It had happened. Harry had been living a life of leisure at the
Burrow for one week, and already the Ministry had shown up demanding
payment for his protection.
Sort of.
It was payment in
the form of an award. But from everything Harry had heard so far, it
sounded as though it was to be quite the affair.
The new
Minister of Magic, Henry Whitmyre, had glided into the Weasley home an
hour ago and informed Harry that the Ministry had decided to bestow
upon him one of the highest honours: the Order of Merlin, First Class.
Whitmyre
was a tall, good-looking man, and he didn't remind Harry of Fudge in
the slightest. Rather than presenting himself as a kindly, fatherly
fellow, he was much more of an elder statesmen. He had a courtly
nature. Very posh. Being different than Fudge could only be a good
sign, in Harry's opinion. But the fact he was receiving this particular
award at all told Harry that Whitmyre was still a politician at heart.
Once he had delivered the grand news, Whitmyre had quickly made his exit, his robes billowing behind him.
Now
Harry was left in the kitchen with Michael Buzzbee, apparently the Head
of Ministry Affairs. Though in Harry's opinion, he seemed like a
glorified event coordinator. He was supposed to be filling Harry in on
all the wondrous details.
So far he had caught that the ordeal was to take place at Hogwarts, immediately following Gryffindor's first Quidditch match.
"The perfect setting considering your recent history, don't you think?"
Harry
merely grunted. He wasn't really listening. Ginny was sitting beside
him, openly glaring at the man, and Harry assumed she was paying rapt
attention on his behalf. He had other things to think about.
Harry wasn't certain how he should feel about this whole business.
The Order of Merlin, First Class.
It
was an honour that was supposed to be reserved for people that had
demonstrated particular devotion to the principals of wizards living
harmoniously with Muggles. It was true that perhaps it had lost some of
its prestige over the years. Pettigrew had been given the award
"posthumously" for his alleged confrontation with Sirius. Even Lockhart
had fallen into it somehow. But in both cases, that was only Third
Class.
The nagging thought that Harry couldn't escape was the
idea that this was one of the accolades that had distinguished
Dumbledore from other ordinary Wizards. And HE had dedicated decades of
his life to the relations between Muggles and Wizards - both in battle
and politics. He was an intellectual, a powerful wizard, and a great
man.
All Harry had done was kill someone. And he really didn't see how murdering a man, even a madman, made him worthy.
Maybe
if he'd had some choice in the matter. But he hadn't. Voldemort had
chosen him. Harry hadn't faced off with the Dark Lord because he had
wanted to. He had spent two years resenting the fact that it had to be
him, furious with destiny for putting him in this position.
And
when it came right down to it, it was kill or be killed. Didn't
survival reek of his own self-interest? It certainly wasn't nobility.
How did that make him as great as Albus Dumbledore?
Then
there was the slight detail that Harry didn't think this award was
really about him at all. It was a rather extravagant way for the
Ministry to give the all clear to the rest of the Wizarding world. A
signal that dark times were officially over and it was time to
celebrate and move forward. Also, and more disgustingly, the Ministry
was buying back their good reputation - outwardly showing they
recognized Harry as a bona fide hero, hoping everyone might forget the
smear campaign launched against him under Fudge.
"Have you gone
completely mad?" Ginny's confounded voice broke into Harry's thoughts.
And the way her mouth was hanging open, completely agog, Harry could
tell he had missed something important.
"What do you say,
Harry?" Buzzbee asked jubilantly. "People still talk about how
fantastic you were last time. How about a rematch? See if she remembers
you. Find out if she holds a grudge."
"It's lunacy!" Ginny stood
up out of her chair. "Of course he doesn't want to do it. He was scared
out of his wits last time, but he had no choice. He could be killed.
Ripped apart. EATEN!" There were few moments when Ginny reminded Harry
of her mother, this was definitely one of them.
"Um, I'm sorry," Harry said awkwardly. "What?"
Ginny
only rolled her eyes at him; obviously not too surprised his mind had
wandered away. "This nutter wants you to fight the Hungarian Horntail
from the Triwizard Tournament for your medal."
"Brilliant show, don't you think, Harry?" Buzzbee interjected.
Struck
a little dumb by the mere suggestion, Harry weakly offered, "Ah, no, I
don't think that sounds like a particularly fantastic idea, actually."
