Thanks to my beta, Jo Wickaninnish, my sounding board, Julu, and my Brit picker, Nic83 who willingly discussed laundry with me. And thanks to you, dear reader, for sticking with me, even after the Hermione episode. Don't worry - Harry and I still love her.

Chapter Six: Laundry

"So how bad was it?" Ron asked the next morning at breakfast.

Harry winced just thinking about it. He wasn't sure which was worse: Snape making every kind of innuendo about what they had been doing out so late, or Professor McGonagall's lecture on responsibility and controlling emotions. "Snape was a git," he began.

Ron snorted in sympathy.

"And McGonagall, once she was sure I wasn't in the midst of some kind of break down, let me have it. How's - did you talk to Hermione?"

"Yes - we talked. But you're going to have to talk to her, Harry."

It was Sunday, and there were very few students down for breakfast this early in the morning. Ginny wasn't there either.

"I know. I don't know what I can say though, to make it better. I mean - I can't be like she wants me to be - you know - never taking risks or anything."

"Then you have to make her understand." Ron stirred his tea and then looked at him seriously. "Hermione can do anything and accept anything if she understands."

"You're right," Harry said in surprise, as the truth of that statement hit him. Ron certainly saw Hermione clearly. "I haven't had much of a chance to talk to her this year."

"I think she misses that," Ron said.

"Yeah." Harry realized that he missed those talks too. "So what's everyone saying about the attack?" He had not slept well; the flashes of hexes and terrified screams of his dreams kept waking him up.

"Oh the usual I-was-the-hero kind of stories." Ron rolled his eyes. "Or even worse - the ones who weren't afraid at all and knew right away that the attackers weren't harmful."

"They were harmful enough - anytime you're throwing curses around in a confined space it's going to be dangerous."

"True. And then there are the conspiracy theories." Ron frowned. "People noticed that they attacked right when Nott showed up."

"Yeah - and they didn't attack him. Dean got hit first."

Ron put his fork down. "I wonder if they thought Nott was on their side?"

"They thought wrong - didn't they?" Harry answered, pushing his plate away.

"Maybe. I mean - he could have made that decision right then. Or . . ." He frowned.

"Or what?"

"I don't know - I'll have to think about it some more."

Harry looked at his watch; it was almost nine o'clock. "I have to go - detention."

"What's your detention?"

"Laundry."

R on grinned. "At least you'll have a better understanding of house-elves. Take an observation sheet."

"Ron, you know what you can do with that observation sheet."

Harry found the laundry after some difficulty. It was in the cellar, not far from the Hufflepuff common room. It was a pleasant enough room. There were windows near the ceiling to let in the light and a set of stairs leading up to open double doors. It looked as if that was the drying yard for the clotheslines.

There were twelve huge cauldrons lined up against the back wall. On the long shelf above them were boxes and bottles of all kinds. He looked at the labels-Tidy Whitey All Fabric Bleach. Bold and Beautiful-Bold on dirt, Beautiful on you. Dragon's Blood Concentrate-guaranteed to flame through all potion stains or your money back. Stuffed Shirt Starch. Puffskein Fabric Softener. There was a bottle of something called H-E.P. with a picture of a smiling house-elf on it.

The long table, a few spindly chairs, and a sagging settee were the only furniture in the room, since there wasn't much room for anything else next to the mountains of laundry. There were black heaps of school robes and white piles of underwear and rainbow clusters of socks.

Before he had a chance to become too disheartened, Professor McGonagall showed up with Ginny. "Potter, Weasley-this is your detention. You will stay until it is done. Wash, dried and folded. The elves will sort it and get it back to the students."

"Can we use magic?" Harry asked, and then realized what a stupid question that was.

"How else would you do laundry here, Potter?" She raised her eyebrows. "I hope one of you knows some household spells." She looked at Ginny expectantly. Ginny nodded, not looking happy.

"I'll send one of the elves to check on you and make sure you are doing this properly."

Ginny put her books and papers on the table. "I brought my homework, since I think this will take all day. I thought having nine in the family would have prepared me for huge amounts of laundry, but this -" She indicated the piles with her hand. "Is ridiculous."

"Are you ok?" Harry interrupted her. "After yesterday?"

