Harry Potter and the Years of Rebellion

Author's Note: Please be advised that there is a kissing scene in this chapter that may at first glance to be one that breaks the stated ship. Please read the scene through completely before you pass judgement. Remember, you have been warned.

Chapter Nine

SHE LOVES ME, SHE LOVES ME NOT

Harry knew very little about real motorbikes.  For one, it was obvious that helmets were required; Lupin had clearly been giving more than just advice.  He had no idea where to find a real helmet, so he pulled discreetly into a secluded alleyway and transfigured an empty milk jug from an open bin into something that passed for a helmet without a shield.  He wasn't sure how long the faux helmet would hold up, so he quickly returned to the roadway. 

Harry also discovered that he rode too slowly in traffic, and that auto drivers were broadly intolerant of cyclists.  Both points were illustrated at once, when a frustrated young driver stuck raced past, cut him off, and shouted back, “Get over and milk it, scooter scum!”  He struggled with the explosion of road signs, and a copy of the Highway Code quickly joined a proper helmet on Harry's mental list of purchases to be made.  He was increasingly convinced that the Bonneville's clock didn't work; the number of miles seemed to change randomly, and the indicated speed fluctuated wildly.

Harry was sure he'd been found out, when two other motorcyclists pulled alongside at a signalled intersection and gaped at him.  One rider managed to splutter, “Bloody amazing balance,” before the signal changed.  He watched carefully from behind at the next signal, and saw that he should place one foot on the ground when the Bonneville was stopped. 

After an eternity Harry came to the M4, which was at once better and worse than the urban streets and carriageways.  He could make much better time and there was less manoeuvring required, but every time an 18-wheeled juggernaut would whip past, the Bonneville would vibrate and its shudders would shoot up his spine.  By the time he reached Swindon, he was tired and cold.  He'd worn his new aviator jacket, a shirt and jeans, and running shoes, but the wind still tore through him. 

He saw a blue sign for a “Welcome Break”, and decided to pull off the motorway for a rest.  The sign indicated a petrol station and an area selling quick-service foods, most of them unfamiliar to him.  He locked up the Bonnie, purchased a cup of scalding and bland hot chocolate, and picked up a copy of the Highway Code and a gazetteer. 

He also skimmed the manual for the Triumph.  It was really more of a journal than a manual, written personally by Whitehorn for Harry's use - or for Sirius', perhaps.  It was witty and irreverent, and Harry immediately regretted not reading it cover to cover before making off on a long trip.  It talked about the selection of clothing, among other things, in a section entitled “Establishing Your Biking Bona Fides”.  Thankfully, under “Rules for the Novice Rider”, he spotted Whitehorn's warning to avoid conversations with other riders just in time to manage exactly that.  In the WC, he cast a warming charm but twiddled it somehow; he was fortunate that no one smelled smoke.

Rain began to fall a few miles past the service area, first as drizzle and then an insistent downpour. Harry discreetly cast a quick spell on his glasses, attempting to keep them clear.  He did his best to hold a reasonably straight path through a maelstrom of taillights, headlights, cat's-eyes, blinding rain, and sheets of spray from passing lorries and juggernauts.

After a few minutes the rain subsided.  The roadway was dry a few minutes further on. For the first time, Harry was able to focus on the world that he was speeding past.  It struck him just how little of that world he'd actually seen.  He'd seen more of Muggle England in two days than in the whole of his life.  When Hermione had talked of her summer travels, it had never really meant anything to him before. The trees and fields to either side of the motorway seemed incredibly alive. 

Harry rode along the M4 for a hundred miles, nearly to Bristol, and then caught the M5 toward Exeter.  He was becoming nervous about the time, but still stopped near Sedgemoor at another Welcome Break; his legs were sore and tired and he was battered from the wind and rain.  Once back on the M5, he accelerated to what the Triumph's clock insisted was slightly over 100 miles per hour.  He'd gone that fast on his Firebolt a hundred times, but the motorbike felt wildly different than a broomstick at the same speed - restive, unpredictable, and untamed.  He liked it. 

The traffic in the two slower lanes became heavier, and Harry impatiently sliced between two lorries.  He looked back, saw a blue light come on, and thought bollocks!  Harry slowed in response to the increasing traffic, but had no doubt that the light was meant for him.  He could think of three options: slow down and put his licence to the test, Obliviate the traffic warden, or discover the full capabilities of the Bonneville.    He wondered how fast the patrol car could actually travel; he really had no idea, but suspected that he might be able to outrun it.  He cranked back the throttle and hung on tightly. The motorbike was almost impossible to handle at the higher speed in the midst of traffic.  He let off the throttle a bit, and then muttered Evolo Triumph.  The motorbike reared up abruptly, and Harry concentrated on flying it low to the ground.  He tried to recall the invisibility charm, and hoped he wouldn't need to use it.

In flight, even low to the ground, the Bonneville felt to Harry much more like a racing broom.  It easily rolled from side to side with his weight.  He reminded himself to make gradual changes in direction - it wouldn't do to startle any Muggles more than a speeding motorbike would otherwise manage.  Still, in flight, he could easily dart between lanes and manage other more delicate manoeuvres.  He had been prepared for the Bonneville to be an unstable flier at very high speeds, and it greatly exceeded his expectations.  He heard the startled screeching of brakes behind him a time or two, but doubted that he'd revealed the true nature of his vehicle.

Once he reached a stretch of open road, Harry called out the invisibility charm and lifted the speeding motorbike ten feet or so off the pavement.  At maximum throttle, the bike clearly flew as fast as a Firebolt; he rapidly made up for lost time.  He made the bike visible again after a mile or two of normal riding on the southbound dual carriageway that led from the M5 toward Ottery St. Catchpole. 

The quaint village was bathed in gentle oranges from the early evening sun.  Harry had never seen Ottery St. Catchpole proper, and he decided that it looked homey.  One of the shop fronts facing the village green had a sign that said “The Quibbler”.  He knew the Lovegoods lived in the area, but couldn't imagine that Mr. Lovegood had set up shop so obviously.  Then again, he thought, if the father is anything like his daughter…

After circling twice, Harry knew why the twins' directions were painfully detailed - the Burrow was well concealed from the roadway.  Eventually, he found the rutted path indicated on the invitation; he couldn't conceive how one would negotiate the path on actual tyres.  It wound around endlessly, bounded by tall trees and foliage.  After a fair distance, hedgerows replaced the trees.  Harry caught a brief glimpse of red hair above the top of the hedges.  Through a break, he realised that he was riding parallel to the Weasley's improvised Quidditch pitch. 

