Harry sprinted through the corridors of Hogwarts, he had looked almost everywhere, he could think of only one more place to search. He entered the Gryffindor common room in trepidation. It was deserted, echoingly silent. Ginny was nowhere to be found. Confused, he was unsure whether he should be happy, because he hadn’t found her kissing someone else, or sad, because she wasn’t kissing him. Perhaps she’d gone for good. Panicking, he called her name.
‘I’m right here,’ she said, appearing beside him and running her fingers through his sleep ruffled hair. She sounded concerned.
The light touch of her lips on his forehead brought Harry fully awake. He struggled to move, he couldn’t; he was trapped in a tangle of bedclothes. Opening his eyes, he found Ginny perched on the edge of his bed. She wore jeans and a Holyhead Harpies t-shirt. Freeing one arm, he reached for his glasses, put them on, looked up at her freckled face, and smiled. He examined her longingly.
The t-shirt she wore was old and faded. He remembered saying that he liked it two, or even three years earlier. She’d often worn it during subsequent visits. He’d noticed, but had never commented on the fact. The t-shirt was now much too small for her in both length and circumference; it clung tightly to her curves and revealed her midriff. He drank in the sight.
You were having a bad dream,’ she told him worriedly, ‘and then you called my name, why?’
‘In my dream I couldn’t find you, so I panicked,’ he admitted, ‘but then you arrived.’
‘Like a dream come true,’ he added, laughing, ‘and wearing my favourite t-shirt, too.’
She leaned forwards and kissed him softly on the cheek. Grabbing her shoulders, he pulled her on top of him and kissed her. She responded enthusiastically, but resisted when he tried to roll on top of her. He loosened his grip for a second, in order to get a better hold, to keep her with him’ but she slid from his arms and stepped back from the bed.
‘I only came to see if you wanted breakfast;’ she scolded gently, ‘everyone is up, except for Ron and Hermione. You’ve slept for more than eleven hours, Harry. If you want something to eat, I’ll go and start cooking.’
As he watched, she tugged at the hem of her T shirt. It had ridden up when he’d pulled her onto his bed. She sinuously wriggled it straight, pulling it tight over her upper torso. Unable to stop himself, Harry tried to free himself from his jumbled sheets. He launched himself at her, trying to grab her around the waist. He was almost out of his tangle of bedclothes when he realised that he was only wearing his boxers. In his desperate attempt to cover himself, he tripped on his sheet and tumbled to the floor. Ginny watched him in amusement.
‘Very slick,’ she observed, laughing.
‘I’ll need to be quick to catch you,’ he told her, rolling onto his back and pushing himself along the floor towards her. His head was between her toes, he looked up at her from the floor.
‘The view from down here is interesting,’ he informed her. As he looked up he realised that she was examining his bare chest with interest. He watched her hopefully.
‘That’s the locket scar, is it?’ she asked, initially dashing his hopes. She raised them again by bending forwards and running her forefinger gently over the pale circle on his chest. Next to the circle, over his heart, was a lightning bolt scar, she gently traced it, too.
‘And that?’
‘Where Riddle hit me with the Avada Kedavra; when I was in the forest.’
Her hair tumbled over her shoulders; her breasts were directly above his head. He groaned at her touch, grabbed her arm and tried to drag her down onto the floor with him. She kept her balance, slapped his hands away, pulled herself free, and stood.
‘Dad’s gone out to finalise the arrangements for Fred’s funeral tomorrow, but my brothers are downstairs listening,’ she told him, ‘they know where I am and they’ll be up here to investigate if I’m not down soon.’
She crouched down, her knees either side of his head, then ran her fingers over his stubbly chin. Another interesting view presented itself to Harry; her jeans were as tight as her t-shirt. Did she have any idea what she was doing to him, he wondered? Swatting away his grasping hand, she looked down at him with an open and innocent face.
‘No more kisses until you shave, Harry,’ she told him. ‘Breakfast will ready by the time you’re washed and dressed.’
Groaning in frustration, he reluctantly watched her stand, turn, and leave. There was a definite teasing sway in her hips as she left. That innocent look was a put-on. Sighing, he untangled himself from his bedclothes, pulled on his jeans, picked up his crumpled sheet and blankets, and dumped them on the bed. Charlie’s bed, too, was unmade, but it was not as untidy as his own.
