All the excerpts found below are all from the Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince which shows how the Harry-Ginny relationship flowered in this book. And I myself enjoyed it the most.
* after boarding Hogwarts express…
“Fancy trying to find a compartment?”
“I can’t, Harry, I said I’d meet Dean,” said Ginny brightly. “See you later.”
“Right,” said Harry. He felt a strange twinge of annoyance as she walked away, her long red hair dancing behind her; he had become so used to her presence over the summer that he had almost forgotten that Ginny did not hang around with him, Ron, and Hermione while at school. Then he blinked and looked around: He was surrounded by mesmerized girls.
(Harry felt the first tinge of jealousy…)
Momentarily stymied, Harry watched Ginny Weasley playing with Arnold the Pygmy Puff for a while before seeing a way around this objection.
(It definitely shows here that Harry is now ‘really’ looking at Ginny.)
“Monday evening!” He felt suddenly light and happy. “Want to join us in Hogsmeade, Ginny?” he asked.
“I’m going with Dean — might see you there,” she replied, waving at them as she left.
(Harry is inviting Ginny at the Hogsmeade, remember at GoF where Hogsmeade is the very nice for dating couples? Like how Harry wanted to be with Cho at Hogsmeade? Maybe at this point he’s starting to get the idea of going out with her?)
Harry’s thoughts strayed to Ginny as they trudged up the road to Hogwarts through the frozen slush. They had not met up with her, undoubtedly, thought Harry, because she and Dean were cozily closeted in Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop, that haunt of happy couples. Scowling, he bowed his head against the swirling sleet and trudged on.
(Even though Harry is with his bestfriends, he still thinks of Ginny…)
“Panicked,” Ginny said angrily, landing next to Demelza and examining her fat lip. “You prat, Ron, look at the state of her!”
“I can fix that,” said Harry, landing beside the two girls, pointing his wand at Demelzas mouth, and saying “Episkey.” “And Ginny, don’t call Ron a prat, you’re not the Captain of this team —”
“Well, you seemed too busy to call him a prat and I thought someone should —”
Harry forced himself not to laugh.
“In the air, everyone, let’s go. . . .”
(Harry is really enjoying now his time with Ginny and how he loves her wit.)
He kept up a relentless flow of encouragement all the way back to the castle, and by the time they reached the second floor, Ron was looking marginally more cheerful. When Harry pushed open the tapestry to take their usual shortcut up to Gryffindor Tower, however, they found themselves looking at Dean and Ginny, who were locked in a close embrace and kissing fiercely as though glued together.
It was as though something large and scaly erupted into life in Harry’s stomach, clawing at his insides: Hot blood seemed to flood his brain, so that all thought was extinguished, replaced by a savage urge to jinx Dean into a jelly. Wrestling with this sudden madness, he heard Ron’s voice as though from a great distance away.
Dean and Ginny broke apart and looked around. “What?” said Ginny.
“I don’t want to find my own sister snogging people in public!” “This was a deserted corridor till you came butting in!” said Ginny.
Dean was looking embarrassed. He gave Harry a shifty grin that Harry did not return, as the newborn monster inside him was roar-ing for Dean’s instant dismissal from the team.
“Er . . . c’mon, Ginny,” said Dean, “let’s go back to the common room. …”
“You go!” said Ginny. “I want a word with my dear brother!” Dean left, looking as though he was not sorry to depart the scene.
“Right,” said Ginny, tossing her long red hair out of her face and glaring at Ron, “let’s get this straight once and for all. It is none of your business who I go out with or what I do with them, Ron —” “Yeah, it is!” said Ron, just as angrily. “D’ you think I want peo-ple saying my sister’s a —”
“A what?” shouted Ginny, drawing her wand. “A what, exactly?” “He doesn’t mean anything, Ginny —” said Harry automati-cally, though the monster was roaring its approval of Ron’s words. “Oh yes he does!” she said, flaring up at Harry. “Just because he’s never snogged anyone in his life, just because the best kiss he’s ever had is from our Auntie Muriel —”
“Shut your mouth!” bellowed Ron, bypassing red and turning maroon.
