Meaning of One, Part One: Stone and Fire by Sovran
Summary: If two people are deliberately created to be together, how will the challenges in a world of magic and Dark Lords be dealt with? What would it mean for two people to truly become one? A re-imagination of first year.
Rating: R
Categories: Alternate Universe
Characters: None
Genres: None
Warnings: None
Challenges: None
Series: The Meaning of One
Published: 2006.07.06
Updated: 2007.04.02
Index
Chapter 1: Prologue: Tathata
Chapter 2: Silence Shattered
Chapter 3: Platform 9 3/4
Chapter 4: Sorting
Chapter 5: Firsts
Chapter 6: To Sleep
Chapter 7: Perchance to Dream
Chapter 8: Aye, There's the Rub
Chapter 9: Taking Off
Chapter 10: Gifts
Chapter 11: Necessary Roughness
Chapter 12: Fun and Games
Chapter 13: A House of Holiday Cards
Chapter 14: The Price of Proper Presents
Chapter 15: Questions, Quotations, and Quidditch
Chapter 16: Resolutions
Chapter 17: Reflections
Chapter 18: Illusions
Chapter 19: Escapes and Escapades
Chapter 20: Sticks
Chapter 21: Words
Chapter 22: Stones
Chapter 23: Hurt
Chapter 24: One
Chapter 25: One More
Chapter 26: Reason
Chapter 1: Prologue: Tathata
The prologue is very different from the rest of the story. If you don't like it or it doesn't make sense, please DO skip it. You can come back to it later if you wish.Choice was made, and Awareness became. Awareness was not created, for it was source. Awareness did not arrive, for it was place. Awareness was a characteristic of one, and so it simply became.
As it was intended to do, Awareness noticed. It noticed one, because indeed there was nothing not-one, and enjoyed the sensation. It noticed a variation: a tiny portion of itself that was dissimilar. Awareness knew what would become of this interesting fragment, but decided to ponder it anyway. It did not normally ponder, and therefore would find the experience pleasurable.
Its purpose fulfilled, Awareness became not.
***
In a cramped room in an unremarkable building, a gaunt woman screamed in the agony of unmedicated labor. The structure and its occupants were far from grand, and the rickety bed frame creaked with each writhing twist of her body.
When it was over, a careworn woman in patched clothing bathed the infant in the cloudy water of a wash-basin, and then she presented the child to its mother.
“What will you call him?”
Her voice was a weak rasp. “He’ll be named for his father…”
In a place beyond dimension, at a moment outside of time, an entity without normal description was created.
The entity was an aspect of one, though it was a very unusual sort of aspect. By definition, one was omnipotent, omnipresent, and omniscient. Aspects of one, therefore, carried some level of power, some level of presence, and some level of perception. The entity found itself with no power beyond that of thought and only enough presence to allow it to think properly. Perception, however, it had in abundance. In fact, the entity knew almost everything it was possible to know.
All aspects of one also had purpose, and purpose was almost certainly the most important of the four. The newly-created entity was pleased to find that it knew its purpose; it was aware that some aspects did not, which seemed quite sad. Recognizing its situation, the entity named itself Thinker and began its task, realizing that the only thing it didn’t know already was the solution to the dilemma it had been created to contemplate.
Thinker saw that, as of the moment of linear time prior to its creation (the next moment having not yet occurred), one was in a state of incompletion. At some previous time, an aspect had been created which was missing its purpose, though it had an abundance of power and perception, along with an above-average presence for its type. The existence of this incomplete aspect had already had a noticeable effect on its surroundings, though the disruption was not unrecoverable.
This aberrant aspect, however, was only half of the problem Thinker had been created to examine. Looking ahead, Thinker saw that in the next moment of time (which was still waiting patiently for its turn), another fragmented entity would be created, this one with unprecedented purpose and great power, but with only enough presence and perception to allow it to function in the physical realm.
Four men sat, stood, or paced restlessly in the sitting room of a medium-sized cottage. The sounds from the room above them made them pale, but they’d been assured that the woman was in the best of hands. All of them, even her husband, knew better than to come into the woman’s presence before her ordeal was over. Some women might like to have their spouses present; this one most emphatically did not.
Thinker knew that aspects of one had never been created without all four attributes before. The upcoming aspect’s low level of presence was also very unusual for an aspect of that type. These oddities, Thinker realized, could only be the result of the incredible variety and potential of one: with infinite options and infinite time, eventually anything and everything would occur.
The danger, however, was in the interaction of these two strange aspects. Thinker decided that an aspect missing an attribute would seek out that attribute in its surroundings, knowing on a very basic level that it was missing something vital. Two aspects with complementary strengths and deficiencies might well be drawn to each other. The convergence of the two aspects in question, however, would disrupt a portion of one to an unacceptable degree.
What, then, was the solution? The purposeless aspect was already in place, and once the ignorant aspect was created, the two would quickly and unerringly seek each other. They could not be allowed to collide and combine, and the attraction between the two had to be eliminated. Destroying aspects of any kind was simply unthinkable.
Drawing on his vast knowledge, Thinker envisioned the problem as a configuration of marbles, two of which were magnetic. The magnetic marbles were attracted to each other and would move together at any opportunity; in fact, they were already in motion and very close together. The immediate problem was to prevent the marbles from touching and hopefully to deflect them, buying time for a more permanent solution. The answer, Thinker saw, was really quite simple in the context of marbles. All that was needed was to place nearby nonmagnetic marbles between the two in motion. The two would then strike the unmoving marbles and their paths would temporarily veer away from each other.
Translating this solution from marbles to aspects was unpleasant but not difficult. One or more balanced aspects would have to be placed between the unbalanced pair. Unfortunately, due to the power of the entities in question, the intercessors would likely be severely damaged in the process. Thinker did not like this solution, but saw that the damage to one or more balanced aspects was vastly preferable to a joining of the fragmented pair.
A tall, formerly-handsome man with soulless eyes and a hungry expression led the way into the cottage. Following him was a shorter man with lank hair, who was showing no emotion whatsoever. A dark-haired man opposed them and fought with a skill born of desperation, but he was slain by the tall man after a few moments. The silent duo then proceeded upstairs to find the other inhabitants of the house.
The real problem, therefore, was keeping the two entities from seeking each other again once they had been separated initially. It was impractical, inelegant, and impermanent to simply keep placing healthy aspects between them; something more creative was called for.
Envisioning marbles once again, Thinker tried to determine a way to keep the magnetic marbles apart. A barrier was impossible, as the attraction between the two would eventually break any barrier erected. Since the attraction itself could not be eliminated, the answer seemed to be to find a way to divert the attractive forces.
The solution presented itself to Thinker in a moment of pure intuition: a leap of thought bypassing logic and sequential reasoning to reach a new and perfect solution.
The answer was a third magnetic marble. This new marble had to be even more attractive to one of the original pair and benign when unified with it. At the same time, it needed to be repulsive to the other of the original two. Thus the new marble, combined with one of the first pair, would eliminate the original attractive force because the new marble’s repulsion would match the original marble’s attraction. The remaining original marble would be left to find its own course.
Again, the analogous plan was readily applied to reality. The intervention of healthy aspects between the two flawed aspects would permit time for a third fragmented aspect to be introduced. This new entry would be perfectly balanced to one of the originals but incompatible with the other.
The first aspect, being older and already entwined with the aspects surrounding it, would be harder to influence, so Thinker determined that the second aspect would be the one to be joined with the third. The second aspect’s high power, high purpose, low presence, and low perception could be matched by a new entity with low power, no purpose, high presence, and great perception. When combined, the two would form a well-balanced single entity, to which the first aspect would not feel a particularly strong attraction.
A red-haired man looked at his red-haired wife as they readied themselves for bed. “So, what do you say? One more try?”
She thought for a moment. “One more try, dear. I’ve wanted a daughter so badly.”
Pleased with his pondering, Thinker left the realm of space and time to create a very attractive marble.
***
The progress of time resumed. In an ordinary place, at an ordinary moment, an ordinary miracle occurred.
Chapter 2: Silence Shattered
Author's Notes: Credit for the method of Harry and Ginny's meeting goes to Intromit and his story, Fate's Debt. Likewise, I should admit that Intromit's story was where I first encountered the idea of re-telling the canon story.
