From Across the Great Divide, Chapter 7
Rated: R
Summary: A post-Hogwarts H/G fic. Strange circumstances draw Harry and Ginny closer together. But are they in danger? Romance, adventure, Monty Python, and tartan boxer shorts abound.
Chapter Seven: Invasion of Privacy
Ginny woke on Friday morning to the luxurious thought that she did not have to rise until she was ready. She would have been late if she’d had to go in to the Ministry, but that wasn’t a problem today. She knew that at some point she was going to have to worry about finding a new source of income, but for some reason she just couldn’t bear to dwell on that now. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had two days off in a row. It was nice to lie in a warm, cosy bed and contemplate having nothing urgent to do. It was even nicer to think back on the previous day.
Yesterday the weather had improved somewhat, but it was still overcast and chilly. Harry had insisted they go out and do something, so in the end they went into London, where they’d discovered on arrival that the weather was at least warmer, if not sunnier. Harry had wanted to avoid Diagon Alley and the possibility of another unpleasant encounter with someone like Mandy Brocklehurst. This had posed a bit of a problem, since Ginny was largely unfamiliar with Muggle London, and she needed to have a specific point in mind in order to Apparate safely, but then she’d thought of Kings Cross Station, and they’d Apparated to Platform 9 ¾. From there, they’d taken the Underground to South Kensington. The only previous experience Ginny had had with Muggle forms of transportation was with her father’s Ford Anglia and the Ministry of Magic cars, so travelling on the Underground was an intimidating prospect. She’d had to stick close to Harry’s side to avoid being separated from him by the crowds. She’d soon reached the conclusion that this definitely wasn’t her favourite way to travel.
They emerged at the South Kensington tube station and made their way down Old Brompton Road towards Harry’s flat. This was a small walk-up on the third floor of a building in Evelyn Gardens, sparsely furnished, the walls bare. But then Ginny had remembered he likely did not spend much time there. Harry had picked up an old blanket, some eating utensils, and dishes and had put them into a carry-all. Upon seeing Ginny’s questioning look, he’d said, "Thought we could get some food and have a picnic somewhere."
So they’d set out again, heading for Bute Street, where a selection of food could be bought in the shops. Their only disappointment was to discover that there was no cheese to be had in the cheese shop, even though Harry had asked for all the varieties of cheese he could think of. Leaving Bute Street, they’d set off in the direction of St. James Park.
Ginny smiled to herself. She’d been enchanted with the park and its lovely displays of flowers; its lake with pelicans, swans and ducks; its large, green expanse in the middle of the teeming city. They’d spread the blanket under a large tree near the lake and laid out their picnic. At that moment the sun had decided to show its face at last; it had broken through the pall of clouds, casting its warmth over them. They had partaken of fresh crusty bread, pate, and some cold sliced ham, seated next to each other, their backs against the bole of the tree, their legs stretched out in front of them. Then Harry got out some fresh fruit. Ginny had been surprised when he’d turned to her, a devilish grin on his face, holding a fresh, ripe strawberry up near her lips. She’d leaned forward to bite into its juicy sweetness, and he’d pulled it away with a low chuckle. Leaning forward a second time had brought her face near to Harry’s, and instead of eating a strawberry, she found herself being kissed softly. When they’d broken off the kiss, Harry had popped the berry into her mouth, and she’d thought to herself, "Two can play at that game." And so they had, until the berries were gone and both of them were rather breathless.
By this time the sun had gone back in and the air was much cooler. They’d packed up their things and wandered back to Harry’s flat, where they’d watched one of the most absurd things Ginny had ever seen on Harry’s VCR. It was some sort of film about knights who ran around pretending to be on horseback, seeking something or other, and meeting up with decapitating bunnies, strange wizards (not very realistic, in Ginny’s opinion) and catapulted cows. Harry had seemed to find it incredibly funny, and Ginny had had to laugh too, it was all so strange. At one point Harry commented, "you know, Ginny, Sir Lancelot looks a lot like Nearly Headless Nick, doesn’t he? It’s odd, because just the other day at the Ministry I saw a man who was walking in an extremely strange manner. He looked exactly like Nick as well…"
Ginny laughed to herself at the memory. She thought she’d seen someone like that around the Ministry, but had never really noticed he’d looked like the Gryffindor House ghost.
Ginny sighed and rolled over. She thought she’d heard a tapping sound coming from the living room, and it really was time she started thinking about getting out of bed, anyway. As she was reaching resignedly for her dressing gown, there came a knock at her door. "Yes?" she called.