“No, I will not!” yelled Ginny, beside herself. “I’ve seen you with Phlegm, hoping she’ll kiss you on the cheek every time you see her, it’s pathetic! If you went out and got a bit of snogging done your self, you wouldn’t mind so much that everyone else does it!”
Ron had pulled out his wand too; Harry stepped swiftly between them.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Ron roared, trying to get a clear shot at Ginny around Harry, who was now standing in front of her with his arms outstretched. “Just because I don’t do it in public — !”
Ginny screamed with derisive laughter, trying to push Harry out of the way.
“Been kissing Pigwidgeon, have you? Or have you got a picture of Auntie Muriel stashed under your pillow?” You —
A streak of orange light flew under Harrys left arm and missed Ginny by inches; Harry pushed Ron up against the wall.
“Don’t be stupid —”
“Harry’s snogged Cho Chang!” shouted Ginny, who sounded close to tears now. “And Hermione snogged Viktor Krum, it’s only you who acts like it’s something disgusting, Ron, and that’s because you’ve got about as much experience as a twelve-year-old!”
And with that, she stormed away. Harry quickly let go of Ron; the look on his face was murderous. They both stood there, breath-ing heavily, until Mrs. Norris, Rich’s cat, appeared around the cor-ner, which broke the tension.
“C’mon,” said Harry, as the sound of Filch’s shuffling feet reached their ears.
They hurried up the stairs and along a seventh-floor corridor. “Oi, out of the way!” Ron barked at a small girl who jumped in fright and dropped a bottle of toadspawn.
Harry hardly noticed the sound of shattering glass; he felt dis-oriented, dizzy; being struck by a lightning bolt must be something like this. It’s just because she’s Ron’s sister, he told himself. You just didn’t like seeing her kissing Dean because she’s Ron’s sister. . . .
But unbidden into his mind came an image of that same de-serted corridor with himself kissing Ginny instead. . . . The mon-ster in his chest purred . . . but then he saw Ron ripping open the tapestry curtain and drawing his wand on Harry, shouting things like “betrayal of trust” . . . “supposed to be my friend” . . .
“D’you think Hermione did snog Krum?” Ron asked abruptly, as they approached the Fat Lady. Harry gave a guilty start and wrenched his imagination away from a corridor in which no Ron intruded, in which he and Ginny were quite alone — “What?” he said confusedly. “Oh … er …” The honest answer was “yes,” but he did not want to give it. However, Ron seemed to gather the worst from the look on Harry’s face.
“Dilligrout,” he said darkly to the Fat Lady, and they climbed through the portrait hole into the common room.
Neither of them mentioned Ginny or Hermione again; indeed, they barely spoke to each other that evening and got into bed in si-lence, each absorbed in his own thoughts,
Harry lay awake for a long time, looking up at the canopy of his four-poster and trying to convince himself that his feelings for Ginny were entirely elder-brotherly. They had lived, had they not, like brother and sister all summer, playing Quidditch, teasing Ron, and having a laugh about Bill and Phlegm? He had known Ginny for years now. … It was natural that he should feel protective . . . natural that he should want to look out for her . . . want to rip Dean limb from limb for kissing her… No … he would have to control that particular brotherly feeling. . . .
Ron gave a great grunting snore.
She’s Ron’s sister, Harry told himself firmly. Ron’s sister. She’s out-of-bounds. He would not risk his friendship with Ron for anything. He punched his pillow into a more comfortable shape and waited for sleep to come, trying his utmost not to allow his thoughts to stray anywhere near Ginny.
Harry awoke next morning feeling slightly dazed and confused by a series of dreams in which Ron had chased him with a Beater’s bat, but by midday he would have happily exchanged the dream Ron for the real one, who was not only cold-shouldering Ginny and Dean, but also treating a hurt and bewildered Hermione with an icy, sneering indifference.
(First time that Harry realized that his feelings for Ginny are not elderly-brother anymore.)
