunately, the Auror Legilimency was at least six months away and even if he mastered Legilimency, Hermione wasn’t stupid. She’d recognise what he was trying to do, and that would certainly lead to an argument. Besides, she would probably be naturally brilliant at Occlumency. It was safest to assume that she would be naturally brilliant at everything, because she was. So Legilimency wouldn’t work.

‘Bollocks,’ he told his bedroom. He’d never understand girls.

Did Hermione’s mood have something to do with Harry and Ginny’s date? Harry had sworn that they had been to a restaurant, and to the pictures, and nothing else. But it seemed that his girlfriend and his sister were sharing a secret. His mind strayed into an area he didn’t want it to go and he fought to bring it back.

He’s eighteen, she’s seventeen, they’re together, a couple; he reminded himself, and he’s completely crazy about her. I’ve seen him give lots of girls the brush off in the last few months. Harry is just not interested in anyone else. I’m living with my sister’s number one fan. If they’re …doing anything… it’s none of my business. But, if they are, why did Hermione ask, and why did Ginny tell her? And, why is Hermione upset with me about it? He closed his eyes for a minute, thinking desperately. Because I’m wrong again and they were talking about something else he concluded.

Ron rolled out of bed and hitched up his pyjama trousers. Pulling on his dressing gown he opened his bedroom door. He could hear Harry on the landing above; his friend was whistling cheerfully but tunelessly. Harry never whistled. Ron grumpily walked along the bathroom, washed and shaved. He heard Harry clattering down the stairs, he was still whistling.

Harry had no right to be so bloody cheerful.

His own toilet complete, Ron dressed quickly. He was still pulling on a t-shirt as he walked down into the kitchen for his breakfast.

‘Morning, Ron,’ Harry beamed. ‘Tea?’

Not waiting for a reply, Harry poured strong tea from the pot into Ron’s large mug then sat back grinning happily. Ron looked at him suspiciously.

‘You’re frighteningly cheerful this morning, Harry,’ he told his friend vindictively. ‘Especially as we’re going to a press conference, a medal presentation, a dinner and ball today.’ He paused and watched Harry’s face carefully. ‘You know that you’ll be praised to the rafters, pestered with questions and constantly photographed.’ Even this observation didn’t dent Harry’s happiness.

‘I’m happy,’ said Harry, stating the obvious. ‘I’m taking your sister to the ball, and I’m going to dance with her. I’ve hardly seen her since we said goodbye at Kings Cross in September so I’m going to make the most of these school holidays. You and Hermione should be doing the same.’ Harry looked at Ron in concern. ‘You look worried, Ron, why? You haven’t dropped me in it, have you? I … forgot … to tell Ginny about Cho. You haven’t said anything, have you?’

‘Forgot?’ asked Ron.

‘Decided not to,’ Harry admitted. ‘We were having a good time, and if I say the name Cho she just gets angry for no reason.’

‘Because she knows you snogged her,’ Ron said.

‘Snogged, past tense,’ Harry shrugged. ‘And “knows�, she wasn’t there. I don’t get mad about Dean and I actually saw her snogging him.’

‘I was there, too, remember? Ginny’s still got a blind spot where you and Cho are concerned. Though after last night’s performance I reckon you could even get away with snogging Cho under the mistletoe. I’d have to kill you, of course, to protect my sister’s honour.’ As he spoke Ron clenched his fists at the memory of Ginny and Dean. He still didn’t like to think about Krum, either. But Hermione seemed to be fine with Lavender. As for Harry and Cho, well, these days that was simply business.

‘Your sister’s honour is safe,’ Harry said with a laugh. Ron endeavoured to look as though that information wasn’t important to him. That line of questioning had got him nowhere. At least, no closer to the answer he wanted. He tried a different tack.

‘I dunno what you did last night, mate,’ he said, ‘but Ginny was almost soppy when she got home and she’s never soppy.’ He pitched his voice as high as he could, ‘“Harry is lovely. The evening was wonderful. I had a great time, Mum.� She was pretty nauseating. What did you really do last night? Or don’t I want to know?’

‘We told you last night, we just ate, talked, and went to the pictures.’ Harry grinned.

‘No,’ said Ron, thoughtfully, ‘there was something else, what?’

‘Nothing,’ Harry assured him. Ron looked sceptical and shook his head.

‘That look between the girls last night,’ said Ron. ‘That wasn’t about nothing.’

‘Are you still obsessing about that?’ Harry asked dismissively. ‘I don’t know what that was about, honest Ron.’

Ron stared in annoyance at his friend, who simply looked confused. Ron continued to glare at Harry until he saw realisation strike. Harry gave an embarrassed grin, blushed, and looked down at his feet. ‘I think I can guess, but it’s nothing, really, Ron. Don’t worry about it.’ Harry had figured it out.

‘What happened?’ Ron pressed his friend for an answer.

‘Nothing, I told you.’

‘What sort of “nothing� was it?’ Ron felt his temper rising and fought to control it.

Harry looked away from Ron and stared intently at his shoes. His face began to colour. ‘I … told Ginny … how … I … feel about her,’ he confessed. ‘I told her that…’

‘That’s none of my business,’ interrupted Ron hastily, as he suddenly realised what Harry was about to confess. ‘Personal conversation … feelings … nothing to do with me, you’re right.’

Harry immediately lapsed into a grateful silence, while Ron felt himself blushing in sympathy. He thought back over the past few hectic months and then realised that he couldn’t drop the topic completely. ‘You already did … that … after the Slytherin match, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, but she was unconscious at the time, Ron,’ Harry admitted.

Suddenly, the odd, silent, exchange between Ginny and Hermione last night made sense to Ron. But why had Hermione been so funny about it? He’d told her loads of times how he felt about her. He thought back to the last time he’d told his girlfriend that he loved her.

He couldn’t remember. He tried to think of any occasion when she said the words to him. She hadn’t, ever! Harry, he realised, was watching him in silent concern.

Ron was horrified! Perhaps she was having second thoughts? She was, after all, the cleverest and most beautiful girl in the school, probably in the world. He was amazed that she had agreed to go out with him and constantly worried that some other bloke would try to steal her from him. He must have told her that he loved her, but when? Why was he so stupid?

He’d told her while they were at school, when he was with Lavender. He’d meant it then, too, but he’d been too stupid to realise it, so that didn’t count. In Australia, he remembered. More than six months ago. That didn’t count either, she’d been too upset, so had he. It had been a “heat of the moment� confession a couple of days after the battle, and she’d been thinking only about her parents. There must have been an occasion since then? He thought hard, but couldn’t remember ever saying those words. Not when they’d been on holiday with Hermione’s parents. That would have been much too embarrassing. Not even when she was made Head Girl, because that would have been in front of his family.

Once, he finally remembered, during the summer, over the phone, and he wasn’t certain that she’d heard him, she hadn’t said it back to him, so he’d made a joke of it. But her Dad had probably been standing next to her at the time so she probably wouldn’t have said anything. She’d probably been waiting for him to say the words ever since then. He looked at his friend.

‘You all right, Ron?’ Harry asked, concerned.

‘Yeah, but I think I’ve upset Hermione, without meaning to.’

Harry burst out laughing.

‘No offence, mate, but that pretty much sums up the relationship you two have had since the day you first met,’ said Harry.

‘It does, doesn’t it?’ Ron muttered. He wasn’t laughing.

Harry was looking anxiously at his watch.

‘I really need to go, Ron. I need to meet Cho in Diagon Alley before I go to the Burrow. Are you going to be all right?’ Harry stood up from the table. ‘Just go to the Granger’s house early and talk to her,’ he suggested. ‘She doesn’t bite.’

She did last night just before you and Ginny walked in on us, Ron thought, rubbing his neck and smiling to himself. So she must fancy me, I hope, he tried to reassure himself.

‘See you this afternoon, mate! Ron Weasley, Order of Merlin, First Class, eh?’ Harry waved as he left.

---

It was almost noon when Ron Apparated to a now familiar field on the outskirts of the village of Itchen Worthy. Slipping through the gate onto the road he walked the last half mile to Hermione’s parent’s large red brick house. He was wrapped up warmly as the December wind was blowing a few feeble flakes of snow.

In one hand Ron carried a large holdall containing his suit. The other hand was stuffed deep into the pocket of his duffel coat. The hand carrying the holdall was freezing. He’d forgotten to bring his gloves.

He crunched up the gravel drive towards the front door. It didn’t open as he approached. That meant that Hermione wasn’t watching, wasn’t waiting for him, and that meant that she was still annoyed with him. He reached out, rang the bell, and waited. She didn’t even answer the door, her father did. Ron’s stomach lurched, things were looking very bad. He forced his face into a smile and gave Mr Granger what he hoped was a cheery ‘Good morning’ as he stepped into the large hallway.

‘Come in, Ron,’ Hermione’s father smiled, ‘Hermione and her Mum are upstairs, trying to sort out Hermione’s hair.’ He unconsciously ran his fingers through his own short, untidy, curls. Ron stepped inside and looked for somewhere to put his bag.

‘Just leave it in the hall, Ron,’ Mr Granger said, motioning to a spot next to the hall table. ‘Come through to the kitchen, I’ve just made a pot of tea. You can tell me what’s happening this afternoon and this evening.’

‘Hasn’t Hermione explained?’ Ron asked curiously.

Mr Granger nodded, smiled, and lowered his voice, ‘Jean and I have received the lecture, but I’d like to hear your version.’

Ron was still rather nervous around Mr and Mrs Granger. They had not met under the best of circumstances and he was always wary of offending them, but they had got to know each other during two weeks in France over the summer and Mr Granger’s words invited a comment.

‘Hermione sometimes makes things sound more complicated than they are,’ Ron tried experimentally.

Mr Granger smiled and nodded.

‘It’s a medal presentation followed by a ball,’ Ron told him. ‘It seems like an odd combination to me, but the ball was arranged months ago and it’s taken this long for the Wizengamot to finally agree on the medals.’

‘Hermione said that, too, do you know why?’ Mr Granger looked towards one corner of the kitchen ceiling, towards his daughter’s bedroom, as he spoke. ‘I think Hermione might have told us, a long time ago, but I’ve forgotten the details.’

‘Harry,’ said Ron. ‘They wanted to give him a medal within days of the battle, him and a few others. Harry didn’t like their suggestion, so the Wizengamot formed a committee of enquiry. The committee produced a list of recommended medals and sent it to Kingsley, who showed the list to Harry, who still didn’t like it. The committee weren’t happy with Harry and they refused to change their recommendations, so Harry told them that he wasn’t prepared to attend the medal presentation ceremony. They eventually realised that they couldn’t really have a presentation without the star of the show, so they went away, formed another committee and had another go. They didn’t get Harry’s agreement until after term started. Professor McGonagall refused to let the students out of school, and Harry refused to attend without Ginny, so today is the earliest date for the presentations.’