Buzzbee
looked dejected, frowning as though to suggest Harry was a terrible
spoilsport. "Alright. How about something a little simpler? We
get a more docile breed, a Common Welsh Green, maybe. And have you ride
it into the stadium."
Harry just stared.
"Come on,
Harry," Buzzbee encouraged. "You're the conquering hero. You need to
make your entrance in style. People will talk about it for years.
Promise me you'll at least think about it."
Harry swallowed. His
palms felt sweaty. Somehow he was coming to the impression this wasn't
something he could get out of easily. "I'll think about it."
Ginny scoffed, threw her hands into the air and stormed from the room, obviously disgusted with the pair of them.
Buzzbee nodded towards the door and winked conspiratorially. "Real firecracker, eh? Good luck with that one."
Harry glared. And crossed his arms for good measure. "Don't think I need your luck, thanks."
Realizing
he had crossed a line, Buzzbee nodded. And amazingly, a bit of the
glamorous facade seemed to come down as he leaned forward and said,
"Look, I understand you want out of the spotlight. I don't really get
it, but I understand that's what you're aiming for. Here's my advice:
if you lock yourself away, make yourself into a mystery, it's the same
as inviting the press to invade your privacy."
Intrigued against his will, Harry said, "Go on."
Buzzbee
smiled. "Think of that chap Lockhart a few years back. Sure witches
loved him, but no one was digging through his trash trying to find his
underwear. Why? Because he was everywhere. He probably would have Owled
out a pair of skivvies to anyone who asked him."
Harry's mouth went dry in horror. "I'm not giving out my underwear to anyone."
Buzzbee
held up a hand. "I'm merely saying put yourself out there - be
amenable, let your picture be taken occasionally - and you become less
valuable. When Witch Weekly calls, and they will call, do the
interview. Make sure it includes a few photographs of you looking
handsome." He grinned wryly. "And though I suspect it may come
naturally to you, don't look broody. Smile. Smile until your teeth
hurt. Don't sit in the back of the restaurant, hiding in the shadows.
Get a table out in the open. And if anyone asks for an autograph, chat
them up and give it to them."
As though it all made perfect
sense, he continued, "So do this thing with the dragon for me. And the
press conference afterwards."
"Press conference?" Harry blurted.
But
Buzzbee was already standing and fastening his robe. "It may take a
year or two, but believe me, Harry, people will get bored of you."
After a firm handshake and a further promise from Harry that he would think about it, Buzzbee was gone.
Left
alone in the kitchen, Harry wasn't sure what to think. Maybe it was the
glimmer of hope that people might get bored of him, but suddenly,
riding a dragon didn't seem quite so terrible.
On impulse, he
dashed up to his room and started tearing through his trunk. Now that
the twins had their own place above their store, Harry had been given
their old room. It was an interesting space, filled with oddly coloured
scorch marks of varying sizes, and Harry hadn't fully moved in yet.
Ginny came in behind him. "What are you doing?"
His head fully shoved inside the trunk as he pushed things about, he answered, "Looking for my dragon."
"Your dragon?" She sat down on his bed.
"Yeah."
Harry leaned back on his heels and started dumping stuff out on the
floor. "For the Triwizard Tournament we had to pick a little statue out
of a sack to determine which dragon we would face."
Ginny frowned. "Why do you want it?"
"For
luck." Harry grinned, a little embarrassed. "I know. It seems silly.
But I'll have you remember I not only survived, but I also scored
fairly well, so it seems like it might be lucky." Ginny just stared at
him. "What?"
"You're actually looking forward to this, aren't you?" She actually sounded a little hurt.
Harry
instantly knew the correct answer was no. And while that was true, he
wasn't really looking forward to it; he was starting to suspect he
wasn't dreading it nearly as much as Ginny. He remembered how he had
felt the night of the first task. "Dragons aren't so bad, Gin."
She stood up. "Are you kidding me?"
Harry tried to reason with her. "Look at your own brother, Charlie."
Ginny
looked at him as though he were deeply stupid. "Charlie studies
dragons. He works on a dragon reserve. He doesn't try to ride the
bloody things."
"Really?" Harry asked. She nodded. "Not ever?"
She answered with a resolute, "No."
"Huh.
Well someone must have at some point." He would have to get Hermione to
look that up for him - dragon-riding techniques. "And the Ministry
isn't going to do something to get me killed at their own event." That
was hardly the publicity they wanted.
