The Sugar Quill
Author: Emily (Professors' Bookshelf)  Story: My Boys  Chapter: Default
The distribution of this story is for personal use only. Any other form of distribution is prohibited without the consent of the author.

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


I'm home.


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 to read.

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.

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