‘That was a lot shorter than what I remember of Hermione’s explanation,’ her father smiled ruefully. Ron grinned and suppressed a chuckle.

‘The medal ceremony is this afternoon,’ Ron continued. ‘This evening there is a separate dinner and ball, but both are at the Mages Hall.’

‘Hermione said it’s at the London Guildhall,’ Mr Granger said.

‘It’s the same place,’ Ron told him. ‘The the old Guild of Witches and Wizards helped build the original London Guildhall in the twelfth century. They had a couple of giants to help. They also helped with the rebuild in the fifteenth century; that’s why the hall survived the Great Fire. The International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy went into effect not long after the fire, and the Guild of Witches and Wizards eventually became the Ministry of Magic, but the Wizarding Community still has access to the hall for special occasions. It’s the only place where wizards and Muggles meet for public functions, though that hasn’t happened for a lot of years. The wizards will arrive by Floo and you’re taking us by car.’

‘Thanks, Ron, that clears everything up,’ said Hermione’s father. He hesitated, ‘Except … is everything all right between you and my daughter?’

‘I hope so,’ said Ron, he looked sadly at his girlfriend’s father. ‘I’ve managed to upset her by not doing … something … that I didn’t realise that I hadn’t done but I should have done.’ Ron stopped. He’d almost confused himself with that sentence.

‘Did that make any sense?’ he asked.

‘Almost, she expected you to do something, but you didn’t because she hadn’t asked you?’ queried Mr Granger. Ron thought it best to nod. He didn’t really want to discuss the details of this particular topic with Hermione’s father.

‘Oh, well, if it’s any consolation I’ve been married for twenty three years and I still make that mistake with Hermione’s mother. It would help if she said “Put your golf clubs away,� instead of sulking because I’ve forgotten.’

It’s worse than golf clubs, thought Ron, but he found some comfort in Mr Granger’s words. There was a noisy clatter from the hall as someone descended the stairs. The kitchen door flew open and Hermione dashed in.

‘We’re not going,’ she told her father. ‘I can’t do anything with it!’ she flicked her damp hair contemptuously.

‘Hello, Hermione,’ Ron said. Hermione ignored him.

‘It’s hopeless,’ she continued, ignoring Ron and glowering at her father. ‘I’m going to get it cut short.’

‘No,’ said Ron in horror, ‘don’t; it’s beautiful, you’re beautiful just as you are.’

Hermione’s mother was directly behind her daughter and an uncomfortable silence fell across the kitchen. Ron felt himself blushing.

‘Don’t be so ridiculous, Ron,’ Hermione snapped.

‘Ridiculous!’ replied Ron, his temper began to take over and he forgot his embarrassment. ‘I’m not the one being ridiculous, you are! I just complimented you. What’s the matter with you? Don’t you like being told you’re … beautiful?’

‘Not when it isn’t true,’ Hermione snapped. She raised an admonishing finger and Ron recognised the signs of an upcoming explosion. He knew that decisive action was needed. Unfortunately his new favourite method of shutting her up, kissing her, probably wasn’t the best thing to do this time.

‘I think that we need to have a private talk, Hermione,’ Ron ordered. ‘Will you excuse us for a few minutes?’ He asked her parents. Mr Granger gave a startled nod. Ron grabbed Hermione’s hand and dragged her out into the hall. She protested every step of the way.

‘Why did you leave your bag there, you idiot,’ she squawked.

‘Because I told him to,’ her father called from the kitchen. Hermione was momentarily silenced.

‘What…’ Hermione’s mother began as Hermione tried to break Ron’s grip on her arm.

‘Leave them to it,’ her father told his wife. ‘Hermione’s in one of her moods.’

‘I am not!’

‘Oh yes you are!’ Ron told his girlfriend as he tried to drag her upstairs towards her bedroom. The moment he spoke those words the tables turned and Ron found himself being pulled rapidly up the stairs.

Hermione pushed him into her room, slammed the door and rounded on him. They were alone. Suddenly Ron felt calm and in control, he knew the reasons for Hermione’s anxieties and annoyance.

‘You arrogant, ignorant, arse,’ Hermione squealed. ‘How dare you be so rude to me, in my own house, in front of my parents. You insensitive, stupid, lanky, cretinous…’

Ron’s happy smile stopped her in mid sentence. He knew that he could rely on the fact that her parents had banned the use of magic within their house to keep him safe.

‘You…’ she tried again, but his lack of fear, lack of protest was flustering her. She was expecting him to fight back, to make excuses, but this time he didn’t need to. Because for once, he was right and she was wrong.

‘No,’ he interrupted, ‘not me, you … how, exactly, have I insulted you? You’re the only person I know who could get angry when someone tells you that you’re beautiful. And you are; you really are extraordinarily beautiful, and clever, and worried about the presentation today, and really angry with me for some reason. But I still love you.’

Hermione opened her mouth, but no words came out. Ron savoured the moment, savoured the silence.

‘I like your hair the way it is, Hermione, but if you want to change it just tie it back, like you did for the funerals in the summer,’ he advised. ‘I thought you looked good with your hair like that, and you do want to look good for your boyfriend, don’t you?’

Hermione still didn’t speak. Ron watched the fury fade from her face. It was replaced by annoyance, confusion and wonder.

‘You’re nervous, this presentation is a big occasion for us and you’re treating it like it’s an exam. I recognise the signs. I’ve seen your exam nerves often enough, Hermione. You need to relax.’

‘What did you just say, Ron,’ Hermione asked in a small voice. He knew exactly what she was asking, but chose to misunderstand.

‘I like your hair, don’t get it cut,’ he began. ‘Don’t worry about the medal presentation and I think that you’re beautiful and very clever. Was there something else?’

Her face fell.

‘Oh,’ he pretended to remember, ‘I told you something else, but you didn’t seem to hear it. I told you that I love you.’ He tried to keep the words flat and factual, and he watched her carefully.

She knew then that he’d been teasing her; she was standing on the fulcrum, balanced between running into his arms and shouting at him. Harry’s words at breakfast came back to him. The conflict Hermione was now facing pretty much summed up their relationship, too. He grinned, Hermione saw his smile and the balance was tipping towards an angry lecture.

‘You…you…’ she began, searching for an insult.

‘Me,’ he agreed, smiling. ‘I’m the arrogant, ignorant, lanky, stupid, insensitive arse who loves you.’

‘You forgot cretinous,’ she scolded. Then, suddenly, she was in his arms.

They had kissed before and hugged and fondled, and last night, bitten, too. But this was somehow different. Ron was startled by the joy he felt. He was more than a head taller than she was. She was on tiptoe, and swaying slightly. She had slipped her arms around his waist. He placed one arm around her back, his hand on her shoulder, pulling her close. The other he slipped down to her left buttock, lifting her, steadying her and supporting her tiptoed stance.

Her lips fervently sought his. The moment he parted his lips, her tongue forced its way into his mouth. She sniffed; she was crying. That realisation brought tears to his eyes, too. They stayed locked together, for as long as they could, Ron began to feel dizzy but he was determined that he would not be the one to finish the kiss. Eventually Hermione released him. He bent, lowered her heels to the ground, gently kissed the tip of her nose before straightening his back. He then stepped back, grinned and handed Hermione his handkerchief.

‘It’s clean,’ he said.

‘There’s no need to look so smug,’ she told him.

‘Oh, I think that there is.’

‘You’re insufferable sometimes, Ron.’

‘Only sometimes?’ he asked. She slapped his arm.

‘Most of the time.’

‘But you still love me.’

‘Says who?’ she replied teasingly.

His face fell. He’d said the words several times now, but still, she never had. Suddenly devastated and feeling sick to his stomach he didn’t know what to do, or what to say.

‘I’ll see you later,’ he mumbled, turning to leave.

‘No, Ron! Merlin, I’m sorry,’ she shrieked. ‘Don’t go. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I didn’t mean it, I didn’t think.’

He stopped in her doorway and turned back to look at her. Her face was ashen and her eyes brimmed with unshed tears.

‘Sorry, that was spiteful of me. Please, don’t go. I … I love you, too, Ron,’ she told him.

He looked at her with a mix of anger and sadness.

‘The next time I call you an insensitive prat, remind me about today,’ she suggested.

He grinned, ‘At least I’m not the only idiot in this room. We put each other through it, don’t we?’

Hermione nodded and opened her arms to him. He stepped forwards to kiss her.

‘Hermione, Ron,’ Mrs Granger shouted from downstairs. ‘I’ve made lunch. We need to get ready to leave soon.’

14. Christmas: Elucidation

Harry said goodbye to Cho and her grandfather and hurried along Diagon Alley. Ignoring the stares, shouts and pointing fingers, he tucked the parcel Cho had given him into the bag containing his suit and Apparated to the orchard above The Burrow.

The chill December wind was gusting wildly and his overcoat flapped and slapped against his legs as he walked down the hill to his girlfriend’s home. He was early, but he needed to be, he needed to confess to Ginny and he was unsure how she would react. Fortunately, Molly would be there too. Reaching the kitchen door, Harry opened it and stepped into the warm and welcoming room with a nervous, ‘Hello.’

‘Hi, Harry, you’re early,’ said Ginny happily. Springing from her seat at the kitchen table she strode up to him, beaming. She hugged him, stood on tiptoe, and kissed him warmly. Molly Weasley smiled indulgently at them.

Despite the warmth of Ginny’s welcome, Harry was worried, and she noticed. ‘What’s wrong, Harry?’ she asked.

‘Nothing,’ said Harry. ‘Well, er, I’ve brought something for you, and I need to talk to you about … something else.’

Harry placed his suit bag on the kitchen table, unzipped it, and pulled out the box he’d just collected. It was about nine inches square, an inch deep, and wrapped in bright red paper. He showed it to Ginny, watching her reaction: she stared at him accusingly. Molly said nothing, but was watching carefully.

‘Before you say anything,’ Harry told his girlfriend, ‘let me explain, please.’

Ginny, like Ron, did not like to receive expensive gifts and, as the contents of the box were very expensive, Harry knew that he needed to choose his words carefully.

Ginny folded her arms and gave him her best “Molly� glare. She could silence her brothers with that look, but it didn’t work, not on him. She had tried it several times over the summer, and he’d discovered that he could ignore it, though not always safely. He smiled. That annoyed her, but Harry didn’t worry about that. In the summer he had also found out that teasing Ginny was playing with fire: exciting, dangerous, and occasionally very hot.