It was Harry, of course. "Ginny," he said, "you’ve had an owl."
"What sort of owl?" she asked apprehensively, thinking unpleasantly of the last one she’d had. Tying the belt of her dressing gown, she went to the bedroom door and opened it. Harry was already dressed in his usual Muggle style clothes. She must have lain in bed longer than she’d realised.
The small, cylindrical package Harry gave to her didn’t seem threatening, at least, but Ginny was still hesitant to open it. When she finally did, she found a rolled up copy of the latest issue of Witch Weekly. "Who could have sent me this?" she wondered aloud. "I haven’t got a subscription…" Her voice trailed off as she saw with a sinking feeling in her stomach that Harry’s name was featured prominently on the cover at the top of the list of articles. Grimly, she pointed the article’s title out to Harry: "Harry Potter’s Latest Love?" She heard him sigh.
"I wonder who they’ve paired me up with this week," he said, a rather bored tone in his voice. Ginny turned to the article and immediately dropped the magazine with a small shriek. Harry retrieved it from the floor, giving Ginny a concerned glance, and looked at the page himself. She saw his face go white, and she knew that she had not imagined the pictures she had seen on the page opposite the article.
With a macabre sort of fascination, Ginny looked over Harry’s arm at the photos again. She felt a wave a nausea wash over her. She swallowed. "I must not be sick over this," she told herself sternly. "I told him I could handle it." She could not forestall the feeling of violation, however. Vaguely, she became aware that the magazine in Harry’s hand was shaking. Looking into his face, she could see that he was enraged: it was in the set of his jaw and apparent in his eyes. It was frightening, in a way, to see him like this. When Ginny got angry, she yelled and swore, and everyone knew about it. Harry’s anger was quiet and suppressed and that made it seem all the more terrifying. She could see in him now the person who dared face down Lord Voldemort; who duelled with him, even though they both knew their wands would not function properly against each other; who was able to remain locked in battle with evil until others could intervene, combine their magic, and finish Voldemort off.
Gathering her courage, she removed the magazine from his hand, and laid it on her bed. She tried to detach herself from the situation and look at the photos objectively, but she just could not manage it. There before her horrified eyes were two pictures. The first was obviously taken at Ron and Hermione’s wedding. She could see herself dancing in Harry’s arms, her head against his shoulder, in her peach coloured bridesmaid’s dress, on whose bodice she could make out the occasional trace of a blueberry stain. Looking closely, she could see a photo credit: Colin Creevey, who’d been the photographer hired for the occasion.
The second photo was far more sensational, far more incriminating. In it she could see herself and Harry on the bench in her garden, kissing. Somehow her brain noted how the sun seemed to shine around them, glinting off her hair. She looked for a photo credit for this picture and saw none.
She forced herself to take a look at the article, telling herself that it would be best to know, but she could not concentrate on the words. Only a few random phrases registered in her mind: "Ginny Weasley… Ministry of Magic employee… sister of Harry’s friend Ron…" Her life summed up in a few short sentences. Far worse were the implications in the article, which the pictures opposite illustrated, that they’d been seen dancing together for much of the wedding reception and then observed in her garden the following day. And then there was a quote from Mandy Brocklehurst, explaining how she ran into them in Diagon Alley, how they’d been so wrapped up in each other they’d virtually ignored her. "She’s really not in his league. Honestly, what’s she got that I haven’t got, and I’ve got more of it," Mandy was quoted as saying. Probably worst of all was the article’s conclusion, which speculated on the permanency of the relationship. It was quite obvious that the author meant to paint Ginny as just another in a long line of Harry’s conquests.
Ginny sunk onto the bed, feeling sick once more. Then she felt a hand on her shoulder, and the magazine was removed from her numb fingers. Harry had obviously seen something of the article, for he said, "It’s not true. Remember what I told you, they take the truth and twist it." His tone was controlled, but Ginny could still sense the underlying anger seething in him. Abruptly, he said, "I’m going out."
Ginny’s heart dropped. "Wait, Harry, where are you off to?"
"I’m going to get them to print a retraction."
She heard the front door shut, a little more loudly than necessary. Ginny put a hand to her forehead. She had to think. What was there to retract, really, the fact that they were a couple? As of two days ago they were a couple. Another thought niggled at Ginny’s brain. Who had taken that second photo, the one of her garden? There had been no credit. Harry had taken the copy of Witch Weekly with him, so she couldn’t double check this. Who had known Harry would even be at her cottage? Unless… unless someone was watching her house.
