It's time for the first flashback, wherein a scene from HBP begins as we saw it in the book, but ends in a very different manner (one more to my liking, and, I hope, yours).
Harry was relaxing on his camp bed, his middle full to bursting with Mrs. Weasley's superb cooking. As usual, she had fretted over him all through supper as though he were her own son, which made him feel both very pleased and yet somehow uncomfortable. It seemed to Harry that Mrs. Weasley had not quite accepted his and Hermione's new relationship. Looking back on his previous visits to the Burrow with Hermione, he could now see many instances where Mrs. Weasley was clearly of a mind to pair up her daughter and youngest son with her two guests. Until recently, she might have had good reason to think that her efforts would come to fruition. Though he and Hermione had been together for more than two months, this was the first time Mrs. Weasley had seen them acting the couple. She appeared to be accepting this new turn of events gracefully, but there were moments when Harry was sure that she was still looking at him as a prospective son in more than the adoptive sense.
Harry stared around Ron's room abstractedly. He had grown used to the perpetual crimson glare of the many Chudley Cannons posters papering the walls and ceiling, though whenever he caught sight of himself in Ron's bedside mirror, he saw that he was squinting unconsciously. The first time that had happened, more than a year ago, he had laughed to note that, with his raven hair added to his slitted eyes, he might have passed for Chinese. It had been an amusing thought that he might so resemble the erstwhile girl of his dreams, Cho Chang.
Harry's stomach knotted slightly now as he thought of Cho. He had pursued her in a state of near intoxication for three years, only to discover that his fancy had been no more than dandelion fluff. What was worse, his blind fixation with Cho had blinkered his eyes in regard to the girl who should have been the object of his attention all along, yet whom he had taken for granted as nothing more than one of his two best friends. The fact that he and Hermione were together now in no way absolved Harry of that guilt. So much time wasted, he thought. Time we'll never get back.
But almost at once, he heard Hermione's voice in his mind, speaking in harmony with her stern but loving gaze on a day last June when he had expressed that regret to her under the trees beside the lake at Hogwarts. "Our time together was never wasted, Harry. We were always playing our assigned roles. We've always been part of each other. Nothing could have changed that. Even if we didn't know where our paths would lead, somehow we both knew deep inside that those trails would always be parallel, leading to the same destination. Now our paths have merged into one. And even if they diverge again, we'll still be going the same way. No matter what happens, we'll always be there for each other. That will never change."
"I hope our paths never diverge," Harry murmured, his words heard by none save the Quidditch players on Ron's ubiquitous posters. "I don't want us to travel separate roads. I want us to look to the future - the same future - together."
A loud grunting sound snapped Harry from his reverie. He chuckled, turning his head to look at Ron, asleep on his bed. True to form, Ron had eaten more than anyone at the table tonight (though Mrs. Weasley had done her best to keep Harry on pace with her son, which task was doomed before it began). Harry could easily understand why Ron always appeared at least three inches taller when Harry saw him again after the Summer holidays. Mrs. Weasley seemed to harbor a secret fear that the House-elves at Hogwarts were not doing all they could to keep her children properly fed (though, Harry noted with amusement, her concerns did not seem to spill over onto Ginny, whose physical aspect she deemed nothing less than perfect). Only when no one could eat another bite did Mrs. Weasley feel that she had accomplished her mission. When the two boys finally trudged up the many flights of stairs to Ron's room, the door had scarcely opened when Ron fell across his bed and proceeded to do, as Hermione might have said, "his best imitation of a concussed troll."
Ron's snore had been so loud that it jerked him from his slumber. He rolled over, blinked his eyes and mumbled, "You say something, Harry?"
"You were snoring, mate," Harry said through a silent laugh.
"Rubbish," Ron said thickly. "I don't snore."
Harry was about to respond, but he decided that he felt too good to start a row just now, even if it meant a good laugh. Instead he lay his head back against his pillow and relaxed, trying to recapture the blissful feeling Ron's outburst had interrupted. But Ron was having none of it. Now fully awake, the tall redhead sat up and stretched.
"I never should have had that kip," he said as bones popped audibly in his neck and back. "Now I'll be awake all night."
"Are you joking?" Harry chided good-naturedly, carefully opening one eye while keeping the other firmly closed. "I once saw you sleep for ten straight hours in the middle of a thunderstorm. If the mountain under Hogwarts turned into a bleedin' volcano in the middle of the night, you'd kip on until the ash covered your face."
"Yeah," Ron agreed, forcing a very strained smile, "but I've got a lot on my mind just now."
"Like what?" Harry asked, both eyes now squeezed shut against the glare of a poster hanging just over his head.
"The wedding," Ron said. "I mean, I've got an important job to do. What if I lose the license, like Ginny said? I'll not only ruin the wedding in front of a garden full of guests, I'll be giving Mum a load of ammunition to chuck at me, as if she needs any more."
"What are you talking about?" Harry said. "What does she have to get on your wick about? You did a smashing job last month when Voldemort's lot invaded Hogwarts. She should be proud of you."
Jumping slightly at the sound of Voldemort's name, Ron said, "Yeah, I suppose. But that was all down to the Felix Felicis, wasn't it? You chuck that out, and what have I done? I mean, going all the way back to when we started school, what have I really done that's worth a hippogriff's bleedin' toenail? I've been looking back on the last six years, and there are so many things I wish had been different."
"Join the ruddy club, mate," Harry rejoined, his reflections of Cho Chang returning to flicker across his mind's eye.
"No, seriously," Ron said. Harry heard the bed creak, and opening both eyes in the face of the red glare of the poster-strewn walls, he saw Ron sitting up and staring at him, his expression strained. Harry levered himself onto his elbow and surveyed Ron closely.
"What is it?" he asked. "What's got you on this way?"
"I told you, it's the wedding," Ron said. "But not just the wedding itself. It's all it implies. Bill's moving forward with his life. He's found someone to share his life with, someone to fill up the empty places inside him. And I - "
Harry now sat up and faced Ron squarely.
"What?" Harry said. "You don't think you'll have the same thing some day? That's rubbish and you know it."
"Do I?" Ron returned. "I haven't done very well so far, have I?"
"What, you think because you haven't found someone yet, it'll never happen?" Harry said. "There's nothing in the Hogwarts charter that says students will find the person they're going to spend their lives with before they graduate - and as often as Hermione's quoted from Hogwarts: A History," he grinned thinly, "I can say that with absolute certainty."
"You did," Ron said quietly, his eyes leaving Harry's to survey a spot on the floor between his large feet. "Your parents did."