*…after winning the Quidditch match against Slytherine…
Laughing, Harry broke free of the rest of the team and hugged Ginny, but let go very quickly. Avoiding her gaze, he clapped cheering Ron on the back instead as, all enmity forgotten, the Gryffindor team left the pitch arm in arm, punching the air ami waving to their supporters.
(Harry cannot help showing up his real emotions!!!)
“There isn’t anyone I want to invite,” mumbled Harry, who was still not trying to think about Ginny any more than he could help, despite the fact the fact that she kept cropping up in his dreams in ways that made him devoutly thankful that Ron could not perform Legilimency.
(Harry is getting more serious now with Ginny, though he doubts if it’s ok with Ron.)
You could’ve taken anyone!” said Ron in disbelief over dinner. “Anyone! And you chose Loony Lovegood?”
“Don’t call her that, Ron!” snapped Ginny, pausing behind Harry on her way to join friends. “I’m really glad you’re taking her Harry, she’s so excited.”
And she moved on down the table to sit with Dean. Harry tried to feel pleased that Ginny was glad he was taking Luna to the party but could not quite manage it.
(Harry’s jealous heart!)
“Harry, you’ve got a maggot in your hair,” said Ginny cheerfully, leaning across the table to pick it out; Harry felt goose bumps erupt up his neck that had nothing to do with the maggot.
(Now, Harry is putting some malice…hehehe!)
“No, thanks, I said I’d meet Dean,” said Ginny, though Harry could not help noticing that she did not sound very enthusiastic.
(Some hope for Harry, at last!)
(Even in pain, Ginny can give Harry happiness …how sweet!)
Hermione even escorted them down to breakfast, bringing with her the news that Ginny had argued with Dean. The drowsing creature in Harry’s chest suddenly raised its head, sniffing the air hopefully.
“What did they row about?” he asked, trying to sound casual as they turned onto a seventh-floor corridor that was deserted but for a very small girl who had been examining a tapestry of trolls in tutus. She looked terrified at the sight of the approaching sixth years and dropped the heavy brass scales she was carrying.
“It’s all right!” said Hermione kindly, hurrying forward to help her. “Here …”
She tapped the broken scales with her wand and said, “Reparo.” The girl did not say thank you, but remained rooted to the spot as they passed and watched them out of sight; Ron glanced back at her.
“I swear they’re getting smaller,” he said.
“Never mind her,” said Harry, a little impatiently. “What did Ginny and Dean row about, Hermione?”
“Yeah, well, there was no need for Ginny and Dean to split up over it,” said Harry, still trying to sound casual. “Or are they still together?”
“Yes, they are — but why are you so interested?” asked Hermione, giving Harry a sharp look.
“I just don’t want my Quidditch team messed up again!” he said hastily, but Hermione continued to look suspicious, and he was most relieved when a voice behind them called, “Harry!” giving him an excuse to turn his back on her. “Oh, hi, Luna.”
(Uhm…Hermione is noticing your secret now Harry!)
“Ron, that’s — that’s it!” said Hermione, sounding stunned. “Of course! Why didn’t I think of it?”
Harry stared at them both. “Felix Felicis?” he said. “I dunno . . . I was sort of saving it. …”
“What for?” demanded Ron incredulously.
“What on earth is more important than this memory, Harry?” asked Hermione.
Harry did not answer. The thought of that little golden bottle had hovered on the edges of his imagination for some time; vague and unformulated plans that involved Ginny splitting up with Dean, and Ron somehow being happy to see her with a new boyfriend, had been fermenting in the depths of his brain, unacknowledged except during dreams or the twilight time between sleeping and waking. . . .
“Harry? Are you still with us?” asked Hermione.
“Wha — ? Yeah, of course,” he said, pulling himself together.
(Well, it show’s how much Harry fancies Ginny, huh?)
Getting through the portrait hole was simple; as he approached it, Ginny and Dean came through it, and Harry was able to slip between them. As he did so, he brushed accidentally against Ginny.