Stretching, he walked out onto the landing. Ginny’s bedroom was opposite; she had left her door open. She’d been that close to him all night. Her room was brightly lit by the morning sun and her bed was neatly made. A short blue cotton nightdress, little more than a long vest lay across the chair by her bed. Her window was open, the scent of apple blossoms from the orchard blew in on a light breeze and mingled with the smell of Ginny which permeated the room. He was dizzyingly reminded of their first kiss yesterday. He did not enter; he simply stared into the room, soaking up its Ginnyness.
His silent contemplation was disturbed by the smells and sounds of frying bacon. He dashed upstairs to the bathroom. Ginny was making him breakfast. As he shaved, Harry thought about the day ahead; Colin Creevey’s funeral was at three o’clock this afternoon, the first of the many funerals he’d be attending.
Thinking back over the events at the Creevey house yesterday he suddenly remembered Justin Finch-Fletchley's face. When Harry was leaving, Dennis had been talking about Justin Apparating to Hogsmeade with Colin. Justin had looked … sad … guilty … remorseful! Justin, Harry realised, was blaming himself for Colin’s death. Justin had taken the under-age Colin back to Hogwarts, to his death. Harry found this realisation sadly comforting; he felt a sudden kinship with the curly-haired Muggleborn Hufflepuff.
By the time he got downstairs, there was a plate full of bacon, fried eggs, sausages, fried tomatoes and mushrooms waiting for him on the kitchen table. Next to the plate was a mug of steaming hot tea and a small teapot. George sat at the end of the table, reading the Daily Prophet; he was the only person in the kitchen besides Ginny, who stood at the stove wearing an apron over her jeans and t-shirt. Her clothes didn’t look as tight as they had upstairs, Harry noticed. Ginny smiled at him as he descended the stairs.
‘Toast, or bread?’ she asked.
‘Toast, please,’ George replied.
‘Get your own, lazybones,’ Ginny told him, ‘I was asking my boyfriend.’
‘You’ll pay for that, Harry,’ threatened George, lowering his newspaper.
‘I haven’t done anything,’ he protested.
‘You’re responsible for her now!’ announced George.
‘I do something you don’t like and Harry gets in trouble!’ laughed Ginny, ‘that’s brilliant!’
‘Does the same apply to me, George?’ Harry retorted, grinning as he tucked into his breakfast, ‘nice bacon, Ginny, crisp, just how I like it.’
George pretended to gag. ‘You smarmy, speccy little creep, Harry Potter,’ he spluttered, ‘I really don’t know what you see in him, Ginny.’
The three were bantering back and forth good-naturedly when Ron arrived in the kitchen, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
‘Where’s Hermione?’ he inquired, ‘outside?’ He moved towards the back door.
‘Are you ill?’ George put down the Daily Prophet, which he’d stopped reading long ago, jumped up and moved towards his younger brother; a concerned look on his face.
‘Why should I be ill? Where’s Hermione?’ Ron repeated grumpily.
‘You must be ill,’ George spoke slowly and softly, as though talking to a small child, ‘You’ve been in bed for more than twelve hours, little Ronniekins. Carried up to your little cot by your caring big brothers and tucked up snug by Mummy ... you come down into the kitchen and Harry’s eating … eating breakfast …’ George paused.
Ron looked angry and puzzled.
‘Your first question wasn’t, “where’s my breakfast?”’ George looked at his brother triumphantly, ‘so … you must be ill.’
‘He’s lovesick,’ Ginny added; ‘definitely lovesick.’
‘Recognise the symptoms, do you?’ George snorted.
‘Where is Hermione?’ Ron interrupted crossly before Ginny could reply, ‘she’s not in Ginny’s room!’
‘She’s still in bed, though,’ George informed Ron, grinning wickedly, ‘she must be totally exhausted … she spent the night in Percy’s room.’
There was pandemonium until Mrs Weasley stormed in from the yard, where she’d been feeding the chickens.
Ron was worried about his girlfriend, but his mother insisted that Hermione must be allowed to rest. After making certain that both Ron and Harry had eaten a hearty breakfast, she shooed Harry and her children out into the yard.
‘Get some fresh air,’ she ordered, ‘go for a walk; do something.’
‘What shall we do?’ Ron asked. George shrugged; Harry and Ginny exchanged grins and slid into each others arms.
‘No snogging,’ Ron ordered. Ginny pulled a face, but then spotted George, who had been looking downcast since their mother had interrupted their teasing banter.
‘Quidditch,’ she suggested. Ron and George agreed instantly.
‘I prefer the alternative, no matter what Ron says,’ Harry told her, smiling hopefully. Ginny flicked a glance at George; Harry understood.