"Bill didn't," Harry countered. "He didn't find Fleur until she came over to compete in the Triwizard Tournament. If the Ministry hadn't arranged for the Tournament to be resurrected after so long, he'd never have met her at all. He only came to Hogwarts in the first place to cheer me on during the final task. If Barty Crouch hadn't put my name in the Goblet of Fire on Voldemort's orders (Ron flinched again), Bill would be in Egypt right now, de-Cursing a tomb, not getting ready for a wedding."
Harry stood up now and seated himself next to Ron.
"You never know when it's going to happen," he said as Ron continued to look down. "Look at me. How long did I go on acting the berk over Cho, never seeing what was right in front of me? And if circumstances hadn't gone just the right way, I might never have seen. I'm telling you, mate, there's just no reckoning something like that. According to Hermione, everything is part of a grand plan. She said it's like a road map that no one learns how to read until we've completed the journey, when, of course, it's too late to do us any flippin' good. But if we stand back now and then and have a good look, maybe we can see a just a bit of what's ahead so we don't take as many wrong turns as we might have done. It's down to us to use a bit of sense to spot the signposts before it's too late. Maybe I'm the wrong one to talk, after all the signs I missed. But you can learn from my mistakes. I mean, if I couldn't stop myself from being such a git, at least I can help my best mate from doing the same thing. All you have to do is have a look at me and do the exact opposite."
"How do you mean?" Ron asked, lifting his head just far enough to regard Harry from under the ridge of his flaming eyebrows.
"For starters," Harry said, "learn to see what's really important. I found out the hard way that things that seem grand at a distance don't always look as good up close. Don't be staring so hard at the top of the mountain that you can't see what's in your own back garden, you know? I mean, I dunno, maybe the girl you're looking for is on the other side of the world right now, waiting for your paths to cross. Or maybe she's so close that you'll turn around one day and be staring straight at her without knowing it. That's when you have to learn to open your eyes and spot the real from the rubbish."
"And how do I do that?" Ron said, a shadow of his old familiar smile creeping across his face.
Harry shrugged. "Beats me, mate. You're looking at a bloke who's set to go off and spit in the eye of the most dangerous Dark wizard in the world. I dunno if I'd trust anything a nutter like that says."
Ron responded to this with a genuine laugh, and Harry smiled.
"I can tell you this much, for what it's worth," Harry said seriously. "When you do find the one you're looking for, for Merlin's sake, don't muck things up like I nearly did. Don't let anyone or anything stand in the way of the two of you being together."
Ron looked up, his eyes reflecting a new-found confidence that made him look so much like Bill that it was startling. "Thanks, Harry."
"No worries," Harry nodded. "What are mates for?"
The awkwardness between them was broken by a knock on the door.
"Come in," Harry and Ron said together, inspiring another brief spate of laughter.
The door opened, and Hermione appeared. She was clad in a pink bathrobe, and her head was wrapped in a damp towel from beneath which a few strands of thick, dark hair had escaped to curl about her shoulders. She smiled at Harry, who grinned up at her.
"Just washed your hair, did you?" he said.
Shifting her smile to Ron, Hermione said, "Now you know why he got all those O.W.L.'s a year ago. Never misses a trick, that one."
Ron fell back on his bed with a hoot of laughter, his oversized feet just missing Harry's face. Harry jumped back and fell onto his camp bed, propping himself up on his elbow in what he hoped was a casual manner.
"So," Harry said, "to what do we owe the honor of this visit?"
"I'm on my way to Ginny's and my room so she can give my hair a good brushing," Hermione said.
"And you're inviting me to come along and help?" Harry said playfully. Casting a critical eye over the damp tangles trailing over Hermione's shoulders from under her towel, he mused, "If Ginny and I each take a side, I reckon we can have every hair in place by, say, eleven o'clock - midnight at the latest."
Hiding a smirk, Hermione gave Harry's untidy hair an appraising glance and observed, "Ron's mum always says you should put your own garden in order before pointing out the gnomes in someone else's. Good advice, that."
Harry quickly patted down a few trouble spots on his head that he had long since committed to memory, and Ron laughed again.
"Now," Hermione smiled, "as to why I'm here, when we were talking outside earlier today, you asked me to give you something."
Hermione carefully unwound the towel from her head and tossed it to Harry. Though caught off his guard, he snatched it easily as Hermione shook out her hair, running her fingers through the gleaming strands in a casually erotic manner. With a smile and a wink, she turned and left, closing the door behind her.
"What was that all about?" Ron asked as Harry sat with the towel in his hands and an enigmatic smile on his face. Very slowly he folded the towel into a compact square and raised it to his face, inhaling deeply. He sighed, his eyes rolling back in his head, and Ron said, "You've lost it, mate. You've gone round the twist."
Ignoring Ron, Harry lay back, Hermione's towel held just under his nose. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply again, and Ron grunted and rolled over on his bed.
As Harry inhaled Hermione's scent from her towel, his mind drifted back to the first time he had encountered the fragrance now filling his senses like heady wine. No, he reminded himself, not the first time, exactly. Rather, it was the first time he had taken note of an aroma that had been around him many times, yet which he had failed to notice properly until a certain fateful day at Hogwarts...
"I s'pose you think I cheated?"
Harry was glowering in Hermione's direction. The expression on her face was making his blood boil. He thought at first that he'd imagined the unspoken indictment in her prolonged silence as he explained to her and Ron how he had been employing the notes scribbled in the margins of his Advanced Potion-Making textbook to produce the results that had so delighted Professor Slughorn in their first class of term. He was certain that she must be playing with him, having him on. But the steely glint in her eyes, the thin line of her mouth, concealed no trace of humor. With every revelatory word he spoke, her face stiffened as if a slow-acting Petrificus spell were turning it to stone. And when his explanation was done, there was no longer any doubt in his mind as to the thoughts burning behind Hermione's incriminating stare. She was accusing him of cheating! Harry's eyes flashed like green fire, and Hermione met his gaze unflinchingly.
"Well, it wasn't exactly your own work, was it?" she said in hard, clipped tones.
The stiffness in her voice would have removed all doubt, were there even a gram remaining in his mind. He began to seethe inside like the cauldron of potion that was the bone of contention between them. Distantly he heard Ron taking up his defense (Harry's throat was so constricted with anger that he couldn't utter a sound), but Hermione was having none of it.
It was then that it happened.
"Hang on," said a voice on Harry's left. "Did I hear right? You've been taking orders from something someone wrote in a book, Harry?"