"I'm fine," she said quickly, not meeting his eyes. "I think we'd better get busy."

She smiled slightly. "I'm in charge?"

"Yes dear, you are in charge."

Her smile grew and she ran her hand down his arm. "When are you going to give me that sweatshirt?"

Harry looked down at the stretched and faded Quidditch sweatshirt he had owned since third year. On the front there was a small Gryffindor lion with the word "Seeker" underneath it. On the back "Potter" was spelled out in block letters. "I thought you were an insatiable jumper collector?"

"I am," she said, going over to kick at the pile of robes. "But sweatshirts are necessary for more casual occasions."

"Like doing laundry?"

"Exactly."

"So wallpapering is a more formal - er - event."

"Right." She grinned at him over her shoulder. "Laundry is every other day - wallpaper is every other decade."

"Ah. So, I'm not going to have any clothes left."

"That's too small for you, anyway."

"It's too big for you."

"Never underestimate the power of hot water."

He laughed. "That sounds ominous. I don't know if I'll entrust my favorite to your care."

"You will," she said confidently. "Now we have to start or it will really be ominous if we don't finish this today."

Harry soon found that while magic was useful in the laundry room, it still was an inexact science. They started on the robes first since Ginny thought they should hang outside to dry. "Less ironing," she said.

"I thought those robes from Madam Malkins were self-ironing?"

"Harry, you don't believe everything you read, do you?"

It was going well until they came to a robe soiled with potion stains.

"What is this stuff on here anyway?" It was mustard yellow and smelled like rotten eggs. They tried everything on the shelf.

"What do Muggles use?" Ginny asked in exasperation.

"Well there's soda water. Or a paste of baking soda, or lemon juice, or white vinegar. There's this stuff called Vanish. Think we could vanish the stain?

"No - the whole robe would go with it. I wish that H-E.P. bottle wasn't empty, that's what Mum always uses."

"Can't we just blast it off and say it melted in the water or something? Or blew off the line and Norbert toasted it with his flames?"

"All excellent ideas," Ginny said, rolling her eyes, "we're supposed to be getting out of trouble and not into more."

He shrugged. "Let's soak it in a bucket of Bold and Beautiful for a while - that might work."

"Good idea."

They dumped armful after armful of the robes into the cauldrons. Then they added soap and water.

"Hot or cold water?"

"Please, nothing gets clean in cold."

"What would happen if we shrunk everyone's robes?"

"Let's not even entertain that thought."

"To be on the safe side - we'll just build warm fires."

Once the water was warm, Ginny recited the agitation incantation.

"What about rinsing?"

"You have a soap removal incantation and then a spin incantation."

That didn't sound very efficient to Harry. "At least in Muggle world, you can put it all in and forget about it. How do you remember to do each thing?"

"The cauldrons will yell at us. But a multi-step incantation would be an improvement."

"We should get Hermione on it." Saying Hermione's name reminded Harry of the nightmare argument from the day before.

Suddenly all business, Ginny said, "Right - I'd best get to my homework."

She sat at the table and Harry sat on the settee. He wished she would sit next to him, but she was determinedly spreading out her papers and setting out her quill and inkbottle. Maybe she really did have a lot of homework to do, Harry thought.

The clothes sloshed gently in the cauldrons. The clean smell, the quiet, the cozy intimacy of being in a room together, all made Harry feel relaxed and content. For an old, ugly piece of furniture, this settee certainly is comfortable, he thought before drifting into sleep . . .

He was walking through Hogwarts, past the room of requirement, past the library. Then he was in a hurry, running and running and running. He saw the snake scratched on the pipe. He was falling down the dark tunnel. There were numbers - seven - seven - seven. He was still falling.

He awoke with a start. His heart was pounding, but his scar hurt even more. For the first time in months - he had pain in his head. And it must be because of Voldemort. The sleepless night, the stress must have made him more susceptible.

"Harry? Harry what's wrong?" Ginny rushed over. He was struggling to sit up, still clutching his head. His glasses had fallen off somewhere.

"It's Voldemort - I had another dream. This time it was about Hogwarts and the Chamber - I was falling. Then there were three sevens all in a row."

She sat next to him. "What can I do?"