Someone muttered, “Did you hear that?  A Muggle must've made the path!”  Harry looked around anxiously, before it occurred to him that the speaker had probably heard the false engine noise of the Bonneville.  He whispered a command, and the throaty rumble stopped as the motorbike took silent flight.  He drifted slowly upward until his head rose above the hedges, and found himself directly behind an anxious Bill Weasley.

“Hope I'm not late for the meeting,” Harry said.  Bill turned so fast that he rolled to one side and ended up hanging from his broom by one hand.

“Harry!” he shrieked, as he struggled to remount.  “What the - how did you - you didn't ride a broom all the way here … did you?”

Harry tugged on the handlebars and the motorbike drifted over the hedge.  “Nice to see you too, Bill,” he said with a smirk as Bill's initial shock grew even greater.  “Is that Charlie over there?”

“What a grand ride, Harry!” Charlie Weasley boomed, racing across the pitch.  “Fred mentioned you might be bringing it with you, but he didn't expect you'd ride here.”

“Fred mentioned…? Doesn't anyone tell me anything around here?” Bill bemoaned.

“It's smashing to see you, but what are you doing here?” Harry asked Charlie. “It's a long trip from Romania for an investor's meeting, isn't it?”

Charlie shrugged.  “It's probably a shorter trip than coming from London by motorbike.  I think the jig's up though, don't you, Bill?”

Bill nodded.  “I imagine so.  They're all hanging about the fireplace, by now.  I can't believe you fell for the investor's meeting bit, Harry.  How long have you known Fred and George?”

“Wha -?” Harry began, but he was distracted by a reddish blur leaving the house.

“Bill!  Charlie!  Get in here now! He'll surely be here any time!” came a shout from the rapidly closing blur.

Bill gave a mock frown.  “I think we've been found out.  She'll be disappointed.”

“Putting together something for your birthday was all her idea, Harry,” Charlie explained. “Mum and Dad just threw on our little celebration for good measure.”

“Hurry!” the blur shouted, slowing as it closed in.  “I expect you to - OH!”

Ginny snapped to a stop; her eyes bugged out and her mouth froze into a surprised `O'. She burst into a blush as soon as she made eye contact with her brothers. At length, she spluttered, “H-Harry!  Wha - where - how did - but -” She trailed off, and slowly circled the motorbike in silence.

“It's Sirius' birthday gift.  What do you think?” Harry asked Ginny, as much to break the silence as out of interest.  There was a flicker of something in Bill's expression when Harry mentioned his godfather's name.

Ginny shook her head from side to side, slowly breaking out into a smile.  “I know where I'll find Dad this evening,” she finally replied.  Charlie and Bill chuckled knowingly.

She turned her smile on Harry, together with the same expression that had left him puzzled and uncomfortable at Grimmauld Place.  “There are quite a few people standing around a fireplace waiting for you, so it might do to end their suspense,” she said, and shot toward the Burrow. 

Harry set down the motorbike next to the shed and rode to the garden.  Fred and George scarcely beat their mother out the door from the kitchen.

“Now that's an entrance!” Fred exclaimed.

Shaking his head and laughing, George said, “You're a nutter, Harry - a bona fide nutter. How far is it - two hundred miles?”

Molly Weasley stood with her hands on her hips.  “Harry Potter,” she screeched, “you rode that - that - that thing halfway across the country with no escort and no advance warning?  Did you intend for this to be your last birthday?”

Harry lowered the kickstand - another detail gleaned from his quick scan of the manual - strode over to Mrs. Weasley, and without a word wrapped her in the kind of hug grown children reserve for their parents.  “I don't want you to be angry at me,” he whispered.

Mrs. Weasley shifted in a flash from indignance to indulgence.  “Harry, I wasn't angry with you - I haven't been angry with you,” she insisted, “it's just all of this …” She waved her arm encompassing both him and the motorbike.  “It's just too much to take in,” she added.

Ron emerged from the house, a forced smile fixed on his face.  “Happy birthday, Harry,” he offered, hand extended.  “We were waiting for you to Floo.  How did -” Ron caught sight of the motorbike, and his eyes went from wary to angry to terrified in seconds.

“Get that away from me,” he warned, and clutched at his right forearm with his left hand.

“Ron, what's the matter? Are you all right?” Harry asked, walking forward as Ron backed away.

“Get it away, I said!” Ron shrieked.  His shouts drew a whole crowd from inside the Burrow, and Harry's attention split between Ron's distress and the sight of so many unexpected guests.  Fred and George quickly flanked Ron.

Fred asked, “Where's the fire, Ron?”

“What's the problem?” George chimed in.

Ron covered his eyes with his hands, and howled.  Harry quickly untied a long bundle from the seat, pulled off the saddlebags and reduced the motorbike.  He lowered the Bonneville into one of the bags.

“It's put away, Ron,” Harry promised, “it's gone.”

Ron was ghastly pale and his hands shook.  He motioned to the house, and George guided him to the kitchen door where Madam Pomfrey - one of the many faces Harry didn't expect to see - descended upon him.

Harry looked to Mrs. Weasley for an indication.  “I don't understand.  Should I go after him?  I don't know what to do,” he admitted.

Mrs. Weasley nodded.  “I hope you'll follow after him, Harry. Perhaps you might get through to him somehow.  It's been… a very long summer.”

Harry handed the saddlebags to Fred - with a quick admonishment to leave the motorbike alone - and rushed into the house.  The kitchen and entryway were filled with Hogwarts faculty, fifth and sixth-year students, and Order members.  Harry made his greetings quickly, made it obvious that he was trying to find Ron, and tried not to strike anyone with the awkward bundle that he carried.  Ginny appeared beside him, politely fended people off, and lead him toward the stairs. 

George stood on the fifth landing, outside Ron's closed door.  He shrugged.  “He shook off Pomfrey, and he won't tell me anything.”