Thanks to my pre-beta and sometime co-conspirator, Moshpit, for helping me think things through, and to my beta, Jonathan Avery, for making this story less of a mess in general.
Harry Potter sat on his bed in the smallest bedroom of Number Four, Privet Drive. He was an exceptionally small boy, standing only a few inches over four feet tall. He had striking green eyes behind glasses with battered round frames, and the fringe of his unruly black hair concealed a lightning-shaped scar above his right eye. According to Harry, the scar was the only remotely interesting feature he possessed, though he had recently learned that it was far more significant than he had believed.
His Uncle Vernon had grudgingly agreed to drive him to King’s Cross Station the following morning. There he was to board a train that would take him to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He had already packed everything he would not need in the next twelve hours, so he was sitting on his lumpy mattress and letting time go by until he could sleep.
Harry was very good at letting time go by. Living in a cupboard for ten years had provided plenty of opportunities for practice. When he had nothing else to do, he would sit almost perfectly still and let his mind wander, unaware of his surroundings. Now, he had less than a day with his dreadful relatives before he left to spend nine months at a literally magical place. Everything was changing, and he hoped his life would be different from now on.
If Harry had been allowed to have friends, they would have said that he was generally very quiet and somewhat boring. He rarely expressed interest in things other boys thoroughly enjoyed, and in fact he seemed rather distant from the world around him. This was, in fact, quite true. His life with the Dursleys had taught him that his circumstances would rarely be pleasant and that the people he came into contact with would almost universally be hostile towards him. As a result, he learned to withdraw.
The world passed him by, and he interacted with it as little as possible. He finished his chores quickly and silently, he answered when addressed directly, and he never spoke more than was necessary. The Dursleys wanted him to be invisible, so he rarely asked questions or offered information.
In primary school, his teachers found him to be quiet, serious, and somewhat dense. He could remember names and dates as well as the average student, and he had learned to read and the basics of mathematics well enough after thorough instruction, but he had never discovered the intellectual connections that had come so naturally to other students. He could follow a process he had been taught, but he never managed to work out a new process on his own, even when he was carefully guided towards logical conclusions.
His teachers reported that he lacked creativity. In art classes, he drew precise geometric figures and then carefully subdivided them into precisely symmetrical parts. He had never understood that his drawings were fundamentally different from his classmates’ fanciful sketches of animals, loving renditions of family members, or grandiose pictures of mansions they would someday inhabit.
Despite appearances, Harry was not cold or lifeless. In the absence of most other emotions, he was consumed by a burning desire to someday be more than he was now. He knew that the Dursleys were not good people, and he was committed to finding a way to be better than they were. Eventually, he would be old enough to leave his Aunt and Uncle’s home, and once he had done so he would make something of himself that had nothing to do with dark cupboards or endless chores. Harry, however, kept this desire strictly to himself and never let the world see what motivated him to continue his dreary existence.
Harry was well aware that he did not seem to feel many of the things his classmates did, such as affection, frustration, or joy. He had been embarrassed several times in the past, largely due to his cousin’s targeting him for ridicule, so he had learned to suppress such feelings, and eventually they had faded away. His most recent happy memory was when his relatives had been frightened by a boa constrictor at the zoo, but good feelings like that one were especially rare.
Dudley’s last birthday, the day of the zoo expedition, had been a highlight of Harry’s life so far. All of the unpleasant people who might have been persuaded to mind Harry while the Dursleys took such a trip had been unavailable for various reasons. Relieved at avoiding Mrs. Figg and her pictorial parade of deceased felines, Harry was looking forward to visiting the zoo itself. Rather than changing expression or manner, though, he stood quietly in a corner while the Dursleys contemplated and rejected various ways to prevent his accompanying them.
At last, Uncle Vernon settled for threatening Harry with a long stay in the cupboard if he did not behave himself. Harry knew that speaking would not help him, regardless of what he said, so he nodded at each of his uncle’s instructions and threats. He rode to the zoo in silence, ignoring the conversation around him and letting the scenery flow past. He counted the cars in the opposing lanes of traffic as they drove. Years ago Harry had discovered that counting was an excellent way to pass the time without the need for excesses of effort or attention. One thousand, two hundred and forty-six cars later, they arrived in the parking lot.
The zoo was interesting and almost enjoyable, at first. At lunch, he tried ice cream for the first time because Dudley wanted a better sundae. Although it was more than half melted, he liked it well enough. There was little chance he would taste it again for a very long time, though, so he did not allow the prospect to excite him.
Later, he had a rather peculiar conversation with a large snake. The conversation was pleasant, but when Dudley shoved Harry out of the way the glass protecting the snake’s enclosure vanished, allowing the large serpent to wander away towards Brazil. Enraged, Uncle Vernon declared the trip over and bundled them all back to the car, blaming Harry all the way. Harry could not imagine how he could have vanished the glass, but Uncle Vernon listened to Piers’ accusations, and Harry accepted Vernon’s punishment impassively.
As he sat waiting in his room, Harry decided that overall the day had been quite good, in balance. Had the day been a normal one at home with the Dursleys, he would undoubtedly have incurred much the same punishment for an equally ridiculous offense. Therefore, the ice cream and the spectacle of his relatives’ reaction to the wandering boa constrictor could be counted as favorable experiences. He added the memory to the short list of things that gave him a pleasant feeling.
Now, on the last day of August, he had found a way to begin the journey away from his childhood. The magical community had found him, forced his relatives to allow him to be contacted, and arranged for him to attend Hogwarts. He had met Hagrid, who had told him that he was something of a celebrity, though Harry still was not sure quite why. More importantly, Hagrid seemed to like him, and Harry was beginning to think he might like Hagrid in return. It was an entirely new sensation.
Unfortunately, Hagrid had also told Harry the truth about his parents. They had been murdered by an evil wizard, not killed in a car accident caused by his father’s drunkenness. Harry had always known, somehow, that his parents were more than common alcoholics. Now, knowing that the Dursleys had been lying to him for ten years and denying him the one source of comfort he felt truly entitled to, Harry’s anger began to rise. He quickly sought to calm himself, but it was more difficult than it had been in the past.
Anger was an old friend to Harry. It was the one emotion he felt fully and regularly. He never got angry about little things as the other children did. He reserved his anger for more important issues. Primarily, he had always been angry at his aunt and uncle for the injustices they had heaped upon him. Every time he thought of being injured and left untreated, of being locked in his cupboard without food or light for days, or of being ridiculed about his status or parentage, his anger flared.
Early on, he learned to control that anger. If he did not, odd things happened. Objects rattled in the room around him, metal surfaces heated, or the air in the room stirred restlessly. Being blamed for these events only made him angrier, and the effects more severe, which lead to longer, harsher punishments. So instead of allowing himself to be angry, he channeled his rage into his ambition, focusing on his long-term goal of freedom and betterment. His fantasies were simple. He dreamed of more than one piece of toast for breakfast, a light for his cupboard, and a pair of trainers that fit him without Dudley's old socks stuffed into the toes. When he had those things, he would think about new goals.
Thus, Harry Potter sat in silence, the realization of his most fervent desire only hours away. He stared into nothingness and waited patiently for those hours to pass.
The next morning, Harry found himself abandoned at King’s Cross station, looking for a platform which apparently did not exist.
***
Hundreds of kilometers away, another child was sitting in silence. But it was a different sitting, and it was a different silence.
Ginny Weasley was a petite girl, even for one who had only just passed her tenth birthday. In her case, however, size had nothing to do with her impact on the world around her. The first thing anyone remarked upon when they noticed her - it was ridiculous to ask if they noticed her - was her waist-length, wavy red hair. It was not orange, which polite company calls red, nor was it auburn, which is lovely in its own right. In fact, Ginny’s hair contained both of these colors and all the many shades of red between them. The overall effect was a shimmering, flowing curtain of crimson that defied humanity to find a suitable comparison to its color. Her brothers could easily be said to have hair the color of flames. If that were the case, then Ginny’s hair was the color of what fire endlessly strives and fails to become.
Peeking out from her flowing tresses were large, chocolate-brown eyes that glowed with the spirit of the person behind them. They shone in her face, catching the attention of anyone who met her gaze and holding them, spellbound, in their depths. Her face was pleasant and open. Her nose was small and round, and across its bridge and over her cheeks, there were scattered a few delicate freckles.