"Nothing - just let me sit here." His head hurt so badly, he thought he was going to be sick.

"Try to breathe a little more." Ginny was stroking his shoulder.

He took his hands away from his scar and leaned back, trying to inhale slowly and steadily.

She smoothed his hair back. When her palm covered his scar he felt the strangest sensation. It was as if something had completely blocked the pain. When she brushed up to his hair, the pain came back.

"Ginny put your hand over my scar. No, not your fingers - your palm." The stabbing pain stopped. Harry covered her hand with his. "Ginny - your hand - it makes the pain go away."

She paled. "How can that be?"

"I don't know."

She took her left hand away and tried it with her right.

He shook his head. "It still hurts." Ginny was biting her lip. "What is it about your left hand?"

Ginny sighed. "I was afraid you were going to ask that. The first time Trelawney saw my fate line, she was convinced I was a natural born healer and that I would die to heal another at a young age."

Ginny laughed grimly. "I assured her that I was no more interested in sick people than I was in dragons. She didn't believe me of course. Diane looked it up for me - she has all the books. And it wasn't the right type of fate line for healing. Trelawney was wrong."

"Surprise, surprise." Now that the pain was gone, Harry could enjoy the fact that Ginny was sitting next to him. "Why did she think that you were going to die at a young age?"

"She thought that since my fate line only went half way up my hand that it showed a short life."

Even Harry knew that couldn't be right. "What does it mean then?"

"It means that -" Ginny hesitated again. "It means that from a young age, my choices would determine my fate."

He frowned. "Don't most people's lives work like that?"

"Apparently not. It seems your fate is in another's hands for quite a long time - until you decide to grow up and make your own choices. I suppose if you never really grow up - you can blame your life on someone else."

"Oh." He thought in silence for a moment. "Why your left hand and not your right?"

Ginny sighed and continued her story in a resigned voice, "Last year, when I caught the Snitch in the Ravenclaw game. I felt a pricking. One of it's wings scratched my hand - just enough to draw a little blood. No big deal, but it made a scar. The scar is attached to my fate line on my left hand, so now the line runs the whole length of my palm. Here." She handed him his glasses. "You'll see what I mean."

Through what was now a dull headache, he saw that the line of Ginny's left palm was an exact replica of the scar on his forehead.

"Spin. Spin. Spin," the cauldron started screaming. Ginny jumped up and began the correct incantations. The revolving of the heavy iron pots made so much noise that normal conversation was impossible.

Ginny shrugged, gave him a slight smile and went back to her homework. She looked as if she was happy for the reprieve. Not that he blamed her, it must have been strange for her to see that on her own hand and wonder what it meant. Knowing how much she didn't like to talk about herself, Harry wasn't surprised that she hadn't shown him that before.

He wasn't sure what to do next. As much as he enjoyed their easy camaraderie, he realized that there were depths that they hadn't even begun to plumb. Somehow he knew that she was afraid of those depths - yet he craved to know them. This was as much of a surprise as anything else. When Cho had cried all over him, he had hated it. When Ginny did, he was glad that she trusted him enough to do that. He just hoped that she wasn't regretting it now . . .

The cauldrons stopped with clanks and thuds. "Done. Done. Done," they chorused.

They used their wands to haul the dripping black bundles up the stairs and outdoors. Ginny knew a spell, which would shake and clip each garment to the line in one easy motion. Soon the robes were flapping in the breeze, the long line going as far as the eye could see, anchored in nothingness.

It felt good to see all of those black sails billowing and dancing in mid-air - yet there was order with the unruliness.

"White stuff next."

"Yuck - I'm not touching underwear."

"You don't have to."

They used their wands and soon the smell of bleach and soapy water filled the room. She went back to her homework.

Harry sat opposite of her at the long table. He wanted to her to talk to him - about the scar on her hand, or about Quidditch - anything. "Ginny?"

"I have to get this homework done - ok?"

"Well - what about that line on your hand? I mean -"

"Harry, I don't want to talk about it right now." She was resolutely reading her book.

"Why not?"

"Because I have things to do." She must have noticed the hurt look on his face. "Look - not everything has to do with you."

He drummed his fingers on the table, feeling his temper rise. It does too have to do with me, he thought.