Ginny scowled, and banged her fist on Ron's door.  “Ron, I've brought Harry up to talk to you and I'm not listening to any excuses.”  After a few silent moments, they heard the door unlock. 

“I'll be in my room, if you need me,” said Ginny.

Harry looked at her, puzzled. “But the party, all the guests…”

“I need a break,” she sighed. “Help him, would you?”

Harry squeezed Ginny's hand in thanks, and opened the door.  One lamp was dimly lit.  Ron sat on his bed, hugging his knees.  He looked at Harry blankly, and then turned away.  Harry leaned his package against the side of the bed, and sat next to him.

“Come to look at the freak?” Ron asked, his voice tinged with bitterness.

“That's more my line,” Harry said, trying to lighten the mood and failing.

“I can't even have that to myself,” Ron fumed, “we both have to be freaks, eh?  Great… just effing great.”

“I brought you something,” Harry said, gesturing toward the package.

“Ah - a gift for poor Ron, so the great Harry Potter can show everyone how good and generous he is,” Ron snapped.

Harry asked quietly, “Then why would I bring it up here to give to you, when I could have given it in front of the crowd down there?”

Ron didn't answer at first.  “So what is it - an apology gift,” he finally asked.

Harry decided not to be baited.  “It's an `I've-been-a-terrible-prat' gift, actually.”

Ron laughed, and Harry realised that his face was tear-streaked.  “It's a very big package.  That would make it an `I've-been-a-truly-enormous-prat' gift, right?” Ron asked him.

Harry nodded.  “What happened to you… it must have been really horrible. It was my fault entirely.  I shouldn't have been there.  You shouldn't have been there.  I'm so sorry, Ron.  That's what I was trying to say last night before Malfoy showed up.”

Ron's eyes squeezed tight, pain flickering across his face.  “I chose to be there.  I'd choose it again, Harry.  I just - I resent Sirius, I really resent him!  I didn't need him telling me how to be a friend, and I surely didn't need him telling me how to choose between friends in a pinch!  He had no right to do that, Harry!  It was a terrible thing for him to do -”

 “You're right,” Harry cut in.

 “And then he … what'd'ya mean, I'm right?” Ron's pain turned to confusion.

 “You're right, Ron.  Sirius had no business playing games that way,” Harry agreed.  “Besides, there was no need.”

 “No need … I don't understand,” Ron said.

 Harry pulled the package onto the bed in front of Ron.  “There was no need,” he repeated.  “I've known where you stand since we were first-years.  You chose to take on the troll.  You chose to sacrifice yourself playing wizard's chess.  I've always known where you stand … and I've not always acted in kind.”

 Ron shook his head.  “We've all kept our secrets, if that's where you're going.  Sometimes … sometimes, it hurts too much to share.  I didn't understand that until this,” he said, holding up his arms.  He hesitated, and then added, “I've really resented you keeping things from us - well, from me.  I know I have a temper, but I can keep a secret, you know.”

Harry pushed at the package.  “Open it,” he said.  As Ron tore at the coarse paper, he added, “Listen to me before you open this, all right - this isn't about money, it's not about trying to impress you or anyone else.  Understood?”

Ron whistled as he revealed the well-polished wooden case.  “Wow, Harry, you must be the biggest prat who ever lived,” he whispered, his voice cracking.  “I know what this case is for.”

Harry smiled.  “You don't know the best part,” he said.

Ron held up the Firebolt.  “Doesn't this just make you feel alive?” he asked, running his fingers along the highly polished handle. 

He set the broom on the bed, and ordered it up into his grasp several times. Eventually he said very quietly, “I know this isn't about money, Harry.  I don't know why I acted that way last night.  I'm just - well, it's apparent to everyone that I'm not myself.”

“I don't know why I egged you on,” Harry admitted.  “I'm sorry for that.”

Ron turned the Firebolt, admiring it from several angles. “This is amazing, mate. What's the marking there - extra detailing?” he asked. 

Harry took out his wand, and quietly said, “Lumos.”  Ron peered at the side of the handle, and his jaw dropped.

“He saw you win the Cup, you know,” Harry explained.

Ron's eyes widened and his breathing quickened.

“Say something,” Harry insisted.

“I don't know what to say,” Ron managed.  “When did you -?”

“This morning, when I picked up… the other thing,” Harry said.

Ron sighed and shook his head.  “After everything last night, you go and … thank you.  That's what I should say.” He turned his gaze back to the broom, and whispered, “Thank you, Harry.”

“You're welcome.  He signed one for me, too,” Harry told him.

“What'd he write on yours, then?” Ron asked.  Harry recalled it for him, and Ron snorted.  When he told Ron what he'd said to the twins about Madam Hooch, Ron burst out laughing.  They sat and regaled each other with Hogwarts memories and Quidditch stories for a long time, and Harry felt a glimmer of old times.

“I hope you understand that you can talk to me about anything… like what happened downstairs, when you're ready,” Harry offered.

Ron cast his eyes down.  “Right, just as soon as you tell me why you needed to disappear this summer - and I don't mean that rubbish about darkness and what-not.”

“We'll be talking soon, then” Harry promised.  “I think I'm almost ready.”

Ron said, surprised, “Seriously?  Well, when that happens, I'll return the favour - I promise you.  It's just… it's just so hard to talk about it, all of it.  It feels like nothing will ever be right again if I do.”

“Now that's something I understand,” Harry said knowingly.

Ron flashed a smile that Harry believed.  “So there's this bash going on just down the stairs, and here I sit hiding in the dark with the guest of honour.  What kind of host am I?  Let's eat!”  He stood, clutching the Firebolt.  “Actually, I can't pass on the opportunity to gloat about this!  Bloody hell!”

Harry sighed, “I don't mind sitting here a bit longer, believe it or not. I wasn't prepared for this in the slightest.”

Ron smiled. “Fred and George really got you, eh? You should know better.”

“All these people, on practically no notice - can you blame me for being a little surprised?” Harry asked.

“Well, it wasn't all for your birthday. I mean, we're also celebrating the Weasley's good fortune. We just hopped onto Ginny's party train, that's all,” Ron smirked.

Harry frowned. “Should we discuss that?”