Usually, when anyone saw Ginny, she was smiling. Her smile was a part of her as much as her unique hair or remarkable eyes, because she was a naturally happy and cheerful person. She brightened spirits and lifted hearts with her smile, even if no one knew exactly why she was happy.
As a child, Ginny had run around her home and the nearby village with endless energy, spreading happiness wherever she went. When she encountered one of her brothers, provided he had not vexed her lately, she would hug him and run on. When she would pass her father in his shed, she would climb into his lap, careful to avoid disrupting his work, and kiss his cheek before leaping away to run in another direction. On her way through the kitchen where her mother worked, she would stop to appreciate the smells permeating the air, then smile brightly at her mother and continue on her way. If the weather was warm, she would inevitably end up swimming or floating in the pond behind her parents’ house.
Occasionally, Ginny would stop running to listen to her family talk to each other. With so many members and so many interests, there was always an interesting conversation going on somewhere in or around the Burrow. She listened to her parents talk about her brothers’ accomplishments at Hogwarts. Later, she listened raptly as Bill or Charlie spoke of their careers in curse breaking and dragon keeping. On rare and wonderful occasions, she would sit and listen to her entire family discuss the events and issues of the magical world.
Sometimes, after all of this listening, Ginny would provide simple responses that showed remarkable insight and inevitably seemed to help the speaker with whatever problem they were facing.
On one occasion, when she was eight, Ginny had found Bill staring into the fire. She sat silently next to him for a few minutes until he began to talk to her about his latest girlfriend. Bill had been growing his hair out, much to their mother’s consternation. Apparently, Susan was not too fond of the change either. Bill really cared for the girl, and to all appearances she cared for him, but she never stopped encouraging him to cut his hair to a more normal length. Bill was trying to decide if he should accede to her wishes in an effort to preserve and strengthen their relationship.
Ginny sat next to him for a minute more in silence, to ensure that he had said everything he needed to say. Then she turned to him and asked, “Bill, are you growing your hair to make yourself happy, or to make someone else happy?” Bill stared at her for a long moment, then quietly went off to bed. Several weeks later, Bill’s hair was still long, and he was looking forward to a date with a girl named Elisabeth.
Happiness and insight did not fill Ginny’s time completely, of course. She felt all of the emotions that any child felt, and she felt them all with the same boundless energy. Her temper was famous within the family. When provoked, usually by some prank or teasing by her brothers, the sheer force of her anger left even the bravest of Weasley men cowering and ashamed. Once she was convinced that her victim was suitably miserable, she forgave them and instantly returned to her normal affectionate disposition.
Likewise, when something made her sad, she would sob uncontrollably until she ran out of tears. Then she would dry her eyes, wash her face, and begin to smile again. When she was embarrassed, she blushed from her hairline to her neck. Then she remained silent with her eyes downcast until she was sure that the mortifying topic had been abandoned. Then, as always, her smile would reappear.
Every now and then, the smile would shift into a grin, and if someone saw that grin they knew that Ginny was up to some mischief. She might have Bill’s good looks, Charlie’s inexhaustible energy, and Percy’s intellect, but she also had the twins’ sense of humor and their talent for pranks and jokes. Unlike Fred and George, however, Ginny was very good at hiding her efforts. Her brothers usually only knew their sister had been responsible for something if she admitted it, and she rarely saw any reason to confess.
Years later, grown men who knew her would see moving pictures of Ginny at ten and say that if they had only met her at that age, they would have given up on romance until she was older. When saying such things, however, they knew that their patience would have always been in vain.
Ginny Weasley was a beautiful child in many ways. She sat on the back porch of her parents’ home and watched the sunset, thoroughly enjoying the beauty and tranquility of the evening and the temporary silence of the house behind her. The setting sun glowed in shades of red and gold, and she glowed with the same shades back into the darkening sky.
***
Molly Weasley tidied the kitchen and watched her daughter from the window. She was elated to have such a lovely child and proud beyond expression that her family’s simple life provided Ginny with so much happiness. She was also somewhat surprised by her little girl’s brilliance.
After Bill’s successes as Head Boy and Percy’s zeal for all things academic, Molly had thought she had found the most intelligent of her offspring. Her other children were wonderfully gifted in various ways, but she expected her youngest four to find their talents elsewhere.
But when Ginny had started her schooling program, she had absorbed everything presented to her after hearing it once. She constantly pestered her brothers about their schoolwork, and amazingly she even understood the concepts in Bill’s classes during his final year at Hogwarts. Ginny did not have Percy’s near-perfect memory, but she had an amazing capacity to learn. Theories, concepts, and applications seemed to flow together in her mind with no apparent effort, and when she got her first wand Molly had no doubt that Ginny would excel in the application of her learning as well. Oddly, the girl rarely read anything except leisure books and the texts she was assigned for her ‘official’ classes. Instead, she preferred to learn things that various members of her family could tell her or show her.
Occasionally, Ginny would find a new way to put separate pieces of information together, even though she had never actually used any of the information in the first place. Once, Molly had seen her enraged daughter wielding Bill’s wand and shouting vespertilius mucilagus at one of the twins, who had charmed all her clothes pink. After watching the rather gruesome results of her daughter’s new hex, Molly had been forced to scold the girl quite severely. Secretly, she had been proud of Ginny and slightly awed by the small girl’s creative display of the infamous Weasley temper.
That memory led her back to her current train of thought. The Bat Bogey Hex, for which no one else had been able to master the incantation, embodied Ginny herself quite nicely. The spell was ingenious and debilitating, but required little power to cast effectively. Ginny was brilliant and inventive, but she had little power available for use.
The Weasleys and the Prewetts, Molly’s family, had always been powerfully magical families. They did not hold with the nonsense that their ability was a result of pure wizarding blood, but as chance would have it, the Weasleys were purebloods, and they were quite powerful. Her sons’ displays of accidental magic had ranged from shocking to terrifying in their scope and power. The twins had once managed to decorate the convoluted roof of the Burrow with a consistent pattern of rainbow stripes. The color scheme was surprising enough, but what was truly frightening was that they had actually changed the color of the shingles, rather than simply adding the new colors to the outer surface. This subtle difference was cause for considerable concern.
Ginny, however, had performed only very small feats of accidental magic, even when she was completely enraged.
It was traditional among old wizarding families to have their children tested for magical power on their fifth birthday. Albus Dumbledore himself, the Headmaster of Hogwarts and the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, had performed the test on the youngest Weasley, expecting dramatic results from the only daughter of a family known for rare and powerful females.
The spell worked by causing a sphere of multicolored light to appear around the target. The size and brightness of the sphere reflected the amount of power the child would someday wield if properly trained. Each individual produced a unique combination of colors and patterns, though base colors were often shared among families. Rather surprisingly, the Weasley children’s colors were dominated by browns and greens.
Everyone expected Ginny's magical signature to be exceptional, and in its way it certainly was. Where her brothers had all produced large, bright brown spheres with veins of various pale greens, Ginny had emitted a dim, emerald-green sphere so small that it appeared as no more than an aura around her torso.
Those present at the time had been shocked into silence. Ginny herself had remained calm and cheerful, saying that she found the consistency and color of the light to be very pretty.
Her daughter's serenity, then and now, did nothing to ease Molly's worry. Ginny would be strong enough to attend Hogwarts, but she would always be one of the weakest students at the school. The girl's natural intelligence would serve her well, but the lack of power behind her spells would become more and more frustrating as her education continued.
Sadly, even Ginny's relative magical weakness was not Molly's chief source of worry. The plain fact was that Ginny was missing something even more vital than power. She lacked passion. She was wonderfully vivacious and took great pleasure in many things, but she had not found anything she was truly interested in pursuing.
Ginny liked to fly, for example, and Molly knew the girl had been sneaking out of the house at night for years to fly her brothers’ brooms. As long as Ginny followed the usual rules for safe flying around the Burrow, the Weasley matriarch did not mind. She remembered being the only girl in a family, and she knew that Ginny got something important from the minor act of rebellion, in addition to the pleasure of soaring over the paddock.
As much as she clearly enjoyed riding a broomstick, she lacked the fervor that Charlie had for flying in general and Ron had for Quidditch in particular. Similarly, for all her brilliance and pleasure in learning, she was not actively interested in pursuing her studies on her own.