"Spin. Spin. Spin," the cauldrons screeched. Ginny slammed her book shut and turned to say the next incantation. The deafening noise began again. She re-opened her book and went back to work without a glance.

Never had he felt so frustrated. Something was wrong and there was nothing he could do about it. He took a piece of parchment and folded it into a paper airplane. He wrote on one of the wings. We need to talk - now.

It landed on her book. Startled she looked at him and then at the plane. Her eyes narrowed as she read the message. She took a quill and scratched something. Then she flung it back.

She had scratched out the "w".

Harry looked at her bent head. He knew all kinds of ways to annoy. Living with Dudley taught him a thing or two. He took another sheet of parchment and tore it into tiny pieces. Once he had a pile of spitballs he began to throw them across the table.

At first she looked up and gave him the you-are-so-immature look all girls seemed to have mastered by the age of ten. Then she turned her whole body away from him so the little pellets wouldn't land on her face. Finally there were so many little bits of paper in her hair; she could ignore him no longer. With eyes blazing she whipped around with her wand out.

His was out just as quickly. He dared her with his eyes.

They stared at each other for what seemed an eternity, when she faltered. She put her wand on the table with a snap, turned away from him, and then began picking the bits of paper out of her hair.

Shame hit him in a wave. He remembered picking out bits of wallpaper from her hair and how good she had been to him that day. He remembered how she always believed in him - even yesterday when he was wracked with doubt - she had been willing to go along with him. She had never doubted him. And here he was, goading her because he wanted to talk and she didn't. Whatever it was - talking about it was painful for her, and he hadn't been very kind.

He scooted around the table and stood behind her and started to take out the little paper balls. She didn't realize he was there until her hand brushed his. She turned around in surprise. He continued to take them out; when he was finished he sank to his knees and put his head in her lap. He wondered if she'd ever forgive him.

"Done, Done, Done," the cauldrons screamed. The silence was as deafening as the noise had been.

He felt her hand on the back of his neck. He looked up and saw the regret on her face. Still kneeling beside her, he straightened and pulled her close. She hugged him back. Then he was kissing her and she was kissing him, and he wondered how two people could have an argument, make up and never say a word.

"Wrinkles! " the cauldrons reminded them sometime later.

"Oh, I'd better start the drying," Ginny said, giving his shoulder a pat.

Harry got up slowly. His knees hurt from the stone floor. He looked into the iron pots. The whites were foaming and tumbling like a sea storm. The whispering heat from the drying made the air heavy with humidity. It made him want to sleep again . . .

He suddenly remembered his dream. Maybe Hermione was right, he thought. In his worry about Ginny, he had completely forgotten about Voldemort.

"Would you mind if I went to talk to Dumbledore? Just for a few minutes. Maybe you could get some homework done?" He touched her arm, still not sure about her.

"Go right ahead." She sounded relieved. "I do need to get some work done."

It was a long walk from the laundry to Dumbldore's tower. The school was still Sunday morning quiet; the corridors were deserted. It didn't seem possible that only yesterday he had been waiting for Ginny to go on their date to Hogsmeade. Now she was holding back from him again, Hermione was upset - and Voldemort was haunting his dreams.

"Harry, aren't you supposed to be in detention?"

It was Hermione, doing some Prefect duties, judging by the badge she had pinned to her robe.

He answered stiffly. "Yes - but I'm on my way to see Dumbledore."

They were at the bottom of a moving stairway. Harry watched it move away to avoid looking at her.

"Harry."

Something in her tone drew his attention. She looked pale and a little nervous. "I, um - look - I'm sorry I flew off the handle like that. I was upset by the attack. It - it brought back a lot of memories. And I didn't want anything to happen to you or Ginny . . ."

"It's ok - I understand - at least I think I do - I talked to Ron this morning."

"You did?" She looked relieved.

"I want to tell you about some of the lessons I've been having with Dumbledore. I think - maybe - I can make you understand why I needed to go yesterday. And I want to talk to you about Sirius."

"You do?" Her eyes were bright.

"I do." Now, after being shut out by Ginny, Harry realized how it was possible to hurt someone by not talking. He could see it written on Hermione's face. He had left her out, albeit unintentionally. How could she possibly understand if he never told her?