‘You made me promise not to spend any more than 25 Galleons on any present for you,’ he began.

Molly looked quizzically at her daughter, who acknowledged the truth of Harry’s words with the merest tilt of her head.

‘So I haven’t,’ Harry continued, desperately trying to remember the argument he’d prepared. He needed to be careful; he could not allow himself to be distracted. Fortunately, Ginny was curious about the contents of the box.

‘This did not cost me anything.’ He lifted the parcel. ‘And anyway I’m not giving it to you as a present. It’s mine, but I thought that you might like to borrow it.’

He handed Ginny the parcel, watching her face carefully. She obviously wanted to find out what was inside the plain brown wrappings. She examined the parcel curiously. It was a box, that was obvious, but she could not determine anything else from simply holding it. Frowning, she unfastened the cheap string and carefully unfolded the paper. The box inside was the same bright red as the wrapping paper. There was a name embossed in ornate gold writing on the lid.

‘Wen Chang’s Jewellers,’ Ginny read the name aloud. ‘Chang?’ she enquired. Her eyebrows attempted to meet each other above her nose in their effort to show disapproval.

‘Cho’s grandfather,’ Harry told her. ‘He’s been running a jewellers shop in Diagon Alley for years.’

‘Arthur bought my engagement ring there,’ interjected Molly, completely failing to hide the hope in her voice.

Trying to disguise the act from her mother, Ginny looked into Harry’s eyes. Without words, she demanded an answer. The box was a little over an inch deep, but it was much too large for a ring. Nevertheless, Harry, startled by Molly’s observation, shook his head. Ginny looked relieved and Harry was unsure whether he should be pleased or disappointed by her reaction.

Ginny turned her back on her mother, and winked at him. She then carefully opened the box, peered inside, gasped, and let the lid fall closed.

‘What?’ she began.

‘Cho told me about it at the Hog’s Head, at the DA party,’ Harry tried to explain. ‘I didn’t understand what she was saying at first. She assumed that I’d know who her grandfather was, what he did for a living. Her grandfather asked her to speak to me, because he knew that she—knew—me.’

‘Snogged you,’ corrected Ginny sharply.

‘That was years ago, Ginny,’ Harry reminded her forcefully. ‘You’ve kissed a couple of boys since then, and I don’t get annoyed when you talk about them. I didn’t even say anything about it when you wrote and told me that your ex-boyfriend had invited both you and Hermione to Hogsmeade. Even though that letter arrived minutes before Ron and I went on the raids.’

He watched Ginny’s face fall as she realised what he was saying. In all his letters, he’d never mentioned the worry that letter had caused. He hadn’t wanted to appear jealous so he’d hidden the hurt from her, until now.

‘You did what, Ginny?’ asked Molly sharply. Ginny made an apologetic face at her mother and then rounded on Harry, her eyes scorching displeasure.

‘We need to talk, Harry. Right now! In private!’ she said forcefully. ‘Follow me.’

Ginny picked up the box and dashed upstairs to her bedroom door. Harry stood still and silent in the kitchen, uncertain what to do. He glanced at Molly Weasley for guidance.

‘You do NOT need my mother’s approval to come into my bedroom, Harry!’ shouted Ginny from the top of the stairs.

With the barest flick of her eyes, Molly indicated to Harry that he should go. He raced up the stairs and entered Ginny’s bright and cheerful bedroom. Ginny was standing in front of the window, and she was fuming.

‘Close the door, Harry,’ Ginny ordered. He did as he was told. When he turned, Ginny indicated with a glare that he should not approach her.

‘What?’ he began.

‘Listen carefully, Harry. First, I’m sorry about mentioning Dean. I was trying to make Ron jealous, not you. I don’t think of Dean like that any more. I don’t think of Dean at all, really. In fact, I never even considered the possibility that you might think I still fancied him. Second, I told you at Hogsmeade that I was not interested in him, so there was no reason for you to be jealous. Okay?’

Harry nodded. ‘After yesterday, I know that, but…’ he began.

‘That’s not why I want to talk to you alone,’ she interrupted him. ‘Sometimes, Harry, you’re a complete idiot. I’m only going to say this once. Never, ever, do that again.’

‘Do what?’ asked Harry, confused.

‘Drop me in it in front of my mother. If you think I’m being stupid don’t tell everyone, tell me! If Ron did something stupid, you would cover for him. You wouldn’t let Mum know, so why the hell did you…’

Suddenly understanding Ginny’s anger, Harry interrupted.

‘I’m sorry, Ginny, that was stupid of me. But you were—unreasonable—about Cho at the DA reunion and I thought that you would be annoyed about me seeing her today.’ Harry realised that he needed to tell her everything, now, and ride out any storm. Still, he hesitated before continuing. ‘I’ve seen Cho a few times while you’ve been at school and I didn’t want a scene today. I thought that if your mum was…’

‘I don’t want a scene either, Harry. That’s why we’re here, and not in the kitchen. You’ve seen Cho “a few times?� How many is a few? When? And why didn’t you tell me?’ demanded Ginny.

‘Three times, twice at her grandfather’s shop, and once at Grimmauld Place.’ Harry tried to explain. ‘Cho’s mum is an interior designer, she organised the redecoration of the house for me. I was going to tell you yesterday, but…’

Ginny frowned and waved him into silence.

‘Yesterday, at King’s Cross and afterwards, you meant what you said, didn’t you?’ she asked.

‘Yes, of course, I did!’ Harry protested, ‘I don’t want to argue about Cho, or Dean or anything. I do love you, I’m just—am I making a mess of things again?’

‘I love you to, Harry, this is stupid, why are we argue…’ she stopped mid sentence. ‘This is all because of what happened at the DA reunion, isn’t it? I was a little bit jealous of Cho then, Harry. But after all of our letters, and after yesterday, you can’t possibly think that I’m still jealous her, can you?’

Harry said nothing. He should have told her the previous day, he realised. He was useless at this sort of thing. He wished that there was someone, anyone, he could turn to for advice. He couldn’t ask Ginny’s father, or her brothers. It was times like this that he needed Sirius, or Remus, or even Tonks.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t say anything yesterday because I didn’t want to upset you, Ginny,’ he apologised.

‘Tell me about Cho, please,’ said Ginny quietly.

‘She told me about that at the DA reunion.’ Harry pointed to the box which Ginny still held. He lifted his head and honestly met her fierce gaze. ‘I knew about Cho’s mum’s business, she’d been recommended to me by Kingsley. I was going to tell you at the party, but you were acting—oddly and I wasn’t sure what was happening between us.’

‘I know,’ Ginny admitted. ‘I was confused too. Go on.’

‘You went outside to talk to Romilda soon after Cho arrived, that’s when she told me about that.’ He again indicated the box. ‘And I asked her about getting her mum to redecorate Grimmauld Place. That’s what we were doing when you came back into the pub and—well—you know. And then, later, when you told me that you were jealous of Cho—outside the school I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to upset you so I didn’t tell you what Cho and I had been talking about. I should have, shouldn’t I?

‘Yes, but I can understand why you didn’t,’ Ginny said. ‘I wanted to know, but I didn’t ask, because we were both on edge, like we are now. This is stupid, Harry. You should have told me, or I should have asked. We agreed in the summer, no secrets. Ron knew about Cho, didn’t he?’

‘Yes,’ Harry admitted. ‘Cho brought her mum to Grimmauld Place on the day she came to give me a quote for the decorating, and I saw her once at her grandfather’s shop. Until today, they were the only times I’ve seen her. She’s got her own job, in Muggle Relations, and she has a new boyfriend, he’s a Muggle,’ Harry paused. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, Ginny. But I was worried how you would react.’

‘I’d have reacted the way I reacted downstairs, but sooner,’ Ginny smiled. ‘All you did was delay things. In the future, you should treat me the way you treat Ron and Hermione, tell me what you would tell them, tell me everything,’ Ginny suggested.

‘I don’t tell them everything, Ginny,’ he replied. ‘I never really talked to Ron about Cho. I’ve never really talked to anyone about … girls, because…’

‘Because you haven’t got anyone to talk to,’ Ginny realised. ‘Except Ron, and even you are clever enough to realise that talking to Ron would be worse than useless.’ She looked at him with sorrowful understanding. ‘Even Nev would be better!’ she added, her eyes twinkling. Harry grinned.

‘Cho was a long time ago, Ginny. It was a different world. I honestly don’t know what I saw in her. I mean, she’s quite good looking, I suppose, but these days whenever I see her all it does is remind me that—that she’s not you.’

Ginny gazed into his eyes. She stood in front of her window, her hair shining and her figure silhouetted in the sunlight. She had a strong, determined expression on her face. She understood, he could rely on her the way he could rely on Ron and Hermione, but she was so much more than that.

When they were apart, he missed her, but not in the “they aren’t around� way he missed Ron and Hermione. It was like part of him was missing. It had been that way ever since Dumbledore’s funeral. It hadn’t been an absence; it had been an abscess, a painful gaping hole. Without her, he wasn’t whole. Should he tell her? Could he tell her? He had no idea whether these feelings were normal. He needed to say something more, he realised.

‘And besides,’ Harry added. ‘You’re not Ron, or Hermione, you’re different.’

‘How am I different?’ Ginny asked.

‘I’ve never had an overwhelming urge to snog either of them,’ he admitted, smiling. Ginny laughed.

‘We had a great time last night, didn’t we?’ Ginny’s eyes sparkled as she asked the question. Harry nodded.

‘Especially after Ron and Hermione left,’ he said.

‘Dean’s not you, either, Harry. And Michael certainly isn’t. No more worrying about the ex’s okay?’ she asked, lowering her voice until it was as deep and brown as her eyes. She put the jewellery box on a chest and walked rapidly towards him. He caught her in his arms pulled her close.

‘The last time you and I were alone in this room was on my seventeenth birthday,’ he reminded her. ‘The memory of those few moments helped me survive last year.’

‘And this time, Ron isn’t here to interrupt us,’ said Ginny, pulling him rapidly towards her bed while sliding her hands inside his shirt. Harry reciprocated. Ginny tumbled backwards onto the bed, dragging him down on top of her. As their lips met, her hands slid up his back.

They were interrupted after several minutes of frenzied and frantic fumbling.

‘Ginny! Harry! If you don’t come downstairs now, I will come up there!’ Molly Weasley bellowed from the bottom of the stairs.

Ginny, who by this point was on top of Harry, pulled her face free of his and shouted, ‘We’ll be down in a minute, Mum.’

Harry rolled off the bed and hastily buttoned up his shirt while Ginny made the essential adjustments to her bra and t-shirt. They grinned at each other and tried to catch their breath.