Ron broke out into a satisfied grin. “What,” he asked, “you mean my little sister's hopeless infatuation?”

“I thought she was tight with Dean Thomas,” Harry said.

Ron laughed. “That was for my benefit. I think she actually thought I bought it for a week or two. I was pretty hard on her over Michael Corner. She wanted me off her back - can't say as I blame her.”

“I thought she was over me at least,” Harry insisted.

The grin on Ron's face spread from ear to ear. “She sure went to a lot of effort last year convincing herself, didn't she? Guess it didn't take, eh?”

“There's no need to be so smug,” Harry complained.

Ron switched to a mock-frown. “Harry, I'm disappointed. A simple acceptance of your fate is all I ask.”

“Ron!” Harry warned.

“All right, all right,” Ron said, returning to an easy smile. “The idea of Ginny really makes you squirm, doesn't it?”

“I'm not sure we should be having this conversation,” Harry grumbled.

“Why not?”

“Because she's your sister, for Merlin's sake!” Harry thundered. “If I say I like her, you'll want to give me a thumping. If I say I don't like her, you'll want to give me a thumping. I can't win here!”

Ron crossed his arms. “I had hoped we were making a fresh start here - you know, less secrecy and more honesty?”

Harry cringed. “Could we start tomorrow?”

Ron grabbed one of the pillows from his bed and smacked Harry with it. “Spill!”

Harry laughed. “You are going to thump me no matter what!” Ron waved the pillow at him menacingly. He started to say something, but heard a sound - an enticing sound - and stopped.

“Had enough, have you?” Ron taunted. “There's more where that came from, birthday boy!”

“Shh,” Harry said. “What is that?” When Ron continued to appear blank, he added, “That sound, Ron. What is it?”

“What, the groaning sound? It's Ginny with that bloody violin again, that's what it is,” Ron pouted. “She won't put it down for five minutes, I tell you. Big party, houseful of guests, her idea, and she's in her room with that accursed thing.”

“Groaning? It sounds good to me,” Harry said.

“Makes my teeth rattle,” Ron groused. “Let's get her to knock off, and head down.”

Ron quickly strode to Ginny's door, Firebolt in hand. He pounded with his fist, and said loudly, “Enough of that racket - let's eat!”

Ginny called through the door, “Are there survivors? I hear one, at least.”

“We're fine, Ginny,” Harry said. “You don't have to stop on our account.”

Ron's grin came back in full force, as he tore open Ginny's door. “Put that blasted thing away, Ginny… Oh! We were just talking about you,” he announced. Harry felt his cheeks warm.

Ginny smiled. “You're all square, then?” she asked.

Ron nodded. “Absolutely! Get a load of the fig leaf he brought to patch things up,” he said, holding up the Firebolt.

“I hope you mean the olive branch he brought,” she sniggered. Harry blushed even more, hoping she wasn't thinking about him and a fig leaf at the same time.

“Yeah, whatever - check it out!” Ron exclaimed, and held out the broom.

Ginny carefully tucked the Black family violin into its case. She reached for the Firebolt, held it high, squinted one eye, and sighted down the handle with the other. “Unbelievable,” she said in awe.

“Read the handle,” Ron insisted.

Ginny lowered the Firebolt, and turned into the light from the stairwell. “To Ron, hope you win … Merlin! Harry, how did you - I mean, he doesn't - not ever, I thought.” She handed the broom back to Ron, and smiled her curious smile at Harry. “You're something else, Harry Potter,” she said, standing too close to him.

“There you are,” George said through Ginny's open door.

Fred announced, “Ginny, look what some poor deluded owl brought you.” He waved a paper in the air.

“That's isn't the Prophet…” Harry gasped.

Fred indulged an evil grin. “No, it's even better.”

“Give me that!” Ginny ordered, trying to grasp the paper from a quickly darting Fred.

George told Fred, “Put an end to the suspense - it's just too good.”

Ron asked Harry, “What about the Prophet?”

Harry moaned, “I was on the front page yesterday. I was sort of mobbed at Gringotts, and someone took pictures. It was embarrassing.”

“How do you get `sort of mobbed'?” Ron asked crossly.

“Give me that!” Ginny bellowed, and snatched the paper roughly from Fred. She glanced at the front page, and then threw it at George.

“Easy, sis,” George said. He caught the paper and waved it at Harry. “We could have sprung this on you downstairs, you know.”

Fred blocked Ginny from leaving the room. “Let me out of this room now - I have a party to manage,” Ginny insisted in a cracking voice. Her cheeks burned red.

“What is this, Witch Weekly?” Harry asked.

“No, my naïve and poorly read friend. It's Teen Witch Weekly. To put it mildly… you're screwed,” Fred informed him.

Ron stole the paper from Harry. “Let me see that … Merlin! Look at this!”

Nearly the entire front page of the tabloid consisted of a single picture with a headline blasted across it. The picture was a slightly grainy shot of Harry, in sleeveless boxing jersey and denims, as he prepared to fly Roger Davies' sister on the Firebolt at Diagon Alley. At the top of the page right below the masthead, a small heading said:

Stop the presses… it's…

Across the bottom half of the page, in the biggest letters Harry could possibly imagine, the headline read:

… A HOTTER HARRY POTTER!!

Harry's stomach roiled. He scanned Ron's room for a waste can, a bucket, a bowl, something - anything to use when he spewed up. Ron calmly looked over the picture, and then opened the tabloid.

“Let's see … two… three… four… five… six… seven… eight… nine… ten. Ten pages, Harry. That has to be a record of some kind, wouldn't you think?” Ron smirked. “Someone must be stalking you to get all these pictures… Fred! Did you have anything to do with this?”

Fred held up his hands, palms forward. “I'm innocent. It's not often I can say that, by the way.”

“Well, you're not guilty at any rate,” George snorted.

Ron suddenly smiled. “Look at this, Harry,” he said, jabbing Harry with his elbow. “Two pages of Harry Potter at Hogwarts… and here we are - my name included, for once. `Harry celebrates with close friend Ron Weasley, shortly after Weasley and the Gryffindor Quidditch team took the House Cup.' I'll be switched - here I am again… and again!”

Harry forced a smile in return. “That's a good picture,” he managed. “I'd like a copy of that.”