"The Ministry might not,"
Ginny allowed. "But I don't like this Buzzbee guy. He seems twitchy. I
don't think he would mind if the dragon did eat you, provided it was a
spectacular affair."
"Believe me," Harry said, turning back to his task. "He would lose his job if I got eaten."
"Maybe."
Ginny sat back down, apparently giving up the fight. "But I still think
he'd find it thrilling if you were at least chewed on a little for
extra drama."
"Damn it," Harry muttered, finally reaching the bottom of his trunk.
"What?"
Harry ran his hands through his hair, frustrated. "I think I know where it is."
As
he had acquired more things from his time at Hogwarts, Harry had taken
to hiding rarely-used items under the loose floorboard in his room in
his uncle's house, leaving his trunk for the things he wanted to use on
a daily basis. His last departure from Privet Drive had been a little
abrupt, and he hadn't exactly packed with much care. Of course, the
same could be said of several of the previous years, but this last time
had been even more stressful than usual.
On a hot day in the
second week of July, Pig had arrived mid-morning with a letter from
Ron. All it had said was, "Percy's gone. He was killed last night."
An
hour later, Errol had appeared at his window. The small piece of
parchment tied to his leg had merely asked, "Harry?" in Ginny's hand.
Harry had imagined he could almost hear her voice, and how lost she
sounded.
He had sat in his room waiting - wishing that he knew
how to Apparate and hating how unfair it was that he was stuck there.
He had known that someone must have been coming to get him. No matter
what protection his aunt's home offered, surely Dumbledore and the
Order would have the decency not to keep him locked away under those
circumstances. But that small bit of faith had done little to help him
through the wait.
He had been anxious to go to both Ginny and
Ron, but at the same time he had been terrified of what he would be
walking into. All too well he remembered the terrible night Mr. Weasley
had been hurt, and Mrs. Weasley's Boggart. The time had finally come
when the family he loved so much had actually been broken. Permanently.
And
he had no idea what he was supposed to do for Ginny. No one had been
able to help him in the days following Sirius' death - not the people
closest to him anyway. He was finally given a glimpse from the other
point of view. It was terrible to want so much to help, when really, he
could do nothing. There were no words. He felt a little paralyzed by
his own inadequacy.
He had spent most of the day in a daze,
absently putting things in his trunk - until finally, around midnight,
Lupin and a few others had shown up to escort him back to number twelve
Grimmauld Place. For the very first time Harry hadn't even been able to
produce an internal smirk at the aptness of the name.
Now, a
year later, he was realizing there were a few things he had left
behind. And he hated the idea of any part of his new life being hidden
away under his Aunt and Uncle's tyrannical roof.
But he wasn't sure he wanted to make the trip alone.
He looked up Ginny. "Would you come with me?"
She nodded, stoically. "Alright."
Harry gave her a grim smile. It was time to say goodbye to number four, Privet Drive.
_________________________
Three
days later, Harry was standing with Ginny in front of the large square
house with the low garden wall. It was just as immaculate as it had
ever been, now with the pristine addition of a perfectly trimmed white
rosebush on either side of the front door.
They hadn't called
ahead. Their visit would be a surprise. And Harry had decided it was
best to arrive in the middle of the afternoon. This way Uncle Vernon
should be at work. And Dudley, well, Dudley's whereabouts were anyone's
guess - out carousing with his friends, work, possibly prison - but
Harry figured it was most likely he wouldn't be at home. Meaning he
would only have to contend with his Aunt Petunia.
Ginny squeezed his hand. "Ready?"
No. Not really. "I guess," he said and they walked up to the door and rang the bell.
A
few moments later the door was yanked open by his aunt. There was no
polite pretence. She obviously expected to find someone trying to sell
her something and she fully intended to run off whoever had dared to
interrupt her cleaning.
The moment Petunia's eyes fell on them
she let out a horrified gasp and dropped the vase she had been holding.
It landed on the floor with a thundering smash. Harry was surprised at
his Aunt's unusual reaction, but when he caught a glimpse of Ginny and
himself in the hallway mirror, he supposed he could figure it out. He
knew that his mother and father had visited with the Evan's family at
least once, after all.
The three of them stood there, staring at
each other, Petunia's long face as pale as Harry had ever seen it, for
what seemed like hours.
Finally, Ginny stepped forward. She took her wand out of her back pocket, muttered a quick 'Reparo,' and returned the vase to Petunia's hands. She smiled prettily. "There you go. No harm done."