Not knowing if this thought would occur to Harry, as angry as he was, she started towards the front door to follow him. Suddenly she stopped, realising she was still in her dressing gown. Fighting the feeling of panic that welled within her at the idea of her comings and goings being so closely observed, she turned and headed for the bathroom to shower. She emerged from her bedroom not long afterward, dressed now, and headed once more for the front door. But as her hand reached for the doorknob, there was a knock. She froze as the panic returned, then steeled herself to open the door, and came face to face with her mother.
Ginny knew immediately from Molly’s face that the ensuing scene would not be a pleasant one. "Hello, Mum," she said guardedly.
"Would you mind," said Molly, in a falsely calm tone, "telling me what this is all about?" And she held up her own copy of Witch Weekly.
Ginny’s heart sank. She might have known. "What’s to tell, Mum? You’ve obviously got it all figured out."
"How can you say that, as if it’s nothing?"
"It is nothing!" Ginny insisted.
"Nothing? How can you say this is nothing! I didn’t raise you to behave like some cheap trollop." Molly’s voice was beginning to lose some of its calm.
"It’s typical of you to jump to the worst conclusion, isn’t it?" Ginny could hear her own voice rising now.
"I might have been ready to believe this is all innocent, if I hadn’t seen with my own eyes last Sunday. And after what you said to me what was I supposed to think?"
Ginny let out an exasperated sigh. "Mum, I’d think by now you’d be able to tell when I’m being sarcastic. Anyway, what’s it to do with you what I get up to?"
"I don’t want to see you get hurt."
"Why would I get hurt? I think I’m old enough to make my own choices!"
"If I think you’re making a mistake, I’m certainly going to point it out to you."
Ginny rolled her eyes. Why did her mother always insist on pointing out her mistakes? "And just how am I making a mistake? You don’t even know what’s going on between Harry and me."
"I know enough. There’s something about him and a different scarlet woman in here almost every week," replied Molly, indicating the magazine. "Why would you want to find yourself lumped in with them? You could have been married by now, given me grandchildren." Here, Molly’s voice took on an almost pleading note.
"And you never think about whether I’m ready to have children. I’m only 22 years old, mother. Why do I have to make the same choices you did?"
"Well, you didn’t, obviously." This was said in an accusatory fashion. "You could have married that lovely Ian, and you let him get away."
Ginny could feel the heat rising in her face. She knew she must be turning as red as her hair. "I wasn’t ready to get married straight out of Hogwarts. We were both too young. As much as you may have liked him, that wasn’t a good reason for me to marry him."
"Better him than Harry…"
"Why do you insist on believing everything that gets printed in there?" shouted Ginny, gesturing towards the copy of Witch Weekly. "I’d have thought you’d have learned better by now. Why am I even justifying myself to you? This is bloody ridiculous!"
"He’s going end up leaving you, as he’s left all the others." Ginny thought her mother was trying to sound soothing here, but it wasn’t effective. Molly was too angry now. "And you’ll be left alone with your reputation in shreds. No respectable wizard is going to want you then."
"If Harry comes to see me, that’s my business, not yours." Ginny heard her own voice take on a steely tone. "I trust him, and you should know him well enough to trust him, too."
"You’re my daughter, and I didn’t raise you to behave this way! On top of that your father tells me you’ve been suspended from work. Do you know what this is doing to him?"
Damn, Ginny thought, she knows about that, too. It was something else she’d have to lie around. "The suspension wasn’t my fault," she grated. "Some files were lost, and I got blamed for it. But I didn’t lose them."
Molly looked sceptical, and this just made Ginny dig in her heels a little more.
"Damn it, Mother, as far as I’m concerned we’ve nothing further to discuss here. I’m not a child anymore. I’ve been living on my own for years now. I don’t need you to run my life for me."
"It doesn’t seem to me you’re doing a very good job of it yourself," said Molly with a quiet finality.
"Oh sod it all, Mother! You just can’t keep your opinions to yourself, can you?" Ginny practically shouted. "You always think you know what’s best, but on this occasion you’re wrong!"
"But Harry…"
Ginny broke in on her. "Harry’s a decent person and you used to think so, too! It’s these bloody articles that have blinded you! They’re complete bollocks, and you should know that as well as anyone!"
If Molly was going to reply to this, she was interrupted. At that moment Harry came in the front door.
