Facing Danger
Chapter 35: Questions and Confessions (Arc 6)
By Anne B. Walsh
"I just came to say I’m sorry," Ron whispered, his voice husky.
He’s been crying. Hermione lay very still, hoping Ron couldn’t hear her heart speeding up. Why has he been crying? For Hagrid? Or for me? Maybe both...
"I never wanted this to happen to you. I wish I could have stopped it sooner. But I couldn’t." A long breath, with a catch in its middle. "I wish I knew who did this to you. I’d go find him and drag him back here. Hold him down for whatever you wanted to do to him, then hex his bits to the moon and his head to Mars." A shaky laugh. "That’s if you left anything alive to hex. I don’t think you would."
No, I’d let him live. Just so I could see you do that for me.
"And it’s not bad enough that some Death Eater groped you and wanted to do worse than that. No, you had to go and take the curse off Ginny—the curse it’s my fault she was under in the first place!" A muffled thump, as though Ron had punched the wall. "I know all the arguments already. How I couldn’t’ve known it’d hurt her, how it would have been worse if I hadn’t done what I did. But I don’t care. The end result’s the same. You helped my sister, and now you’re under a curse, and it’s my fault. And I can’t even tell you I’m sorry, because you’re afraid of me. Or you would be, if you knew I was here."
But I do know you’re here. You just don’t know I know. And I’m not afraid.
"I can say it at least, even if you won’t hear me. Neenie—" A brief, snorted laugh. "I always call you that when I’m not thinking about it. And you always yell at me for it. But it fits you. Not better than ‘Hermione,’ but different. Like it’s another side of you." Another laugh, this one stronger. "And if you were awake, you’d be telling me to get on with it. Neenie, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t want you to get hurt. I didn’t want anyone to get hurt, but you least of all..."
Hermione caught her breath before she could stop herself.
"Uh-oh," Ron muttered, and hasty footsteps started for the door.
"Ron, wait!" Hermione rolled over and sat up. "Please, don’t go!"
Ron froze with his hand on the doorknob. "I thought you were afraid," he said without turning around.
"I was." Hermione examined her feelings. "I still am, some. Just... not of you."
"What’s wrong? I’m not good enough to be afraid of?"
"No!" Anger and amusement warred within her. Hermione doused them both with a mental bucket of water and made her tone neutral. "Can you turn around, please? I hate talking to your back."
Ron turned slowly, glancing once at her before choosing a spot on the far wall to fix his eyes on. "How stupid did I sound?" he asked.
"Not stupid at all." Hermione sorted through all the words she knew, choosing carefully which ones to use. This might be one of the most important conversations she ever had. "Would you like to come sit down?"
"I’m fine here."
"Please?"
Ron looked at her again, his expression shading out of hostility into uncertainty. "You’re really not afraid of me?"
Hermione slid down the bed and patted a spot on its bottom corner. "Come sit."
Ron watched her closely as she scooted back to her place. "I don’t understand," he said, crossing to the bed and sitting down as she’d asked. "I thought you were afraid of everyone. Blokes, anyway. You won’t even let Draco or Harry come near you."
Hermione nodded, swallowing against the memory of the stabbing fear through her heart at the sight and scent of her brothers.
"So why me?" Ron poked himself in the chest. "What’s so special about me?"
"Two reasons." Start with the easy one. He said it just a bit ago. "One, you saved me. Your magic broke the spell on me. Without you, right now I’d be dead, or wishing I was." She looked up and smiled. "How can I be afraid of the person who saved my life?"
"It was an accident," Ron mumbled, looking away. "I didn’t know what I was doing."
"Why did your magic find me?" Hermione countered. "Why not Ginny? She’s your sister. She’s the one you have the strongest bond with, the one you would have found if you’d just been flailing about blindly. You were looking for me, Ron. It wasn’t any accident."
Ron’s ears were starting to glow. "My breaking the spell was," he said, still staring at the floor beside the bed. "I got angry..."