Petunia
glanced down at the magically repaired vase, back up at Ginny, and her
usual look of revulsion quickly returned. She glared at Harry. "I
suppose you are back here to stay. You know very well I have no
intention of putting up one of your peculiar little friends."
"No,
Aunt Petunia." Harry answered, as politely as he could muster. "The man
that was after me, Voldemort, he's gone. Gone for good this time. You
can tell Uncle Vernon that I won't be coming back here. I won't be
bothering you and your family anymore."
A strange look flickered across her face. "You - you're safe now?"
Harry smirked. He couldn't help it. "As safe as I'll ever be, yes. You are free of your promise to protect me."
As
though viewing the long ago agreement as a hideous weakness and
resenting Harry for bringing it up, Petunia narrowed her eyes at him
and huffed, "What do you mean by showing up here, then?"
This
would be the hard part - having to ask for one more favour. "The last
time I was here, I left a few things behind. If you let me come in to
get them, you won't ever have to hear from me again."
Petunia
gripped her vase possessively; possibly debating the safety of allowing
two wizards into her home against the obvious benefit of never having
to see any of their kind again. "Very well," she muttered, stepping
aside and granting them entrance.
Before Harry and Ginny were
even fully inside, Petunia was already striding down the hall. "You
know the way," she called out, before disappearing behind the kitchen
door.
Ginny was staring after the older woman's departure, appearing a little stunned.
Harry
tried to make light of the situation. "So that was my Aunt Petunia. A
charming woman, really." Ginny turned to him, not looking any less
aghast. He coughed awkwardly. "Well, then, it's ah, it's upstairs."
The
room was just as he had left it. Apparently the Dursleys had kept it,
convinced that he would descend upon them at any minute. If he didn't
hate them so much, Harry might have felt guilty for not keeping them
appraised of his whereabouts.
Harry immediately made his way
over to the bed, and the loose floorboards underneath. Hiding below, he
found textbooks from his first years at Hogwarts, a few chocolate frog
cards, his Omnioculars, and kept safe in an old sock, his miniature
Hungarian Horn Tail. He watched the dragon, with the number four on its
side, walk around his hand and roar ferociously a few times, before
stashing it in the bag he had brought.
He could feel Ginny
looking about the room, eyeing the locks on the door, and discreetly
glancing at the cat-flap every now and then. He knew that the twins had
regaled Ginny with the tale of his rescue with the Ford Anglia and how
he had been starving in a locked-up room. But he could tell from her
quiet demeanour that seeing it all in person was a little different
than she had anticipated. He was glad the bars were long gone from the
window.
Neither of them spoke as he made his way around the rest of the room, checking his desk and his bureau drawers.
After
a few minutes, they silently walked back downstairs. But rather than
going out the door, for some reason, Harry found himself turning back
towards the kitchen. Towards the small door under the stairs.
He had never told anyone, not even Ron and Hermione, about his cupboard.
It
was possible that Dumbledore and McGonagall may have known - his first
Hogwarts letter had come addressed to "The Cupboard Under The Stairs"
after all. But Harry wasn't really certain how the addressing system
worked - maybe it was some sort of charm. Neither professor had ever
mentioned it.
And so it had been his secret, and one he had
intended to take to the grave. He knew it wasn't right, but he felt
ashamed of the fact he had spent ten years living in the small, dark
space. Locked away by the grown-ups that had controlled almost every
moment of his life. It made him feel less than human. Unacceptably
vulnerable. And certainly less than the capable wizard he had become.
Even
so, confronted by the door in front of him, he felt inexplicably drawn
to it. He was overwhelmed by the need to open it up, and see how he fit
inside.
Harry opened the door and stepped into the tiny area. He
was happy to see that just after the first couple of feet by the door,
he to stoop. He had definitely outgrown his childhood home. He bent
down, pretending to look for something. He felt naked. Even more
exposed than the first time Ginny had actually seen him starkers. And
he was desperately trying to resist the urge to stand upright and
stretch his arms out from his sides.
Ginny was watching him
carefully, and eyeing the door. There were two locks. The deadbolt
Vernon had used when he had kept Harry's school things impounded for
the summer. And an older one. A simple sliding latch - obviously
designed to keep something in, instead of someone out.
Ginny fingered the tarnished device curiously. "Why do the Muggles have so many locks on their cupboard door?"