“Don’t push me, please, Dean,” she said, sounding annoyed. ; “You’re always doing that, I can get through perfectly well on my own. …”
The portrait swung closed behind Harry, but not before he had heard Dean make an angry retort.. . . His feeling of elation in-creasing, Harry strode off through the castle.
(Now we can say that the Felix Felicis is really working, and somehow Harry should thank the Half-Blood Prince for the book…hehehe!)
Harry thought there was a rather knowing look in her eye as she told him that, but she could not possibly know that his insides were suddenly dancing the conga. Keeping his face as immobile and his voice as indifferent as he could, he asked, “How come?”
“Oh, something really silly . . . She said he was always trying to help her through the portrait hole, like she couldn’t climb in herself . . . but they’ve been a bit rocky for ages.”
Harry glanced over at Dean on the other side of the classroom. He certainly looked unhappy.
“Of course, this puts you in a bit of a dilemma, doesn’t it?” said Hermione.
“What d’you mean?” said Harry quickly.
“The Quidditch team,” said Hermione. “If Ginnyand Dean aren’t speaking . . .”
“Oh — oh yeah,” said Harry.
(Well, Harry should celebrate now!)
Neither of them seemed to have noticed that a fierce battle was raging inside Harry’s brain:
She’s Rons sister.
But she’s ditched Dean!
She’s still Rons sister.
I’m his best mate!
That’ll make it worse.
If I talked to him first —
He’d hit you.
What if I don’t care?
He’s your best mate!
Harry barely noticed that they were climbing through the portrait hole into the sunny common room…
(Just follow your heart!)
Ginny did not seem at all upset about the breakup with Dean; on the contrary, she was the life and soul of the team. Her imitations of Ron anxiously bobbing up and down in front of the goal posts as the Quaffle sped toward him, or of Harry bellowing orders at McLaggen before being knocked out cold, kept them all highly amused. Harry, laughing with the others, was glad to have an innocent reason to look at Ginny; he had received several more Bludger injuries during practice because he had not been keeping his eyes on the Snitch.
The battle still raged inside his head: Ginny or Ron? Sometimes he thought that the post-Lavender Ron might not mind too much if he asked Ginny out, but then he remembered Ron’s expression when he had seen her kissing Dean, and was sure that Ron would consider it base treachery if Harry so much as held her hand. . . .
Yet Harry could not help himself talking to Ginny, laughing with her, walking back from practice with her; however much his conscience ached, he found himself wondering how best to get her on her own. It would have been ideal if Slughorn had given another of his little parties, for Ron would not be around — but unfortunately, Slughorn seemed to have given them up. Once or twice Harry considered asking for Hermione’s help, but he did not think he could stand seeing the smug look on her face; he thought he caught it sometimes when Hermione spotted him staring at Ginny or laughing at her jokes. And to complicate matters, he had the nagging worry that if he didn’t do it, somebody else was sure to ask Ginny out soon: He and Ron were at least agreed on the fact that she was too popular for her own good.
All in all, the temptation to take another gulp of Felix Felicis was becoming stronger by the day, for surely this was a case for, as Hermione put it, “tweaking the circumstances”? The balmy days slid gently through May, and Ron seemed to be there at Harry’s shoulder every time he saw Ginny. Harry found himself longing for a stroke of luck that would somehow cause Ron to realize that nothing would make him happier than his best friend and his sister falling for each other and to leave them alone together for longer than a few seconds. There seemed no chance of either while the final Quidditch game of the season was looming; Ron wanted to talk tactics with Harry all the time and had little thought for anything else.
(Love is growing here..)
He was having a bad enough time without Hermione lecturing him; the looks on the Gryffindor team’s faces when he had told them he would not be able to play on Saturday had been the worst punishment of all. He could feel Ginny’s eyes on him now but did not meet them; he did not want to see disappointment or anger there. He had just told her that she would be playing Seeker on Saturday and that Dean would be rejoining the team as Chaser in her place. Perhaps, if they won, Ginny and Dean would make up during the post-match euphoria. . . . The thought went through Harry like an icy knife. . . .