"Because you saw what had happened to me. And because you saw that I didn’t care. Because you..." Hermione stopped, her face heating up. "You do care," she finished, aware the words sounded stilted.
"Why don’t you say what you mean?" Ron turned away from her and crossed his arms. "Or what I mean. Since you know everything about me already."
"I’d rather you say it." Hermione knew Ron was trying to get her angry, knew that if she’d been her usual self it would have worked, but hearing what she thought he was saying to her was acting like a Cheering Charm on her.
I don’t think I could get angry right now if I wanted to.
"Say what?" Ron challenged, still looking at the door.
"More of what you were saying before. When you thought I was asleep." Hermione sighed. "I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I wasn’t, but I didn’t want to frighten you."
Ron looked over his shoulder at her, frowning. "Wasn’t that supposed to be the other way around?"
"Maybe." Hermione shrugged. "Are you going to finish what you were saying, or should I tell you the other reason I’m not afraid of you?"
"You go on." Ron hitched himself back around to face her again. "I can wait."
"All right."
You arse, Ron Weasley. Now I have to say it first.
"I never knew how to tell you this," Hermione said after a few moments’ thought. "I suppose I was hoping you’d work it out on your own if I gave you enough hints. But you never did—and that’s my fault," she added quickly, forestalling the imminent explosion from Ron. "I thought I was making it obvious, but now I understand we don’t see ‘obvious’ the same way."
"Who? You and me?"
"Well, yes, but also boys and girls in general. A girl can think she’s being perfectly plain..."
"And we don’t see it at all," Ron finished. "Sounds normal to me." He grinned. "Come on, Hermione, you’ve studied with me. You know how long it takes me to catch onto things. What didn’t I get this time?"
His face ought to be worth remembering, even if this goes completely wrong every other way.
Hermione steeled herself up and looked directly at Ron. "I think I’m in love with you."
Then she had to close her teeth around her lips to keep from laughing—Ron’s eyes appeared to be trying to get free of their sockets, and his mouth was halfway open as if he’d started to say something and choked before anything other than a strangled-sounding "Erk" could break loose.
I was right.
"Me?" Ron finally managed to say, after opening and closing his mouth several times. His eyes were still very wide, but he’d lost his momentary resemblance to Luna. "Why me?"
"I don’t know." Hermione looked down at her blanket-covered knees. "Maybe because you can always distract me from one of my bad moods by being silly, or by bringing up something I want to argue about. By the time I’m done arguing with you, or laughing with you, I’m not angry anymore."
"That’s just being a friend," Ron objected. "Being Pride. We all do that."
"Then maybe it’s because you like to flatter me about how smart I am—"
"It’s not flattering you if it’s true."
Hermione sighed. "Fine, you like to tell me how smart you think I am. But that doesn’t mean you let me make your decisions or pick how you feel about things. And if you think I’m wrong or I’m being stupid, you tell me so. Not to hurt me, but because you think I’m worth your honest opinion."
"That’s being a friend too. You do it for me all the time."
"And how else do you think love starts?" Hermione could feel her patience wearing thin. "Real love, not just being attracted to someone because they bat their eyelashes at you and they’ll snog you anytime you want—"
"So you’re saying I don’t care about Lavender?"
"I am not saying that, and don’t put words in my mouth!" I should have known I could get angry if I tried. This is Ron I’m talking to, after all. But it won’t help. "This isn’t getting us anywhere. Let’s try something else."
Ron gave a curt nod.
"It’s your turn to talk." Hermione fought to sound encouraging. "To go on with what you were saying before. I promise I won’t laugh."
Ron looked away. "I don’t even remember it anymore."
"Something about not wanting me to get hurt," Hermione prompted. "Or you could always go back to what you wanted to do to the person who..." She stalled on the words. "You know. Touched me."
"I want to kill him," Ron said in a monotone. "Except that might be over too fast. I want to beat his face in and break every bone in his hands, because he took advantage of you!" He looked up at her again, his eyes seething with anger. "He waited until you couldn’t fight him, until you didn’t know you should fight him. And he didn’t care if he hurt you, only that he got what he wanted. No one who would do that to any girl should be running around free, but you..." His hands clenched shut on the blankets of Hermione’s bed.