‘Next time, we’ll have to magically keep a conversation going somehow. It’s the silence that makes Mum suspicious,’ Ginny said.

Harry smiled happily and agreed.

‘You still haven’t told me about this,’ Ginny reminded him, lifting the almost forgotten box from her bedside table.

‘It’s mine, sort of,’ Harry said. ‘I didn’t pay for it, my dad did. He commissioned it for my mum. It was going to be her present for Christmas ‘81; he paid for it in advance.’ He stopped, not needing to continue. Ginny recognised the significance of that year. Harry’s parents had been murdered less than two months before Christmas.

‘Let’s go down and see Mum,’ Ginny suggested. ‘We are friends again, aren’t we?’

‘We’re a lot more than friends, I hope,’ said Harry with feeling. He reached forwards with a hopeful hand. They kissed and fondled briefly before walking downstairs hand in hand.

Once in the kitchen, Harry placed the box on the table. He reached inside, carefully lifted out the contents, an ornate Celtic style silver torc and handed it to Ginny. He watched as she examined it carefully. The neck-ring was made from dozens of intricately plaited silver wires and each fine wire was engraved with an elaborate pattern of lilies. The torc ended not with the more traditional Celtic dragons, but with a pair of lioness heads. Each intricately crafted silver head had emeralds for eyes. The torc was heavy, weighing in excess of 12 ounces.

‘It’s beautiful,’ Molly observed breathlessly.

‘Mr Chang has had it since my parents died,’ Harry explained. ‘He didn’t know what to do with it. He couldn’t give it to me, because no one knew where I was. He could have sold it to someone else and taken the profit I suppose, but he didn’t. He decided to keep it until I came of age. He had to keep it for some time after that, of course,’ Harry said. ‘He tried to contact me after the Battle, but I didn’t get his letters.’

‘Why ever not?’ Molly asked.

‘Because of all of the people who try to send me stuff, I gave the Ministry permission to intercept every letter and parcel addressed to Harry Potter, unless it has my full address. They check everything.’ Harry explained.

‘I get presents, love potions, curses, begging letters and love letters. Apparently it’s a full time job sorting the stuff out. The Ministry destroy the love potions. We, the Auror Office, try to track down the people sending curses and cursed items. We’ve caught a couple of former Snatchers that way.’

‘You poor dear,’ said Molly.

‘I get presents too. I’ve told the Ministry to send any presents to the Society for the Assistance of Muggle-borns. Very little of the mail gets forwarded to me. It looks like the Ministry discarded Mr Chang’s letters, they probably thought that it was some sort of confidence trick. When he didn’t get a reply Mr Chang asked Cho to tell me,’ Harry told her. He turned to Ginny. ‘That’s why Cho was so late for the DA reunion.’

‘It’s lovely,’ said Ginny.

‘Mr Chang calls it “The Lioness of Gryffindor�, because…’

‘Because it was made for your mother, a green-eyed Gryffindor lioness,’ Ginny interrupted.

Harry nodded. ‘It would have meant a lot to my mum, I expect, but she never even saw it. I suppose that it would be a family heirloom, except it’s new and unworn. I’d look pretty stupid wearing it, but it should fit you. I—sort of—measured your neck during the Hogsmeade visit.’

‘Outside the school gates,’ said Ginny, remembering the odd way Harry had encircled her neck with his hands those months ago. She passed the torc to her mother, who handled it with cautious reverence.

‘The emeralds match your eyes perfectly, Harry.’ Molly observed as she took the torc.

‘They match my mother’s. I thought that you might like to wear it to the ball, Ginny. It’s not an…’ he stopped, uncertain how to continue. Ginny exchanged a glance with her mother, who went to put the kettle on the stove, deliberately turning her back on the young couple. Ginny stepped forward, stood on tiptoe and held onto Harry’s shoulders.

‘It’s not an engagement ring, because it’s much too soon for anything like that,’ Ginny whispered in his ear. ‘But it’s something of yours for me to wear. Thank you.’ She stepped back and smiled.

I’d be honoured to wear it, Harry,’ she spoke loudly enough for her mother to hear. ‘But the torc is yours, right? It’s not a gift. You will take it back afterwards and keep it safe.’

‘Safe for the future,’ Harry told her seriously. ‘For my daughter, if I have one.’

‘Or your wife,’ suggested Molly from the stove, straight-faced.

Ginny glared at her mother.

‘Or my wife,’ Harry agreed with a smile.

‘You still haven’t shown me the dress robes you’re going to be wearing today, Ginny,’ said Molly as she levitated the teapot and three mugs onto the table. She looked at the suit bag Harry was lifting out of his bag and recognised it for what it was.

‘Harry, you’re not thinking of wearing a Muggle suit to the Presentation and Ball, are you? You must wear dress robes, it’s traditional,’ said Molly.

Harry and Ginny exchanged worried glances which Molly didn’t miss.

‘You’re up to something, aren’t you? I should have known. What are you planning now?’ Molly asked, folding her arms in preparation for an argument.

‘It was Katie Bell’s idea,’ Ginny said quickly. ‘She’s Muggle-born, you know. She went into hiding last year and worked with the resistance, with Kingsley and everyone. She should have been a professional Quidditch player. She was signed up by Puddlemere when she left school, but she had to go on the run. She’s working in Diagon Alley, in what was Mr Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, she’s running a charity to help Muggle-borns who lost everything last year.’

‘The Society for the Assistance of Muggle-borns,’ Harry interjected. ‘I’m the Patron, Mrs Weasley.’

‘They are the people you’re sending your unwanted gifts to,’ observed Molly. Harry nodded.

‘She asked us all…’ Ginny continued.

‘…everybody in the DA…’ Harry clarified.

‘…to wear Muggle clothes to the Medal ceremony and the Ball.’ Ginny continued

‘So, we are,’ said Harry, with a finality which would brook no argument. Molly unfolded her arms.

‘Everyone?’ Molly asked.

‘Everyone who was in Dumbledore’s Army the year we formed, and who fought in the Battle, that’s twenty-five of us. Katie wrote and asked us all, and we all said yes. She wants to get people talking about her charity.’ Harry explained.

‘She’ll succeed,’ Molly observed. ‘She sounds like a clever young woman. So, does Ron have…’

‘I took Ron, Neville and Terry out to buy suits last week. It was a nightmare,’ said Harry. ‘Terry’s mum was Muggle-born, so he wasn’t too bad, but Ron and Neville!’ Harry shook his head. Ginny, who’d been told of the trip to the clothes shop, sniggered. Molly, however, was not smiling.

‘I’m disappointed in you both,’ said Molly seriously. ‘You’re adults, so you can do as you please, but I do wish that you’d stop keeping secrets from us, both of you. Arthur will be home, soon, and I’m sure that, like me, he’ll think that what you’re doing is a wonderful gesture.’ Molly looked rather sorrowful and Harry felt a rush of shame. ‘But really, Harry, and you too, Ginny, you should tell us these things. We don’t say no to everything, you know, we’re not ogres.’

Harry was crestfallen.

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Weasley. I suppose that I’m so used to making plans in secret that I forget that I don’t need to do it every time,’ Harry apologised. Molly smiled and pulled him into a hug.

‘That’s all right, dear, you’re trying your best, aren’t you? I’m sure that you’ll both look lovely.’ Molly told him.

‘So you won’t have a problem with me wearing a Muggle dress?’ Ginny asked quickly.

‘Of course not, Ginny,’ Molly told her daughter. Harry, who’d been sent a photograph of Ginny in the dress she’d bought, was impressed by the way Ginny had got her mother’s approval before she’d actually seen the scoop-necked green evening gown.

15. Christmas: Decorations

Hand in hand with Ginny, Harry stepped out of the fireplace. They had arrived in a white walled room, the blue ceiling of which was supported by semicircular arches of dark timber.

The clamour began immediately and Harry stopped walking, startled by the attention. The room was filled with reporters and photographers. Ginny squeezed his hand in encouragement; he returned the squeeze and side-by-side they moved forwards, braving the flashing lights. Harry had no idea where he was going, but dozens of elegantly robed strangers were walking through the room and out of the door. Harry and Ginny followed the other guests, ignoring dozens of shouted questions and requests.

‘No ring yet, Miss Weasley?’

‘Over here, Mr Potter, over here.’

‘Smile, please!’

‘Never mind smile! Give her a kiss!’

‘Harry, Harry!’

‘Why wear Muggle clothes, Potter?’

Harry had only given one interview since the Battle, a radio interview with Lee Jordan. He’d refused every other request. Any questions about the Battle were answered by the Ministry press office, which, under instructions from the Minister, cleared all relevant press releases with Harry. The press had been constantly clamouring for additional information and this was their first real opportunity, it was Harry’s first major public appearance since the Battle.

When he was not working, Harry hid himself away at Grimmauld Place, The Burrow, or in the Muggle world. Today was different. There was an expectation that, finally, the press would get their chance to interview “The Reclusive Hero Potter�, and he wasn’t looking forward to it.

Harry had tried, unsuccessfully, to persuade the Minister to ban the press from attending the event. He had eventually been persuaded to drop his objections by several wildly speculative articles. Over the past few weeks some sections of the press had taken to suggesting that he was unstable, that Voldemort had left him scarred, or crazy. The fact that, probably out of guilt, Xenophilius Lovegood had headlined the last issue of the Quibbler, “Harry Potter is as Sane as I Am!� hadn’t actually helped.

Kingsley had gently reminded Harry of the articles and suggested that a short press conference before the events began, a press conference where Harry would, finally, answer a few questions, would be the best solution. Afterwards, Kingsley promised, all reporters, other than two official Ministry photographers and a member of the Ministry press office, would be excluded from the presentation and the ball.

Harry and Ginny followed the other guests. He would have to answer questions, but not yet, not now. He knew better than to make an unguarded reply to shouted enquiries, so he remained silent. Ginny’s hand in his comforted and calmed him. The journalists’ words faded into meaningless background noise as he gently rubbed his thumb across her knuckles. She responded with a gentle squeeze of his hand and, to the annoyance of the journalists, they simply strode past the shouts and shrieks, into a press free corridor, and from there, into the Mage’s Hall.

Harry looked around the hall in amazement. The room was larger than the Great Hall at Hogwarts, and made more impressive by its unfamiliarity. At the point where the high walls began to curve into the vaulted ceiling, flags hung from poles. At the right hand end of the room, behind the dais, stained glass windows sparkled and shone with the reflected light from the glittering chandeliers.

Harry and Ginny were not the last to arrive. The Minister for Magic and the Chief Sorceress of the Wizengamot, Griselda Marchbanks, arrived immediately after them, and followed them into the hall.