"But I don't know how Ginny feels about what you said. We didn't have a chance to talk about it."

Hermione watched the moving staircase this time. "I don't even remember what I said exactly."

"I think it was the bit about mistakes which hurt her the most."

Hermione winced. "I shouldn't have said that."

"I think it brought back the Chamber and her mistakes there." He sighed.

"Oh, I didn't even think of that!" Her shook her head in regret. "I suppose I'm just as upset about my own mistakes--and Dumbledore's-and Sirius's. Ginny's mistakes don't seem so bad compared to them."

"Except what those mistakes did to her."

Hermione nodded. "She did take it all on herself, didn't she? But it's hard to remember that. She doesn't give much away."

"No she doesn't," Harry agreed with a pang. "I shouldn't be gone from the laundry too long. Walk with me to Dumbledore's office."

They caught a staircase and on the way Harry told her about the dream he had just had - but he didn't tell her about the scar on Ginny's hand.

Hermione was intrigued. "It doesn't sound like anything intentional on Voldemort's part. Maybe you just picked up some random thoughts. I wonder what all those sevens could be?"

"That's what I want to talk to Dumbledore about."

Harry didn't have a chance to talk to the Headmaster, however. The gargoyles informed him that he was out. Harry was relieved; he had been away long enough. Ginny didn't deserve to do all the work herself.

He parted from Hermione, glad that they had begun to talk. As he hurried down yet another moving stairway, he thought about how the staircases resembled relationships. The coming together and the moving away seemed so random and confusing- and yet, in the end, each one of them was trying to reach the same destination.

"I'm sorry it took me so long." He was panting from running back to the cellar.

"It's ok," Ginny said. "Dobby brought sandwiches." There was a plate of sandwiches, a jug of milk, and two glasses on a tray.

"No soup?"

Ginny smiled. "Dobby was so grateful for the extra help, he made these himself. He'll be back."

Harry sank into a chair and grabbed a sandwich, feeling unaccountably cheerful now that Ginny was smiling at him again. "How are you doing with your homework?"

"Almost done - just Divination."

"Make it up."

"I know the results of your study habits - and Ron's. No thanks."

"Just trying to help."

"Then you can fold. The whites are almost done drying."

"I hope you realize how difficult it is to be a man-servant," he groused, taking out his wand.

She giggled. "If I didn't dig for gold, I couldn't afford to keep you around."

"Worth my weight in jumpers and sweatshirts, am I?"

"We'll see how you do with those whites first."

"Yes, dear."

The whites were folded and the socks were churning in the cauldrons. Ginny had finished her homework at last. It had taken a while to pull all the robes off of the line and to fold them neatly. They were sitting on the settee when Dobby popped in with an audible crack.

This gave Harry and an idea. "Dobby - you can Apparate in and out of Hogwarts--right?"

"All house-elves Apparate. That's how Dobby gets his work done with no one seeing him."

"Can you Apparate with someone?"

Dobby wrinkled his forehead. "Someone would need more than Dobby, Sir, but it could be done."

Harry filed that away to talk over with Ron and Hermione. After the attack on Hogsmeade, he was starting to worry about an attack on Hogwarts.

"Harry Potter and his new Wheezy did laundry as perfect as any house-elf," Dobby said, looking with delight at the towers of neatly folded robes.

"This is Ginny, Dobby."

"Dobby knows," he said acknowledging her with a nod. "Dobby's old master gave her the diary. She is a strong witch to survive that dark magic."

Ginny blushed at Dobby's look of admiration.

"And she knows her household spells."

Harry wondered, with a grin, which was a higher order of magic in Dobby's book.

Then Dobby spotted the bucket with the stained robe in it. "Oh - potion stains."

"We couldn't get it out with anything and there's no H-E.P. left," Ginny explained.

"Dobby can help."

Harry was familiar as any student of potions with the magical properties of bodily fluids: things such as bile, blood, tears and urine. It was just a little shocking to see such a fresh source of that particular bodily fluid.

He looked over at Ginny who was hiding her giggles. He wondered what Hermione was going to say when she saw on the observation sheet what H-E.P stood for.

"Stain all gone," Dobby said triumphantly.