Her heart pounding, Hermione slid slowly down the bed towards Ron.
"I want to hurt him," Ron said, staring at the floor. "Make him apologize to you on bended knee, and make him mean it. And then I want to curse him so hard he’ll never even think about doing that to another girl, ever again."
I like that. I like it a lot. Hermione reached out slowly, amazed at her own daring. Now for the next part...
Her hand touched Ron’s, sliding over it. Ron jerked his head around at the touch and nearly fell off the bed as he took in where she was sitting.
"I need to ask you a question, Ron," Hermione said. "And I need an honest answer."
Ron nodded slowly, blue eyes fixed on her face.
"Do you think I’m pretty?"
"Pretty?" Ron repeated, sounding confused. "Why?"
"Just answer. Please."
"Well, you’re not ugly..."
"Oh, thank you."
"Give me a chance, will you?" Ron glared at her. "Or is it another one of those questions like ‘do these robes make me look fat’ that there’s no right answer to?"
Hermione shook her head, chagrined with herself. "I’m sorry. Go on."
"You probably won’t win any beauty contests," Ron said frankly. "But I like to look at you. I like to watch your face change while you’re reading, and try to guess what you’re thinking about. I like how you come alive when you learn something new, when you do it faster and better than anyone else. I like how you play with your hair when you’re working on an essay, and how you smile when you’re thinking up a prank. Actually I like how you smile anytime. I wish you’d do it more."
"If you keep saying things like that, I won’t be able to help it," Hermione said weakly, amazed her hair hadn’t caught fire from the heat radiating off her face. "Ron, I never knew..."
Ron ducked his head. "I thought you’d think it was stupid," he said to his knees. "You deserve a lot better than me."
Hermione swatted him across the shoulder with her free hand. "I do not. Stop running yourself down."
"I’m not. You said you wanted me to be honest."
"About me. And you were." Hermione squeezed his hand. "Thank you."
"You’re welcome. It’s still true."
"No, it is not!"
"Prove it," Ron muttered, still staring at his legs.
"Gladly. Look at me."
Ron turned and looked. "You’re Hermione," he said after a few moments.
"Yes, I am. The same Hermione who’s been deathly afraid of every man who comes near her for the past three days. Except one." Hermione let her gaze drop to their two hands, hers still covering Ron’s. "Except you."
"That’s just because I was lucky enough to help you out—"
"Because you were looking for me," Hermione cut him off. "Because you were scared for me, and angry for me when you saw what had happened. Angry enough to break what must have been a very powerful spell."
"I’d’ve been just as angry if it’d happened to Ginny—"
"But you didn’t look for Ginny. You looked for me."
Ron swallowed. "It’d never work," he said feebly. "I can’t keep up with you. You’re better than I am at everything."
"Not at chess, or solving a Rubik’s Cube, or fixing a watch," Hermione reminded him. "Not at Quidditch. And not at planning a rescue mission."
"What if I hurt you?" Ron met her eyes for an instant, then looked down at their hands. "What if I say something, or do something, stupid, and hurt you with it? You can’t tell me I won’t. We both know I will."
"Then I’ll tell you you’re being stupid, and we’ll work together to fix it," Hermione said calmly, belying the aggravation she was beginning to have to actively restrain. "Just like we will if I hurt you."
"You—" Ron’s head came up fast. "You, hurt me?"
"It’s happened before. When I’m angry, when I’m looking for someone to take it out on. And we both know I’ll do it again, because it’s part of who I am." Hermione sighed. "We wouldn’t be perfect together, Ron. Nobody is. But we can’t know if we’d be good or not unless we try."
Ron looked back down at his hand, covered by hers. Slowly, he turned it over, until their palms rested against each other. "I s’pose I can try," he said. "I’ve tried lots of things." He met her eyes and smiled. "I’m rubbish at most of them, but sometimes I find one I can do."