Fred frowned. “You're all missing the smashing part!” he moaned. “Go to page nine, for Merlin's sake!”

Ron flipped the pages. “Page nine… oh, no. Harry, you won't like this.”

Harry ripped the paper from Ron's hands. A vertical box took up half the page, with the heading: Harry's Love Life. He slumped down on the bed, and dropped the paper on the floor. From the corner of his eye, he saw that Ginny was crouched in the corner of the room.

Fred picked up the paper, and started reading aloud. “ `Right now, there's one question on the mind of every teen witch: is Harry Potter available? Harry's not talking, of course, and his Hogwarts mates have remained silent on the subject. He spends his summers with Muggles in the company of relatives. If Harry's found love, TWW puts its wager on Hogwarts as the source. Some of the likely candidates include'… There's a little blurb here on Harry's `long-time gal pal' Hermione Granger - along with a fairly unflattering photo, I might add… or there's the, uh, `former girlfriend' Cho Chang… oh, it could be the `enigmatic and misunderstood' Luna Lovegood… how they came up with Lisa Turpin and Gretchen Hargrove, I can't figure… Blaise Zabini? They've got to be kidding! I mean, vavoom - but she's Slytherin and an ice queen. Ah, here we are. How could we overlook little Ginny Weasley?”

“Fred, stow it,” Ron said dangerously.

Fred ploughed on. “Let's see… the photo's actually quite good. It says here, `The spunky sister of Harry's best mate and a close friend of Granger, Weasley's also a brilliant Quidditch player - surely the quickest path to a Seeker's heart.' ”

George grabbed the paper from Fred. “Fred, that's enough.”

Fred said, “Aw, but it's so cute! You just have to -” He stopped abruptly, and at last noticed his sister's quiet sobs from the corner of the room.

Harry sat up, and barely kept a terrible wave of anger under control. He dimly realised just how terrible when Fred looked him in the eye and promptly took two steps backward. “When I find out who is responsible for this…” Harry began darkly.

“Ginny will get howlers for weeks,” Ron said sadly. He glared at his brothers. “What were you thinking, rubbing her nose in this?”

Harry scowled. “All of them are linked to me now. These idiots haven't a clue how dangerous that is!”

Ron stared into thin air for a moment before recognition set it. “If a Death Eater sees this…” he began. Fred and George looked at each other, and then at Harry.

Harry said to Ron, “Take this down to your father, or to Dumbledore if he's about.”

Ron nodded. “I'm on it. At least Hermione should be safe; she's already on her way.”

“She's coming here?” Harry asked.

“Uh-huh,” Ron said blankly. “I'm on it.” He rushed down the stairs, paper in hand.

Harry turned on Fred and George. “You two - get out. Ginny and I need to talk.”

George asked meekly, “Are you sure that's a good idea? Perhaps we should stay?”

Harry glared at both of the twins, but particularly Fred. “I think you've done quite enough already. Get out.”

The twins walked out of the room, and hesitated at the top of the stairs. Harry slammed the door, and shouted through it, “I'd better not catch an Extendable Ear, either. Think about what I can do in return - I know that I will.” He cast silencing charms on the door, all four walls, the floor and the ceiling.

Ginny remained crouched in the corner of the room. Harry knelt down beside her, and she muttered something that he couldn't make out.

“What was that?” he asked.

“I - said - that I feel - so - stupid,” she managed between hesitant breaths.

“I'd understand angry. Why do you feel stupid?” Harry asked, settling down onto the floor.

Ginny rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand, and her voice quavered. “Goodness, why would I feel stupid? I made a complete arse of myself last night… I turn into a blubbering wreck tonight… stupid, stupid, stupid!”

“I feel badly about last night,” Harry said. “You didn't have to be quite so honest to avoid the hex.”

She let out a half-chuckle. “Then I curse the stupid git, and get hexed anyway. I can't seem to get anything right this summer.”

Harry tried to change the subject. “I heard you playing the violin, through the door. Where did you learn to do that?” Harry asked her.

Ginny took a deep breath that seemed to settle her. Her eyes drifted closed, and managed a pained smile. “I heard him playing, up in the attic. He told me he did it to soothe Buckbeak. He was quite good - did you know that? After that, I would steal upstairs for a little while every day, just to listen. Then he asked me to try it. I used to think I was musical, but I knew nothing would ever come of it. It just, I don't know - it just came out of me, from somewhere. He said I was made to play the violin - that it responded to me. I told him that it wasn't bloody likely I'd ever be playing again, seeing as musical instruments are expensive. I guess that's why he left it to me. I admit it - I'm hooked. It almost makes up for what he put me through - almost.”

“You never gave me an opportunity to respond - you know, about last night,” Harry offered.

Ginny pulled away from him. “You're Harry Potter,” she continued, “and there are thousands of witches chasing after you. You know what I am… I'm nothing - just a nobody.”

“That's ridiculous. I -” Harry began.

Ginny cut him off tersely. “Ten pages in Teen Witch Weekly, Harry. It wouldn't be the first time, either.”

“Where do they get this stuff? No one's ever talked to me,” Harry fumed.

Ginny shrugged. “I suppose they don't think it's necessary. They're just telling people what they want to hear.”

“Why do you subscribe, then, if it's such a rag?” Harry asked.

Ginny rubbed at her eyes again, and then the corners of her mouth twitched upward mischievously. “To see whether Malfoy tops the Hot Ten List, of course.”

Harry snorted, and then started to laugh. “Malfoy… bleagh! I don't want to know any more about this List,” he managed between snorts.

Ginny's grin faded. “No… no, I don't think you do,” she decided.

“I'm not letting you off the hook, right?” Harry said. “The only reason anyone knows my name is because of something I didn't really do. I'm no different than you, really. So, why do you think that you're nothing? It's not true, of course.”

Ginny looked away. “I shouldn't have to explain it to you. You know me.”

Harry hesitated, unsure what to say. “Erm… I don't know you as well as all that. It seems like you confide in with Hermione, but you and me… we haven't talked much, not really. You used to have a bit of trouble with that, remember - talking around me, I mean.”