Harry jerked his head around. If another row was wanting, he had more than enough anger boiling inside him to spare a portion for Ginny if she were taking a position like unto Hermione's. But almost instantly his anger was tempered by an intoxicating aroma coming from Ginny's hair. It was the same flowery scent he had smelt in the fumes wafting from the Amortentia in Advanced Potions class, the scent he had unconsciously associated with the Burrow, and, correspondingly, with utter contentment. The fire inside him cooled, and when he replied, "It's nothing," his voice was quiet and reassuring, its former edge blunted.
As Ron valiantly carried on with Hermione, Harry continued to stare at Ginny. He'd not meant to stare, but his mind was trying to grasp the implications of these two events and sort them into some reasoned perspective. Professor Slughorn had said that Amortentia stimulated feelings of love and contentment in those who partook of it, whether by drinking the potion or merely inhaling the fumes. These feelings, he went on, were unique to each individual. The potion did not create such feelings; it merely brought to the surface such as it found within the subject and enhanced them, fanning those embers to full awakening.
And one of the scents assailing Harry that morning had been the very fragrance permeating Ginny's hair. If Amortentia was, as Hermione had declared to Professor Slughorn, the post powerful love potion in the world...
"Harry?" Ginny said, regarding him over the goblet of pumpkin juice she was raising to her mouth. "Is there something you wanted to ask me?"
"What?" Harry stammered, feeling foolish at having stared at Ginny at all, much less for prolonging the action until she could not help but notice.
"You were staring," Ginny said with a small smile, the goblet just touching her lips.
"Oh," Harry said as Ginny took a sip and set her goblet down. "Sorry."
"Is there something you want to ask me?" she repeated, and Harry thought he detected a trace of barely-concealed excitement that had not punctuated her question the first time.
"No," Harry said quickly. Then, before he could stop himself: "Yes."
"What is it?" Ginny said, her soft brown eyes glittering in the light of the candles hovering high above the dining table.
"It's - " Harry began. He swallowed. "I - I was just noticing - I mean - your hair - "
"My hair?" Ginny said, unconsciously tossing her head so that a sheet of blazing red trickled over her shoulder like liquid fire.
"It, er," Harry said haltingly, "it - smells nice. Flowery."
Ginny's smile brightened. "Do you like it?"
"Um, yeah," Harry said, feeling his heart racing in a very disconcerting manner.
"So do I," Ginny said. "It's the best shampoo ever, don't you think?"
Harry nodded, and Ginny caught up a handful of her long hair, letting the fine strands trickle through her fingers like water falling across a sunset.
"I've only just started using it," Ginny said happily. "I'm so glad Hermione finally remembered to bring me an extra bottle this year."
Harry's eyes widened slightly. "Hermione gave it to you?"
"Yes," Ginny said. "It's a Muggle brand. There's nothing like it in the wizarding world. I should know, I've been looking for a decent shampoo forever. I gave up on Diagon Alley ages ago. The apothecaries there cater mostly to stodgy old witches and wizards who only care about their bloody potions. I thought I might do better in Hogsmeade - you know, what with so many students buying from them, but - " She shrugged. "From her first visit to the Burrow, I was always telling Hermione how smashing I thought her hair smelt just after she washed it. I asked her straightaway if I could use her shampoo, but Mum overheard me and told me off, saying a proper host never imposes on a houseguest, and if I kept on she'd see I regretted it, so in the end I gave it up.
"But," she added slyly, glancing over her shoulder at the warring twosome at the far end of the table, "Hermione promised she'd bring an extra bottle next time and give it to me on the train where Mum couldn't see. Unfortunately," she sighed, "what with one thing and another, she never seemed to manage. Either something having to do with school drove it out of her head, or if she did remember, she'd have so many books to pack that there wasn't enough room in her trunk, and she'd spend the first week at school apologizing, promising to do better next time. But last month on the train," Ginny grinned triumphantly, "I got on her wick and made her promise faithfully that she wouldn't forget again. I may have mentioned something about using the Bat-Bogey Hex on her," Ginny smirked. "But whatever it was, it worked, and this time she came through at last!"
"You say you've never used it before?" Harry said, his confusion growing.
"Today's the first day," Ginny said happily. Her eyes twinkled as she added, "Looks like it's working already."
"I - " Harry said slowly. "I - thought I'd smelt it before - at the Burrow."
"I shouldn't be surprised if you'd done," Ginny said. "Like I said, Hermione's never arrived without it, and she washes her hair every couple of days, always trying to condition the bushiness out of it."
She giggled softly, casting a wary eye at Hermione, whose debate with Ron appeared to be reaching a crescendo. The color rising on Ron's cheeks was ample testimony as to how the argument was going. Hermione's hair was fairly bristling from the intensity of her verbal assault on Ron's position (though her voice never rose above its usual, maddeningly calm level of deportment). Harry wasn't the only one to spot this.
"She doesn't seem as concerned about it after she gets to Hogwarts, does she?" Ginny said in a low voice brimming with overstated casualness. "Too busy studying to be bothered, I suppose. But it's not as if it really matters, is it?" she concluded with a melodramatic sigh in which Harry thought to detect a barely-disguised note of unkindness. "Just between us," she whispered, turning so that none but Harry could see the complacent smile spreading across her freckled face, "I think it favors me better. Don't you think?"
As if to confirm her appraisal, Ginny tossed her head gaily, sending her long, silky hair swirling about her shoulders as if buoyed by a Levitation Charm (in such manner as Hermione's could never have done without benefit of large amounts of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion).
Harry saw movement on his right. Hermione was rising from her seat, a triumphant expression on her face. Ron appeared a bit disgruntled, judging from the force with which he stuffed a bite of black pudding into his mouth. Hermione left the dining hall without looking back. Harry gathered that she was still aggrieved at him for the manner in which he had inadvertently overshadowed her in Potions class. He stared after her, watching as she ascended the winding staircase leading to the upper portions of the castle and, ultimately, to Gryffindor Tower.
When Hermione was out of sight, Harry turned back to the dining table, only to find Ginny looking at him with narrowed eye.
"Sorry," Harry smiled awkwardly. "My, uh, mind must have wandered a bit. I think the potion fumes I inhaled this morning might have made me a bit groggy. It was the Draught of Living Death," he improvised. "Dodgy stuff, that."
This explanation seemed to mollify Ginny, who relaxed and resumed her meal. For his part, Harry found that he had lost his appetite. He stood up and walked past Ron, who had exchanged his black pudding for a large treacle tart. The sight of it reminded Harry again of Potions class, and of the scents the Amortentia had inspired in him. Treacle tart...the woody smell of a broomstick handle...
And Hermione's hair.