Strangely, the only thing Ginny showed consistent, active interest in was a bedtime story. Arthur Weasley had been telling his daughter the story of the Boy Who Lived for nearly as long Ginny had been alive. The story itself was tragically short. The boy had been born, had lived happily for a little over a year, and had then lost his home and family in a single night of terror. Little Harry Potter had somehow caused You-Know-Who’s killing curse to rebound, apparently destroying its caster. Then the infant had been carried to his muggle relatives’ house, and he had not been seen or heard from since.
Many parents enthralled their children with fantastic stories of the Boy Who Lived having amazing adventures as a child. Arthur had told Ginny such stories at first, but she quickly tired of them and insisted on hearing only the real story, with as much factual detail as possible and only as much speculation as was reasonable. Arthur had told her the same simple tale several times a week for years until she had outgrown bedtime stories. Ginny, at ten, would still discuss the story whenever there was an opportunity to do so.
One night the previous summer, in the course of an evening together, Molly had carefully asked her daughter the two questions that most concerned her.
“Ginny, dear, what do you suppose you might like to do when you grow up?” Molly had asked this question of all of her children at about the same age, and she had always received emphatic replies. Some of her sons’ ambitions had been rather far-fetched, but when she thought about it, those ambitions were no more outlandish than the careers her two oldest boys had finally chosen.
“I don’t know, Mum. There are lots of things to do in the world,” Ginny replied.
“But isn’t there something that you’re especially interested in, or that you think might be fun?” Molly asked.
“Loads of things are fun, but I don’t think I’ve done anything that I’d want to do all day, every day for the rest of my life,” Ginny said thoughtfully.
Molly, knowing she would get no clearer answer, gave up. “Well, dear, keep your eyes open. You never know what might really catch your interest.”
Surprisingly, Ginny volunteered more information. “Oh, I know there’s something. I haven’t found it, but I’m sure I’ll know it the minute I see it.”
This answer had bothered Molly even more. Ginny had sounded so calm and certain, as though the perfect life would simply appear one day, fully formed and waiting for her to claim it.
Some time later, Molly had ventured to ask her another question, “Ginny, why do you always want to hear about the Boy Who Lived? There are lots of other stories with great adventures and happy endings.”
Ginny did not hesitate for a moment before saying, “Because someone should pay attention to his story, Mum.”
“But everyone knows about the Boy Who Lived, dear. Hundreds of children all over the world hear his story every night.”
Molly’s eight-year-old daughter turned to her and looked into her eyes with the gravity of a much older person. “It’s not the Boy Who Lived whose story needs to be remembered, Mum. The one that matters is the story of Harry Potter, a boy who lost his parents and his home, a boy who was sent to live with people who can’t possibly understand him, surrounded by people who can’t tell him who he is. There ought to be one person in the world who thinks about that boy.”
Her eyes shining with unshed tears, Molly had sent Ginny off to bed. It had been an early night, but she had needed to escape the depth of her daughter’s gaze. She had thought that it was all well and good for a person to be wise, but not before their ninth birthday.
Molly shook herself from her reverie, returning to her cleaning. The daily ritual soothed her, which was why she did it. Ginny still sat on the back porch, staring out at the moonlit landscape. The mother of seven lively Weasleys still worried about her youngest child.
***
Ginny knew that her mother was concerned for her. She remembered the day Headmaster Dumbledore had tested her magical potential, and she knew what the results meant as well as anyone. She realized it might be an inconvenience later on, but she did not see any reason to let it rule her life in the meantime. She would deal with that problem, if it really became a problem, when the time came.
Over the last few months, she had also realized that her mother worried about what Ginny would do with her life. Ginny thought that, given her age, that particular worry was a bit premature, but she realized that worrying made her mother feel connected to the family. Molly Weasley was a great parent, and if worrying was part of that, then Ginny could accept it.
Ginny had always been very impressed by her mother, but as she had gotten old enough to seek independence, she had realized that Molly was as human as anyone else. She worried constantly, which was probably not a bad thing for a parent. Unfortunately, she seemed very close to letting her concerns take over her life. The Weasley Family Clock had been custom-designed for Molly Weasley, and in spite of appearances, it was the one thing the family owned which was truly valuable. Most parents used simple injury alarm charms to ensure their children’s health. Molly wanted to know where her children were and what they were doing at all times.
Knowing that, Ginny had discovered to her surprise that her mother had come to worry by rote. She checked the clock, she kept watch for suspicious activities she had discovered in the past, and she made sure that obviously dangerous or disruptive items were unavailable to her children. Having done those things, she concluded that her children were safe and not causing trouble.
As far as she knew, her brothers had never learned this crucial fact. Ginny was too young to remember when Bill and Charlie had lived at the Burrow, and Percy avoided danger and trouble in all their forms. Fred and George, however, were always planning or executing a prank or joke, and they were almost always caught by their mother at some point. They did their mischief anyway and accepted the punishments that resulted. Ron had gotten dragged into the twins’ schemes a few times, largely against his will, but for the most part he had found his own ways to displease the Weasley matriarch. Minor injuries, lack of manners, a nearly constant need for a bath had ensured that Ron was never waited long for his mother’s next stern look.
Ginny, however, had learned how her mother operated at an early age. Thus, her hand on the clock never strayed into undesirable territory, she never got caught doing something her mother could look for in the future, and she steered clear of anything her mother might consider dangerous or unsuitable for a young girl. She had once taken a small box of chocolate frogs from Ron’s dresser and hidden it under George’s bed, with predictable results. Another time, she had walked up to her mother wearing the most innocent expression she could muster and asked a simple question. All four of the boys living at home at the time had been punished severely.
Molly, knowing that Ginny could never be anything but innocent, worried about her daughter’s future and did not notice all of the details of what was happening in her own house.
Ginny herself worried about things that were going to happen much sooner. The next day, four of her brothers would leave for Hogwarts without her, and she would spend the next nine months at home with only her parents for company. She loved her parents, but for most of her life, one or more of her brothers had always been around, and she was not quite sure what the Burrow would be like without any of them at all.
At the same time, she knew that the next nine months would pass at the same pace whether she was happy or depressed, so she resolved to be happy and to find whatever enjoyment there was in being the only child in the house. If nothing else, she would travel to King’s Cross station the following day to see her brothers off. Ginny always enjoyed her visits to the train station. She wondered idly if, by the time she finished her seventh year at Hogwarts, she would hold some sort of record for the most trips to Platform 9 ¾ before turning eighteen.
In spite of her resolve to be calm and happy, Ginny admitted to herself that tomorrow was special in one other way. Harry Potter would be leaving for Hogwarts for the first time along with her brother, Ron. She carried a bit of affection for the unknown boy, though she really did not think it was any sort of crush, in spite of the twins’ teasing.
Instead, she imagined him going to Hogwarts and discovering all the wonderful things she knew could be found there. She saw him making friends and finding out about the world that he had been removed from as a baby. She resolved to be a friend to him when she enrolled in the school next year. That way, she could be sure he always had at least one person who cared for him. She was certain Harry Potter would be worth knowing in his own right, regardless of what the rest of the magical world thought of the Boy Who Lived.
With the sun long gone and her mind at ease once more, Ginny went back into the house. Tomorrow, like today, would be a good day.
***
Looking back and forth between platforms nine and ten, Harry was beginning to think that he might end up back with the Dursleys after all. He could not imagine why Hagrid would send him to find a platform that did not exist, but it appeared that he had. Resigned and only slightly disappointed, Harry steered his trolley back towards the parking lot in hopes of catching his uncle before he left.
He had been strangely excited during the trip to King’s Cross, and he was not entirely sure why. He was definitely very eager to get away from the Dursleys and to Hogwarts, but he felt something more than that. He had desperately wanted to get to the train station, and even now, as he gave up his search, he felt drawn towards something nearby.
As he turned to leave, he caught sight of a large group of people in slightly odd clothing, all of whom had red hair of various shades. A middle-aged woman was herding four boys, each with a trunk like Harry’s, as a tiny girl walked calmly along beside her. As they approached, Harry picked up their conversation.
“… packed with Muggles, of course. How they can wander around without noticing anything, I’ll never understand. Fred! George! I don’t know what that is you’re hiding, but if you cause any trouble here you’ll regret it!”