Hermione answered the smile with one of her own. "I’ll help," she promised, closing her fingers gently around his. "Just like always."
Ron frowned. "Does that mean you’re going to draw up a timetable for snogging?"
"A what?"
"It’s what you always do when you’re helping me study for exams..."
Hermione reached behind her with her free hand, snagged a pillow, and threw it at Ron. He caught it with his free hand, laughing, and tossed it back to the head of the bed. "Kidding, Hermione, I’m kidding, I swear..."
"You called me Neenie before."
"I did?" Ron colored. "I did. I’m sorry."
"Don’t be. You’re allowed now."
Ron swallowed again. "You’re sure about this."
"I am, yes..." Hermione’s heart sank as what this might mean occurred to her. "Ron, I understand if you’re not interested," she said, starting to pull her hand away. "You can tell me, I won’t be upset. If you want to stay with Lavender—"
"Lavender?" Ron stared at her, not letting go of her hand. "You think this is about Lavender?"
"I don’t know what else it could be about! You’re acting as if you don’t want this—"
"Like hell I am!"
"That’s how it looks from here!"
"Then maybe you should try seeing it from where I am!" Ron pointed at the window. "I came in there ten minutes ago because no one would tell me anything about how you were. I was expecting to see you were alive, say a few things I wasn’t sure I was ready for you to hear, then leave again before you woke up and I scared you. Except you did wake up, and you heard me, and now you’re saying things to me I haven’t even dared to dream about..." He trailed off, shaking his head.
"I still remember kissing you in third year," Hermione said softly. "After you said you’d take the curse off Draco."
"I thought we agreed that never happened."
"Fine, then I don’t remember it. But I just wanted you to know that I always have remembered the thing I don’t remember."
"That wouldn’t even make sense if Luna said it."
"Thank you. I think."
They sat for a long moment in silence.
"If you really don’t want this, Ron, all you have to do is say so," Hermione said finally.
"Hermione," Ron began, then stopped. "I’m allowed to use the other? You won’t hit me?"
Hermione held back a giggle but couldn’t completely repress the smile. "I won’t hit you."
"Thanks." Ron smiled back, hesitantly. "I always liked calling you that. So I guess what I’m trying to say is..." He gulped. "Swear you won’t hit me?"
"Here." Hermione offered him her other hand. "Hold onto this. Then I can’t."
"Thanks." Ron lifted their already joined hands to Hermione’s free one and closed both his around both hers. "Here goes nothing," he said under his breath, then looked up and into her eyes, his hands’ grasp tightening. "I do want you, Neenie. More than anything. I just never dared admit it before. Because I was sure you’d never think about me as anything except the boy you had to rescue from Fred and George in the orchard."
Hermione’s heart gave a terrific double thump, and heat spread out from her hands to engulf her entire body. "How long?" she asked faintly. "How long have you known?"
Ron grinned ruefully at her. "Since the day you rescued me from Fred and George in the orchard."
"Really?"
Ron nodded. "Some part of me always knew. Or hoped. Or wished. Even before I understood about girls—not that I do now—but I always knew you were something special." He squeezed her hands again. "What about you?"
Hermione smiled, finally able to let her true feelings show in her eyes. "What do you think?"
"Since the day..." Ron began.
"I rescued you..." Hermione continued.
"From Fred and George in the orchard!" they finished together, and broke down laughing.
Remus checked his watch. Forty minutes since Danger had told him Ron had overheard her and Aletha’s carefully planned conversation. Half an hour since he’d made a tactful withdrawal at the thump of feet on the bedroom floor.
I’d have been able to hear her from here if she called out or screamed, but I haven’t. I’ve heard a few other things, most of which are only half-encouraging to a father’s ears...
For the last fifteen minutes, though, he had heard nothing but silence.
I think it may be time for a bedroom check, Danger said.
Remus glanced down the hall at the closed door. I don’t know.
Oh, go on. What’s the worst that could happen?