What did it all mean? Even as the question formed in his mind, he realized that he knew the answer, even if he did not understand it.
Do I fancy Hermione? he wondered. He shook his head. That's nutters. A bloke can't fancy one of his best friends. Can he?
And as the question reverberated in his head, an answering voice said, Why not? She's a girl, isn't she?
Harry felt a hand clap his shoulder in a friendly manner.
"Come on, Harry," Ron said. "Let's go upstairs so I can have a look at that book. Only I want to copy a few of the notes onto the leaf of my book before our next class. You don't mind, do you?"
"No," Harry said quickly.
"Let's go up to our dorm so Hermione won't see," he continued in a low, conspiratorial voice. "I'm not up for another row just yet."
"Right," Harry said. He was glad Ron had suggested they go up to their dorm rather than remain in the common room, where Hermione would presumably be doing her homework by the fire. He needed to put some distance between himself and Hermione while he muddled over this unexpected revelation.
I can't fancy Hermione! he told himself again.
Why not? repeated the voice in his head.
And as he and Ron walked up the stairs on their way to Gryffindor Tower, he was bugger-all if he could come up with a rebuttal.
"Oi, Harry!"
Harry lifted his head from his pillow, his reverie broken. He saw Ron standing over him, but before he could gather his thoughts to form a question, Ron jerked his head toward the door.
"Dad wants us to look at the plans for the bower," he said. "We'll start building it first thing tomorrow."
"Right," Harry said. He stood up, turning to place Hermione's towel on his pillow. Ron rolled his eyes, but made no other comment as he led the way downstairs, Harry fast on his heels.
When Harry followed Ron into the Weasleys' small parlor, he did not go all the way inside, but stood on the threshold for a moment, surveying the room and those inside it. Here, he had thought more than once on his previous visits to the Burrow, was the essence of what made this more than a house, but a real home. This was exemplified no more profoundly than by the mantel over the fireplace (the same one he and Ginny had tumbled out of this morning, and up which he'd gone five years ago wherein he'd accidentally come out in Knockturn Alley). Stretched along the full length of the mantel was a row of framed photos, one for each member of the Weasley family. But even as Harry surveyed the moving photos, each of whose occupants smiled a welcome in his direction, he spotted something that struck a dull note on his heartstrings.
One of the frames was empty. Harry knew who was missing even before he swept his eyes searchingly along the length of the row, silently naming each face in turn. Percy. This was not too surprising, given the strained relations between Percy and the rest of the family. Harry wondered why the frame had been retained if there was no photo in it. He answered his question almost at once. It must be a gesture, he decided, an open invitation to Percy that his place in the family was still open, waiting for him to reclaim it.
"Harry!" a deep voice called out from inside the room. "Come on in, then, and have a look."
"And don't dawdle!" the hallway mirror added sternly.
Harry shook himself from his musings and smiled at Mr. Weasley. The tall, balding wizard was sitting on the family sofa, bending over a sheet of parchment that was spread out across a long, low table which was normally used to serve tea and biscuits to guests. Now, Mr. Weasley was using it, and the parlor, to map out his plans for the wedding. Ron was sitting next to his father, studying the parchment intently. Harry smiled at Mr. Weasley and entered, sitting down in a chair on Ron's left.
When Harry had looked over the plans for the bower, he told Mr. Weasley, "There ought to be a library in Ottery St. Catchpole. I bet I can find a book on carpentry that will show us how to build this properly."
"Well," Mr. Weasley said sheepishly, "I've never actually used any Muggle tools - though I have a very fine collection out in the back shed," he added proudly. "I constructed the Burrow entirely by magic."
"We won't need tools," Harry explained. "We'll use the book to show us what steps to take, and in what order. But we won't need a hammer and nails to do the actual work. We'll use Sticking Charms and the like. That'll make it easier to undo after the ceremony. How does that sound?"
"Don't you need some sort of membership to take out a library book?" Mr. Weasley asked.
"Normally, yes," Harry said. "But in this case, I don't think we'd be amiss using a bit of magic to help things along." He thought for a moment, then said, "Once I've found the book we need, I can carry it out using my Invisibility Cloak. Quick as we've finished with it, I can return it the same way."
Harry heard a sniffing sound behind him. From the corner of his eye, he saw Mrs. Weasley carrying fresh towels toward the stairs. He turned, and she frowned at him over her burden in a manner that reminded him of Hermione.
"Borrowing something without permission is stealing," she said curtly. She appeared to want to say something more definite, but perhaps she was taking her own advice about treating houseguests with courtesy. No doubt she would not have hesitated to tear into Fred and George like an Atlantic hurricane had they just proposed something similar to Harry's suggestion.
"If we don't get this bower built properly," Harry said, "it will affect the entire wedding. We wouldn't want to disappoint Bill and Fleur on their big day, would we?"
Mrs. Weasley gave this argument a good deal of thought before she spoke in a more conciliatory voice. "Right, then. But mind you have that book back where you got it the moment you're finished with it - and woe betide you if the Ministry hears about it, because I'll not put the family in jeopardy over something as trivial as a library book."
"I'll go with Hermione," Harry said. "That way if something goes wrong, it'll be on our heads alone."
Mrs. Weasley sniffed again before turning to mount the stairs.
"Ah," Mr. Weasley said as he let out the breath he had been holding, "well, I suppose there's nothing more to be done tonight. You'll go fetch that book tomorrow morning, then, Harry?"
"No worries," Harry said with a nod. "We'll build a bower that Bill and Fleur will be proud to stand under when they speak their vows."
"And," Ron put in, likewise breathing easier now that his mother was out of sight, "we'll take some snaps of it so everyone will remember how grand it looked."
"Splendid," Mr. Weasley said. "Very well, boys. I'm off to the kitchen for a spot of tea. Either of you care for a cup?" When Harry and Ron shook their heads, Mr. Weasley nodded and said, "Until tomorrow, then."
As Mr. Weasley rolled up the plans and moved toward the kitchen, Harry asked Ron, "Is Hermione still up in Ginny's room? I need to tell her about the library."
"I think so," Ron said. "I haven't seen anyone come downstairs. Of course, there are a lot of floors in this house. No telling where she might be. She could be up in the attic, seeing if the ghoul needs a pillow or something. You know Hermione." The two friends exchanged a knowing smile. As an afterthought, Ron said, "Pity I can't save you a trip up the stairs and just pop into Ginny's room and have a look for you."
"Why can't you?" Harry asked, remembering how Fred and George had summarily Apparated into his and Ron's room at Sirius' house two years ago. "I mean, apart from the fact that she'd probably use the Bat-Bogey Hex on you."
