You've Always Been Mine

Hearing is Believing

Hogwarts Bailey
16 Mar 1992

Hermione, Harry, and Ginny sat on a low stone wall in the castle bailey, enjoying the crisp air after their classes. The weak sun felt good on their faces after several days of rain.

“Wonder where Ron is,” Harry said, looking around. “I could have sworn he was right behind us when we left Potions.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Oh, I’m pretty sure I know where he is,” she said. “Or who he’s with, anyway,” she added in a significant tone.

Harry, warned by her tone, said, “Ah...you don’t mean Draco, do you?”

“Of course I mean Draco.” At Harry’s sigh she said, “You really don’t believe me, do you?”

“It’s not that I don’t believe you,” he said cautiously. “It’s just that it doesn’t really affect me, you know?” When she just huffed at him, he added, “And to tell you the truth, I’m not sure I do believe it.” Ginny’s mouth flew open to protest and he said hurriedly, “Well, I’ve never seen them doing—anything—so it really seems kind of far-fetched to me. I mean—well, this is Ron we’re talking about.”

Ginny looked at him consideringly. “You’ve never seen them doing anything,” she repeated, tapping her fingers on her thigh.

Harry shrugged. “Nope.”

“If you did, then would you believe me?”

“Look, Ginny, it doesn’t really matter, does it? What they do is their own business,” Harry said. “To tell you the truth, I don’t need to see them together. And,” he said after a moment’s reflection, “I really don’t think I want to.”

“Too bad,” Ginny said. “Ever since I was little my brothers have accused me of making things up, and I’m tired of it. I’m certainly not going to sit by and take that from you, Harry.” She was all offended dignity. “Come with me.”

She grasped his wrist firmly and dragged him back into the castle. Hermione, her lips quivering with incipient laughter, brought up the rear.

Ginny marched Harry along a route that was uncomfortably familiar. “Where are we going?” he asked. “Not Trelawney’s classroom, surely?”

“No,” she said briefly. “You’ll see.”

They passed the bottom of the ladder that led to the Divination classroom and turned left at the far end of the corridor. After several more turns Harry could no longer have said with any accuracy just where in the castle they were. The corridor was very dim here; torches were few and far between in what was, to him, uncharted territory.

“Where are we?” Hermione asked, looking around. The corridor was deserted; they passed one empty room, completely bare of furnishings, and then another, coming to a stop before a tapestry that depicted the tale of Aubrey the Austere, as a plaque on the wall beside it proclaimed.

Ginny shushed her. “Be quiet,” she mouthed. She pointed to the tapestry. “Listen!”

Resigned, Harry stood still. He thought he could hear rustling coming from behind the tapestry, but it was faint and he couldn’t be sure. He turned to Ginny, about to tell her he was going to leave, when they heard a moan.

And not just any moan. It was a moan of pure delight, and it went on, and on...and on.

It was Draco.

Harry looked at Ginny, then at Hermione. The former had a triumphant expression on her face, and the latter was attempting to stuff her fist in her mouth to keep from bursting into laughter.

The moan stopped finally—mercifully, in Harry’s opinion; he really, really didn’t want to know what had occasioned it—and was followed almost immediately by a sort of wet, sucking noise. Harry’s scalp crinkled and a peculiar look crossed his face. That wasn’t—surely they weren’t—see, now, this was why he hadn’t wanted to come: to hear, to know all the gory details. Thinking about it in the abstract wasn’t so bad, but this—this was what he would think of now, every time he looked at Ron or Draco. He winced.

Hermione nudged him with her elbow. She shook her head sympathetically even while laughter danced in her eyes. “They’re only kissing,” she whispered. Harry’s eyebrows lifted in a question, and she nodded. “Yes, I’m sure.” He decided he didn’t want to know how she knew that.

In a moment Draco began to moan again. What on earth was going on back there? Harry wondered, wildly curious in spite of himself. This time they could hear words interspersed with the moans.

“Ah, Ron...so good...gods, do that again.” Harry began to quietly back away. Ginny reached for him, but he eluded her grasp and, turning on his heel, took off running—very audibly—down the corridor. Ginny watched him go, shaking her head.

The moaning cut off abruptly. There was more rustling from behind the tapestry, and now frantic whispering could be heard. Hermione and Ginny looked at each other, eyes wide, and before their hysterical giggles could erupt, they ran after Harry down the corridor and around the corner; ran all the way to the Great Hall, where a growing crowd indicated that it was nearly time for dinner.

Harry sat by himself at one end of the Potter table, homework spread out before him, giving a decent impression of having been there for a good long time. He studiously ignored Hermione and Ginny when they arrived, panting, and walked up to him. Ginny opened her mouth to say something, but Harry held up a hand. “I don’t want to know any more than I already do,” he said. “I think I may be scarred for life. Seriously.” They giggled and he looked up at them.

“Well, at least now you know I’m telling the truth,” Ginny said. Harry rolled his eyes.

“Okay, you were telling the truth. Happy now?”

“Oh, I think so.”

“Fine, then,” Harry said. He looked past them to the doorway and snorted. Ginny and Hermione turned to see Draco and Ron just walking in, disheveled, out of breath, and looking more than a little disgruntled.

“Oh look, the lovebirds,” Ginny murmured.

“Ginny,” Harry muttered warningly.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll be good,” she said, and bent to buss him smartly on the cheek. She looked back at Ron and Draco and smiled an evil, little-sister smile. “For now.”