Ginny grimaced. “Don't remind me.” She drew herself up, and locked eyes with him. “Fine, I suppose I'm an acquaintance to you. I thought we made up ground last year, even though you weren't exactly sociable. I suppose I just slipped your mind -”

“Ginny…” Harry chided.

“Just look at me, then. You should be able to see the reasons for yourself,” Ginny said flatly.

“Is this about what you said last night? Look, I think your ears are just fine, and I don't think your nose is pointy,” Harry insisted.

Ginny buried her face in her hands. “You remember exactly what I said, don't you?” she moaned.

“This idea that you're nothing? It's rubbish,” Harry said firmly. “You're not just an acquaintance, either. You were a good friend last year. I mean, you came to the Ministry… you're important to me, Ginny.”

“Not as important as her,” Ginny said.

“That's not entirely fair,” Harry said. “Hermione and I have known each other since our first train ride to Hogwarts. We've been through so much together. I just don't know you the way I know her. Maybe over time -”

“I didn't even say her name and you knew who I meant, Harry,” Ginny said. “You're in love with her, aren't you?”

“That's not true. Hermione and I are friends,” Harry said flatly.

“You're in love with her,” Ginny declared.

“We're friends, and I would never do anything that might interfere with our friendship,” Harry declared.

“Just admit it,” Ginny demanded.

Harry said, “I can't love anyone.” His voice cracked, and he felt embarrassed.

“I don't understand,” Ginny said.

Harry sighed. “I said that I can't love anyone. When I love people, they die.”

“That's not true,” Ginny insisted.

“You know it is,” Harry said. “You've seen enough to know.”

Ginny closed her eyes. “I didn't die, Harry”

“No you didn't, thank Merlin,” Harry agreed.

Ginny took his hand, and they sat there quietly for a long time. Out of the blue, she said, “Kiss me.”

“Excuse me?” gasped Harry.

“I said, kiss me,” Ginny repeated. “You remembered what I said last night, so you must remember the part about making my stomach do loops. I just… I need to know.”

“Need to know what?” Harry asked.

“I need to know where we stand,” she said. “Are you going to kiss me, or what?”

Harry thought that the room suddenly felt very, very small. “Erm… uh…”

Ginny sighed. “Oh, for Merlin's sake - fine, then,” she said. She darted forward and kissed him full on the lips.

For a moment, Harry felt like everything was slowed. Then his senses were assaulted. He felt the wetness of her lips, took in their taste. He felt her breathing quicken, and her lips tremble - or were those his trembling?

She broke off the kiss, and he kissed her in return - it was gentle, with no promises attached. He hoped that it would tell her what she needed to know. When he pulled away, she just sat there with her eyes closed. Harry felt like this went on for something close to forever.

She opened her eyes, and said, “That was nice.”

He looked around, puzzled and uncertain how to respond; at length, he settled on, “I thought so too.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

“For what?”

Ginny sighed. “For letting me know where we stand. You're not the one.”

Harry goggled at her. “Wha -”

She shook her head. “You're not the one. It was nice… lovely, even. Much nicer than Michael Corner; that was like kissing the Giant Squid -”

“I don't think I wanted to know that,” Harry spluttered.

Ginny pressed on, “ - but that's not good enough, not coming from you.”

“Erm - I could try again,” Harry offered.

“I don't think so,” Ginny said. “I'm not getting tangled up with your type unless I'm swept off my feet.”

“What do you mean, `my type'?” Harry asked; he was beginning to feel a bit annoyed.

“The serious type, Harry,” Ginny explained. “You're the `bring-him-home-to-Mum' type. The silly witches that burble over you in Teen Witch Weekly, they have absolutely no idea about that, by the way. Don't misunderstand - there's not necessarily anything wrong with being the serious type.”

“I can be fun,” Harry protested.

“I didn't say that you're not fun,” Ginny explained. “I just can't imagine you being casual with a girl. You don't do anything casually, other than joke with my brothers. Tell me honestly, do you think you could snog a girl senseless if you just liked her - you know, if you weren't in love?”

“I don't know. I've never thought about it,” Harry fumed.

“The answer is `no', and you just proved it to me.” Ginny abruptly smiled at him. It wasn't the curious smile from recent days - it was excitable and a bit off, he thought. He decided that he much preferred the curious smile.

Harry asked, “If I tell you something, will you promise not to laugh?”

The smile quickly faded from Ginny's face. “Of course I promise.”

“Well - er, it's just that - ahem - you see… that was my first real kiss,” Harry stammered.

Ginny stared at him. “Excuse me?”

Harry still stammered. “That was - erm - my first real kiss. I mean, uh… Cho hardly counts. There was - well - there was no comparison.”

She said testily, “There's something for my journal. Half the witches in Europe are brushing up on entrancements and love potions, and I'm the first.”

“You don't have to mock me,” Harry pouted.

“I'm not mocking,” Ginny said. “Can I offer you some advice?”

“What for?” he asked.

“Because you're thick and you need advice,” she answered. “If you plan to do anything about Hermione, do it tonight. I think ickle Ronniekins is planning to make an arse of himself.”

Harry sighed, and looked away. “I hope you're planning to let that go.”

Ginny stood up, and brushed dust from her jeans. “I need to let a lot of things go,” she muttered.

Harry said, “I'm sorry?”

“Never mind,” Ginny snapped. “We should go downstairs. It's not good form to miss your own party.”

Harry ended the silencing charms, and Ginny abruptly slammed open the door. She nearly sent Fred and George flying.

“Coming?” she asked.

“In a minute,” Harry said. “Erm… thanks for the advice.”

Ginny grunted something, and headed down the stairs

“Ahem - `advice', was it?” Fred asked, nudging George with his elbow.

“Never heard it called that before,” George admitted.

The twins turned toward the stairs as one, calling out, “Oh, Ginny…”

Harry let out a slow breath. He thought through everything he'd just said or done, and thought through it again until he decided that he was thinking far too much. Why did I kiss her in return - what was I thinking? he wondered. Thank Merlin she didn't misunderstand…I think...

Ron darted back into Ginny's room, breathing hard. “Dad took a look at the list,” he panted. “The Turpins are pure, apparently. It goes without saying for the Zabinis, of course. The Hargroves are like your parents - one was Muggle-born - and so are the Changs. Hermione's the only Muggle-born on the list. Bill Apparated to the Granger's house, in case they're still there and Shacklebolt and Tonks need help.”