"She would, too," Ron laughed. "But we can't Apparate into anyone's room here like Fred and George did at Grimmauld Place," he declared as if reading Harry's mind.
"Why not?" Harry asked.
"Privacy spells," Ron explained. "The bedrooms are all harmonized for their owners. One of the first things a wizard does when he learns to Apparate is safeguard his personal space against unwanted visitors. I did my own room straightaway the day I got my license."
"But Ginny isn't old enough to Apparate," Harry said.
"But other people can," Ron said pointedly. "Like I said, we all need a space of our own, someplace we can go and tell the world to bugger off. When I was old enough to get my own room - I think it was around the time Charlie left Hogwarts - Mum and Dad warded it against everyone but themselves - well, that's to be expected, innit? But quick as I got my license, I adjusted the spell so I'm the only one who can come and go now - I'm entitled now that I'm of age, and Mum and Dad respect that. Ginny can't Apparate yet, but she still needs a place where she can feel safe - I mean, blimey, it wouldn't do for someone to just pop in unannounced when she's wearing only her knickers, would it? It's all about respecting a person's privacy, something some blokes never get the hang of - my knees haven't been the same since Fred and George landed on them at Sirius' house," he said with a wry grimace.
"And they were only able to do that," Harry said insightfully, "because Sirius' house had sat unoccupied for so long, the magic on the rooms had all worn off."
"Right in one," Ron smiled. "Here at the Burrow, any of us can move about freely through most of the house - except the loo, of course, which is completely impassable - and it's the same when we're coming and going. You were here once when Dad came home from work and Apparated straight into the kitchen, remember? It was the same this morning when we left Diagon Alley, we all popped straight into the parlor, easy as walking through the door from the back garden. But if any of us tried to pass through someone else's private room in either direction, they'd just bounce off the walls like a Quaffle. And speaking of Quaffles," Ron said abruptly, "do you think McGonagall will let the Houses play Quidditch this year?"
Harry had never seen anyone change from one subject to another so quickly, nor as smoothly. The eagerness in Ron's voice was thick enough to cut with an axe.
"Hermione reckons everyone will need the diversion," Harry said. "We won't know for sure until we talk with McGonagall, but Hermione is sure we can convince her."
"Hermione could chat up a herd of thestrals into turning vegetarian," Ron grinned.
"I'd better go find her," Harry said. Leaving Ron behind, he mounted the stairs to the second floor and stood before Ginny's door, his ear perked for sounds. Hearing nothing, he knocked lightly. To his delight, Hermione's voice answered.
"Come in."
Harry entered and found Hermione bent over Ginny's writing desk, an open book on her left and an uncapped bottle of ink on her right. She was copying from the book, her quill scratching softly on the parchment in front of her. She had exchanged her bathrobe for her original clothes. Her freshly-washed hair cascaded over her shoulders, and she brushed it aside as a strand fell across the line she was copying. Harry stood for a moment, inhaling the fragrance of Hermione's hair, then stepped up beside her. Hearing his approach, Hermione looked up just as her hand was moving toward her ink bottle. In her moment of distraction, she misjudged her aim; her quill overshot its target, and her wrist impacted with the neck of the bottle. Harry gasped, expecting the bottle to crash to the floor. But to his surprise, the bottle halted Hermione's wrist as if it were nailed to the desk - as, indeed, it was, if only in a magical sense.
"I didn't want to keep capping and uncapping the bottle," Hermione said, seeing Harry's surprise, "so I used a temporary Sticking Charm to hold it in place."
There was a smudge of ink on Hermione's wrist. She spotted it at once and turned to Harry.
"Would you mind taking my wand out of my pocket, Harry?" she said. "I can't reach it left-handed, and I obviously can't use my right without getting ink inside my pocket."
Harry walked around Hermione's chair and reached into her wand pocket.
"Mind you don't touch anything else while you're in there," she smirked, and Harry laughed. He drew out Hermione's wand, which she took in her left hand and pointed at her right wrist. "Scourgify!" she said, and the ink vanished.
"Couldn't you have cleaned your clothes the same way if you got ink on them?" Harry asked.
"I could have done," Hermione said. "But repeated use of the Scouring Charm takes its toll on fabric. Skin is much easier to clean."
"Well, then," Harry said innocently, "since it's such a warm night, you could save a lot of fuss all around if you took your clothes off while you're working. I can give you a hand if you like. If you'll recall, I'm pretty good with buttons."
"It takes a bit of courage to say something like that to a witch who's holding a wand," Hermione said, a corner of her mouth rising in tandem with an eyebrow. "If you show the same bollocks when we go after Voldemort, I'd say he's for it from day one."
Smiling, Harry found another question to replace the one just answered.
"Why was your wand in your pocket? I usually leave my wand on the table next to my bed. It's there now, in fact."
"I used to do the same thing," Hermione said. "But after what happened last month, I don't feel comfortable unless my wand is always within easy reach."
After a thoughtful pause, Harry said, "So, when you came to see me to give me your towel..."
"My wand was in my bathrobe, yes," Hermione said seriously. "I kept it on the sink while I was washing my hair, where I could keep an eye on it every moment. I'd have taken it into the shower if I thought the water wouldn't warp the wood."
"I'm beginning to think the wrong one of us is taking preliminary Auror classes this year," Harry said with a half-smile.
Harry sat down on Ginny's bed, and Hermione turned her chair about to face him.
"You're going to make a smashing Auror," Hermione said seriously. "And do you know why? It's because you think with your heart as well as with your head."
"Thinking with my heart's nearly got me killed more times than I can count," Harry countered.
"That's because you made the mistake of putting your heart first," Hermione replied. "That's good advice for everyday life, but not for an Auror. But - if you ignore your heart altogether, you'll hardly be better than a Death Eater. You have to learn to keep your mind and your heart on a kind of wheel that you can spin about at need. That way you can put one in front of the other when the time is right, and not be locked into either one at the wrong moment. Even though Healers and Aurors seem to be working at cross-purposes, that's the one attribute they share, the thing they have to master if they're to do their jobs properly."
"Remus was right when he said you were the cleverest witch he'd ever met," Harry said.
"If I'm so clever," Hermione said, "why did it take me so long to tell you straight out how I feel about you? I could have saved everyone a lot of bother if I'd just spoken out when I had the chance. Merlin knows there were enough opportunities with all the time we've spent together."
Harry was caught momentarily off his stride, but he recovered quickly.
"You said it yourself. You put your head in front of your heart when you should have done the opposite."