I completely terrify her, undo any good that’s been done, and set her even further back?
...pessimist.
You asked. Remus laid his hand on the doorknob and turned it. In three, two, one...
He swung the door open.
Ron lay sprawled on the bed, asleep. Neenie the calico cat, curled into a loose ball, slept on his chest. Her head was pillowed on his hand, and her tail draped across his wrist.
That, said Danger, is the second cutest thing I have ever seen.
Second?
Danger shot him a glimpse of a young man, sleeping on a couch with a small girl lying across him. It took Remus a few seconds to recognize his twenty-three-year-old self and the toddler Hermione. You’re trying to embarrass me, Mrs. Lupin, aren’t you?
Since your cure for embarrassment involves making sure no one can see how red your face is getting by hiding it with mine... absolutely.
Remus shut the door quietly, so as not to disturb the sleepers. For that, you get a spanking.
But I haven’t even lit the Grail-shaped beacon!
You deserve it anyway.
Fine. And after the spankings—
Don’t finish that sentence.
Oh, so you don’t like it anymore?
Remus’ reply to this was graphic, specific, and would have given the cubs nightmares for months.
Ginny looked up from her book.
It’s quiet. She let her eyes roam the room. Too quiet. A quick sniff. But something sure smells good...
"Boo," said a voice in her ear, as arms draped over her shoulders to hug her.
"Harry!" She would have jumped off the couch had he not been holding her on it. "Don’t scare me like that!"
Harry laughed, leaning down over her shoulder. "Don’t let me," he challenged.
"Meh." Ginny stuck out her tongue at him.
"Temptress." Harry gave her cheek a quick peck, then straightened up. "But what’s this?"
"What’s what?" Ginny tried to turn her head to see what Harry was looking at, but he seemed to be holding her ear between his fingers. "Harry..."
"When did you last wash behind your ears?" Harry said in a scolding tone. A tweak at her ear made her yip, and his hand came into her field of vision holding a Sickle. "Look what’s been stuck there and you never even noticed." He handed it to her. "Go buy yourself a washcloth."
Ginny accepted the Sickle and flipped it in her palm. "How did you do that?"
"Just putting my Christmas presents to good use." Harry came around the end of the little couch Ginny was sitting on and plopped down beside her. "Padfoot and Moony got me a book on Muggle magic. Sleight of hand, misdirection, illusion. Like when I was talking about your ear, you were so focused on what I was saying that you never even noticed..." He took the Sickle back from her and tucked it under his last two fingers. "What I had in my hand."
"I couldn’t see what you had in your hand," Ginny pointed out. "I couldn’t even see your hand."
"That’s called forcing. Making your audience do something that they think is their free choice, but that you’ve determined already."
"What have you determined about me?" Ginny asked lazily.
"Hmm." Harry leaned back, rubbing his bottom lip thoughtfully with the Sickle. "You’re a very bad girl who likes to do things with me that would make our mothers all scream?"
"You’ve mistaken me for my evil sock-stealing boy-snogging house-elf twin Virginia again."
"Oh, I’m sorry. Let me try one more time." Harry picked up the Sickle between thumb and forefinger, closed his other hand around it, and made it disappear, then reappear. "You’re a perfect little angel who would never do anything her mummy didn’t like."
"And don’t you forget it." Ginny swung her legs up onto the couch and across Harry’s lap. "So this Muggle magic stuff. Don’t you sometimes need an assistant? Or a partner?"
"I’d rather have a partner, if you’re offering."
"I’m offering."
"All right, we can start with the coin tricks. They’re the easiest. Then we can try some cards, and then maybe some stuff with ropes." Harry took Ginny’s hand in his and laid the Sickle in her palm. "Curve your hand just a little, until you can feel its edges and it won’t fall out, but not so much that someone would be able to tell you’re holding something in there if all they saw was the back of your hand. That’s called palming. Some people can do it with cards too, but I think your hands are probably too small..."