Next Chapter
Summary: A post-Hogwarts H/G fic. Strange circumstances draw Harry and Ginny closer together. But are they in danger? Romance, adventure, Monty Python, and tartan boxer shorts abound.
Chapter Seven: Invasion of Privacy
Ginny woke on Friday morning to the luxurious thought that she did not have to rise until she was ready. She would have been late if she’d had to go in to the Ministry, but that wasn’t a problem today. She knew that at some point she was going to have to worry about finding a new source of income, but for some reason she just couldn’t bear to dwell on that now. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had two days off in a row. It was nice to lie in a warm, cosy bed and contemplate having nothing urgent to do. It was even nicer to think back on the previous day.
Yesterday the weather had improved somewhat, but it was still overcast and chilly. Harry had insisted they go out and do something, so in the end they went into London, where they’d discovered on arrival that the weather was at least warmer, if not sunnier. Harry had wanted to avoid Diagon Alley and the possibility of another unpleasant encounter with someone like Mandy Brocklehurst. This had posed a bit of a problem, since Ginny was largely unfamiliar with Muggle London, and she needed to have a specific point in mind in order to Apparate safely, but then she’d thought of Kings Cross Station, and they’d Apparated to Platform 9 ¾. From there, they’d taken the Underground to South Kensington. The only previous experience Ginny had had with Muggle forms of transportation was with her father’s Ford Anglia and the Ministry of Magic cars, so travelling on the Underground was an intimidating prospect. She’d had to stick close to Harry’s side to avoid being separated from him by the crowds. She’d soon reached the conclusion that this definitely wasn’t her favourite way to travel.
They emerged at the South Kensington tube station and made their way down Old Brompton Road towards Harry’s flat. This was a small walk-up on the third floor of a building in Evelyn Gardens, sparsely furnished, the walls bare. But then Ginny had remembered he likely did not spend much time there. Harry had picked up an old blanket, some eating utensils, and dishes and had put them into a carry-all. Upon seeing Ginny’s questioning look, he’d said, "Thought we could get some food and have a picnic somewhere."
So they’d set out again, heading for Bute Street, where a selection of food could be bought in the shops. Their only disappointment was to discover that there was no cheese to be had in the cheese shop, even though Harry had asked for all the varieties of cheese he could think of. Leaving Bute Street, they’d set off in the direction of St. James Park.
Ginny smiled to herself. She’d been enchanted with the park and its lovely displays of flowers; its lake with pelicans, swans and ducks; its large, green expanse in the middle of the teeming city. They’d spread the blanket under a large tree near the lake and laid out their picnic. At that moment the sun had decided to show its face at last; it had broken through the pall of clouds, casting its warmth over them. They had partaken of fresh crusty bread, pate, and some cold sliced ham, seated next to each other, their backs against the bole of the tree, their legs stretched out in front of them. Then Harry got out some fresh fruit. Ginny had been surprised when he’d turned to her, a devilish grin on his face, holding a fresh, ripe strawberry up near her lips. She’d leaned forward to bite into its juicy sweetness, and he’d pulled it away with a low chuckle. Leaning forward a second time had brought her face near to Harry’s, and instead of eating a strawberry, she found herself being kissed softly. When they’d broken off the kiss, Harry had popped the berry into her mouth, and she’d thought to herself, "Two can play at that game." And so they had, until the berries were gone and both of them were rather breathless.
By this time the sun had gone back in and the air was much cooler. They’d packed up their things and wandered back to Harry’s flat, where they’d watched one of the most absurd things Ginny had ever seen on Harry’s VCR. It was some sort of film about knights who ran around pretending to be on horseback, seeking something or other, and meeting up with decapitating bunnies, strange wizards (not very realistic, in Ginny’s opinion) and catapulted cows. Harry had seemed to find it incredibly funny, and Ginny had had to laugh too, it was all so strange. At one point Harry commented, "you know, Ginny, Sir Lancelot looks a lot like Nearly Headless Nick, doesn’t he? It’s odd, because just the other day at the Ministry I saw a man who was walking in an extremely strange manner. He looked exactly like Nick as well…"
Ginny laughed to herself at the memory. She thought she’d seen someone like that around the Ministry, but had never really noticed he’d looked like the Gryffindor House ghost.
Ginny sighed and rolled over. She thought she’d heard a tapping sound coming from the living room, and it really was time she started thinking about getting out of bed, anyway. As she was reaching resignedly for her dressing gown, there came a knock at her door. "Yes?" she called.