As they entered the hall, Harry and Ginny looked around for their friends and family. Several people, whom Harry did not recognise, called his name, and urgently beckoned him over. He ignored them and instead tried to locate his friends in the crowds. It took only moments, Dumbledore’s Army were clustered together, a collection of young people whose clothing, which would be considered smart in the Muggle world, was causing something of a stir.

The boys were all in suits, Justin had chosen to wear a bright blue blazer, and George wore a white dinner jacket, a pink shirt, and a magenta cummerbund. Otherwise the males all wore blacks and greys.

The girls were a much more colourful bunch. All, apart from Angelina, who wore a white trouser suit, were in colourful skirts and dresses. The Patil twins wore identical and very colourful saris. Hermione wore a pale blue jacket and a matching, and rather short, skirt. She’d tied her hair back with a ribbon and, Harry thought, she’d managed to make herself look rather attractive. Cho wore a deep red suit, the skirt even shorter than Hermione’s; she smiled at Ginny, who fingered the torc around her neck and returned the smile.

Relieved, Harry’s attention moved to Neville. He was in trouble; it was obvious from the expression on his face. Neville, it seemed, had not told Romilda what the DA were planning. She must have been furious to discover that her obviously expensive, and rather revealing, robe had been outshone by the outrageous Muggle clothes worn by the DA. She was clinging determinedly to Neville’s arm, and trying to smile, but the photographers in the hall were ignoring her and concentrating on the girls in Muggle clothes.

Ginny nudged Harry and nodded towards the centre of the knot of young adults.

‘Impressive, even for Luna,’ observed Ginny. Harry followed her gaze and grinned.

The combination of lime green t-shirt, tartan kilt and dozens of jangling bangles was interesting, and would probably have been enough colour. But it obviously wasn’t enough for Luna. Her choice of one red and one lemon yellow baseball boot added to the confusion created by her multi-coloured striped socks. The crowning glory, however, was the purple pork pie hat with its wildly waving peacock feather. As Harry smiled, Luna spotted them, and waved her arms in a wild windmilling motion.

‘Oh, look, she’s worried in case we haven’t noticed her,’ Ginny observed straight-faced. Harry snorted with laughter, and he and Ginny strolled over to join their friends.

Fifteen minutes later, while he and Ginny were talking to Seamus, Lavender and Firenze the Centaur, a hush fell over the room. On the dais the Minister was motioning for silence. Reluctantly, Harry released Ginny’s hand.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ the Minister began. ‘There will be a short question and answer session, after which the press have kindly agreed to leave the room to allow us to conduct the real business of the day with a minimum of interruptions. The medal ceremony will begin soon; first, however, Mr Potter and I will be answering a few questions. Will you join me, please, Harry?’ Kingsley Shacklebolt, resplendent in dark blue dress robes, easily found Harry in the crowd and beckoned him forward.

‘Good luck,’ Ginny whispered, kissing him on the cheek. Harry walked slowly towards the dais, more nervous at every step.

He walked nervously to the front of the silent crowd and up onto the dais. To the accompaniment of dozens of clicking cameras, Kingsley Shacklebolt shook his hand warmly.

‘If there are questions which you don’t want to answer, simply don’t answer them. I’ll just give the official Ministry reply,’ the Minister for Magic murmured.

‘Thanks, Kingsley,’ said Harry.

‘Fifteen minutes, ladies and gentlemen,’ said Kingsley. And it began.

‘Mr Potter, is You-Know-Who really dead this time?’ was the first question. Harry groaned.

‘Yes! He is NOT coming back.’ Harry felt his temper rising. ‘And his name, the name his mother gave him, was Tom Marvolo Riddle, so call him Tom Riddle, not Lord Voldemort, or the Dark Lord, or any other nonsense. And don’t call me the Chosen One.’

‘If he’s dead, and we’re all finally safe, why become an Auror?’ the reporter asked.

‘Because many of his supporters are still at large, and they must be caught. And because we need to be vigilant…’ Harry stopped mid-sentence, he was beginning to sound like Mad-eye Moody, he realised, he glanced towards the Minister.

‘And because the Auror Office needs brave and committed young people like Harry. People who are prepared to stand up for what is right,’ Kingsley said smoothly. ‘Next question please.’

‘About the Gringotts break-in…’ a blond-haired young man began. Kingsley interrupted the questioner before he’d even begun to ask the question.

‘A joint statement was made by the Ministry and Gringotts only days after the robbery. The only item taken by Mr Potter and his friends was infused with Dark Magic, it was taken from the Lestrange vault and destroyed because Voldemort was using it to keep himself alive. No more questions on that subject. There is nothing more to say,’ the Minister boomed forcefully.

‘Then perhaps you could show us the Elder Wand, Mr Potter; the wand with which you killed You-Know-Who,’ the blond young man asked.

Kingsley and Harry exchanged glances and Harry indicated that he was prepared to speak. He had been thinking for months about the wild rumours about the Elder Wand. Playing for time while he gathered his thoughts, Harry stared into the young reporter’s pale eyes.

‘Tom Riddle! Not You-Know-Who, or Lord Voldemort, or the Dark Lord.’ said Harry forcefully. ‘If you want to ask me questions about Tom Riddle, call him by his name. He wasn’t Lord of anything, or anywhere, and he had a name, so we should use it.’ Harry stared at the man, waiting, and silently demanding that the journalist ask the question again.

The journalist sighed, ‘If you insist! Mr Potter. Will you show us the Elder Wand, the wand with which you killed TomRiddle.’ The young man ran the words together in his haste to say the name.

‘First, I did not kill Tom Riddle. I tried to disarm him and, as a consequence, his killing curse rebounded. He killed himself. As for this “Elder Wand� I keep hearing about. Well—as everyone knows, I was raised by Muggles. I didn’t know anything about the Elder Wand until earlier this year. It’s an odd legend, isn’t it? The story, as I understand it, is of an “unbeatable wand� that can only be taken from a Wizard by his murderer. Surely that makes it a beatable wand?’ he suggested. Several people laughed at Harry’s comment.

‘Riddle’s own wand didn’t work against me. We both discovered that during the Triwizard Tournament,’ said Harry, speaking slowly and carefully. ‘Last year, just before I went on the run, Riddle stole Lucius Malfoy’s wand, but that didn’t work either. Finally, just before the Battle, he stole Professor Dumbledore’s wand. You all know what happened that time. I’m still here.’

‘The Elder…’ the journalist began.

‘Professor Dumbledore’s wand didn’t do Riddle much good, did it?’ Harry replied. ‘Do you really believe that Tom Riddle, “the world’s most dangerous wizard� stole “the unbeatable wand� and was then beaten by a seventeen-year-old who simply tried to disarm him?’

The journalist stared at Harry in confusion, but continued determinedly.

‘Then, can we see your wand, Mr Potter, the wand which defeated You-Kno…’ The journalist hesitated under Harry’s gaze. ‘A photograph of you holding the wand that defeated … TomRiddle,’ he said.

‘I’m afraid that you can’t see that wand, either,’ said Harry, smiling. He pulled his wand from his jacket pocket and raised it. Cameras flashed. ‘This is my wand, holly and phoenix feather. This is the wand I bought from Mr Ollivander when I was eleven years old. It was broken before the Battle. I couldn’t use it, but I was lucky enough to be able to repair it afterwards. If you want to see “the wand which defeated Tom Riddle,� you’ll have to speak to the Malfoy family. I … borrowed … a wand during our escape from Malfoy Manor. Last month I returned it. It was—it is—Draco Malfoy’s wand. But if you want to see it, you’ll need clearance from the Auror Office first, as both Draco and Lucius Malfoy are convicted Death Eaters and currently under house arrest.’

‘You gave a convicted Death Eater a wand? The wand that killed You-Know-Who?’ the man asked in astonishment.

‘I actually gave the wand to Draco’s mother, Narcissa Malfoy. Lucius Malfoy has been wandless for over a year now, as I told you. I borrowed Draco’s wand when we escaped. Draco managed to drop and lose his mother’s wand at the Battle of Hogwarts. I’m afraid that Draco is rather careless with wands. Narcissa Malfoy, as I told the Wizengamot at her trial, is not, and has never been a Death Eater. In fact she helped me to defeat Riddle, so I gave her son’s wand to her for safekeeping.’

‘You’ve asked enough, Mr Green. We’ll take a question from someone else,’ Kingsley announced, dismissing the young blond man’s still raised hand and turning instead towards a middle aged woman.

‘Is it true that you spent your time on the run with the Muggle-born Miss Hermione Granger?’

‘Yes, and Ron Weasley was with us, too,’ Harry said in exasperation.

‘Are you still on speaking terms with all four of your ex-girlfriends?’ she asked.

‘Four?’ Harry was startled. The woman looked down at a list.

‘Miss Granger, Miss Parvati Patil, Miss Chang and Miss Lovegood,’ the woman said.

‘What?’ Harry spluttered, suddenly wishing that he was still being asked about something simple, like the Elder Wand. ‘They aren’t … weren’t … I’m not answering any questions about my personal life.’

‘So you won’t confirm that you and Miss Weasley are engaged?’ the reporter asked.

‘No.’

‘No you won’t confirm it, or no, you are not engaged?’ she pressed. Harry managed to find Ginny in the crowd. She grinned and winked at him.

‘Yes,’ said Harry, suddenly inspired. He watched Ginny laugh.

‘Enough, Miss Newsham,’ Kingsley said. ‘Can we have someone else, please? Mr Hackworth.’ The Minister pointed to an elderly wizard with an impressively bulbous blue-veined nose.

‘Severus Snape was appointed Headmaster of Hogwarts by You-Know-Lord … Riddle … Tom … thingy,’ Hackworth began.

‘Correct,’ Harry smiled at the man’s confusion. He wished that Professor Dumbledore could see the chaos a simple insistence that the press use Riddle’s real name was causing. Several of the guests were laughing at the journalist’s discomfort.

‘You claimed that Snape killed Dumbledore, so why are you now defending him?’ The elderly pressman asked sharply.

‘Snape—Professor Snape—was always working for Professor Dumbledore. I didn’t discover that until after he’d died. While Sn—Professor Snape was Headmaster he provided me with—help. He got the Sword of Godric Gryffindor to me; it was invaluable. Ask both Ron Weasley and Neville Longbottom how useful the sword was,’ said Harry.

‘I’m told that you didn’t like Professor Snape,’ said Hackworth accusingly.