Harry froze. He tried to stop the guilty look from crossing his face, but it was too late.
"Harry?"
Her voice sounded small, frightened. It reminded him oddly of when she
had first called his name, years ago, when she woke up in the Chamber.
And he knew he had given himself away.
Harry stood up. "Ginny, it's alright."
There were tears in her eyes. "No, it bloody well isn't alright!"
The light behind her started to flicker, and Harry felt a well of panic suddenly yawn inside his belly. "Let's just go."
Ginny
looked frantic. She was sucking in air in terrible gasps. He was
worried she was about to hyperventilate. Just over her shoulder, a
picture of Dudley rattled on the wall, the glass cracking with a
hissing snap. "But you were only a little boy!"
Harry stepped
out of his cupboard, grabbing her around the waist and tried to drag
her towards the door. But in her rage, she was fighting against him.
As
tiny as Ginny normally seemed, her weight was damn near impossible to
move at that moment. Harry looked around desperately. It seemed as
though the walls themselves were shaking. All the pictures were
crashing to the floor, the glass crunching under their feet. The
hallway mirror shattered, sending shards through the air.
Good
Lord, if he didn't get her out of there she was going to bring the
house down - possibly with them still inside. He seemed to recall
Dudley and his friends watching a movie about that once - he really
didn't want to live it.
Petunia emerged from the kitchen and started screaming at the horrifying sight of her perfect foyer being torn apart.
More afraid for Ginny than anything else, Harry shouted over the din, "Get back inside!"
Petunia
didn't move - seemingly frozen in terrified awe at the picture Ginny
made - clawing at Harry's arms and howling, "What is wrong with you? He
was your blood!"
Finally, with great difficulty, Harry reached
the door and pulled Ginny, still wrestling like a mad animal, through
to the other side.
As they stumbled out into the afternoon sun,
the fresh breeze wafted over them, and Ginny appeared to come back to
herself a bit. She stopped struggling, stood upright and faced him.
Ghastly white and sweaty, she muttered, "I feel sick." She turned and
vomited into one of his Aunt's perfect white rosebushes, just outside
the door.
Patting her back in support, Harry wondered if it
would be wholly inappropriate to turn her around so she could also hit
the one on the other side. As Ginny continued to retch, he caught
Petunia peering out the living room curtains at them with utter
loathing. Harry smiled and waved. As revenge went, it wasn't entirely
without poetry.
When Ginny recovered, they ambled about the
neighbourhood. Harry didn't trust her to Apparate so long as she was
still shaking a bit. And it turned out he was happy to have the excuse
to walk the familiar streets one last time, as it occurred to him that
this was it - he may never have reason to ever come back here.
Eventually,
they made their way to the play park along Magnolia Road and sat on the
swings. Swaying a little back and forth, Harry mused that perhaps
Dudley and his gang really were in prison. Here it was, nearly the end
of summer, and the park had survived unscathed. It seemed impossible
that Dudley may have merely grown up.
Ginny quietly broke the
silence. "I'm sorry I made such a scene. That hasn't happened to me in
years - when Fred and George shut me up in the broom shed my last
summer before Hogwarts."
Harry put his feet down, stopping his swing. "Why did they lock you in the broom shed?"
Ginny
shrugged casually. "I was ten, and being a pain following them around.
They got theirs, though. Mum nearly killed them when I blew the roof
off the thing. And they never bothered me after that."
Harry pushed off again. "The last time it happened to me was when I was thirteen and I blew up Aunt Marge."
Ginny nearly fell off her seat. "Your aunt exploded?"
Harry's
head was suddenly filled with the horrifying image of tiny bits of Aunt
Marge plastered all over Petunia's immaculate dinning room. He
shuddered. Then he leaned back, gaining more height and laughed. "God,
no. That would have scarred me for life. She blew up like a balloon."
They
swung for a bit, seeing who could go higher. Then Harry remembered a
game he used to watch the other kids play. He told Ginny, "Go as high
as you can, then right when the swing reaches the top of its arch,
jump." It was satisfying, soaring through the air like a Muggle child.
And Harry grinned when he touched down with a thump, a clear twelve
feet away.
When Ginny landed beside him laughing, he reached out a hand to steady her.
Sobering, she looked him in the eyes and swallowed. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Harry
shook his head. He didn't know how to explain it. "I don't know. It's
not who I am anymore." Ginny curled her arms around herself and Harry
suddenly realized something. "I think maybe I wanted you to know. Maybe
that's why I had to look in that cupboard today."