‘… but I haven’t been on a broom since…’ he continued, then stopped, trying to remember.
‘Room of Requirement,’ Ron said glumly.
Percy and Charlie were sitting under a tree in the orchard; Ginny walked up to persuade them to play, taking George with her. Harry and Ron collected the brooms and a battered old quaffle from the shed. As they walked up the hill, Harry dropped the Quaffle experimentally. As he expected, it fell more slowly than was natural, but rather faster than it should. He practiced with it as he walked.
By the time they reached the orchard Charlie, George and Ginny had bullied Percy into playing a game of Quaffle-only three-a-side, with rush-keepers. Charlie and Ginny had elected themselves captains. Percy pulled a silver sickle from his pocket and tossed it.
‘Heads,’ Ginny called. She won the toss and chose first.
‘Harry,’ she said, ‘sorry Charlie; that definitely puts you on the losing team.’
‘George,’ Charlie countered, ‘and don’t be so cocky, little Ginevra, you won’t stand a chance.’
‘Ron,’ said Ginny, completing her team, ‘we’ll trounce you, dragon-breath.’
‘Wanna bet, shorty?’ Charlie asked.
‘Five Galleons,’ Ginny said promptly, ‘if Harry will lend me the money.’
She stepped up to Harry, put her hands behind her back, leaned forwards and smiled up at him. Her chest was not quite touching his. Harry’s head whirled. He desperately wanted to snog her, she knew it, and she was torturing him cruelly, remorselessly. He looked at her brothers for help.
‘You’re going to have your work cut out taming her, Harry,’ Charlie grinned.
‘Why would I want to tame her?’ asked Harry; genuinely puzzled. Ginny beamed happily.
‘Good answer, boyfriend!’ she jumped on him, arms tight around his neck, wrapped her legs around him and kissed him hungrily. Harry just managed to keep his balance. He grabbed her around the waist and responded enthusiastically.
‘Please!’ Ron groaned, ‘no snogging.’
‘Bloody hell!’ cried George, ‘someone get a camera; the Prophet would pay hundreds for this. The ideal photo for Rita Skeeter’s exclusive Potter article in tomorrow’s Sunday Prophet.’
Harry ignored George; he wasn’t going to fall for a ploy like that! Ginny showed no signs of finishing the kiss, she loosened her grip slightly, leaving Harry with a choice, let her slide down his body, or move his hands lower, to better support her. He chose the latter and slid his hands under her bum, painfully aware that they had an audience. Percy cracked first.
‘So, we’re not playing Quidditch,’ Percy said hopefully, ‘I’ll just go and …’
Ginny unwrapped herself from Harry and turned to him.
‘We’re just warming up for the game,’ she said.
‘Ready?’ she asked Harry.
‘What’re we playing?’ asked Harry mischievously. George howled with laughter.
‘Quidditch, sorry,’ Ginny told him, grinning.
‘Or, you could just pay me now,’ she suggested, turning back to a stunned Charlie and holding out her hand, ‘and Harry and I will find something else to do.’
‘No chance!’ Charlie told her, ‘not after that display.’
‘Anyway, that cash is mine,’ he continued, ‘your boyfriend isn’t that good, you know, Ginny.’
‘Maybe not,’ she enlightened him, ‘but I am!’
Charlie burst out laughing, pulled out his wallet, and showed her five gold coins in his left hand. Ginny held out her own left hand to Harry. He gave her five Galleons, which she showed to Charlie. They shook hands and put the coins back in their pockets. This was obviously a Weasley ritual.
‘Being a member of Harry’s cup winning team doesn’t make you a great flyer, Ginny.’ Charlie told his sister.
‘Charles Weasley, I am going to really enjoy this,’ she announced, ‘let’s fly.’ With that, she kicked off and soared above the orchard. Everyone quickly followed, and the game began.
Ginny and Harry scored time and again past Percy. Ron pulled off several spectacular saves and even, thanks to the rush-keeper rule they had invoked, scored a few goals himself. Charlie got more and more frustrated with his team-mates. Percy argued back, claiming, truthfully, that he wasn’t a sportsman. George just grinned and cheered every one of Ginny’s goals. Harry, who was riding Fred’s old Cleansweep, was astonished at the way Ginny could turn her broom. She caught Ron’s most erratic passes and her own were extremely accurate. It was over a year since he had last seen her fly. She’d been very good then, she was better now. She’d be brilliant on a decent broom.