‘I didn’t,’ Harry admitted. ‘Not many people did. In fact, I’ve thought a lot about him since the Battle and I suspect that Snape didn’t even like himself. But he gave his life to defeat Tom Riddle and it would be wrong of me not to acknowledge his contribution.’

The elderly wizard was about to ask another question, but Kingsley cut him off.

‘One final question,’ Kingsley announced. He pointed to a fashionably robed and well made up witch.

‘Why wear outrageous Muggle clothing to a prestigious event like this? Have you no respect for Wizarding traditions?’ the woman asked acidly. Harry took a deep breath and looked nervously around the room.

‘Some traditions are good, they remind us of our past, but some are simply an excuse to avoid change.’ Harry told her. ‘The last person who I heard use the “Wizarding traditions� argument was Dolores Umbridge. She’s in Azkaban and I want nothing to do with the “traditions� Umbridge believed to be important; traditions like prejudice and favouritism. We should be moving forwards, not standing still, and certainly not moving backwards.

‘I was raised by Muggles and I wore Muggle clothes when I was on the run. I usually wear Muggle clothes, because I’m comfortable in them. That should be a good enough reason, but, in fact, that isn’t the reason I’m wearing Muggle clothes today. I’m doing it because my friend and former team mate, Katie Bell, asked us all to wear them. We’re doing it to show our support for Muggles and Muggle-borns. Katie runs the Society for the Assistance of Muggle-borns, she’s doing her best to help hundreds of people who lost everything last year,’ said Harry.

‘When Thicknesse took over the Ministry, some of you probably simply watched your neighbours being rounded up and shipped off to prison, or worse,’ he continued. ‘You were probably too scared to get involved. Now is your chance to make amends. Many Muggle-borns still need our help, and I hope that you’ll all speak to Katie … she’s the one in red who’s waving … give generously to her charity, and print the press release she’s prepared. Thank you.’

‘That’s all,’ Kingsley announced with finality. ‘This press conference is now at an end. If all members of the press can leave the hall now, please, after you’ve seen Miss Bell, of course.’

Harry stood alongside Kingsley and watched as the reporters were escorted out. Katie had hurriedly made the way to the exit, along with her friend Leanne, and Oliver Wood. It looked to Harry as though Oliver was actually threatening the departing press. Whatever he was doing, Katie and Leanne were handing out press releases and collecting cash from the journalists.

Harry walked from the dais and rejoined his friends. Ginny and Hermione both hugged him; Ron patted him on the back.

‘What was all that stuff about Parvati and Luna?’ Ron asked. Harry shrugged, he’d been puzzled by the question, too.

‘You took Parvati to the Yule Ball, and Luna to Slughorn’s party, Harry,’ said Ginny, ‘had you forgotten?’

She looked into his face and began to laugh. ‘Obviously, you had. But someone’s been feeding stories to the press. I wonder who?’ She looked across at Romilda Vane, who did not meet her gaze.

At the front of the hall, the stage was being prepared for the medal presentations. The ceremony would begin very soon. Harry sighed.

‘It will be over soon, Harry,’ Ginny assured him. ‘But, you fought hard to get most of these medals awarded, you should be happy that you’ve succeeded, not unhappy because you’ll be praised, too.’ She stared up into his face. ‘You’re a hero, live with it, or else I’ll start a petition to get a statue of you erected, and then you’ll be embarrassed forever!’ she announced, her eyes twinkling. Harry smiled, so she hugged him tightly and kissed his chin. ‘And you’re going to dance with me later. No excuses,’ she added.

The ‘Battle of Hogwarts’ medals were the first to be awarded. The simple bronze medals were awarded to every participant in the Battle. The non-human recipients were rewarded first, and the ceremony began badly, with several disapproving murmurs.

The very first medals to be presented were given to Firenze, the sole representative of the centaurs. Professor Firenze, as Kingsley called him, looked disdainfully down on the mutterers as he collected medals for his herd.

‘These are meaningless tokens,’ Firenze told the assembled wizards, waving the medals with a dismissive clatter. ‘We do not seek, nor do we require, your approval for our actions. We do what the stars foretell, what we know is right for our herd. I am here to accept these worthless pieces of metal, not because I wish to bask in the praise of mere humans, but as a mark of the respect we have for our friend Albus Dumbledore, and for Harry Potter, who fought to have these tokens awarded to us. The thanks of those we respect is a valuable gift. What others think is immaterial, farewell.’ Firenze reared up in his hind legs and galloped from the hall, forcing many guests to scatter.

The Hogwarts house-elves were next, their four brave representatives, the only house-elves prepared to appear in public, accepted their medals with an embarrassed ‘Thank you, thank you, we must go, we has work.’ Three of them Apparated away immediately, leaving Kreacher, the last non-human in the room.

‘Albus would have loved this ceremony,’ Minerva McGonagall whispered into Harry’s ear after the house-elves’ abrupt departure. ‘Look at the Wizengamot. They don’t know what will happen next.’

The awards continued. Many combatants received the Order of Merlin, third class, including the majority of Dumbledore’s Army. Dennis Creevey accepted his brother’s medal; he was crying when he returned to his parents. Dennis was not the only sibling or parent collecting a posthumous medal, and if not for Ginny’s comforting arm around his waist, Harry would have lost himself in grief.

Fewer people received the Order of Merlin, second class. Harry and Ginny looked after Teddy Lupin while Andromeda Tonks collected Remus and Nymphadora Lupin’s medals. There were a few mutterings when Lupin’s name was read out and Harry tried to identify the werewolf-haters. Some seemed to be Ministry officials.

‘We’ve still got a lot to do, Harry,’ Hermione whispered, and when the next name was read out. Dobby’s medal had proved an even harder fight for Harry than had Lupin’s. Harry watched Hermione turn her head away from the dais and scrutinise the audience carefully, watching for those showing displeasure. Dobby’s medal was collected by Kreacher, who bowed to Harry, and vanished.

The Weasleys, all but Ron, were the last to receive the Order of Merlin, second class. Harry paid little attention to Mr and Mrs Weasley, Bill, Fleur and the others. His attention was fixed on the youngest member of the family.

He watched Ginny in dumbstruck admiration. Her green dress shone, and it hugged her flawless figure precisely. The emeralds in the silver torc matched the dress perfectly. She was beautiful, and the photographers seemed to be concentrating on her.

She’d bought the dress before she’d known about the torc, he realised, so she’d bought it to match his eyes. His sudden insight made his heart beat even faster.

‘Your turn now, Harry,’ Ginny said to Harry as she returned to his side and pulled him from his fantasies.

The master of ceremonies cleared his throat.

‘Finally, it is time to award the Highest Award, the Order of Merlin First Class to the four young people who destroyed those cursed items which tied Tom Marvolo Riddle, the self-styled Lord Voldemort to life: Miss Hermione Granger, Mr Neville Longbottom, Mr Ronald Weasley and, of course, Mr Harry Potter.’

To huge cheers Neville and Harry followed Hermione and Ron onto the stage. Hermione looked as though she was about to enter an exam. She was pale and nervous and gripped Ron’s arm tightly, but he didn’t seem to mind. After the final medals were awarded Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped forwards and motioned for silence.

‘Ladies and Gentlemen, we have had speeches and congratulations aplenty since the Battle, but let us not forget those who fell in this fight. Many of the medals awarded here have been awarded posthumously. I ask that you join me for two minutes of contemplative silence. Let us remember the fallen.’

A hush fell across the hall as everyone bowed their heads. Harry once again remembered Fred, Lupin, Tonks, Dobby, Colin and the other victims of war.



‘The world has not ended. It continues to turn, and we who live must make sure that the sacrifice of the dead is not forgotten. They fought for a brighter future, and we must honour them by delivering it,’ Kingsley announced after the silence.

‘Now, as Harry Potter said earlier, we must look ahead, not back. This banquet and ball is our first real step into the future. This hall contains heroes and politicians, bureaucrats and businessmen, let us all work together to build a better future. Now, if you will find your seats, the banquet can begin,’ Kingsley concluded.

Ginny grabbed Harry’s hand and they moved towards their seats.

16. Christmas: Deputations

The banquet was everything Harry expected. One after another, a dozen courses appeared magically before the guests. When the first course arrived, Hermione’s mother, who was sitting opposite her daughter, gave an eerily Hermione-like shriek.

‘It’s only magic, Mum,’ said Hermione reassuringly. But Jean Granger remained nervous for some time.

The food was served at a leisurely pace and, over the following hour, Harry slowly began to relax. Waves of grief washed over him whenever Fred’s name, or the names of any of the dead, was mentioned, but Ginny refused to allow him to become maudlin. Harry was surrounded by his friends and their families. Ginny, on his right, chattered and joked throughout the meal. On his left, Hermione and Ron were discussing when, and where, they could meet over the Christmas holidays.

The official Ministry photographer was walking around the tables photographing everyone. Harry grumbled discontentedly as the man took several photographs of him.

‘Just ignore the photographer, Harry. The press will continue to pester you, and there’s nothing we can do about it, except spend our time in the Muggle world,’ said Ginny. ‘But I’m sure that they’ll eventually get tired of asking the same questions.’

Harry gave a grudging nod. Ginny gestured around the room.

‘Look at this! You should be proud of yourself, because I’m proud of you. You’ve won again! You’ve managed to get medals awarded to centaurs, house-elves, and even a werewolf. It has taken months, but you didn’t give up. Professor Dumbledore would be proud; he’d be the first to congratulate you.’

Harry smiled and allowed himself to accept Ginny’s compliment. It was true. Despite considerable opposition from within the Ministry, the medals had finally been awarded to everyone who deserved them. Perhaps now the battle was truly over. This long-awaited day was approaching its conclusion. All that remained was the ball. Harry’s stomach lurched at the thought. The idea of publicly dancing with Ginny both thrilled and terrified him.

The meal ended with a toast by the Minister to “the fallen� and a minute’s silence. After that final act of remembrance and sombre reflection, Kingsley Shacklebolt spoke once more.

‘Witches and wizards,’ he began. ‘The battle is over, the war is won, but there remains a huge task ahead of us. We must face the future. Now is the time for us to learn from the dreadful mistakes of the past. Now is the time to put things right. We must build a better world for future generations, and we must try to ensure that never again does our world fall into such a dreadful conflict. Never again must we allow ignorance, hatred and bigotry to take hold. Our task will not be easy, but with the assistance of committed and forward-thinking young people, people like Harry and his friends, we will succeed.’

There was tumultuous applause at the Minister’s words. Hermione, Harry noticed, was carefully watching several people whose claps were rather perfunctory.

‘Thank you,’ said Kingsley when the applause finally died down. ‘Now, the banquet is over. If you will all stand, please, the room must be made ready for the ball.’