Ginny stepped
towards him, leaning against his chest. Harry stroked her hair and
whispered, "And I'm sorry. That probably wasn't the best way to share
something like that."
He could feel her nod. "Not if you don't
want me to lose my head, apparently." She sniffed and stepped back.
"It's okay. I'm glad you did."
Harry cast a last glance around them. Goodbye, Magnolia Road. "Are you ready to get out of here?"
She gave him a small smile. "Definitely."
_________________________
A
few minutes later they were walking up the road to the Burrow. Harry
felt the contrast between the rambling house and Privet Drive almost as
strongly as the first time he had seen it. And he grinned when he saw
it even came with one of his best friends standing by the gate to great
them.
When they reached Ron, though, it became clear he wasn't
waiting for them at all. He hadn't even seen them. He was in his own
world, staring down at a small velvet box clutched in his hand.
"What've you got there?" Ginny asked, by way of a greeting.
Ron
handed over the box without even making a sound. Ginny opened it and
Harry looked inside. It was a shining silver band, with a tiny
glimmering stone set in the middle.
Harry felt his breath catch. "Is that what I think it is?"
"Yeah," Ron answered, sounding almost as surprised.
"Where did you get it?" Ginny asked.
Ron
took the box back protectively. "I bought it. Today at work they gave
me my first pay cheque - and I went straight out and bought this."
Harry ran a hand absently through his hair. "Bloody hell."
"I know." Ron nodded in agreement.
Ginny looked at her brother in awe, seemingly impressed. "You're really going to ask her?"
Ron
took a deep breath. "I think so. I mean I have a job now. And we could
get a place of our own and that would be really nice. And I don't know,
after everything that has happened since, well, since we met, I guess
I'm just feeling pretty lucky that we're both still alive. And I don't
want to wait anymore, you know?"
"Yeah," Ginny agreed smiling a little. "But I'm not sure that's the best reason to ask someone to marry you."
"Probably
not. But I can't help it. I can't even imagine my life with anyone
else." He smirked and joked, "And besides, she can always say no if she
wants to." Ron suddenly looked dumbstruck with fear. "Wait. What if she
says no?"
Harry put a reassuring hand on his friend's shoulder. "She won't say no."
Ron shook his head. "I'm not so sure about that. She's awfully smart."
Harry
laughed, he couldn't help it. "If she is too smart to marry you, I'm
sure she wouldn't have wasted her time dating you all these years."
"I
didn't mean it like that!" Ron objected. "Bloody wanker. I meant she
might want to be a career witch, you know, that sort of thing."
"You're
just asking her. It's not like you're setting a date. You can still
wait a few years. And besides, even after you do get married you don't
have to hurry to have children or anything. It's not like it was when
my parents had me." It had only recently occurred to Harry just how
young his parents had been. That perhaps the rush to be married, to
have a child, had been because the times were so dark. They had to
plunge into their lives, knowing, because of the risks they were taking
as part of the Order, they might not have long. In a weird sort of way,
Harry wondered if he would have even existed if it hadn't been for
Voldemort.
Apparently heartened by Harry's words, Ron stood up to his full height. "Alright. Let's do this."
The three of them went into the house. Unfortunately for Ron, Hermione wasn't home from work just yet.
Possibly
worried that her brother may start to lose his nerve again, Ginny
ordered him to wait in the room she and Hermione shared. They left him
sitting on the bed, looking a little as if he might throw up, and
continued up the stairs.
Harry and Ginny lay on his bed, holding
hands in silence - staring up at the charred holes in the ceiling and
listening to the sounds of the house. They heard Arthur returning home,
chatting with his wife about his day. Then the twins storming in for a
visit, conveniently just before supper.
Eventually there was
distinctive racket of someone arriving via Floo and Hermione's happy
greetings to everyone on her way through the kitchen.
Her light steps, running up the stairs.
Her shriek of surprise and ensuing giggles upon unexpectedly finding Ron hiding in her room.
Then everything was quiet. The minutes stretched on and Ginny clutched his hand tighter.
Finally the house was filled with squeals of delight.
Ginny
rolled over, on top of him. Her hair fell down, shrouding Harry's face,
as her soft lips slowly moved against his own. The languid kiss
deepened as the sounds of laughter and congratulations floated up to
them from below.