It was Harry, of course. "Ginny," he said, "you’ve had an owl."
"What sort of owl?" she asked apprehensively, thinking unpleasantly of the last one she’d had. Tying the belt of her dressing gown, she went to the bedroom door and opened it. Harry was already dressed in his usual Muggle style clothes. She must have lain in bed longer than she’d realised.
The small, cylindrical package Harry gave to her didn’t seem threatening, at least, but Ginny was still hesitant to open it. When she finally did, she found a rolled up copy of the latest issue of Witch Weekly. "Who could have sent me this?" she wondered aloud. "I haven’t got a subscription…" Her voice trailed off as she saw with a sinking feeling in her stomach that Harry’s name was featured prominently on the cover at the top of the list of articles. Grimly, she pointed the article’s title out to Harry: "Harry Potter’s Latest Love?" She heard him sigh.
"I wonder who they’ve paired me up with this week," he said, a rather bored tone in his voice. Ginny turned to the article and immediately dropped the magazine with a small shriek. Harry retrieved it from the floor, giving Ginny a concerned glance, and looked at the page himself. She saw his face go white, and she knew that she had not imagined the pictures she had seen on the page opposite the article.
With a macabre sort of fascination, Ginny looked over Harry’s arm at the photos again. She felt a wave a nausea wash over her. She swallowed. "I must not be sick over this," she told herself sternly. "I told him I could handle it." She could not forestall the feeling of violation, however. Vaguely, she became aware that the magazine in Harry’s hand was shaking. Looking into his face, she could see that he was enraged: it was in the set of his jaw and apparent in his eyes. It was frightening, in a way, to see him like this. When Ginny got angry, she yelled and swore, and everyone knew about it. Harry’s anger was quiet and suppressed and that made it seem all the more terrifying. She could see in him now the person who dared face down Lord Voldemort; who duelled with him, even though they both knew their wands would not function properly against each other; who was able to remain locked in battle with evil until others could intervene, combine their magic, and finish Voldemort off.
Gathering her courage, she removed the magazine from his hand, and laid it on her bed. She tried to detach herself from the situation and look at the photos objectively, but she just could not manage it. There before her horrified eyes were two pictures. The first was obviously taken at Ron and Hermione’s wedding. She could see herself dancing in Harry’s arms, her head against his shoulder, in her peach coloured bridesmaid’s dress, on whose bodice she could make out the occasional trace of a blueberry stain. Looking closely, she could see a photo credit: Colin Creevey, who’d been the photographer hired for the occasion.
The second photo was far more sensational, far more incriminating. In it she could see herself and Harry on the bench in her garden, kissing. Somehow her brain noted how the sun seemed to shine around them, glinting off her hair. She looked for a photo credit for this picture and saw none.
She forced herself to take a look at the article, telling herself that it would be best to know, but she could not concentrate on the words. Only a few random phrases registered in her mind: "Ginny Weasley… Ministry of Magic employee… sister of Harry’s friend Ron…" Her life summed up in a few short sentences. Far worse were the implications in the article, which the pictures opposite illustrated, that they’d been seen dancing together for much of the wedding reception and then observed in her garden the following day. And then there was a quote from Mandy Brocklehurst, explaining how she ran into them in Diagon Alley, how they’d been so wrapped up in each other they’d virtually ignored her. "She’s really not in his league. Honestly, what’s she got that I haven’t got, and I’ve got more of it," Mandy was quoted as saying. Probably worst of all was the article’s conclusion, which speculated on the permanency of the relationship. It was quite obvious that the author meant to paint Ginny as just another in a long line of Harry’s conquests.
Ginny sunk onto the bed, feeling sick once more. Then she felt a hand on her shoulder, and the magazine was removed from her numb fingers. Harry had obviously seen something of the article, for he said, "It’s not true. Remember what I told you, they take the truth and twist it." His tone was controlled, but Ginny could still sense the underlying anger seething in him. Abruptly, he said, "I’m going out."
Ginny’s heart dropped. "Wait, Harry, where are you off to?"
"I’m going to get them to print a retraction."
She heard the front door shut, a little more loudly than necessary. Ginny put a hand to her forehead. She had to think. What was there to retract, really, the fact that they were a couple? As of two days ago they were a couple. Another thought niggled at Ginny’s brain. Who had taken that second photo, the one of her garden? There had been no credit. Harry had taken the copy of Witch Weekly with him, so she couldn’t double check this. Who had known Harry would even be at her cottage? Unless… unless someone was watching her house.
