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.’