The Minister moved away from the table. When everyone else stood and followed suit the long dining tables and chairs vanished. They were rapidly and efficiently replaced by smaller and more intimate round tables at the far end of the hall. A band walked onto the stage and began preparing to play.

As they moved down the hall Harry found himself alongside Andromeda Tonks, who had Teddy Lupin in her arms. He and Ginny became separated when she stopped to talk to George. People were beginning to mingle and the conversations, which had been a low murmur during the meal, became a rising and falling buzz. Ron and Hermione had already found a table with Hermione’s parents.

Harry was deep in conversation with Mrs Tonks, discussing Christmas presents for Teddy, when he noticed the approaching scrum. Several wizards in their middle and late years were moving purposefully toward him. All were attempting to be respectable, sedate, dignified, and the first to reach him. Their polite jostling for position, a combination of surreptitious use of elbows and, in one case, standing on the lead wizard’s robes, were causing the men a great deal of anxiety. The eventual winner was a stocky, black-haired and impressively bearded man of average height who approached Harry with three rapid strides to narrowly beat his closest rival.

‘Odysseus Packman, Mr Potter.’ The man stuck out a hand in greeting. ‘Packman’s Poultry Products, I’m sure you’ve heard of us.’

‘No, I haven’t,’ said Harry honestly, as he shook the man’s hand. His honesty caused the man’s ingratiating smile to fade. It was replaced by a falsely hearty chuckle.

‘What can I do for you, Mr Packman?’ asked Harry.

‘I’d like to offer you a directorship, Mr Potter,’ Packman announced, ignoring the mutters from the crowd of wizards now surrounding Harry. ‘As the Minister said, you’re a forward-thinking young man, exactly the sort of person my company needs.’

‘A directorship?’ asked Harry incredulously.

Andromeda Tonks frowned. ‘I’ll leave you to discuss business with these gentlemen, Harry. Do call in and see us. You’ll be most welcome.’ She ignored Harry’s silent plea for assistance and pushed her way to freedom. The mob moved closer.

‘I too have a proposition for you, Mr Potter,’ another wizard said. Harry was uncertain which wizard had spoken, as he was now surrounded by a babble of entreaties and promises. Packman attempted to ignore the interruptions.

‘The remuneration will be very good, I promise. If you’d care to join my wife, my daughter, and me…’ Packman indicated a portly woman who, from her dress, appeared to be successfully impersonating a red balloon, and a plump, whey-faced girl in preposterously flouncy pink dress-robes.

Harry remained silent. Why would someone he had never met offer him a well paid job? Packman, however, seemed to mistake Harry’s silence for agreement.

‘Excellent! If you’ll simply agree to endorse Packman’s Poultry Products…’ Packman grabbed Harry by the shoulder and, from somewhere inside his robes, produced a contract and a quill.

‘What?’ Harry finally found his voice.

‘Mr Potter, you have not heard my offer,’ a deep voice protested. Harry looked around. The sound appeared to have come from an enormous walrus moustache, behind which a tiny wizard was sheltering. Then the clamour began.

‘Or mine.’

‘Or mine.’

‘Mr Potter.’

‘Harry.’

‘Packman’s Poultry Products, Mr Potter…’ began Odysseus Packman forcefully.

‘Packman’s Paltry Products? What on earth are they? What’s going on, Harry?’ asked Ginny, appearing at his side. She ducked under Packman’s arm, slid an arm around his waist and stretched up to her full height, knocking Packman’s arm from Harry’s shoulder with her head. Harry finally found his voice.

‘I really have no idea, Ginny,’ Harry told her. ‘I think that I’m being auctioned.’

As he looked around the crowd Ginny released his waist and slid her hand into his. They intertwined their fingers.

‘Does anyone else want to offer me a job?’ he asked the other wizards. ‘Does anyone want to beat Mr Packman’s offer? The bidding currently stands at “very good�.’

Packman caught the edge in Harry’s voice and began to protest. ‘I can pay a lot more than an Auror’s salary, Mr Potter, and, of course, you won’t actually have to do any work.’

‘What? Money for nothing? Why?’ sputtered Harry.

‘You’ve had a difficult few years, Mr Potter. Now that your troubles are over, I’m simply trying to help you get on in life,’ Packman said obsequiously.

‘Help me get on in life, now that my troubles are over?’ Harry snapped. ‘Where were you last year, when I needed help to simply stay alive? Had I knocked on your door last Christmas, would you have offered me the same deal? Or would you have…’

‘The band is almost ready, Harry,’ Ginny interrupted him. ‘Unless you’d rather talk business with these…’ she hesitated while apparently carefully considering her next word. ‘…gentlemen,’ she concluded, somehow managing to make the final word sound extremely disparaging.

‘Yes, we can dance all night!’ Harry promised her without thinking.

He turned to face the clutch of well-dressed wizards. ‘If any of you have money you really want to give away, give it to Katie Bell, not me! Her charity needs funds,’ said Harry. ‘I already have a job, I’m an Auror, and it keeps me very busy. I don’t want another job. Now, if you’ll all excuse me, I’m going to dance with my girlfriend.’

Still hand-in-hand, Harry escorted Ginny through the unhappily clucking brood of businessmen.

‘Harry is the patron of Katie’s Charity, so all major donors will certainly be invited to the same charity events as Harry,’ Ginny called over her shoulder as they made their escape.

‘Why did you tell them that?’ grumbled Harry. Ginny pulled him purposefully towards the dance floor.

‘Because it’s true, Harry, and the opportunity to meet you at a charity event might be enough to make some of those daft old duffers donate. But why do you care? You get the invitations, but you’re a grumpy soul and you don’t attend, do you?’ Ginny grinned mischievously, slid an arm around his waist and hugged him.

‘But…’ Harry began. He stopped and grinned. Ginny’s eyes were sparkling triumphantly. It was true, he’d been invited, but he’d always made an excuse.

‘You have no idea how much influence you have, do you?’ Ginny asked. ‘Look, there they go.’

Ginny nodded across the hall. Several of the men had simply disappeared into the crowds, but a large number were heading towards Katie. ‘I’d bet that there are several Muggle-haters among them, but they’re still going to donate, because you suggested it.’

‘Because you told them I get invited to the charity events,’ Harry corrected her.

‘I didn’t lie, you do get invited.’ Ginny smirked. ‘And it did some good, what more do you want?’

‘You,’ he told her.

The band started up, and Harry slid his arm around Ginny’s waist. The official photographers’ cameras flashed as the young couple slowly made their way onto the dance floor.

‘Try to keep to the beat, Harry,’ Ginny whispered as they stumbled clumsily around the room.

‘Sorry, I don’t dance … I don’t know what I’m doing. We can stop if you want,’ Harry told her desperately.

‘You said that you’d dance all night,’ Ginny reminded him. ‘I think that you should, you need to practice. And you need to keep to the beat … that’s much better.’

With further encouragement from Ginny over several slow waltzes, Harry’s terpsichorean talents began to improve. They finally decided that they needed something to drink and, as they left the dance floor, Harry grabbed a couple of Butterbeers from a passing waiter. They managed to find themselves a table only to be immediately surrounded, this time by young women.

‘Hello, Harry,’ said Romilda, stepping forward and, with a remarkable display of bravery, ignoring Ginny’s withering glare. ‘Neville said that it would be okay if…’

‘Harry is not dancing with you, Romilda!’ Ginny spoke with absolute certainty.

‘He’s not yours…’ Romilda began.

‘I think I probably am, Romilda,’ said Harry, a wry grin on his face. He took Ginny’s hand and squeezed it. Ginny leaned her head on his shoulder and hugged him. Again, the cameras flashed.

‘I’m dancing with Ginny, no one else,’ said Harry, looking at the girls. Slowly and reluctantly, they moved away.

‘I’m not trying to be possessive, Harry,’ whispered Ginny apologetically. ‘You can dance with anyone you like. Anyone except Romilda that is, because she is definitely up to something. I don’t know what.’ Ginny turned and looked thoughtfully into his eyes. Harry returned the gaze and was lost in a swirl of soft, warm, chocolate brown until her eyes blazed with an idea.

‘Yes, I do!’ Ginny said. ‘Whoever you dance with will almost certainly get their picture in the papers, and that’s what Romilda wants, her picture in the papers. Fame!’

‘I’ve no idea why,’ said Harry with feeling. ‘Fame isn’t much fun; it’s people who don’t know you thinking that they do, and wanting to be your friend. It’s a pain in the bum.’

Ginny laughed. ‘Perhaps you should dance with some other girls,’ she suggested. ‘Think of it as a reward, for them, not you. Anyone you dance with will get their picture in the newspapers.’

‘But I thought that you wanted to dance with me all night. If I dance with someone else, what will you do?’ Harry asked. He put on a fake frown. ‘Either my dancing is terrible, or there is someone you want to dance with! Who? Should I be jealous?’

Ginny shook her head and laughed. ‘I’ll simply sit here and be a wallflower.’

‘I doubt it. Someone is certain to ask you to dance. You can dance with anyone you like, too, Ginny. Well, anyone except Lee Jordan,’ he teased ‘You seemed to be enjoying yourself far too much with him at Bill and Fleur’s wedding.’

‘I was enjoying myself, but I’ll tell you a secret. What I was really trying to do was make my cousin Barney jealous. I had hoped that he would ask me to dance.’ Ginny gave him an impish grin and it was Harry’s turn to laugh.

‘Barney is a big coward,’ Harry told her. ‘He wanted to ask you to dance, but he was terrified of what Ron might do.’

Ginny laughed. ‘Poor Barney, he just sat there, moping and talking to Auntie Muriel.’

‘Not all of the time. He did … I did … stop Victor Krum from asking you to dance,’ Harry admitted. ‘I told Krum that you already had a boyfriend, a jealous type.’ Harry hesitated, deep in thought, and gazed candidly into Ginny’s eyes. Ginny looked serious and waited in silence.

‘Because you did,’ he announced. ‘Me.’

He felt a rush of relief as he finally admitted the truth, more to himself than to her.

‘It’s just … I wanted you safe … I decided … at Dumbledore’s funeral … that no one could know … not even you... I … we … should…’

Harry’s incoherent confession was interrupted because Ginny kissed him, and the cameras flashed again. ‘I did know, Harry. I almost knew at Dumbledore’s funeral. You didn’t say anything when we next met, but you showed me that I was right from almost the moment you arrived at The Burrow. When we stood in the yard, holding hands, waiting for the others to arrive … I needed you, and you needed me. Then, when we kissed on your birthday, I was absolutely certain! And so were you, weren’t you?’