(Just thinking of Ginny-Dean getting back together is really hurting him.)
“Give it a rest, Hermione!” said Ginny, and Harry was so amazed, so grateful, he looked up. “By the sound of it, Malfoy was trying to use an Unforgivable Curse, you should be glad Harry had something good up his sleeve!”
“Well, of course I’m glad Harry wasn’t cursed!” said Hermione, clearly stung. “But you can’t call that Sectumsempra spell good, Ginny, look where it’s landed him! And I’d have thought, seeing what this has done to your chances in the match —”
“Oh, don’t start acting as though you understand Quidditch,” snapped Ginny, “you’ll only embarrass yourself.”
Harry and Ron stared: Hermione and Ginny, who had always got on together very well, were now sitting with their arms folded, glaring in opposite directions. Ron looked nervously at Harry, then snatched up a book at random and hid behind it. Harry, however, little though he knew he deserved it, felt unbelievably cheerful all of a sudden, even though none of them spoke again for the rest of the evening.
(Well…seems that Ginny still have some feelings for Harry)
“We won!” yelled Ron, bounding into sight and brandishing the silver Cup at Harry. “We won! Four hundred and fifty to a hundred and forty! We won!”
Harry looked around; there was Ginny running toward him; she had a hard, blazing look in her face as she threw her arms around him. And without thinking, without planning it, without worrying about the fact that fifty people were watching, Harry kissed her.
After several long moments — or it might have been half an hour — or possibly several sunlit days — they broke apart. The room had gone very quiet. Then several people wolf-whistled and there was an outbreak of nervous giggling. Harry looked over the top of Ginny’s head to see Dean Thomas holding a shattered glass in his hand, and Romilda Vane looking as though she might throw something. Hermione was beaming, but Harry’s eyes sought Ron. At last he found him, still clutching the Cup and wearing an expression appropriate to having been clubbed over the head. For a fraction of a second they looked at each other, then Ron gave a tiny jerk of the head that Harry understood to mean, Well—if you must.
The creature in his chest roaring in triumph, he grinned down at Ginny and gestured wordlessly out of the portrait hole. A long walk in the grounds seemed indicated, during which — if they had time — they might discuss the match.
(The realization of all Harry and Ginny’s dream!)
‘You’d think people had better things to gossip about,’ said Ginny, as she sat on the common-room floor, leaning against Harry’s legs and reading the Daily Prophet. Three Dementor attacks in a week, and all Romilda Vane does is ask me if it’s true you’ve got a Hippogriff tattooed across your chest.’
Ron and Hermione both roared with laughter. Harry ignored them.
‘What did you tell her?’
‘ I told her it’s a Hungarian Horntail,’ said Ginny, turning a page of the newspaper idly. ‘Much more macho.’
Thanks,’ said Harry, grinning. ‘And what did you tell her Ron’s got?’
‘A Pygmy Puff, but I didn’t say where.’
Ron scowled as Hermione rolled around laughing.
‘Watch it,’ he said, pointing warmingly at Harry and Ginny. ‘Just because I’ve given my permission doesn’t mean I can’t withdraw it -‘
“Your permission”,’ scoffed Ginny. ‘Since when did you give me permission to do anything? Anyway, you said yourself you’d rather it was Harry than Michael or Dean.’
‘Yeah, I would,’ said Ron grudgingly. ‘And just as long as you don’t start snogging each other in public -‘
‘You filthy hypocrite! What about you and Lavender, thrash-ing around like a pair of eels all over the place?’ demanded Ginny.
But Ron’s tolerance was not to be tested much as they moved into June, for Harry and Ginny’s time together was becoming increasingly restricted. Ginny’s O.W.L.s were approaching and she was therefore forced to revise for hours into the night. On one such evening, when Ginny had retired to the library and Harry was sitting beside the window in the common room, supposedly finishing his Herbology home-work but in reality reliving a particularly happy hour he had spent down by the lake with Ginny at lunch-time, Hermione dropped into the seat between him and Ron with an unpleasantly purposeful look on her face.
