Disclaimer: I own nothing. It all belongs to the
wonderful JKR. Much thanks to my great editor, B.
This summer, the summer before our fifth year, tensions have run high
in the wizarding world. It's been just as bad for me at home. Of course,
I get the Daily Prophet- but since the Rita Skeeter incident, I know I
can't trust what I read. So, my only contact with Ginny, Ron and Harry,
and all of the wizarding world has been through owls. Every day I didn't
get an owl from Ron or Ginny, I had nightmares of the Dark Mark glittering
above the Burrow and I'd wake up screaming. Because of this, my parents
were very reluctant to let me go back to Hogwarts this year. I would die
a thousand times before I would let go of Hogwarts, and I showed them
all the ways it WASN'T possible to get in to Hogwarts, as listed in Hogwarts,
A History. Finally, just before my letter came on July 31st, they agreed.
I've never given such a sigh of relief.
The same day my letter from Hogwarts came, I heard Pig's familiar squawk
outside my window- and moments later I was tearing down the stairs to
beg permission to go to the Burrow for the rest of the holiday. Luckily,
Mrs. Weasley wrote an incredible thoughtful letter to my mum, telling
her that I would be perfectly safe there.
So, just a week later, here I am. Sitting on the cool grass, the last
rays of sunset lighting the makeshift Quidditch field. So far, my attempts
to finish our newest Defense Against the Dark Arts book have been unsuccessful-
the light is low, and the game is exciting. Harry and the twins have always
been fun to watch, and Ron's a really excellent Keeper, as far as I can
tell, although Quidditch is the one subject I admit to knowing nothing
about. I hope he makes the team this year.
Speaking of Ron. We both know what's going on, we're just too cowardly
to admit it. As soon as I stepped through the gate into the Burrow, I
found myself swung off the ground, encircled with a long, freckled pair
of arms. He set me down, saying, "Hi, Hermione!", and grinning more widely
than I had ever seen him do. Before I had a chance to respond,
another pair of freckled arms grabbed me in a hug; these particular arms
came with fingers tipped with blue polish.
"Ginny, how are you?" I exclaimed, glad to see yet another friendly face,
this one belonging to my only girlfriend.
Oh Ginny! Be careful, that Bludger's coming right after you.....Ginny
is another great Quidditch player. I'm the only one who cares more about
studies than some stupid sport, I guess.
Ginny and I took my things up to her room, and talked the afternoon away.
We had so much to catch up on that I didn't see Ron again until dinner.
"Harry's not coming until Saturday," he told me as he handed me the rolls.
"Dumbledore reckons he's safer off with the Muggles, I guess." Not until
Saturday! I thought. That gives me three whole days with the Weasley family
all to my self! Not that I didn't want Harry around; I'm glad to have
him here now, where I can keep track of him myself. But, when Ron and
Harry are together, I sometimes feel a little like a third wheel. I'm
not really into Quidditch, and chess is a two person game.
After dinner, Ginny stayed in the kitchen to help with dishes. I, of course,
offered to help as well, seeing as it's the polite thing to do, but Molly
shooed me right out the door, after Ron. We sort of strolled down to the
glen, and had a good long talk. It's funny; I've known him for four, almost
five years, and we had never done that before. Maybe we've never had the
chance to, or maybe we've never had anything to say. But a summer of writing
letters everyday gets one used to carrying on long conversations. Yes,
Ron and I wrote each other every day. I didn't even start it! When I got
home from Platform 9 and 3/4, Pig was already at the window, carrying
a note that said :
Hey, write me when you get home.
My reply was something along the lines of
Gradually, the letters got longer, progressed from me checking up on his
summer assignments (he's still not finished!) and bits of news from him
about the wizarding world in general to full-blown, soul-spilling conversations,
although I'll admit I didn't tell him everything. Suddenly, it seemed
only natural to talk to him...
Oh, he's just winked at me! Ron, stop it, you're distracting me! I'm trying
Well, all we did for the first three days was talk and play chess. Oh,
that's not true. He tried to really teach me how to fly, but it was rather
hard for me to concentrate, what with the two of us on one broom, his
arms firmly around my waist, and Fred and George yelling plenty of comments
which made me blush even more. All in all, it's clear that flying is not
my forte, so I'll leaving the flying up to Ron and Harry.
Harry is Harry. He's much quieter than he was before, and although I tried
to write him this summer, it's hard to stay in touch when Hedwig's always
away with a letter for Sirius and I haven't got an owl of my own.
I borrowed Pig once in awhile, but he's hardly strong enough to carry
just one letter, much less two, or if I was writing Ginny as well, three.
I know it's been hard for Harry; when he's with those awful Dursleys there's
nothing to take his mind off of Cedric, and Voldemort. In his desperation
to think about something else, he managed to finish his summer assignments
even faster than I. He's still a flying expert; the twins make him play
Chaser or Beater instead of seeker most of the time; the game ends too
quickly if he's Seeker.
Harry's also become strangely protective of all of us. So protective that
he didn't want to come to the Burrow this summer, didn't want to be friends
for fear that Voldemort will come after us as well. Oh, Harry.
I'd never want for you to go through this alone. If Voldemort has figured
out that we come as a package, the three of us, he hasn't been very attentive
these last four years. We were all together in the Shrieking Shack; Wormtail
knows, and if he knows, so does Voldemort.
The sun's gone now; the stars are just beginning to twinkle and Mrs. Weasley
is calling us all in for a last cup of hot chocolate, and a game of Exploding
Snap before we're off to bed. It's hard to believe while I'm in this tranquil
setting, that the world is collapsing around us. The brooms are put away,
my book is closed. Ron slings his arm about my shoulders. I blush; Harry
smirks in the way that he always does when we do the little things that
give us away. Then I head up to the house with my boys.