Work Text:
7 August 1995
"We already knew that from the Extendables, though," Ginny mused, frowning in the direction of where Hermione was sitting, cross-legged, on her rickety camp bed. "We already knew that You-Know-Who was trying to rebuild his ranks—I mean, half of his old followers are dead or in prison—"
"But we didn't know about the weapon," Hermione interjected grimly. "Whatever it is."
"Hmm," Ginny scratched her chin. "Can't be worse than the Killing Curse, can it? What can You-Know-Who do with some weapon that he can't do with his wand?"
But even as she said it, that familiar empty chill settled in her stomach. You-Know-Who had needed neither wand nor curse to reach inside her life and destroy it, had he? After a moment, Ginny met Hermione's eyes, wondering if Hermione could tell where her mind had gone.
Hermione bit her lip. "I'm not sure I want to know," she said finally. Then, she sighed, closing her eyes and leaning back against the wall. "I don't think I can theorize about this anymore, Ginny."
Ginny swallowed. "Right, sorry, I—"
She broke off, going still. In an instant, both she and Hermione fell completely silent.
Footsteps were coming down the hallway.
"Your mum," gasped Hermione.
Before Ginny could react, Hermione had rocketed out of her bed and blown out the gas lamp.
There was the distinct creak of floorboards from outside the door, and Ginny pressed her lips together tightly as several excruciatingly long moments passed in silence. Then, suddenly, the floorboard creaked once more as her mother started up the nearby staircase to check on Harry and Ron's room.
Ginny closed her eyes and sighed in relief. She heard rustling across the room as Hermione tiptoed back to her camp bed.
"I swear, she doesn't trust any of us," Ginny muttered.
Hermione laughed darkly. "Come on, why should she? She knows we've been eavesdropping on meetings and begging Tonks for information all summer long."
"Well, we have a right to!" snapped Ginny in a fierce whisper. "It's not fair for them to leave us in the dark, Hermione! You-Know-Who is building up an army. We can't just sit around and expect everything to be all right for us because we're underage. When has that ever stopped him before?"
She gritted her teeth. Forced her mind not to imagine ink blotting on yellowed parchment, the feeling of waking up with no memory of the previous twenty-four hours.
Hermione didn't respond. After several beats of silence, Ginny squinted across the room. Through the darkness, she could just make out her bleary outline, sitting up against her pillows with her knees drawn up to her chest.
"You sound like Harry when you say things like that," Hermione said quietly.
Ginny could feel her cheeks and ears prickling with a familiar heat, and she was suddenly very glad for the lack of light. "Things like what?" she asked casually.
"Things like…how we can't just expect everything to be fine," whispered Hermione. "And how we can't pretend it doesn't affect us. I…I think Harry would agree with you."
Ginny's heart soared, fluttering madly in her chest. She tamped it down, feeling idiotic. "Doubt it," she quipped. "I'm Ron's silly little sister, remember?"
"Don't say that," Hermione said sharply. "You did so well this evening—you were finally yourself around him. And remember what I said last year? I really think you should start talking to other boys—you'd feel so much less awkward if you did."
Ginny pondered this.
Finally, drawing a deep breath, she revealed, "Michael Corner asked me out at the end of last year."
There was a dull pause. Then, with the distinct rustle of blankets, Hermione sat up straighter. "What?"
A corner of Ginny's lips twitched. "Yeah."
"Ginny! You never said anything!" Hermione exclaimed in a loud whisper, and Ginny could well imagine the excitement in her face. "Well? What did you tell him?"
Ginny bit her lip to contain her giggle. "I told him I'd have a think on it and write to him over the summer. He gave me his address."
Hermione made a hissy tutting sound. "Are you waiting for a sign or something? The summer's nearly over! Honestly, you're thicker than Ron sometimes, I—"
She broke off abruptly, and Ginny raised her eyebrows.
"What was that?"
"I—nothing."
"Hermione," Ginny prodded, very gently. "What happened between you and Ron after the Yule Ball? Maggie and Demelza heard you rowing in the common room."
Hermione cleared her throat. "Nothing…happened. He was just…very annoyed with me, for going to the ball with Viktor. He said I was fraternizing with the enemy."
Ginny rolled her eyes. "What a load of dragon dung."
Hermione snorted softly.
A long silence stretched across the room.
When Ginny could stand it no longer, she whispered, "Hermione?"
Hermione's voice, uncharacteristically small, floated up in the darkness. "Yeah?"
Ginny hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "As his sister, I reserve every right to call Ron an utter and complete git, and I'm…certainly not excusing any of what he said," she began slowly. "But…I reckon he wouldn't have…cared if he didn't…care." She grimaced to herself, screwing up her face. "Right. That came out terribly—"
"No," Hermione interrupted quietly. "I understand."
Ginny blinked and smiled. Another silence emerged, enveloping the room, but this time it was far more comfortable. Ginny felt her eyelids growing heavy.
Yawning, she stretched her arms and legs contentedly before snuggling into her creaky, lumpy mattress. "What time is it?" she asked Hermione sleepily.
"Nearly three."
"Wow," Ginny laughed. "Do you really think three in the morning is the appropriate time to be discussing this?"
"Sometimes, it feels like the only time we've got," Hermione said softly. "Any other burning secrets you want to share?"
"Mmm…well…I was thinking of trying to get into Quidditch this year. I know Gryffindor's already got three Chasers, but I thought I might be able to make it on as a reserve."
"How do you even know how to play?" Hermione sounded surprised. "I can't imagine any of your brothers would've wanted to teach you."
"I've been breaking into the family broom shed since I was six and flying out each of their brooms in turn."
"Oh," Hermione's tone was half-disapproving, half-impressed. "That's…well—er—good luck for tryouts, then."
Ginny giggled, closing her eyes. Dimly, she could hear the muffled sounds of Sirius and Professor Lupin making their way up to their respective bedrooms.
"'Night, Hermione."
"It's three o'clock in the morning, Ginny."
"Right."