‘I want to talk to you, Harry.’
‘What about?’ said Harry suspiciously. Only the previous day, Hermione had told him off for distracting Ginny when she ought to be working hard for her examinations.
The so-called Half-Blood Prince.’
‘Oh, not again,’ he groaned. ‘Will you please drop it?’
He had not dared to return to the Room of Requirement to retrieve his book, and his performance in Potions was suffer-ing accordingly (though Slughorn, who approved of Ginny, had jocularly attributed this to Harry being lovesick).
He was finding these detentions particularly irksome because they cut into the already limited time he could have been spending with Ginny. Indeed, he had frequently won-dered lately whether Snape did not know this, for he was keeping Harry later and later every time, while making pointed asides about Harry having to miss the good weather and the varied opportunities it offered.
(I would also hate Snape for doing that if I am Ginnny..)
‘You need what’s wrapped in them, it’s the Felix Felicis. Share it between yourselves and Ginny too. Say goodbye to her from me. I’d better go, Dumbledore’s waiting -‘
(Harry is thinking of Ginny above himself.)
… It seemed hours and hours ago that he had met Professor Trelawney, that he had given Ron and Hermione Felix Felicis. . . . He suddenly wished he had said a better good-bye to them . . . and he hadn’t seen Ginny at all. . .
(Missing her already? Harry should concentrate! Hehehe!)
How long had they been away? Had Ron, Hermione and Ginny’s luck run out by now? Was it one of them who had caused the Mark to be set over the school, or was it Neville, or Luna, or some other member of the DA? And if it was … he was the one who had told them to patrol the corridors, he had asked them to leave the safety of their beds … would he be responsible, again, for the death of a friend?
(Shows one of Harry’s attitude, which possibly why Ginny loves the guy!)
There were two bodies lying there, lying facedown in a pool of blood, but there was no time to investigate. Harry now saw red hair flying like flames in front of him: Ginny was locked in combat with the lumpy Death Eater, Amycus, who was throwing hex after hex at her while she dodged them: Amycus was giggling, enjoying the sport: “Crucio – Crucio – you can’t dance forever, pretty-“
“Impedimenta!” yelled Harry.
His jinx hit Amycus in the chest: He gave a piglike squeal of pain, was lifted off his feet and slammed into the opposite wall, slid down it, and fell out of sight behind Ron, Professor McGonagall, and Lupin, each of whom was battling a separate Death Eater. Beyond them, Harry saw Tonks fighting an enormous blond wizard who was sending curses flying in all directions, so that they ricocheted off the walls around them, cracking stone, shattering the nearest window –
“Harry, where did you come from?” Ginny cried, but there was no time to answer her. He put his head down and sprinted forward, narrowly avoiding a blast that erupted over his head, showering them all in bits of wall.
(Even on great danger, love still finds a way.)
A much smaller and warmer hand had enclosed his and was pulling him upward. He obeyed its pressure without really thinking about it. Only as he walked blindly back through the crowd did he realize, from a trace of flowery scent on the air, that it was Ginny who was leading him back into the castle. Incomprehensible voices battered him, sobs and shouts and wails stabbed the night, but Harry and Ginny walked on, back up the steps into the entrance hall.
(Somehow unconsciously Harry is following Ginny, showing how much effect Ginny has to Harry.)
“We’re going to the hospital wing,” said Ginny.
“I’m not hurt,” said Harry. !
“It’s McGonagalls orders,” said Ginny. “Everyone’s up there, Ron and Hermione and Lupin and everyone -“
(Harry is following Ginny, underdog? LOL! hehehe!)
Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny were spending all of their time together. The beautiful weather seemed to mock them; Harry could imagine how it would have been if Durnbledore had not died, and they had had this time together at the very end of the year, Ginny’s examinations finished, the pressure of homework lifted … and hour by hour, he put off saying the thing that he knew he must say, doing what he knew it was right to do, because it was too hard to forgo his best source of comfort.