No one but a wizard or witch would be mentioning Muggles, which gave Harry some hope. The woman’s yelling at two of the red-haired boys reminded him a bit too much of his uncle, though, so he was hesitant to approach her. She might decide he was doing something to cause trouble, just as Vernon always did when Harry was trying his best to do nothing at all. Harry decided to watch them and see if they could lead him to the mysterious Platform 9 ¾.
As he observed them, the small girl turned away from her mother’s tirade and noticed Harry standing nearby. She was even shorter than he, which typically indicated someone several years younger, but she looked at him without the wariness of a younger child. She had very long red hair and was wearing a worn blue sundress. None of these things, with the possible exception of her hair, were particularly unusual, but he found himself fascinated by her.
The girl studied him for a moment in return, then smiled brightly at him. He felt more cheerful, and he grinned slightly in return. He could not explain why he would suddenly be happier than before, but he was. He found himself curious about the red-haired girl, and he took a step toward her without conscious thought.
As he realized that he had moved, leaving Hedwig and his trunk behind, he was surprised to find that she had also stepped closer to him. She was now only an arm’s length away, still smiling easily, and he felt even more cheerful for no apparent reason. She watched him quietly. He realized that he had approached her and her family, which meant he should say something first.
“Err… Hello.”
“Hi,” she replied.
“Do you, err… do you know how to get to Platform 9 ¾?”
“Sure,” she said, “It’s easy. I can show you.” She held her hand out to him, and he surprised himself by taking it.
Harry’s world exploded, and reality twitched.
Chapter 3: Platform 9 3/4
Author's Notes: Thanks to my beta, Jonathan Avery, for his work on this story.
It was slightly too warm, and it was comfortable. The breeze was light and pleasant as it brushed across exposed skin, and clothes covered skin entirely. Something felt odd where nothing had been before, and its absence was equally unexpected. The world looked odd, as though perceived from a different angle, and it was perfectly normal. An unknown smell filled the air, and it was lavender, of course, as always. Harry Potter was alone, and he had a companion.
The flood of sensations slowed and seemed to sort themselves into their usual configurations. It was too warm in Harry’s huge hand-me-down clothes, which permitted no breeze to reach him, and it was quite pleasant in Ginny’s sundress, which allowed the air to swirl around her arms and legs. Harry’s head was light and unencumbered by the weight of Ginny’s hair, and her long hair brushed gently against her neck. Their surroundings were all right where they should be, and they seemed clearer somehow. The scent of Ginny’s shampoo drifted around them, calming them as it always had.
Harry was still Harry, and Ginny was still Ginny, but Ginny was Harry, and Harry was Ginny too. They were not sure how they knew this, but it fit. This was how they were intended to be. Harry looked out of his eyes at Ginny, still holding his hand and smiling. He could also see himself, through Ginny’s eyes, as he stood there staring at her. It seemed perfectly natural to be looking down at her face and up at his at the same time.
Hello, pleased to meet us, Harry said with a wry half-smile. He did not speak aloud. It was unnecessary.
Likewise, I’m sure, she replied, her own smile becoming a grin that few others ever saw.
They felt the joy behind their teasing words. They were not each happy to have found themselves sharing so much. They were happy and were expressing their happiness with two voices.
Ginny had always wondered what Harry Potter would be like. She had never expected the Boy-Who-Lived to be a heroic figure riding a white horse into a shining castle. Instead, she had been curious about the reality. Now, she knew him personally, and she decided he was everything she could have hoped for, though there were parts of him she wished had never been necessary.
He was strong in a way that she had never needed to be, and she admired that strength, regardless of its source. He was deeply committed to the safety of others and feared his own temper. Most surprisingly, to her, he had a drive that she herself had never experienced. She had seen it in her brothers, but to feel it for herself was wonderful. She was unsure what it was they wanted so badly, but she had no doubt that they would do it someday. Harry was noble, in his own unique way.
Unfortunately, he was also deeply resentful. He carried anger towards his relatives, in particular, and he found it very difficult to feel positive emotions on his own, much less to express them to others. She fervently hoped that he could learn to let go of his anger, and she vowed to help him.
There was something else she noticed about him, but it was difficult to grasp. It felt vaguely familiar, but at the same time different, and it now seemed to be something they shared. She liked the feeling, whatever it was.
For his part, Harry thought Ginny was wonderful. Suddenly, he knew her better than anyone else ever would. He saw her powerful optimism, her fascination with the world around her, her compassion, and her sense of peace with herself. He also saw her intellect. She could understand difficult concepts easily, as he had never been able to do. She would be generous in sharing her talent for learning with him, even if he never truly developed the talent for himself. He felt her particular concern for his well being, and the odd sensation that this was a very old feeling. He wondered, fleetingly, how she could have possibly worried about him before today.
Unbidden, her memories came to the surface of their consciousness. They saw how she had always listened to his story, though this was the first time he had heard it himself. They knew she had always wondered what his life might be like and hoped for his safety and happiness. In response, they saw bits of his childhood, from the moments that had passed for happiness to the worst of the Dursleys’ abuses. Ginny was saddened by his upbringing but pleased that he was with her now and not with them. Harry felt warmed by the knowledge that somewhere, there had been someone who cared for him.
Realizing what had happened, Harry felt that he had been very rude. I’m sorry, Ginny, I didn’t mean to see those things about you.
I didn’t either, Harry. I have no idea how to not see them, do you?
No, they just seemed to pop up, just like my memories did.
Well, then we can hardly blame each other for finding them, can we? Don’t worry, Harry. I haven’t done anything I’d really not want you to know about.
I haven’t either, Ginny, but some of my memories aren’t very nice.
That’s not your fault, and you know I won’t blame you for it. You won’t blame me for seeing them, either.
She was right, of course.
Naturally, she grinned.
“Ginny?”
Molly Weasley’s voice startled them, and they realized that they had been standing and staring at each other for several long moments. Instinctively, they turned towards her voice.
This proved to be a mistake. The moment they tried to move, they found that their bodies had not adapted to their shared vision as quickly as their minds had. Harry needed to turn to his left to see Mrs. Weasley, but he forgot that he was seeing out of Ginny’s eyes, too, and she needed to turn to her right. As it happened, they both tried to turn to their right and ended up running into each other and tumbling to the ground.
As their hands separated, they felt something change. It wasn’t a loss; it was more like something had pulled back a bit. They didn’t have time to contemplate what it might have been.
“Are you all right, Ginny? Who’s this you’ve found?”
Don’t apologize, Harry. It could have been either of us. Or both, maybe. That might have been funny. Try concentrating on your own body, and maybe we won’t look like buffoons.
“He’s new this year, Mum, and he doesn’t know how to get onto the platform,” Ginny told her mother, standing carefully.
Why didn’t we…?
Mum doesn’t need any more stress right now. She’ll find out who you are soon enough.
“I’m very sorry, ma’am. I lost my balance, and she tried to catch me, but I knocked us both over.”
Very smooth, Harry.
It was your idea... I think.
Of course it was. I've been lying to Mum for years.
“Quite alright, dear. Now, Ginny, help him through to the platform so we can send him on his way.”
Oh no, thought Harry, feeling Ginny's disappointment.
Yeah, I’m too young, she replied, resigned.
But . . .
I don't think we could get rid of each other if we wanted to. You’ll get to see my house, and I can get a look at Hogwarts.
The Burrow looks amazing. Can we go swim in the pond? I’ve never been swimming, Harry thought wistfully.
I practically live there unless it’s too cold, and you know it.
Oh, right, I guess I do.
The two of them, concentrating firmly on their own bodies, managed to walk towards the barrier between platforms 9 and 10 without any more accidents.
Do you understand how to get onto the platform now?
Ginny’s memories of her many trips to Platform 9 ¾ rose to the surface of their consciousness. Yeah, but I’d have never figured that out on my own. That’s the idea, right?
I guess so. I don’t think they expect many students from non-magical families to be left here alone.
They should meet Uncle Vernon, then, Harry said bitterly.
Harry, she replied, your relatives have been awful to you, and you have every right to resent them. But you can’t stay angry all the time. It’s not good for you. You’re going to Hogwarts, where you won’t have to see them, hear from them, or even think about them for nine months. Try to enjoy it, okay?