They were still practicing nearly an hour later when Meghan stuck her head in the room. "Have you seen Ron?" she asked. "Your mum’s looking for him, Ginny; she wants to know if he’s done with his homework for the holidays."
"Knowing him, he’s not," said Ginny. "But no, I haven’t seen him. Harry?"
"Not for a while. He was going upstairs, the last I saw."
"All right, I’ll try up there. Thanks." Meghan skipped out.
Ginny flipped the Sickle into the air, caught it, and made it disappear. "What would Ron be doing upstairs at this hour?" she wondered aloud. "He doesn’t do homework unless Mum or Hermione nag him about it, but Mum’s been too busy, and Hermione..." She trailed off, rubbing the scar on her arm. "Why did she do it, Harry?" she asked, a few seconds of pain and terror replaying themselves in her mind. "It isn’t fair. She shouldn’t be punished for what happened to me."
"I actually wanted to talk to you about that." Harry’s carefully casual tone, and the sudden eddy of uncertainty and outright fear in his scent, made Ginny look up. He was studying a frayed place on one of the couch’s cushions between them, his fingers working at the hole.
"Here." Ginny offered him the Sickle. "Stop destroying the furniture."
"But it’s an ugly couch. It has to die."
"We’ll kill it later." Ginny removed Harry’s fingers from the cushion and closed them around the coin. "Tell me what’s wrong."
Meghan climbed the stairs towards the third floor, frowning. Ron hadn’t been in any of the rooms on the first or second floors where he might possibly have a reason to be, and though it was barely possible that he might have needed something from his own parents’ bedroom, it was far more likely that he was in or near a different room altogether...
Which would be very, very bad.
Her head came above the floor level, and she waved at Mama Letha, who was sitting outside the door of what had been Moony and Danger’s room with a book. Mama waved back and beckoned her closer, tapping her lips with a finger. Meghan nodded and approached on tiptoe. What is it? she asked with her hands.
Did I tell you Danger and I had a plan to help Hermione? Mama Letha asked in return, setting her book on the floor beside her chair.
Meghan shook her head. Did you? Did you try it? Did it work?
Mama Letha smiled. See for yourself. She reached around and opened the door of the bedroom.
Meghan peered in, and her eyes widened. But... I thought... She couldn’t articulate what she’d thought with her hands, or even with words, and finally settled for a silent, arms-flung-wide Huzzah!
Yes, indeed. Mama Letha shut the door gently, smiling wider than before. Now, I want you to go and do what you do best.
Tell everybody? Meghan bounced on her toes, grinning. Tell everybody Hermione’s going to be all right?
Tell them that she’s on her way. Yes. Mama Letha hugged her close once. You may want to start with Ron’s parents. I think they deserve to see this.
Meghan nodded eagerly and skipped down the hall, dancing a few steps to the jubilant chant in her thoughts. Hermione’s getting better, Hermione’s getting better...
And she finally figured out about Ron. Took her long enough.
She shrugged. Not everyone could be like her and Neville.
I think I’ll tell him second—no, third. Draco and Luna should know right after Ron’s parents, Moony and Danger will already know if Danger was in on the plan, and I don’t think Harry and Ginny will want me bothering them again so soon, not even for this...
Harry slid the Sickle back and forth across his palm, still not meeting Ginny’s eyes. "I think you know why Hermione took the curse off you," he said. "You just don’t want to think about it."
Ginny shook her head. "I remember Luna telling me something about it, but not what. I was too busy taking in that I’d been bitten by a werewolf but I wasn’t going to be a werewolf to listen to much of anything else." She laughed once. "Except that Ron gave me the headache that stopped me transforming. That, I heard just fine."
"And you slapped him for it when you saw him." Harry chuckled. "Draco told me."
"It felt good. But to get back to what we started talking about, no, I don’t know why Hermione took the curse off me. Other than to stop me being a werewolf, which is nice of her but not worth her being what amounts to half of one. I’m the alpha now. I’m supposed to take the worst of what comes at us. So if you know, would you please tell—Harry, why are you blushing?"