After an hour Ginny’s team were over a hundred points in the lead and Charlie’s agitation had given way to a grim determination not to be heavily beaten. Flying above the orchard, looping, diving, and passing the quaffle, Harry found himself smiling. He pulled his broom higher and watched the Weasleys laugh, joke and catcall as they passed the battered old red leather ball. Times like these were some of the happiest he’d known. Now, he realised, he could have them again.
He watched Charlie score.
Ginny flew alongside him, ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked, concerned. ‘Charlie’s just scored because you’re not paying attention. Do you want to stop?’
‘Sorry,’ admitted Harry, ‘I was daydreaming about how much fun this is and I forgot to keep playing.’
‘It’ll be more fun if we annihilate them,’ Ginny told him. She kissed his cheek lightly and flew back into the fray. Harry joined her, intercepted an atrocious pass from Percy and scored almost immediately. He was rewarded by a passionate mid-air snog from his girlfriend. Their kissing stopped only when Charlie took the quaffle, started the game without them, and scored another goal while Ron cursed his stupid, besotted, team-mates.
Charlie’s interruption of their snog only served to spur Harry and Ginny to really teach him a lesson. They scored six goals in quick succession and soon increased their lead to two hundred points. They continued to play until just before noon, stopping when Luna Lovegood flew through the middle of the game. Even riding side-saddle, Luna neatly avoided a “quaffle pass” from George, which Harry was certain had actually been aimed at her.
The blonde witch had a large, bulging satchel slung over her shoulder. Her hair was pinned back into a neat bun, which was wrapped in black lace. Her fingernails were painted black. She waved cheerfully at everyone as she flew unconcernedly through the game and landed neatly in the yard.
By then the score was 480 to 190, and Charlie had resigned himself to an ignominious defeat. They called a halt to the game and he offered Ginny the five galleons.
‘Give it to Harry,’ she said, ‘I’ve still got his money in my pocket.’ Charlie did so.
‘I won’t make that mistake again,’ he told Ginny as they put the brooms back in the shed. ‘Where’d you learn to fly like that?’
‘Watching you, and Harry,’ she told him, ‘and lots of practice.’
‘Why didn’t you warn me?’ Charlie asked George as they strolled towards the Burrow.
‘Me’n Fred did, last year, but you said, “she can’t be that good”,’ George grinned, ‘hard luck, bighead, what’s it like, discovering that you aren’t the best flyer in the family any more? I wish Fred could’ve seen your face,’ he added sadly. Their morning of forgetful fun was over, the rest of the day, and all of the following day was going to be full of funerals.
When they walked into the kitchen they found Hermione sitting at the table. She was wearing jeans and a crumpled and dirty t-shirt. It was obvious that she had been crying again.
‘What’s the matter, Hermione?’ Ron asked, dashing to her side and putting a hand on her shoulder.
‘I can’t go to Colin’s funeral,’ she sobbed, ‘I’ve forgotten the clothes I bought. I must have left them in Brisbane.’
‘You left them in a wardrobe at your Mum and Dad’s place,’ Ron told her; ‘but I’ve got them in my bag. I checked your room before we left because you weren’t thinking straight.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me sooner?’ cried Hermione shrilly.
‘I didn’t have a chance before we left, you were in such a panic to go, and there’s been so much happening since we got home. I forgot! You’ve just got up! I haven’t really had much opportunity, have I?’ Ron complained. ‘I’ll go and get them for you now.’ He dashed upstairs and was back within a minute.
‘Here you are.’ He handed her a large clothes’ bag, scowling.
‘Thanks Ron,’ Hermione wiped her eyes on the sleeves of her t-shirt, ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you.’
She stood, threw her arms around his waist, and hugged him tightly, resting her cheek against his chest. Ron’s scowl was replaced by an expression somewhere between exasperation and smugness. He hugged her and kissed the top of her head.
‘Young love!’ snorted Charlie.
‘You don’t have a girlfriend,’ said Molly, sharply.
‘Yes he does, she’s called Norberta,’ said a laughing Ginny. Charlie joined in the laughter as they sat down to eat.
‘I’ll have that galleon finished by tomorrow,’ Luna announced to no-one in particular.
‘Thanks, Luna, I love you,’ George said, putting a hand on his heart. ‘Will you marry me?’
‘I don’t think so,’ she seemed to be considering his offer seriously, ‘I’m busy today, you’re very silly most of the time, I don’t love you, and you seem lop-sided to me.’