I’ll try, Ginny.
The pair passed through the barrier easily, to find the Hogwarts Express waiting at the platform. Harry knew that if he had truly been seeing it for the first time, it would have been an incredible sight. It was still very impressive. He felt the same awe that Ginny had every time she had seen the bright red train.
Ginny silently introduced Harry to her brothers as they looked away from the Hogwarts Express. He identified Fred, George, and Ron as they waited on the other side of the barrier. Percy, she told him, had undoubtedly gone off to his duties as a prefect. Molly came through the barrier and started herding her sons towards the train.
Harry took Hedwig in her cage from atop his trunk and attempted to pull the trunk off of the trolley with one hand. Uncle Vernon had carried it for him to get it to the station, so he was having very little success lifting it on his own. Fortunately, Fred and George saw his predicament and easily lifted the trunk between them before heading for the nearest carriage.
The train’s whistle blew, announcing its departure.
You’d better go, Harry. The train always leaves right on time, so you’ve only got five minutes left.
I know, Ginny, but I wish you could come, too.
I’ll be there next year, Harry, and this year we can have fun in two places at once. Harry had to grin at Ginny’s creative optimism.
Before he turned to board the train, he reached out and squeezed Ginny’s hand in farewell. For the brief time they touched, the feeling that had receded before came back in full force.
This time, Ginny was not distracted from it. I don’t know what that was, but it was . . . nice. Like a warm pair of socks, maybe.
I don’t know what it was either, but I think I’ll miss it.
Me, too. Bye, Harry.
Not really, Ginny.
Harry turned away from her and boarded the train. Following the passageway, he caught up with the twins as they entered an empty compartment with his trunk. One of the twins then heaved the trunk up to the overhead rack.
"Thanks, Fred."
"Oi, how'd you know my name?"
Oops.
"Err . . . your mum was yelling at you two, and I just guessed which was which."
You learn fast, Harry.
“Well, you’re welcome, mate,” George said. “You’re a first year, are you?”
“What’s your name, then?” Fred asked.
“Harry. Harry Potter.”
“Blimey! Scar and everything, eh?”
Reluctantly, Harry pushed back his fringe to display the lightning-bolt scar on his forehead.
You know, in all that, I never even noticed it was there, Ginny commented. Does it always itch?
It doesn’t for me, but I’ve had it all my life. Maybe I’m just used to it.
“What do you know, Fred?”
“A real celebrity, George.”
“Right here,”
“In this very compartment,”
“And we got to touch his trunk!”
“We’ll never wash our hands again!” they finished in unison, swooning dramatically.
The twins heard their mother calling from outside the compartment and left the train. Harry and Ginny agreed that at some point they might have to have a long talk with the twins, if such a thing was possible.
Harry sat down and looked out the corner of the window to see Fred and George rejoin their mother, Ron, and Ginny. Mrs. Weasley was offering last minute advice and dire warnings to her son when the twins interrupted.
“Hey, Mum, guess what? Guess who we just met on the train?” Fred asked.
George didn’t wait for a response. “You know that black-haired boy who was here a minute ago? That was Harry Potter!”
“Don’t you want to run up and see him, Ginny?”
Look out the window and wave, would you, Harry?
“Why would I want to go to all that trouble? I can see him just fine from here.” Ginny waved up at Harry, who waved back on cue.
Molly rounded on her daughter. “Ginny! You didn’t tell me that was Harry Potter!”
“Did it matter, Mum?”
Fred, George, and Ron looked confused until their mother added, “He bumped into Ginny in the station and she helped him through the barrier.”
“Fred, old boy, we’ve been had.”
Fred wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. “I’m so proud, George. So proud.”
Thanks, Harry. He grinned out the window at her.
Another whistle sounded, and the three boys jumped onto the train just before it started moving. As the train pulled out of the King’s Cross, he looked out the window at Ginny until she was hidden from view. They both wished she was going to Hogwarts with him, but they knew she was not allowed yet.
Next year. Neither was sure whose thought it was.
A few minutes later, Ginny’s youngest brother entered the compartment and asked if he could sit down.
“Sure thing, Ron,” Harry said. Ginny could not resist, so he added, “Met any nice spiders lately?”
“What?” Ron’s expression was everything Ginny had hoped for, and Harry had to admit that it was pretty funny. “How’d you know that? How’d you know my name?”
“Ginny told me to ask you that if I saw you,” he explained.
Close enough, right?
Ron frowned. “Yeah, sounds like Ginny. Hope she didn’t bother you too much.”
Harry was instantly defensive, even without Ginny’s silent outrage. “I think she’s great. It must be really nice to be her brother.”
Ouch, Harry. Thanks and all, but ouch.
He started it.
“Err, I guess so,” Ron said, clearly confused. “Are you really Harry Potter?”
Harry pushed his hair back once again.
“Wicked. Did it hurt?”
“I don’t know,” Harry said. “I don’t remember it.”
He did, though, at least in a way. Ginny saw the flash of green light in their mind, just as he had seen it in his dreams for most of his life.
Ron lapsed into silence, staring out the window and occasionally glancing at Harry when he thought the other boy was occupied. Harry was also staring out the window, but he was engaged in a serious conversation.
Harry, what is that?
What’s what, Ginny?
That feeling. This one, here. She directed their attention to the odd feeling they had first noticed while holding hands. It was muted now, but it was recognizable as the same sensation.
I don’t know, Ginny, honestly. It’s always been there, but it seemed somehow better when we were holding hands.
You’ve always felt that? I haven’t. It seems sort of familiar, I guess, but the way it feels now is nothing I’ve ever felt before, and the way it was at the station was even better. More comfortable, or something.
Maybe it’s like your hair.
My hair, Harry? What does my hair have to do with anything?
It’s heavy, you know? I’ve never had much hair, and I can definitely feel that yours is a lot heavier than mine. It’s like a pulling in your neck.
Oh. I guess I can understand that. She was quiet for a moment, then giggled. I’ve always wondered what it would feel like to have one of those.
Harry could not pretend not to know what she meant, and he blushed.
Oh, don’t be embarrassed, Harry. I’ve got six brothers, remember?
He could tell she had no intention of humiliating him, even if he did feel embarrassed. She was just curious. Come to think of it…
You’re right, Ginny. That is a really odd feeling.
She was quiet for a moment, and Harry imagined he could actually see her face reddening. Well, that’s fair, I guess.
I think your mum’s trying to tell you something, Ginny.
Harry listened as Ginny’s mother tried to cheer her up, saying that the year would pass before she knew it, and that she could go and visit Mr. Lovegood’s house to play with their daughter. Ginny responded only enough to reassure her mother then returned to her conversation with Harry as she stared out the window of the Weasley’s car.
Luna’s really nice, but ever since her mother died last year, she’s not quite the same. She says the strangest things and spends all her time reading the newspaper her father publishes. It’s all about conspiracies and secret magical rituals and creatures no one has ever heard of.
We should introduce her to Dudley someday.
Ginny took a moment to look through Harry’s memories of Dudley, as he watched what she remembered of Luna.
I’m not sure I’d do that to Luna, Harry. For that matter, I’m not sure I’d do that to Dudley.
I’d do it to little Duddy-dumkins, right enough, but Luna seems too nice to treat that badly.
You can meet her next year. She’ll be at Hogwarts then, too.
Harry was quiet for several minutes, and Ginny could feel his mood becoming pensive.
Ginny, what’s going on?
She knew what he meant. It was unavoidable at this point.
I don’t know, Harry.
This isn’t normal for magical people, is it?
I’ve never heard of anything like it, even in stories.
We can talk to each other, think together… I even feel what you’re feeling. The road is bumpy, the car smells like flowers, and the window is getting warm from the sun.
You’re getting an ache in your neck, Harry. He shifted his position.
How are we going to move around? I barely made it onto the train without falling over.
She thought for a moment then found the answer. It was easier for me when I was concentrating on what I was doing. I couldn’t feel you so much. It sort of faded into the background. That’s what you were doing too, right?
Yeah, that’s it exactly.
Okay, Harry, let’s try something. You focus really hard on your hands. When you’re ready, say ‘go’, and I’ll move a little. Then you tell me if you know how I moved.
Alright.
