Treason - 8

"Ginny, I want you back in your own room and in your own bed, now, please. Ronald…get to bed. I'm going to have your father speak to you tomorrow."

Ginny scrambled from the room, blowing a quick kiss to Harry while Ron stomped to his own bed, a furious tic in his cheek. Mrs. Weasley put the lights out and firmly closed the bedroom door.

Harry waited for a few minutes in the thick silence. With everything that had happened in Diagon Alley that day, he'd forgotten that he and Ron had been rowing earlier that morning. Somehow, it all seemed rather pointless now.

"What happened?" he asked.

Ron grunted and rolled over noisily. Harry could hear him take several deep breaths before snarling, "She treats me like I'm seven, not almost eighteen. I'm bloody sick and tired of it."

Harry's body tensed, not certain he really wanted to know, but reckoned he should be a good friend and ask. "So what happened this time?"

"She came into the girls' room and caught Hermione and me snogging," Ron said, disgruntled. "Well…maybe my hands were a bit where they shouldn't have been, but that's beside the point. I'm of age! And this isn't even her house; it's yours."

Harry grunted noncommittally. He definitely didn't want to have this conversation or hear anything about what Ron and Hermione did when they were alone. Ever.

"Mum went storming in that room and dragged me out by my ear. Hermione was mortified. She probably won't even look at me, never mind kiss me, for a week," Ron said, moaning.

"Oi, Ron," Harry said, craning his neck away from Ron's voice. "Must you talk about that with me?"

"Harry, you're the one snogging my sister," Ron yelped, incredulously.

"I know, and you don't like hearing about it. I feel the same way about you and Hermione. You're…It's…You're both… It's just not right," Harry exclaimed.

Ron snorted. "Hypocrite."

"Wanker. What will your dad do to you tomorrow?" Harry asked curiously. Mrs. Weasley had threatened Ron with a talk with his father.

"Nothing," Ron said, snorting. "He'll be proud, if anything. But don't tell Mum. She's the only one who gets bent out of shape about it. Of course, with Ginny that's different. You'd best watch your step, mate."

"Yeah, thanks," Harry said, grumbling.

"Anytime," Ron replied, and Harry could hear the grin in his voice.

Harry punched his pillow and drifted off to an uneasy sleep.

*~*~*

Percy Weasley sat in a nondescript interrogation room at the Ministry of Magic in the early hours of the morning following the attack on Diagon Alley. Percy hadn't yet been able to return to his flat to get some sleep, and he was exhausted. Things had gone from bad to worse as the day progressed, and Percy was left feeling utterly let down by everything he'd once believed.

Sighing heavily, he let his head fall onto the wooden table where he was sitting, resting it on his arms while he awaited whomever he was supposed to meet. He'd arrived in Diagon Alley earlier that day – or was it yesterday now – with Interim Minister Umbridge in order to assess the situation. What he'd found had been complete chaos.

Twenty-three Aurors were dead. Aurors! They were supposed to be among the best and brightest that Wizarding society had to offer. They were the elite, and twenty-three of them had been killed in one battle as if it were a day in the park. From the eyewitness reports Percy had obtained, it had been the Order of the Phoenix and Harry Potter who had actually succeeded in containing the situation. Not the Ministry, not the Aurors, but the same people Percy had turned his back on several years ago.