‘That’s because I only have one ear,’ George told her, he winked at Harry, ‘so will you give me the recipe for that invigoration draught; to make up for leaving me broken-hearted?’
‘No … and the missing ear isn’t important; that’s not why you’re lop-sided,’ Luna told him, ‘you’re trying to lean on someone who isn’t there any more. You need to find someone else to lean on, or stand up by yourself.’
The stunned silence that followed Luna’s latest cringingly pertinent pronouncement was broken by Molly Weasley as she ladled thick orange soup into everyone’s bowls.
‘Carrot and lentil soup,’ Mrs Weasley announced, ‘and there’s bread, butter and cheese: cheddar and wensleydale.’
Everyone was subdued over the meal, Luna’s observation, accurate though it was, had not helped. Six of the nine people around the table were mentally preparing for the funeral they were about to attend. Mrs Weasley, Charlie and Percy began a loud conversation with George, desperately trying to cheer him up. Harry sat between Ginny and Luna, opposite Ron and Hermione. As he ate, Harry watched his two best friends, wondering how best to help them, and how to help Hermione’s parents.
Mr and Mrs Granger had always been shut out of their daughter’s magical world. Neither he, nor Ron had ever been invited to visit Hermione in the Muggle world. She lived in two worlds, and she kept them apart, they needed to be brought together. He could try to teach Ron to act more like a Muggle; that would help. He would need to talk to Mr and Mrs Granger, too. They must all help Hermione, help her parents to understand.
‘Come up with a plan to help Hermione yet?’ Ginny whispered as she handed Harry a slice of bread she’d been buttering for him while he helped himself to a third bowl of soup. She pinched the last, crumbled corner of Wensleydale from his side-plate and pushed her own plates away.
‘How did you know?’ Harry asked her quietly, she seemed to have read his mind.
‘I’m sitting next to you, and you’ve been ignoring me and staring at Hermione and Ron,’ Ginny told him softly, ‘it’s not difficult to figure out what you’re thinking, Harry.’ She squeezed the top of his thigh under the table, making him drop his spoon.
‘We need to be more like Muggles to help Hermione and her parents,’ Harry said in an undertone, ‘we should practice; Ron should practice. He’s got to be able to act like a Muggle when he meets Hermione’s parents. They need to be …’
‘… included,’ Ginny finished his sentence for him, ‘there is so much that they haven’t been told, just because they’re Muggles.’
‘Ginny, if you’ve finished eating, you’d best go and get ready,’ Molly ordered before Harry could reply to his girlfriend’s insight. ‘And anyone else who’s finished, too.’
There was a scuffing of chairs as Ginny, George and Luna stood up from the table.
‘Girls, you can all use our bedroom to get changed,’ suggested Mrs Weasley, ‘there’s a full length mirror in my wardrobe; Ginny will show you. Harry, I’ve ironed your shirt, and brushed your suit, they’re hanging up in Ron’s room.’
Harry smiled and murmured his thanks, but made a mental note that Mrs Weasley didn’t like the fact that Kreacher was doing his washing and ironing.
Ginny was already heading for the stairs. ‘There’re only two bathrooms,’ she called, and I’m getting the big one. George followed quickly, but stopped at the bottom of the stairs to allow Luna go ahead.
‘Beautiful, talented and insightful young witches first,’ he said with a sweeping bow.
‘Thank you very much George,’ said Luna, staring at him. She picked up the large satchel she’d brought and followed Ginny upstairs. George morosely watched her climb the stairs then returned to the table.
Hermione was sitting quietly next to Ron, her soup almost untouched. When Ginny shouted ‘next’, George insisted that Hermione go. George was looking even more downcast and worried. It was obvious that the funeral would be a strain for him.
When Luna announced that she’d finished, George slouched upstairs, his hands in his pockets. Molly watched him go.
‘Look after him, won’t you, boys?’ she asked Ron and Harry.
‘We’ll keep an eye on him, Mrs Weasley, don’t worry,’ Harry assured her. He and Ron continued eating.
‘C’mon you two,’ shouted George eventually. Ron grinned, dashed upstairs ahead of Harry and nabbed the bigger bathroom.
In the smaller, Harry checked his watch; he’d need to be quick. He stripped to the waist and began washing vigorously. He was cleaning his teeth when he heard the other bathroom door open and close and Ron hurry upstairs. There was a commotion on the landing above.
Harry picked up his bag, sweatshirt and t-shirt and opened the bathroom door. A loud thumping noise was approaching him from upstairs. Luna, Hermione, and Ginny were coming down from Mr and Mrs Weasley’s bedroom. Harry stepped back into the bathroom doorway to let them pass.