Harry stared at his hands, thinking about how they looked resting in his lap and how the denim of his oversized jeans felt beneath his fingers. When he thought he was focusing on his hands as much as anyone could, he thought, Go.
Still fixated on his hands, he felt Ginny reach up to push a strand of her hair behind her ear, but the sensation was muted. He momentarily felt like it was his own hand reaching up, but he could see that it was still in his lap.
Did you feel what I did?
Yes, but it was different somehow. Like it was further away, and I knew it was you moving and not me. Your hair is really soft, though.
He could feel her pleasure at the compliment. Thanks. Err… would you say you felt what I was doing more or less than you did when you were boarding the train?
Less, I think. When I was walking, your moving was more... blurry. I knew it was happening, but I couldn’t feel any details.
Hmm…well, let’s try it again, only this time, twiddle your thumbs.
What? My thumbs?
She was clearly surprised. Twiddle them. You’ve never heard of it before? Lace your fingers together and then rotate your thumbs around each other as fast as you can.
If you say so. He did as she instructed, feeling somewhat foolish. When he mastered the motion, he said, Go.
This time, he knew she was doing something, but he was unsure of what she did.
That’s great, Ginny. That time it was just like when I boarded the train.
Perfect. It seems that we have to concentrate, and it helps if we’re actually doing something to concentrate on instead of just sitting still. Can we try something else?
Sure.
Okay, can you see what I’m seeing right now?
Harry closed his eyes, and Ginny’s vision, which previously had been like a color shadow over the compartment ahead of him, became clear. Yeah. You’re in the backseat of the car, looking out the window to your right. It looks like you’re out in the countryside somewhere. There’s a house on top of a hill beside the road ahead of you.
We’re about halfway home, I think. I always remember that house. Now look in your train car. See the stripes on the wallpaper? See if you can count them, and while you’re doing that I’ll look at something else.
He turned his head to the wall by the window and began counting the thin vertical stripes on the garish wallpaper. As he reached eleven, he noticed that the echo of Ginny’s vision had faded. His concentration faltered, and they found themselves looking out the other window of the Weasleys’ car at an open field.
As long as I was counting, I didn’t see what you saw. But when I stopped, I was looking at that pasture with you.
Well, that probably means we can pay attention to any of our own senses if we want to. Hopefully it’ll get easier. I had a hard time looking at that house instead of counting the stripes.
Ginny, that’s wonderful. I’ve never been able to… I mean, you’re really smart, you know?
So are you, Harry. You haven’t figured out how to use it, yet, but I can feel that it’s there.
I think that’s just your brain making me look good.
So what? If we’re both smart now, then it doesn’t matter where it came from.
Harry sighed, physically and mentally. I wish we knew where all of this came from. I like it, and I wouldn’t go back to the way I was before, but it will take getting used to.
I think it’s wonderful. He felt her pleasure clearly. We’ll figure it out, Harry. It’s not really hard to work with. It just feels different.
Your hair brushing your neck feels nice, even though it’s strange. I think people would laugh at me if I had long hair, though.
Ginny laughed silently. You’d look really odd. You can feel my hair, instead.
He grinned, knowing she could feel his amusement even without words. Ron, who was still stealing glances at Harry every few minutes, finally spoke up.
“Alright there, Harry?”
“Sure, Ron. Why?” Harry asked.
“You keep making faces and twitching and stuff.”
Oops again.
Harry thought quickly. “I was just thinking, I guess. I never heard of all this magic stuff until a month ago. Is your family all magical?”
“Yeah, have been for ages. Lots of boys, all in Gryffindor, all with red hair.”
Lots of boys?
I’m the first Weasley girl in generations. Everyone seems to think that means something, but I think it means I’ve got a few brothers I’d trade for sisters.
Ron seems okay.
Yeah, Ron’s alright. He’s a bit thick, and he’s absolutely obsessed with Quidditch, but at least he’s only annoying some of the time. Percy’s always trying to get me to read something, and the twins keep trying to prank me. Memories of pranks and retaliations floated into their consciousness.
Harry chuckled, careful this time to keep it inside his head. You’ve pranked them a few times, too.
I’ve got a right to defend myself, haven’t I? Besides, just because it’s annoying doesn’t mean it’s not fun.
Ron had not noticed Harry’s distraction and was still speaking. “I hope I’ll be in Gryffindor. Be weird otherwise, don’t you think?”
“I suppose so, if your brothers are all in Gryffindor already. I don’t know much about the houses, though.”
Harry and Ron talked for a while, discussing the houses at Hogwarts, Quidditch, and the rumors Ron had heard about the incredible feast held at the start of each year. Around lunchtime, the trolley came by and Harry bought a batch of sweets for them to share. Ron explained the chocolate frogs and their cards to Harry, who was fascinated by the moving pictures. Ginny chatted idly with her mother, half listening to the boys’ conversation.
Ron told Harry about a break-in attempt at Gringott’s. It seemed that the break-in had been successful, but whoever it was had failed to steal anything. Everyone worried that ‘You-Know-Who’ was behind the attempt.
I still don’t understand why nobody wants to say Voldemort.
It’s what we were taught, Harry. It seems a little silly, I guess, but everyone gets upset when they hear his name.
You’re not upset now.
I have been before, but now that I see it the way you do, it doesn’t make much sense to be afraid. Her tone became teasing. Besides, I’ve got the Boy Who Lived in my head, so why should I worry? Harry knew she was teasing, and he was getting used to her sense of humor.
Not long after lunchtime, the compartment door opened to reveal a round-faced boy, who introduced himself as Neville Longbottom, and a bushy-haired, bossy girl. They were both going to Hogwarts for the first time, and apparently Neville had lost Trevor, his toad. Harry and Ron thought the girl, Hermione Granger, might be a bit barmy, but Ginny figured she was alright if she was helping Neville look for his toad.
After the two left in search of Trevor, Ron dozed off. Mrs. Weasley and Ginny had arrived at the Burrow, and Ginny was pretending to take a nap in her room. Harry turned his attention back to her.
Ginny? Should we tell someone about this?
I don’t know. I feel like we should, in case anyone has heard of it before, but I don’t know who to tell. My parents . . . well, my mother is very old fashioned, and I don’t think she’d take it well at all.
Harry thought he could understand that, even if he did not like it. Yeah, nobody would want me in their daughter’s head.
Oh, Harry, it has nothing to do with you in particular. Mum would just say it’s ‘improper’ for a boy and a girl to, uh . . . share some of the things we share.
A thought occurred to him quite suddenly. Ginny, what happens when one of us has to use the loo?
Apparently, she had not thought of that yet, either. I guess the other one is going to think really, really hard about something else. And maybe do jumping jacks, too, just in case.
It’s a deal.
Harry, recalling his conversation with Ron, had an idea. Maybe we could tell Dumbledore. He must know all kinds of things if he’s the greatest wizard around.
That’s a good idea, Harry. Mum and Dad talk all the time about the wonderful things he’s done. All the boys like him, too, even Fred and George, and they never like the people who make the rules.
I’ll have to find a way to talk to him, then.
Later on, Draco Malfoy stopped by the compartment with two of his friends. Even without Ginny’s prompting, Harry took an instant dislike to the blonde boy, and only Ginny herself kept him from attacking Malfoy when the git insulted her family.
Hermione came back to remind them to put on their school robes before the train arrived at Hogwarts. Ginny carefully counted the floorboards in her room while Harry and Ron changed.
Soon, Harry found himself in a boat with Ron, Hermione, and Neville. All four students were staring raptly at the castle as they approached.
Ginny was just as fascinated. It’s incredible! Look, there’s the Quidditch pitch. I’ve never seen one except in pictures. I’d like to be on the house team someday, just so I could fly more often.
You know how to fly already?
Sure. I’ve been sneaking out at night and practicing with my brothers’ brooms for years. You’ll love it.
She skimmed through some of her memories of flying for him, and he had to agree. The feeling of soaring through the air was incredible.
It looks wonderful, but I don’t know when I’ll get to try it, Harry thought.
Everyone gets flying lessons in their first year. Fred and George say it’s nothing like Quidditch, but at least it’s flying.
Finally, the boats passed through the tunnel under the castle, and the students were led into Hogwarts for the first time.
Chapter 4: Sorting
Author's Notes: The sorting hat's song, along with some of Dumbledore's words, come word-for-word from canon. They're most definitely JKR's.