"We both made the same mistake, didn't we?" Hermione said. "Our heads told us that we were best friends, you and I, and that's all we'd ever be."
"I wonder if we owe Fred and George more than we know?" Harry said unexpectedly.
Hermione's smile fell away. "What?"
"Well," Harry said, "in a way, we're together because of them."
"The way I see it," Hermione said stiffly, "we'd have been together a lot sooner if they hadn't stuck their noses in where they didn't belong. And last year - "
"I just meant," Harry said quickly, "that I was such a berk, I needed a kick in the bollocks to knock some sense into me."
"As to that," Hermione said, her smile returning slowly, "I don't think you're different from any other boy who's ever been. You needed time to sort out your feelings, to see what was real and what was only in your head."
"I thought I fancied Cho," Harry said. "I did fancy her, come to that. But I was only fancying what was on the outside, because that's all I could see. I imagined that she was just as beautiful on the inside, but when I learned the truth..."
"We all start out thinking that way," Hermione said with a small blush. "I fancied Gilderoy Lockhart, didn't I? I was the same age you were when you first took a fancy to Cho. But we both grew out of it in the end. I suppose it takes boys a bit longer to grow up," she said philosophically, "but that's nature's way, and even magic can't help it along." Hermione's expression darkened suddenly as she muttered, "If it wasn't for those two..."
"So, uh," Harry said quickly, "what are you working on?" He indicated the book and parchment on Ginny's desk, and Hermione shook herself, her dark mood clearing almost at once.
"I'm copying some notes for Advanced Medical Potions class. Mrs. Weasley pointed out some chapters I should familiarize myself with before term starts, to get a jump on the other students."
"Mrs. Weasley studied to be a Healer?" Harry said in surprise.
"Not in the way you mean," Hermione said. "She never intended it as a career choice. It's just that she and Mr. Weasley had decided to get married and start a family as soon as they left school, and she reasoned that she'd do well to take some secondary Healing classes to supplement the domestic spells she was learning. If you're going to care for a houseful of children, a bit of medical training can save a lot of misery, not to mention costly trips to St. Mungo's. You'd think more witches and wizards would have the same foresight, wouldn't you?"
Harry remembered now that Remus Lupin had hinted at a certain amount of Healer training when Ron had his leg broken in their third year. "I'm not as good at healing bones as Madam Pomfrey..." He could heal bones, then (which was more than the just-mentioned Gilderoy Lockhart had been able when Harry had fallen from his broomstick during a Quidditch match and broken his arm).
"Maybe I should take some Healer courses," Harry said. "It would give us another class together, and Merlin knows we'll have few enough this year."
"You will be," Hermione said knowledgably. "A certain amount of Healer training is a standard part of the Auror curriculum. But they'll be different classes than mine."
"Why?" Harry almost demanded. "Healing is Healing, isn't it?"
"Fundamentally, yes," Hermione said. "But we'll both be moving beyond the basics, and because we're pursuing different goals, we'll be moving along slightly different paths." Seeing the confusion in Harry's eyes, Hermione explained, "I've chosen Healing as my life's work. I have to know a little bit about every aspect of Healing before I apprentice myself. But you're studying to become an Auror, so you don't need to know about the ordinary rubbish, like curing colds and the like. You'll be learning how to heal severe injuries quickly, hopefully without doing more damage in the process. But that's not always possible. You'll be facing life and death situations of a very different sort than I will. You'll have to make decisions under conditions that I can't even imagine. The potions you'll learn to brew will be quite apart from mine. For the most part, I'll be treating people slowly and carefully, with safety my first concern. Healers don't take the same oath as Muggle doctors, but both follow the same fundamental rule: 'First, do no harm.' As an Auror, you won't always have that luxury. You might have to give an injured colleague a potion that will either cure him quickly - or kill him. That's a choice I hope I never have to make.
"It works the same way in reverse, of course, when it comes to Auror training."
Harry nodded with belated understanding. "You and Ron are taking Defense Against the Dark Arts. But they're not the same as mine."
"That's because our courses are determined by our career choice," Hermione nodded. "You just said it. Ron and I will be learning how to defend ourselves against Dark magic. You've declared as an Auror, so your courses will include attacking spells as well as defensive ones. But Ron and I have chosen different roads, so we can only study whatever the Ministry-approved curriculum allows in our standard Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook."
Harry smiled inwardly at Hermione's judicious use of the term "different road" in reference to herself and Ron. Even out of Ron's hearing, she had been polite enough to refrain from saying that Ron, unlike his two friends, had no true career goal. Lacking as he was a primary course of study, all of his courses, even those designated as "Advanced," were by definition secondary. Chances were good that the three of them would begin the term by sharing Advanced Charms and Advanced Transfiguration. Like Harry, Hermione would start off by honing her general skills in those branches of magic before moving on to Madam Pomfrey's classes. As Hermione had already alluded, the school nurse would even be her Potions Mistress, as her knowledge of these special brews exceeded even that of Professor Slughorn in many areas.
But though Hermione would not be taking Advanced Potions as she had done last year (which class Ron would be taking as part of his general Advanced studies), that was not to say she would not be seeing the new Potions Master (and newly-appointed head of Slytherin House) this year. Harry knew that a portion of all seventh-year Defense classes was devoted to the brewing of dangerous potions. During that period, Professor Slughorn would assume the duties of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher in addition to his everyday role as Potions Master. (By contrast, Harry would be seeing Slughorn weekly throughout the year, learning to brew the dangerous potions Hermione had just referenced as part of his Auror studies.)
When the seventh-year Defense class moved on to its next field of study, Slughorn would relinquish his extra duties in favor of the regular teacher (who would not have been idle, having six other years of students to teach in the mean). Harry still did not know who had been engaged to fill that position, so recently (and spectacularly) vacated by Severus Snape. If Professor McGonagall knew - if, indeed, the position had been filled at all - she had not seen fit to reveal that knowledge to anyone, including her Head Boy and Girl.
"I wish we could have more classes together," Harry lamented. "At least Ron will be sharing Defense Against the Dark Arts with you all year. When we begin our specialized courses, we'll be lucky if we see each other at mealtimes."
"When Ron and I go off with you after the end of the school year," Hermione said confidently, "we'll both have learned all we can in the art of Dark Defense. All the school will allow us to learn, at least."
"Ron really wanted to take Auror classes with me," Harry said. "But his grades weren't high enough in the key areas." Hermione nodded solemnly. "You could have shared all of my classes," he said with quiet emphasis. "With your grades, you'd have got into the Auror program easily."