“What about Luna?” Harry asked.

“Her dad's a wizard and so was her mum, so she's not Muggle-born. I guess Dad doesn't know their family's history beyond that,” Ron admitted.

“Thanks for talking to your dad,” Harry said, sighing. “It shouldn't be necessary, though. Why does everyone around me get hurt?”

Ron hesitated before recognizing the implication. “What - you mean us? It's a little late for worries, mate. Like it or not this family's dripping with Harry Potter, excepting Percy - the git. Oy, speaking of you and the family…”

Harry cringed.

“Fred and George are tossing Ginny like a Quaffle down there, trying to find out what you said to her,” Ron said, crossing his arms. “So?”

“So - what?” Harry responded, still cringing.

“Do I have to resort to a pillow again?” Ron threatened.

“Enough!” Harry moaned. “I tried to calm her down after the thrashing she took from Fred, right? Then she kissed me -”

“What?”

“- and I kissed her back, and now she's over me,” Harry finished.

Ron gaped at Harry. “I don't - wha…” he started, before burying his face in his hands. “Let me see if I'm getting this,” he muttered through his fingers, “she kissed you, you kissed her, and she's over you? Because if that's what you said, then I'm not getting it.”

“You've got it right - she's over me, thank Merlin,” Harry said.

Ron dropped his hands. “Hold up there - that's my sister you're talking about!”

Harry wagged his finger at Ron. “See, I told you! If I like her, you're stirred up. If I don't like her that way, you're stirred up!”

Ron frowned. “So she's over you, eh? You must be a pathetic snogger, then?”

“Ron!”

“What was it?” Ron demanded. “Did you do something awful to her? I mean, no one goes from a crush like hers to `over you' that fast - not without a big push.”

“Ron, I would never do anything awful to Ginny,” Harry insisted. “She's a wonderful girl - and I mean that - but I'm not what she wants.”

Ron eyed him suspiciously. “She doesn't want you, she's over you. What do you want?”

Harry frowned. “I'm sorry, Ron. I…I guess I tried, you know, when I kissed her back. I didn't think anything was there - not really - and I guess that I was right.”

Ron appeared stung. “I see. Well…well, I see… as long as you didn't hurt her… I suppose…” he stammered.

“We should head down,” Harry offered. “Maybe we can distract Fred and George?”

Ron drew himself up in very Percy-like fashion. “Yes - well - I do suppose that would be the right thing to do. They oughtn't to hound her like that.”

Ginny scrambled away from Fred and George, bumping into people as she moved around the small living room. She went back and forth between apologies to bystanders and shouts at her brothers. It was a measure of the size of the gathering that the three Weasleys weren't the centre of attention.

Ron implored Harry, “What are you waiting for? Put a stop to this!”

Harry strode into the crowd and was steps from George when Ginny careened into Neville Longbottom. Neville broke her fall, and scowled at Fred and George. “Haven't you had enough?” Neville asked them.

George smirked, “Only when we find out what we want to know.”

“Look here,” Neville said, moving between Ginny and the twins, “you've been round and round five times - that's right, I've been listening - and Ginny's had one answer for you. Give it a rest!”

“Neville, don't get in the middle of official Weasley business,” Fred growled.

“You know we don't play fair,” George said with a frown.

Neville walked straight at Fred until they were almost nose-to-nose. “B-bugger off, you” he said. Ginny started to chuckle, but stifled it with her hand.

George smiled. “Could this be the timid young thing we used to victimise?”

Fred shook his head vigorously from side to side. “No, this can't be our ickle Neville-poo. This fellow's more bulldog than, say, canary.”

George peered closely at Neville. “Say, those aren't feathers popping out there?”

Fred feigned horror. “Neville, you didn't sample anything from those trays of snacks in the kitchen - did you?”

Neville stood firm. “I said, bugger off.”

Ginny took him by the arm. “I think they've had enough,” she said, as she led Neville toward the door. She stuck out her tongue at the twins on the way out.

Harry smiled at Ron, who had followed him across the room. “Looks like my work is done here,” he said, and fled before the twins could set after him. His path to the kitchen was blocked by a pack of schoolmates.

“Happy birthday, Harry!” Dean Thomas said, pumping Harry's hand. “I can't believe they made you an adult - that's… well, that's so cool!”

“Thanks, Dean, nice of you to come,” Harry managed. “Seen Seamus this summer?”

Dean frowned. “His mum packed him off to his aunt in Canada, as soon as all the funny business started. I'll be a bit surprised to see him back.”

“But he's not Muggle-born,” Harry said.

“Consider his mum,” Dean pointed out with a shrug. Harry nodded. Mrs. Finnigan had nearly pulled Seamus from Hogwarts the year before.

“Hello, Harry,” Parvati Patil cooed. “I like your hair that way. It makes you look so mature.” Lavender Brown nodded in agreement. Parvati had a strange look in her eyes and a curious smile on her face; Harry moved on quickly. He thought of the look in Parvati's eyes, then thought of the Imperius Curse, quickly scanned the area for Order members, and cursed himself for jumping immediately to suspicion. He was still reeling when he nearly trod over Ernie Macmillan.

“Happy birthday, old man,” Ernie said brightly. “Bit scruffy but looking well, eh?”

Harry ran his hands through his hair. “A bit uncombed, I imagine. It was a long ride from London. Hello, Hannah.”

Hannah Abbott smiled. “Hi, Harry. How long a trip is that, the Muggle way?”

“It took me around four hours,” he answered. “I rode through this smashing downpour, and I had to stop a couple times to warm up.”

“Yes, that's quite a contraption you have there,” Ernie said. He leaned in, and added in a conspiratorial whisper, “I imagine you could get in trouble with an enchanted Muggle artefact like that.”

Harry returned a wicked grin and whispered, “Special permit. You know how it is… gratitude for services rendered - that sort of thing.”

Ernie said, “Ah, yes - of course,” and nodded knowingly.

“Hello, Harry. Happy birthday!” Colin Creevey gushed.

“Happy birthday, Harry!” his brother Dennis added.

Harry frowned. He put one arm around the shoulders of each brother, and led them toward the door and into the garden. “Boys, I think that we need to talk,” he said calmly.