Luna, in the lead, wore an ankle length black skirt and an old black blazer; under which was what appeared to be a black t-shirt with a photograph of Colin Creevey printed on it. Her earrings appeared to be glass teardrops, filled with the night sky. Harry was convinced that he could see stars twinkling within them.
He immediately identified the cause of the girl’s noisy descent as Luna’s boots. They were black and, apart from the magically shining polish, would not have looked out of place on a building site. Harry smiled at Luna. It was, he thought, a fairly good attempt. He had wondered how she would cope with the requirement to wear Muggle clothing.
‘Interesting scars,’ Luna observed, pointing to his chest as she passed. ‘You do seem to collect interesting scars, don’t you? Perhaps you should stop. It must hurt, getting them.’
‘Good advice, Luna,’ grinned Harry, ‘I’ll try to follow it.’
Hermione followed, she wore a knee length pleated skirt, an almost transparent black blouse under a black waistcoat, and high heeled shoes. Her hair was pulled tightly back and tied at the back of her neck by a black ribbon. She was sombre and silent when she passed Harry, though she managed to give him a weak smile.
Ginny wore a knee length sleeveless black sheath dress tightly belted at the waist, black lace gloves and black high-heeled boots. Her hair was shining and cascaded down her back like a fiery waterfall. Harry stared at her, dumbstruck.
‘Get a move on, Potter,’ she ordered mischievously, ‘and don’t flaunt your battle scars to other women.’
‘Wow,’ was all Harry could muster in reply; she winked.
He clambered up to Ron’s room, where his friend was hastily buttoning up a white shirt.
‘She looks good in black, doesn’t she?’ he asked when Harry entered.
‘Gorgeous,’ agreed Harry, surprised that Ron had noticed.
‘Her hair looks nice, tied back like that, too.’
‘Who’re you talking about?’ asked Harry.
Realisation struck, and they grinned at each other in embarrassment. Ron tucked in his shirt and picked up his jacket and tie. ‘I’ve never been able to do this,’ he waved his tie in front of Harry. I’ll go and ask Hermione to help me.
Harry quickly got changed, fastened his tie and picked up his jacket from Ron’s bed. He looked at his invisibility cloak and sneakoscope, which had been lying next to the jacket; he wouldn’t need them. He left them on Ron’s bed, got to the door, changed his mind, turned back, and picked them up.
‘Harry,’ Mrs Weasley shouted up the stairs, ‘it’s time you were going.’
He almost jumped the five flights down into the kitchen. Everyone was waiting for him. Mrs Weasley was fussing over George’s suit. George stood in morose silence, accepting his mother’s attention. The others were standing next to the door, all ready to leave.
‘Why’ve you got those?’ Ron asked, looking at the cloak and sneakoscope.
‘Habit,’ Harry replied. He looked hopefully at Hermione; she was carrying a black handbag.
‘I’ll carry the sneakoscope if you like,’ Ginny said, opening a black shoulder bag. ‘You shouldn’t put it in your pocket; it will spoil the line of your suit.’
Harry threw the sneakoscope to her; she neatly caught it in the open bag.
‘I’ll leave the cloak,’ Harry said to Mrs Weasley. He looked at Hermione, ‘I thought you’d have your beaded bag,’ he told her.
Silently, Hermione opened her black handbag and pulled out the little beaded bag, she sighed and held out her hand for the cloak.
‘It’s time to go,’ Mrs Weasley was beginning to panic, ‘you three, outside, now!’
Harry handed Hermione his cloak as Mrs Weasley hurriedly ushered him, Ginny and George outside.
‘Make sure that you bring Harry back here tonight,’ Mrs Weasley ordered her children, ‘now go! Goodbye.’
‘You know I can’t Apparate?’ Ginny asked. Harry nodded.
‘You’re still too young to take your test.’
‘No lessons at school, anyway,’ Ginny said grimly, ‘they didn’t want troublemaking students bunking off.’
‘You’d better hold tight then,’ Harry suggested.
Ginny stepped forward and threw both arms around his neck; he slipped an arm around her waist and held her tightly.
‘I’ll just hold your other arm, if you don’t mind,’ George chuckled.
As soon as George took hold of his arm, Harry concentrated on the Creevey’s living room, twisted, and Disapparated, leaving Mrs Weasley’s disapproving shout of ‘Ginevra Weasley’ behind them.