"I seriously considered it," Hermione said. "The temptation was never greater than last year, after the attack on Hogwarts. But I'd been toying with the notion of becoming a Healer since the end of our second year. I was in the Hospital Wing twice that year, you remember. I went in first as a cat-girl, and the second time as a statue - all told, I think I spent more time in my hospital bed than I did in my four-poster," she smiled. "Both times, Madam Pomfrey cured me. But I think I began taking it seriously after I nearly died when Dolohov's spell hit me at the Ministry. I wouldn't be sitting here having this conversation with you if it weren't for Madam Pomfrey's healing skills. So even if I made the actual decision only recently, I think I knew all along that I wanted to become a Healer. And since this is our last year, if I don't take these classes now, I won't be able to get the apprenticeship I'll need to carry on after I leave school. I have every intention of surviving long enough to become a licensed Healer." The hardness in her eyes as she said this was not to be misinterpreted. "So even if I don't get the same level of instruction you will this year in, shall we say, 'certain areas,' I'll still manage to learn enough in my ordinary Defense classes to carry on with. I'm determined that I won't be a hindrance to you when we go after Voldemort's Horcruxes."
"You could never be a hindrance," Harry said, taking Hermione's hand in his. Laughing, he added, "It'll be all I can do to learn as much this year as you already know. By the time we leave Hogwarts, I reckon I'll finally have drawn level with you. For the first time since I've known you, we'll be complete equals."
"We've always been equals where it matters," Hermione said. She raised the hand clasped in Harry's and placed it over her heart. "In here," she said. She removed her hand from her chest and placed it on Harry's, his own hand following. "And here."
They leaned forward until their lips touched lightly. They lingered for a moment before drawing back.
"If I don't stop now," Harry grinned, "there's no telling what Ginny will walk in on when she gets back." As Hermione laughed lightly, Harry now thought to ask, "Where is Ginny? I didn't pass her on my way up."
"Oh," Hermione said. "When Mrs. Weasley came up with the towels, she took Ginny along to help her clean up the bathroom. I'm afraid I left it a bit of a mess," she added with a guilty smile. "I offered to help, but Mrs. Weasley said something about Ginny earning her pocket money. I think she wants Ginny to learn some household spells like she did. Ginny didn't look too happy."
"I don't wonder," Harry grinned.
"Mrs. Weasley is trying to turn Ginny into her," Hermione said without humor. "As you can imagine, Ginny isn't too keen on that. She may not know exactly what she wants to do when she leaves school, but she knows what she doesn't want."
Lowering his voice, Harry said, "How will her mother feel if Ginny goes with us to look for the Horcruxes?"
"I dread the thought," Hermione said. "I hope Ginny doesn't go with us."
"Why?" Harry asked. "You don't think she'll be able to carry her weight?"
"Even if she studies every hour of every day," Hermione said, "she can't possibly learn enough magic to go up against Voldemort."
Harry wondered if that was the only reason Hermione didn't want Ginny to accompany them. But another, grimmer, thought took its place, and it was this to which he gave halting voice.
"Can we? I mean, this is Voldemort we're talking about here, the most powerful Dark wizard the world has ever seen. I know, I was all keen to go off only a month ago. But I've had time to think since then. Will we be ready?"
"Is that what you're really afraid of?" Hermione asked quietly, her eyes straying toward the door before returning to Harry. "Or are you really asking if Ron will be ready?"
Hermione's question startled Harry, but only for a moment. If he, like Hermione, feared that Ginny would not be prepared, what of Ron? Truth be told, Ginny was the better student in nearly every area of magic than her older brother. He was still amazed that Ginny had not been chosen as a prefect for her year. She would have made a better job of it than Ron had done (though Harry would never have shared that sentiment with his oldest friend).
"Are you afraid Ron won't be able to pull his weight?" Harry returned.
Hermione sat in silence for a long time. "I don't know," she said at last.
They endured another long silence before Harry spoke again.
"I need you to do something for me this year, Hermione. No, not for me. For us. For all of us."
"What?" Hermione said, her expression growing urgent.
"I want you to do the same for Ron this year that you did for me during the Triwizard Tournament," Harry said. "I want you to work with him. I want you to prepare him for what we're going to face. I want you to be relentless. A chain is only as strong as its weakest link. Ron's my best mate - he's like a brother to me - but I can't escape the reality that he might not be able to carry on when things reach the boiling point. He wants desperately to be as good as Bill, as successful as Fred and George. But I'm afraid that he isn't ever going to be quite as good as he wants to be. So I'm counting on you to pull him through. I know I'm asking a lot. There can't be anything harder than learning to be a Healer - I remember all the Auror qualifications Professor McGonagall showed me when I had my career chat with her - and I remember when you showed Ron the list of qualifications to become a Healer - I should've seen then that you were leaning that way - with all that on your plate, I don't know where you can find the time, short of getting your hands on another Time-Turner..."
Harry had run out of words as well as breath. But no more words were needed.
"Of course I'll help Ron," Hermione said. "In fact, I was thinking along the same lines myself. I've been drawing up different schedules to see if I can budget my study time so I'm free to help Ron when he's between classes. Ron's schedule isn't nearly as heavy as ours (another polite reference to Ron's 'different path,' Harry noted), so I'll have plenty of time to work with. Normally a seventh-year student uses that free time to practice for his N.E.W.T.'s. But we have something much more important to prepare for this year. When I'm done with him, Ron won't recognize himself. And what are you looking at?" For Harry was now looking at Hermione with such intensity that his eyes seemed like two green flames dancing behind the lenses of his glasses.
"Do you know how much I love you?" Harry said quietly.
"How much?" Hermione teased.
"This much."
Harry drew Hermione into another kiss, gentle but emphatic. His hand caressed her cheek, running along her jaw and down her neck. His fingers slipped under her collar before drawing back quickly. Their lips parted, and Harry smiled.
"It's amazing," he breathed. "Technically, we've only been a couple for a few months, but I feel as if I've loved you forever."
"I feel the same way," Hermione said. "It seems to me that all our time together since we first met on the Hogwarts Express has been one long - and at times very odd - courtship dance. What we're feeling now isn't anything sudden. This seed was planted a long time ago, and it's been growing stronger every day since, even if we didn't see it until now. If we hadn't both been so blind, we'd have seen the truth ages ago. If anyone looks at us now and thinks this is all too abrupt, it just shows that they're only seeing what's on the surface. We know different. We know how strong the foundation is that we're standing on, because we laid every stone ourselves, day by day for six years. If no one else can see it, that's their lookout. We know who and what we are, and where we belong. Nothing else matters."