“Sure, Harry. What can we do for you?” Colin asked.

“What is it, Harry?” asked Dennis.

As soon as they were outside, Harry let go of them and whirled around. “Which one of you is responsible for all the pictures of me popping up lately?”

“W-what pictures would those be?” Colin asked nervously.

“Oh! He must mean the Teen Witch Weekly bit!” Dennis said. “They must use really great paper, you know, for the photos to be so -”

Colin cut him off. “Dennis, I don't think Harry's interested in -”

Harry in turn cut off Colin. “Harry's very bloody interested when ten-page articles turn up in Teen Witch Weekly,” he snarled.

“I told you he'd be displeased,” Colin said to Dennis.

“You said no such thing,” Dennis insisted. “You thought it would be flattering.”

“What about the Daily Prophet yesterday?” Harry demanded.

Dennis shrugged. “Dunno,” he said, “there must have been a staff photographer at Gringotts by accident.”

Harry trembled, his voice quaking. The Creevey brothers instinctively moved backward. “Did either of you read it?” Harry asked.

“Erm - most of it,” Colin admitted.

“Come on, Colin, you signed off on it,” Dennis said.

“Are you responsible for the portion on my love life?” Harry seethed.

Dennis shook his head. “They cook up that stuff on their own - the editor said it keeps the readers' interest. Besides, you know that we take better pictures than that.”

“You're both very lucky,” Harry told them. He felt his jaw twitching. “If you were responsible for that part, I'd hex you into next Christmas! Think! How dangerous do you suppose it is for a girl to be connected with me that way?”

Both Creeveys looked at Harry blankly.

Harry loomed over them menacingly. “Don't you think Death Eaters can read?” he asked in an icy voice.

Colin's eyes bulged. “Oh, bugger! I never gave any thought to… oh! Harry, I'm so sorry. I mean, really sorry!” Dennis' face slumped down to his chest, and he shook his head balefully.

“I expect you'll clear these kinds of things with me in the future,” Harry ordered. He walked to the far end of the garden, and sat atop the low stone wall.

Ron sat on a bench in the garden, regaling anyone who would listen with an increasingly exaggerated version of Gryffindor's most recent House Cup victory. Ginny sat between Neville and Lavender Brown, and egged Ron on. Harry grinned at each version from his perch, pleased to see a flash of the Ron that he knew and relieved to see that Ginny seemed all right. It was almost enough to push aside the dark thoughts - until Harry started to think about why the Weasleys were celebrating their good fortune, and why he was free to ride the Bonneville to the Burrow, and why he felt so empty.

“Hullo, Harry. Happy birthday.” The familiar gruff voice brought Harry out of his thoughts. Sitting atop the wall, he found himself almost eye-to-eye with Rubeus Hagrid.

“Thanks, Hagrid,” Harry said mechanically.

“I, er, brought yeh a little gift,” Hagrid told him, as he fished through the pockets of his overcoat. “Don' worry, it can't bite and it don' need feeding. Here.” He held out a roughly wrapped box.

Harry tore at the paper, and gingerly opened the box. Inside was a pair of fitted dragon-hide gloves. He looked at Hagrid curiously.

“Thought yeh might like ter have those when yer ridin' the Bonnie,” Hagrid explained.

“How - you weren't here when I - were you?”

Hagrid smiled, his dark eyes almost disappearing. “'Fraid I missed tha' part. She'd bin hiding under the cottage for years. When Sirius tol' me what he had in mind I was happy about it, ter tell yeh the truth. `Course yeh shouldn't be tellin' that ta McGonagall or Dumbledore. They're both right angry wit' yeh.”

Harry didn't want to hurt Hagrid, and knew he'd do exactly that if he betrayed his feelings toward Dumbledore. He chose to avoid eye contact. “What about you?” he asked.

“Angry wit' yeh, Harry? I don' think so. Bit sad, really,” Hagrid answered.

“Sad? About what?”

Hagrid sighed. “ 'Bout Sirius doin' wha' he did, yeh know - the will an' all. 'Bout yeh bein' drawn into all this so young. 'Bout wha's comin', Harry.”

Harry said nothing, just stared intently at his own dangling feet.

“Righ' then,” Hagrid said quietly, and started to walk away.

“Hagrid?”

Hagrid turned and looked at Harry expectantly. “You - er - needin' ter say somethin', are yeh?”

Harry whispered, “I miss him. I miss him, and I don't know what to do about it. It's tearing me apart.”

Hagrid drew close, and asked, “Talk ter someone. Tha's all yer can do.”

“I can't,” Harry groaned, “it's too dangerous.”

“Naw, Harry. Keepin' all this inside yer belly's no good. Talk ter someone. Give Ron a go,” Hagrid said.

“I think he's had enough for now,” Harry decided.

“How `bout Ginny?” Hagrid suggested, “Fond of yeh, but yeh must know tha'.”

“I can't do it, I can't,” Harry said distantly, “She's in enough danger because of me. I just can't.”

“She don' look in danger to me,” Hagrid said, pointing toward Ginny and Neville. He pulled on the end of his beard for a few moments, before he said knowingly, “Ah, yer talkin' about Hermione. Should have seen tha' comin'. Harry, she can handle `bout anythin' yeh can dish out; give `er credit fer tha'.”

“You might not think that, if you knew what I had to say,” Harry said, a lump slowly forming in his throat. “I want to tell her everything, Hagrid, but she's - she's safer not knowing. She's safer.”

“Wha'd'yeh think she'll do if she don' know somethin' important an' finds out later from somebody besides yeh?” Hagrid asked. “Best yeh think on that before it happens, Harry.”

Harry hopped down from the wall. “She can be as cross with me as she likes, provided she's alive. Thanks for the gloves, Hagrid. I need to walk for a bit.”

“Good night fer a walk - stars are bright. Where'd'yeh want ta… ah - righ' then.” Hagrid ambled toward the house, and Harry walked slowly toward the field beyond the garden.

“Hermione!” Ron shouted. Harry whirled around. Hermione and her parents were walking out into the garden with Shacklebolt and Bill Weasley. By the time Harry crossed the garden, Ron had already led Hermione back into the house.