"I’m not."
"Your face is turning red. What else would you call that?"
"Er." Harry closed his hand around the Sickle. "Ginny, I don’t know if I should be the one telling you this."
Ginny put her hand over his, meeting his eyes as he looked up at her. "I won’t laugh. Tell me."
"It’s not laughing I’m worried about." Harry’s smile was strained, and Ginny sensed he was holding himself in place on the couch with willpower alone, that left to his own devices he’d have been bolting away from here as fast as possible. "It’s—there’s a question I have to ask you at some point, and I don’t think either of us is really ready for it, but with the war getting worse and the way the prophecies make it sound, I might have to ask it soon, and I hate having things not be settled, so I may as well just ask now and let you say no..."
"How do you know I’m going to say no?" Ginny asked, amazed that her words could come out so calmly and her hands stay still on Harry’s while her insides were quivering in two directions at once with anticipation.
"Because it’s too much to ask you. Too much for you to give."
"Why don’t you let me decide that." Ginny stroked a small circle on the back of Harry’s wrist. "Ask me."
"All right." Harry freed his hand from Ginny’s and turned it over, opening it to reveal the Sickle. "Watch." His fingers closed over the Sickle again, and his other hand swooped in and plucked out—
Ginny inhaled sharply. The object in Harry’s hand was still round and still silver, but its similarity to a Sickle ended there. Sickles were solid disks, not an intricately twisted rim of metal around empty space. And Sickles didn’t usually cause the person holding them to look at one with a mix of hope, terror, and anger on his face.
Only one of those had better be because of me...
"I went and looked," Harry said, lowering his hands back into his lap. Ginny had a feeling it was to keep her from seeing how hard he was trembling. "Did you know Danger keeps a copy of all her prophecies?"
"I didn’t."
"Now you do. So I looked them up. Two of them say something about the ‘lion’s line’. Another one calls it the ‘founder’s line’. But they all say the same thing about it. It has to continue." Harry was getting redder by the second. "And that needs, well, it needs..."
"Two people. A man and a woman." Ginny shut her lips tightly over a laugh at the thought of Harry having to explain the facts of life to her. "I do have six brothers, Harry. Mum told me how it works before I was eight years old."
"Lucky you." Harry grinned shakily. "Draco and I were totally innocent until we were thirteen."
"Totally innocent? You?"
Harry laughed. "Well, maybe not totally."
"Maybe?" Ginny teased. "Don’t forget how long I’ve known you, Harry Potter. You were never innocent."
"About that, I was. For a while." Harry frowned. "How did we start talking about this?"
"You brought up the prophecies. How they say that a line has to continue."
"Oh, right. Except it’s not just ‘a line,’ Ginny. It’s the lion’s line. Gryffindor. And there’s only one person—well, two, now, but Moony can’t. So that only leaves one." He looked straight at her. "It leaves me."
Ginny nodded slowly, twisting her own hands to keep them from shaking and giving her away.
"I didn’t want to do this now." Harry scrubbed the palm of his free hand against his jeans. "It’s too soon, for both of us. Even in the wizarding world, we’re still kids. We shouldn’t have to think about this yet."
"But war makes everyone grow up too fast," Ginny murmured. "War makes us do things sooner, because we might not get another chance."
"Yeah." Harry reached for her hand. Ginny met him halfway. "If we weren’t in a war, I still think I would have done this someday. But we are, and you nearly died a couple days ago, and I don’t know what I would have done if you had. I want to think I’d still fight, I’d find some other way to fulfill the prophecies and beat Voldemort, but I honestly don’t know."
"I do." Ginny pressed his hand. "And you would. You’d still have the Pack and the Pride to help you, and you’re a warrior, Harry, a champion. With or without me, you’d keep fighting."
"But I fight much better with you..." Harry stopped. "That came out wrong."
"I know what you meant."
"Good. Explain it to me."
They both laughed.