Harry nodded in silence. The memories came flooding back. ‘Yes, I was certain. But that was a different time, a different life, Ginny. I knew, but … Voldemort … I didn’t dare hope … us … we…’

Ginny silenced him by placing a finger on his lips.

‘So, I knew, and you knew, too. No one else needed to know, because no one else mattered, Harry,’ she told him.

Their whispered conversation was interrupted by Andromeda Tonks.

‘Goodbye, Harry. Goodbye, Miss Weasley. I have to get this young man home to bed,’ Andromeda announced as she cradled Teddy in her arms. ‘Will we see you before Christmas?’

‘Ginny and I will come to see you both on Christmas Eve, if that’s all right,’ said Harry. ‘But, before you go, would you like to dance?’

Andromeda looked astonished, and then chuckled. ‘Why not? It would amuse Ted and Dora, and probably Remus. I’m sure that they are watching.’

Ginny volunteered to look after Teddy and Andromeda Tonks firmly steered Harry around the dance floor, once again accompanied by a photographer.

After the dance, Harry and Ginny said their goodbyes to Andromeda and her grandson before returning to the dance floor. As they continued to dance, they discussed possible partners for Harry.

‘I really don’t mind, provided you don’t mind me dancing with other blokes, if they ask me,’ Ginny assured him.

‘You’ll be fighting them off,’ Harry assured her. ‘You’re the most beautiful girl here.’ Ginny rewarded him with her most radiant smile.

Harry danced with Katie, who was so pleased that she kissed him. He danced with Hermione, who said that he was almost as good a dancer as Ron. Harry wasn’t entirely certain that her remark was meant as a compliment. As they danced, Hermione had suggested that he ask her mum to dance too, so he did. He danced with Professor McGonagall, winning a five Galleon bet with Ron, who had been convinced that their Head of House would turn him down.

Every time he stopped dancing, Harry found himself surrounded by hopeful-looking girls, businessmen and Ministry officials who wanted to “help� him, or a peculiar mix of the three.

The hours flew by. The evening was drawing to a close, and it hadn’t been as bad as Harry had expected. Perhaps, Harry thought, he could dance after all. He was once again with Ginny when another possible partner passed by, arms flailing wildly. Harry made the suggestion, Ginny laughed and agreed.

After that particularly peculiar dance, Harry slumped in a chair, sipped a Butterbeer, and looked warily around the hall. It was late, and his feet were sore. The crowds had thinned slightly, but only slightly. This time, however, no one was approaching him. Harry chuckled, but continued to watch the hall carefully. No one came close.

Now, as he sat next to his last partner, Luna, whose conversation he was ignoring, he relaxed by watching Ginny. Luna’s unheard words washed over him like a babbling stream, or streaming babble, but the sing-song sound of her voice was somehow comforting. Sitting next to Luna was rather like dancing, but more restful on the feet. No one was approaching him; presumably they were worried that Luna might begin a conversation with them.

Ginny was dancing with George, who was wearing both his and Fred’s medals, and getting very drunk. George was veering between maudlin and obnoxious, and no one was sure what to do about it. Only Ginny seemed able to control him, so she had temporarily abandoned Harry to try to help her brother.

‘Hi, Harry, hi, Luna,’ a voice said. Harry took his eyes from Ginny to see who had dared approach. He was relieved to see that it was only Dennis Creevey.

‘How are you, Dennis?’ Harry asked.

‘Better than George, I think,’ Dennis said. ‘I’ll speak to him later. Fred wouldn’t be happy with him. When we were at the Hog’s Head, George told me that I should try to imagine what Colin would say, what Colin would want me to do. It was good advice, and it helped me a lot. George should follow his own advice, because he’s definitely not listening to Fred now! But that’s not why I’m here.’

The urgency in Dennis’s voice caught Harry’s attention. Harry observed the young wizard carefully; he looked dejected and sad, but that wasn’t surprising.

‘Is it because of that girl who wouldn’t come to the Ball with you, Dennis?’ Luna asked.

Dennis nodded. ‘Are you sure that Wylde is a Death Eater, Harry?’ asked Dennis. ‘His… I … I asked his daughter, Zoë, to be … my guest … here. She refused, said that a Death Eater’s daughter wouldn’t be welcome. But she also said that she was certain her dad wasn’t a Death Eater.’

‘He’s got the mark, Dennis, and he’s confessed,’ Harry said. ‘I wasn’t sure myself until we caught him, I was sure that there was something more going on. But everything we know points to Wilberforce Wylde being the head of the slavery racket, I’m sorry.’

‘That’s what Trudi Pepperill told me on the train,’ said Dennis. ‘Trudi also said that Zoë, her brother, and Fenella Gray were scheming in the Slytherin common room. She overheard them saying something about Zoë’s dad, and a break in. She thinks that they are going to try to break him out of Azkaban.’

‘Now that the goblins are guarding Azkaban, there’s even less chance of anyone escaping, Dennis,’ said Harry.

‘But Trudi is certain that Fenella is up to something, Harry,’ said Dennis. ‘I don’t know what to do. I don’t want Fenella to drag Zoë into trouble.’

‘Fenella helped Colin, Dennis,’ Harry reminded the earnest and serious sixteen-year-old. ‘Why would she try to free a Death Eater? And how would she do it? Fenella’s not exactly daring and adventurous, is she?’

‘Yeah, I really can’t see Fenella doing anything brave,’ said Ron breathlessly as he and Hermione joined the group. Harry looked up hopefully, but Ginny wasn’t with them, she was dragging George over to speak to Mr and Mrs Weasley.

‘Fenella’s a Pureblood, and her parents never let her mix with Muggles, but last summer she caught a Muggle bus, by herself and went to meet Colin,’ Dennis told them. ‘And she warned Colin about the Muggle-born Registration Commission too. That’s how we escaped. She was brave for Colin; wouldn’t she be brave for her family?’

‘Fenella made a statement to the Auror Office, and persuaded her dad to cooperate with us. Sending a few messages and supplies to Colin was a little risky for her, but not really dangerous,’ said Harry.

‘Colin thought she was brave. He was really impressed with her when he got back after their … date. He said that she was a bit nervous, because she was wearing Muggle clothes, but she was beautiful and determined, too. I think he really fancied her,’ said Dennis.

Ron snorted with laughter.

‘I really don’t think that Fenella would organise a prison break, Dennis,’ said Harry. ‘She’s a Slytherin.’

‘I think that you’re wrong, Harry,’ said Luna, firmly. ‘Slytherin is just a word, like Mudblood. You are compartmentalising, stereotyping. That’s silly. Simply thinking of Fenella, of anyone, as a Slytherin will cloud your judgement. She is a Slytherin, but that’s just her House, it isn’t her. She’s cunning and really quite clever. I’m a Ravenclaw, we’re supposed to be the intelligent ones, but Hermione is very intelligent, too.’

‘Thanks, Luna,’ said Hermione, startled.

‘Well, you are! You’re a little limited in your thinking, but you retain knowledge.’ Luna waved her hand dismissively. Ron stifled a snort.

‘When we all broke into the Ministry, years ago,’ Luna continued. ‘Everyone said that we were “six brave youngsters�, because most of us, everyone but me, were Gryffindors. Had we been Slytherins they’d have said we were cunning.’

Ron grunted dismissively; Luna stared at him.

‘You want to do something, Ron, like becoming an Auror, and you decide to achieve it, why are you doing it? Are you doing it because you are brave, or cunning, or clever, or simply hard-working? It’s easy to add the House-label afterwards. If a Ravenclaw can be brave, why can’t a Slytherin? Fenella has been acting oddly. She was asking Ginny a lot of questions about you, Harry, and about the Ministry,’ said Luna. ‘I noticed, and so did Ginny. She told me on the train.’

‘She certainly took some very strange photographs when we visited the Ministry,’ Hermione added, suddenly suspicious. ‘She photographed the usual things, the Atrium, the students, and various Ministry officials and offices. She tried to take photographs in the Auror Office, but Williamson stopped her. But she photographed lots of corridors, and the Magical Law Enforcement filing room, and the Department of International Magical Cooperation filing room too. I thought it was odd, photographing corridors and filing rooms.’

‘What on earth are you talking about?’ Ginny asked forcing her way to Harry’s side. ‘I thought it must be something exciting, the way you were all huddled together, but you’re talking about corridors and filing!’

Harry looked quickly around the room. People were beginning to watch them.

‘I’ll tell you later, Ginny,’ Harry said. He was suddenly uneasy; perhaps there really was something going on. ‘We’ll talk about this properly tomorrow, at my place. I finish my shift at four o’clock tomorrow. Can everyone make it then?’

‘Earlier or much later would be better, Harry, around noon or after ten, if possible,’ suggested Hermione. ‘Mum’s invited my Uncle George and his family over for dinner tomorrow; Ron’s supposed to be there at five, to meet my relatives.’

‘I’m working from seven until four, Hermione,’ said Harry.

‘And so am I,’ Ron added.

‘And Harry and I are going out again tomorrow night. If we meet at four, it won’t interrupt our date,’ said Ginny forcefully. ‘You know how little time we’re going to have together, Hermione. What time is the meal at your parent’s house, Hermione?’

‘Six-thirty,’ Hermione admitted.

‘Then you’ll be back in plenty of time,’ announced Ginny. ‘What about you, Luna?’

‘Oh, am I invited? That’s nice, thank you, Ginny,’ Luna beamed.

‘I’ll collect you from your place, Dennis,’ said Harry. ‘We should let Neville know, and probably Terry and Susan, too.’

‘Tell Nev not to say anything to Romilda,’ Ginny murmured.

‘Why…’ Harry got no further. He was interrupted by the Master of Ceremonies.

‘Ladies and Gentlemen, midnight approaches. Please take your partners for the last dance.’

‘It’s settled, four o’clock tomorrow,’ Ginny announced. Harry expected Hermione to argue, but she didn’t have the opportunity, as Ron grabbed her hand and dragged her onto the dance floor. Harry took Ginny’s hand and followed.

‘We should dance, too, Dennis,’ Luna announced, pulling a protesting Dennis Creevey to his feet.

‘I need to speak to George, sorry, Luna,’ apologised Dennis, breaking free and dashing across the dance floor. Luna looked around the room, and marched purposefully towards Terry Boot.

‘I wonder…’ Harry began, as he held Ginny close and they moved slowly around the dance floor.

‘If you’re wondering about Fenella, or about whatever Dennis has been saying, or Luna, don’t,’ Ginny said forcefully. ‘That’s for tomorrow. This is the last dance; you should be concentrating on me.’

Harry did as he was told, and discovered that it was possible to kiss and dance at the same time. Or at least kiss and sway in time to the music.