"I belong with you," Harry said. "If I'd hung onto the Sorcerer's Stone when I had it in my pocket that time, and could make us enough Elixir of Life to live as long as Nicholas Flamel, I'd want to spend every minute with you. If that's nutters, then lock me up in Azkaban and throw away the key."
"They'll have to lock me in the same cell," Hermione laughed softly. "I love you, Harry. Six years or six hundred, it's all the same. No matter what happens, I'll always love you."
They kissed softly again, parting quickly, lest their pent up desires overwhelm them.
"You know," Harry said cautiously, "if we're going off to face Voldemort, there's no guarantee we're coming back."
"You don't believe in the Prophesy?" Hermione said in a gently taunting voice.
"Prophesies are dodgy things," Harry said through a thin smile. "Trelawney said I had 'the power to destroy the Dark Lord,' and maybe that's true. But even if I do kill Voldemort, how do I know he won't take me with him? Trelawney's exact words were, 'neither can live while the other survives.' But that's not the same as saying that one of us will live on after. Maybe - maybe that's the price I'll have to pay to rid the world of Voldemort - to trade my life for his."
"We may all be dead before it's done," Hermione said, extending Harry's thought. "We always thought Hogwarts was the safest place in the world, but last month's attack put that notion aside forever. There's no guarantee we'll even live long enough to sit our N.E.W.T exams at the end of the year."
"Exactly," Harry said, the light of anticipation glowing ever brighter in his eyes. "So," he murmured, his hand creeping along Hermione's neckline, his finger toying with her topmost button, "don't you think we should be doing - well - certain things - now, before our time runs out?"
"You make a good argument, Potter," Hermione said, a gleam surpassing Harry's appearing in her eyes.
"I do?" Harry said, surprised by Hermione's reply.
"You do," Hermione said. "And I think we should do something about it, starting right now."
Hermione rose from her chair, pulling Harry with her.
"Ginny's room won't do," Hermione mused aloud. "Nor will Ron's." Turning to Harry, she asked, "Is there a room in the Burrow that no one's using?" Harry nodded dumbly.
"More than one," he said. "Remember, Mrs. Weasley asked us when we arrived if we wanted a private room. I mean," he amended, "she asked if we each wanted a room of our own."
"Oh, yes," Hermione said. "But what we need now," she purred, "is one room for the two of us."
Harry swallowed. "Well, uh," he said, stumbling over his tongue, "there's the twins' room. It's been vacant since they moved into their flat over the joke shop." He swallowed again, more painfully this time, as he added, "It should have plenty of space, seeing as it was set up for - you know - double occupancy."
Even as he spoke, Harry feared Hermione might balk at using anything having to do with Fred and George. He was wrong.
"Yes," Hermione agreed in her most seductive voice. "That should do nicely. Shall we meet there in, say, ten minutes?"
Swallowing so hard that his eyes watered, Harry nodded.
"Should we bring anything, uh, special?" Harry stammered.
Hermione paused thoughtfully, then nodded.
"Yes. Bring your Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts book."
Harry's torpor shattered at once.
"My what?"
"The twins' room should be the perfect place for us to practice some jinxes and counter-jinxes, maybe even a few hexes," Hermione said confidently. "With all the dangerous experiments they conducted when they were living here, I'm sure they'll have erected a load of protective spells to keep the house from suffering too much damage if something went wrong. They might even block the Ministry from detecting if you do magic before you're allowed, since we know Fred and George did most of their deviltry here when they were underage. And after all the trouble they've brewed up over the years," she said, her eyes narrowed shrewdly, "it's only fair that something good come out of that sulfur pit for a change.
"Yes," she concluded brightly, "I can't think of a better place for us to get in some practice before term starts. After all," she said, lifting an eyebrow meaningfully, "the better prepared we are when we go up against Voldemort, the likelier we are to survive the encounter. That way we can spend our entire lives together at our leisure, rather than trying to cram an abridged lifetime into a few months. Don't you agree?"
Not waiting for an answer, Hermione walked Harry to the door. At the same moment that her right hand reached for the handle, her left snaked around to cup Harry's bum, as she had done earlier on the edge of the Weasleys' paddock. Harry's eyes widened even as Hermione's narrowed.
"One more thing, Harry," she said in a silky voice. "The next time I put my hand here..."
"Yes?" Harry prompted as he savored the feel of Hermione's hand on his backside.
"I want to feel your wand in your pocket, ready to be drawn at a moment's warning."
Harry nodded blankly. Hermione smiled and placed a brief kiss on his lips. Then she opened the door and pushed him out into the hallway, closing the door behind him.
Harry stood in silence for a moment, then turned and walked up the stairs. He met Mrs. Weasley coming down, a satisfied expression glowing like reflected moonlight on her round face. A second look revealed a bedraggled Ginny following a few paces behind. Harry greeted Mrs. Weasley, who smiled down on him (though she was a head shorter than Harry, the stairs lent her a momentary height advantage).
"And where are you bound, Harry, dear?"
"Going to get a book from my room," Harry said. "Hermione and I are going to practice some spells before we turn in. Is it okay if we use Fred and George's room? Only we don't want to get in the way."
"That will be fine," Mrs. Weasley said. "Mind you don't set the house on fire - though goodness knows Fred and George did their best and it's still standing, praise Merlin."
"Thanks," Harry said.
Harry stood aside as Mrs. Weasley passed on by. He was about to say hello to Ginny, but a venomous stare from under her disheveled hair silenced him.
"Not a word," she grunted in a low, dangerous tone. "Not - one - bloody - word."
As she passed Harry, Ginny's footsteps were considerably louder than her mother's as she stomped around a corner and was gone. Harry bit his tongue to keep from laughing out loud, shaking with silent mirth as he walked up to his and Ron's room to fetch his Defense Against the Dark Arts book before meeting Hermione.
Harry seems to have forgotten to tell Hermione about the library. Not to worry, I'm sure he'll get around to it before the next chapter is posted.
As certain readers may have spotted, the flashback sequence is based on a notion borrowed from one of my earlier stories. But while it was only a passing reference then, here it is presented as a detailed scene. How much truth is there to it? Probably less than I hope, but maybe - just maybe - enough to turn the hippogriff's head in the direction we all want.
But why didn't Harry say anything to Ginny about her hair in the real scene in HBP? Is he that thick - or is J.K. that clever, not having Harry ask a question whose answer would have spoilt her carefully-planned diversion? Harry assumes a lot, doesn't he? And as he assumes, so do we. There's an old saying that goes, "When you 'assume,' you make an 'ass' out of 'u' and 'me'." Food for thought.
More to come. Thanks for reading.