(Harry now is realizing the effect of Dumbledores death…)
‘I suppose I’m just going to have to accept that he really is going to marry her,’ sighed Ginny later that evening, as she, Harry, Ron and Hermione sat beside the open window of the Gryffindor common room, looking out over the twilit grounds,
‘She’s not that bad,’ said Harry. ‘Ugly, though,’ he added hastily, as Ginny raised her eyebrows, and she let out a reluctant giggle.
‘Well, I suppose if Mum can stand it, 1 can.’
‘Anyone else we know died?’ Ron asked Hermione, who was perusing the Evening Prophet.
Hermione winced at the forced toughness in his voice.
‘No,’ she said reprovingly, folding up the newspaper. ‘They’re still looking for Snape, but no sign …’
‘Of course there isn’t,’ said Harry, who became angry every lime this subject cropped up. They won’t find Snape till they find Voldemort, and seeing as they’ve never managed to do that in all this time …’
‘I’m going to go to bed,’ yawned Ginny. ‘I haven’t been sleeping that well since … well … I could do with some sleep.’
She kissed Harry (Ron looked away pointedly), waved at the other two and departed for the girls’ dormitories.
(This is really sweet…)
Harry looked at Ginny, Ron and Hermione: Ron’s face was screwed up as though the sunlight was blinding him. Hermione’s face was glazed with tears, but Ginny was no longer crying. She met Harry’s gaze with the same hard, blazing look that he had seen when she had hugged him after winning the Quidditch Cup in his absence, and he knew that at that moment they understood each other perfectly, and that when he told her what he was going to do now, she would not say ‘Be careful’, or ‘Don’t do it’, but accept his decision, because she would not have expected anything less of him. And so he steeled himself to say what he had known he must say ever since Dumbledore had died.
‘Ginny, listen …’ he said very quietly, as the buzz of con-versation grew louder around them and people began to get to their feet. ‘I can’t be involved with you any more. We’ve got to stop seeing each other. We can’t be together.’
She said, with an oddly twisted smile, ‘It’s for some stupid, noble reason, isn’t it?’
‘It’s been like … like something out of someone else’s life, these last few weeks with you,’ said Harry. ‘But 1 can’t … we can’t … I’ve got things to do alone now.’
She did not cry, she simply looked at him,
‘Voldemort uses people his enemies are close to. He’s already used you as bait once, and that was just because you’re my best friend’s sister. Think how much danger you’ll be in if we keep this up. He’ll know, he’ll find out. He’ll try and get to me through you.’
‘What if I don’t care?’ said Ginny fiercely.
‘I care,’ said Harry. ‘How do you think I’d feel if this was your funeral … and it was my fault …’
She looked away from him, over the lake.
T never really gave up on you,’ she said. ‘Not really. I always hoped … Hermione told me to get on with life, maybe go out with some other people, relax a bit around you, because I never used to be able to talk if you were in the room, remember? And she thought you might take a bit more notice if I was a bit more – myself.’
‘Smart girl, that Hermione,’ said Harry, trying to smile. ‘I just wish I’d asked you sooner. We coukTve had ages … months … years maybe …’
‘But you’ve been too busy saving the wizarding world,’ said Ginny, half-laughing. ‘Well … I can’t say I’m surprised. I knew this would happen in the end. I knew you wouldn’t be happy unless you were hunting Voldemort. Maybe that’s why I like you so much.’
Harry could not bear to hear these things, nor did he think his resolution would hold if he remained sitting beside her. Ron, he saw, was now holding Hermione and stroking her hair while she sobbed into his shoulder, tears dripping from the end of his own long nose. With a miserable gesture, Harry got up, turned his back on Ginny and on Dumbledore’s tomb and walked away around the lake. Moving felt much more bearable than sitting still: just as setting out as soon as possible to track down the Horcruxes and kill Voldemort would feel better than waiting to do it …
(This is the hardest thing that Harry ever has to do, and my heart is crying for him as well)