"What I’m trying to say is, the only thing I’m sorry about is how soon this is," Harry said when they’d got their breaths back. "It’s going to seem like I’m rushing things, or like I’m only doing it because of the prophecies, and that isn’t it at all. And I don’t want you to feel like you have to answer a certain way, either. If you don’t want this, really and truly want it, then tell me so. I don’t ever want to push you into anything you’re not ready for, anything that would hurt you." He caressed her fingers. "Because that would be losing the war just as much as if Voldemort killed me tomorrow."
"Which had better not happen." Ginny heard the quaver in her voice and swallowed to clear it before she went on. "Go ahead and ask, Harry. I’m ready."
"You’re sure?" Harry gave her a searching gaze, his nostrils slightly flared. Ginny knew he was analyzing her scent and her posture as much as her words, just as she was his.
And he means what he’s said. He wants the answer that he wants, both for himself and for what it would mean for ending the war, but even more he wants me to be happy.
Maybe I can make it all happen at once.
"I’m sure."
"All right, then." Harry slid off the couch and went to one knee at her feet. "Ginny, if we both feel the same when we’re of age, and if your parents say you can..."
Ginny couldn’t quite stifle a giggle. If my parents say I can—how romantic...
"If you don’t mind?" Harry glared. "This isn’t easy, you know."
"Sorry." Ginny got herself under control. "Carry on."
Harry scowled. "I lost my place."
"If my parents say I can," Ginny prompted.
"Right." Harry took a deep breath. "Because I want this war to be over, and because I can’t imagine anyone else I’d rather ask this question..." He held up the intricate silver ring he’d made appear a few minutes before. "Ginevra Weasley, when we’re both ready for it, will you marry me?"
For the first time in her life, Ginny appreciated the true meaning of the word ‘torn’.
It really feels like my heart’s being ripped apart. I want this, or I think I do, but Harry said it himself—we’re still kids, he’s a year and a half from being seventeen and I have even longer! Besides, most people date for more than six months before they decide to get married, and most people don’t have the fate of the wizarding world hanging on what they say...
But most people don’t have a partner this worried about what asking this will do to them, either. Ginny looked at Harry, made herself truly look at him, truly listen to what he’d said to her. He’s angry at himself for having to ask this of me. He almost wishes I’d say no, because he knows how wrong things could go for both of us if I say yes because I’m a silly romantic girl or because I feel I have to, for the sake of the war. But at the same time, he wants me to say yes, because...
Her cheeks flamed as she recognized the musky, dark overtone in Harry’s scent.
Nice to know he appreciates me.
But I’ve always known that. And he appreciates all of me, not just my looks. We’re friends—we’ve been friends for much longer than we’ve been going together—and we complement each other well, make up for one another’s weaknesses. Plus we like to spend time together, to laugh and talk and work side by side. I can’t imagine that will change as we grow older.
So I might as well say what I want to. Say what he wants me to.
This may be about saving the world, but it’s about us first.
"When it’s time," Ginny said softly, looking into Harry’s eyes. "When we both agree—and our parents, too—that it’s time... yes, Harry. Yes. I’ll marry you."
Incredulous joy filled Harry’s face and scent, and Ginny felt her own rising to meet it.
I’m crazy. I am out of my mind. I’m fourteen years old and I’ve just agreed to get married.
Gently, Harry lifted her left hand and slid the ring onto her finger.
But we can’t let a little thing like insanity stop us from winning the war, now can we?
Besides, Mum and Dad won’t let me do anything too crazy.
I hope.
Then Harry was standing up, and pulling her to her feet and into his arms, and Ginny abandoned thought in favor of kissing her fiancé as though she’d never get another chance.
Author Notes:
Sorry about the wait. Hope this makes up for it. Next chapter, we’re back to school and back to the DA, resolving Cho’s story (for real this time), and introducing Professor Hestia Jones in her new position. Soon after that will come the one chapter including the entire plot, such as it was, of HBP... and after that, who knows? Only me, and I’m not telling... yet. Please encourage me to want to get it out to you as soon as possible!