Not knowing if this thought would occur to Harry, as angry as he was, she started towards the front door to follow him. Suddenly she stopped, realising she was still in her dressing gown. Fighting the feeling of panic that welled within her at the idea of her comings and goings being so closely observed, she turned and headed for the bathroom to shower. She emerged from her bedroom not long afterward, dressed now, and headed once more for the front door. But as her hand reached for the doorknob, there was a knock. She froze as the panic returned, then steeled herself to open the door, and came face to face with her mother.
Ginny knew immediately from Molly’s face that the ensuing scene would not be a pleasant one. "Hello, Mum," she said guardedly.
"Would you mind," said Molly, in a falsely calm tone, "telling me what this is all about?" And she held up her own copy of Witch Weekly.
Ginny’s heart sank. She might have known. "What’s to tell, Mum? You’ve obviously got it all figured out."
"How can you say that, as if it’s nothing?"
"It is nothing!" Ginny insisted.
"Nothing? How can you say this is nothing! I didn’t raise you to behave like some cheap trollop." Molly’s voice was beginning to lose some of its calm.
"It’s typical of you to jump to the worst conclusion, isn’t it?" Ginny could hear her own voice rising now.
"I might have been ready to believe this is all innocent, if I hadn’t seen with my own eyes last Sunday. And after what you said to me what was I supposed to think?"
Ginny let out an exasperated sigh. "Mum, I’d think by now you’d be able to tell when I’m being sarcastic. Anyway, what’s it to do with you what I get up to?"
"I don’t want to see you get hurt."
"Why would I get hurt? I think I’m old enough to make my own choices!"
"If I think you’re making a mistake, I’m certainly going to point it out to you."
Ginny rolled her eyes. Why did her mother always insist on pointing out her mistakes? "And just how am I making a mistake? You don’t even know what’s going on between Harry and me."
"I know enough. There’s something about him and a different scarlet woman in here almost every week," replied Molly, indicating the magazine. "Why would you want to find yourself lumped in with them? You could have been married by now, given me grandchildren." Here, Molly’s voice took on an almost pleading note.
"And you never think about whether I’m ready to have children. I’m only 22 years old, mother. Why do I have to make the same choices you did?"
"Well, you didn’t, obviously." This was said in an accusatory fashion. "You could have married that lovely Ian, and you let him get away."
Ginny could feel the heat rising in her face. She knew she must be turning as red as her hair. "I wasn’t ready to get married straight out of Hogwarts. We were both too young. As much as you may have liked him, that wasn’t a good reason for me to marry him."
"Better him than Harry…"
"Why do you insist on believing everything that gets printed in there?" shouted Ginny, gesturing towards the copy of Witch Weekly. "I’d have thought you’d have learned better by now. Why am I even justifying myself to you? This is bloody ridiculous!"
"He’s going end up leaving you, as he’s left all the others." Ginny thought her mother was trying to sound soothing here, but it wasn’t effective. Molly was too angry now. "And you’ll be left alone with your reputation in shreds. No respectable wizard is going to want you then."
"If Harry comes to see me, that’s my business, not yours." Ginny heard her own voice take on a steely tone. "I trust him, and you should know him well enough to trust him, too."
"You’re my daughter, and I didn’t raise you to behave this way! On top of that your father tells me you’ve been suspended from work. Do you know what this is doing to him?"
Damn, Ginny thought, she knows about that, too. It was something else she’d have to lie around. "The suspension wasn’t my fault," she grated. "Some files were lost, and I got blamed for it. But I didn’t lose them."
Molly looked sceptical, and this just made Ginny dig in her heels a little more.
"Damn it, Mother, as far as I’m concerned we’ve nothing further to discuss here. I’m not a child anymore. I’ve been living on my own for years now. I don’t need you to run my life for me."
"It doesn’t seem to me you’re doing a very good job of it yourself," said Molly with a quiet finality.
"Oh sod it all, Mother! You just can’t keep your opinions to yourself, can you?" Ginny practically shouted. "You always think you know what’s best, but on this occasion you’re wrong!"
"But Harry…"
Ginny broke in on her. "Harry’s a decent person and you used to think so, too! It’s these bloody articles that have blinded you! They’re complete bollocks, and you should know that as well as anyone!"
If Molly was going to reply to this, she was interrupted. At that moment Harry came in the front door.
Next Chapter