Thanks to my beta, Jonathan Avery, for his work on this story.
Harry waited anxiously in the Entrance Hall, listening to the other students. He hoped Ron’s brothers had indeed been joking when they told him the sorting would hurt.
Ginny was sitting in her room concentrating on Harry so she could experience their first day at Hogwarts. Harry could distantly feel the bed beneath her. He thought he could smell something baking, but her eyes were closed and her room was quiet as she focused on his senses. Harry did not mind. He could tell she was just as excited by Hogwarts as he was.
Harry, don’t worry. Mum said it doesn’t hurt at all, and Fred and George will be in trouble for telling Ron that, she told him.
Thanks, Ginny. I hope I don’t mess it up somehow, he replied nervously. Hermione Granger, the bushy-haired witch he had met on the train, was listing off spells under her breath, and Ginny’s brother Ron was muttering something about trolls.
You’ll be fine, I promise. If the twins can do it, then you can, too. Harry grinned as Ginny thought about her mum’s reaction to the twin’s less-than-respectable grades last year. Ginny still suspected that her brothers got exactly the grades they wanted.
Professor McGonagall reappeared to lead the group of students into the great hall. Harry and Ginny looked around the hall in wonder, unable to fully appreciate one amazing feature before finding their eyes drawn to the next. The hundreds of candles floating above their heads, the immense banners, and the incredible ceiling all vied for their attention. At the front of the hall, past the long tables packed with students and in front of a crosswise table full of adults, was a simple three-legged stool. Atop the stool was a very old pointed hat with a broad brim. As the students came to a stop in front of the hat, a tear near the base of the hat opened and, shockingly, the hat began to sing.
"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,
But don't judge on what you see,
I'll eat myself if you can find
A smarter hat than me.
You can keep your bowlers black,
Your top hats sleek and tall,
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat
And I can cap them all.
There's nothing hidden in your head
The Sorting Hat can't see,
So try me on and I will tell you
Where you ought to be.
You might belong in Gryffindor,
Where dwell the brave at heart,
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry
Set Gryffindors apart;
You might belong in Hufflepuff,
Where they are just and loyal,
Those patient Hufflepuffs are true
And unafraid of toil;
Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,
if you've a ready mind,
Where those of wit and learning,
Will always find their kind;
Or perhaps in Slytherin
You'll make your real friends,
Those cunning folk use any means
To achieve their ends.
So put me on! Don't be afraid!
And don't get in a flap!
You're in safe hands (though I have none)
For I'm a Thinking Cap!"
Harry was relieved to learn that he would simply have to place the hat on his head to be sorted. He decided that the worst that could happen would be that the hat could find him completely unsuitable and send him back to the Dursleys, in which case he would have at least had something of a holiday. And he had met Ginny, which really was a good thing, even if he went back to Little Whinging.
Harry, they’re not going to chuck you out!
Are you sure?
Completely.
Lost in conversation with Ginny, Harry was surprised when Professor McGonagall called out, ”Potter, Harry!” Harry walked up to the stool. Sitting down, he picked up the hat and lowered it onto his head until it completely covered his eyes.
“Hello, Mr. Potter. Let’s have a look at you, shall we?” a tiny voice spoke near his ear. “Well, now, this is interesting. Where’s the rest of you, Mr. Potter?”
“The rest of me, sir?” he whispered.
The hat sounded very matter-of-fact. “Yes, the rest of you. I can’t sort you if I can’t see all of you, now can I?”
Ginny, what’s he talking about?
I don’t know. Everyone gets sorted.
The tiny voice spoke again. “Ah! There’s a bit more to work with. Still not all of you, though.”
I think the hat can hear us, Ginny.
“Of course I can hear you. I’m supposed to see what’s in your head, aren’t I? Now get the rest of you here so we can get you sorted.”
Do you think it means me?
The hat responded directly to Ginny. “Yes, indeed, though I wouldn’t put it that way. Could you join us here? There are more students waiting to be sorted.”
I’m sorry, Mr… err…
“Daffydd, child. Just Daffydd will do. Nobody’s asked my name in decades,” the hat chuckled.
I’m sorry, Daffydd, but I’m not anywhere near Hogwarts. They won’t let me come until next year, when I’m eleven.
“Nonsense! Who’s this ‘they’ to be spouting such rubbish?”
Err… I don’t know who makes the rules, sir. The headmaster, I guess.
The large tear in the hat opened once again as Daffydd spoke for everyone to hear. “Albus! Am I, or am I not, in charge of sorting?”
Harry could not see him, but Dumbledore sounded startled as he replied, “Yes, you are indeed in charge of sorting.”
“So I get to decide how to do the sorting, and who gets sorted where? I get to say who’s allowed to go where, and nobody here can argue with me?” the hat pressed.
“Correct. Even I cannot interfere with your duties. May I ask why you feel the need for such clarification?” the Headmaster asked.
“Perhaps later, old boy.” The hat switched back to the tiny voice that only Harry and Ginny could hear. “You see? I decide who gets to come to Hogwarts, and I decide how the sorting works. Just me, nobody else. Understand?”
Yes, sir, it certainly sounds that way, Ginny replied politely.
“Excellent! Then I say you can come here, and I say you need to come here. I can’t go around sorting people without all the information.”
You mean I could start Hogwarts this year? They’d really let me come?
“Weren’t you listening? ‘They’ is me. I say you can start this year, and I won’t let anyone say otherwise,” Daffydd stated firmly.
It would be great if you could come, Ginny. If you want to, I mean, Harry said.
I’d love to! I’ll see if…
Ginny was considering sneaking past her mother to get to the Floo when, suddenly, it was no longer necessary. As Ginny jumped up from her bed and started towards her door, she disappeared from Ottery St. Catchpole and appeared directly in front of Harry, still taking a step towards him where he sat on the stool.
All the inhabitants of the Great Hall seemed to gasp at once. There had been no noise, no flash of light, and no warning whatsoever. One moment, the space on the floor in front of Harry was empty; the next, a tiny girl with red hair was walking toward Harry Potter, looking confused. As whispers spread across the hall, Dumbledore rose from his seat and began walking around the end of the table to approach the new arrival.
Hermione Granger was the first of the students to recover, to some extent. “That’s impossible!” she cried. “Hogwarts, A History clearly states that . . .” Her voice was drowned out as hundreds of voices started whispering to each other.
Ginny and Harry were as surprised as anyone. Ginny stumbled to a stop, focusing on her own senses but feeling the hundreds of eyes on her back. Harry just stared at her, confused and elated.
Err…hi, he said.
Before Ginny could form any coherent thought, the Sorting Hat spoke in Harry’s ear. “Perfect! Much faster than the Floo, and cleaner too, I daresay. Now, come sit on the stool here with Mr. Potter. Back to back, please.”
Stunned, Ginny did as she was told. It was awkward to perch on the stool with someone else, but Harry and Ginny braced their feet and pressed their backs together almost instinctively.
Professor McGonagall spoke as the Headmaster approached, “Mr. Potter, what is going on here? Who is this? You’re not allowed to be here, child.”
“Hush, Minerva, I’m sorting,” Daffydd said for everyone to hear. “You can wait your turn, too, Albus.”
As it spoke, the old hat began to grow, its tip rising higher as its base widened across the top of Ginny’s head. When it was large enough, it dropped over her forehead and rested on both of their heads, hiding their faces from sight almost completely.
The hat’s tiny voice spoke again in their ears. “Much better. Now then, let’s see what we’ve got, Mr. Potter, Miss…?”
“Weasley, sir. Ginny Weasley,” she whispered.
“Ginny, is it? Are you quite sure?”
“Well… Ginevra, actually.” Harry could feel the warmth of Ginny’s blush.
I think it’s a really pretty name, he said.
“Quite right, Mr. Potter. It’s always best to know who you really are, and that’s close enough for the moment. On to business, then.” The hat paused a moment, as if contemplating something. “Stop that.”
“Stop what, sir?” Harry asked.
“That! You’re doing something to keep you separated somehow. Stop doing it.”
Harry, I think I know what he means. Stop focusing on yourself.
They did as she suggested, letting go of the concentration they had held onto to allow them to move separately. As they relaxed, their senses merged. Each of them could see the inside of the Sorting Hat as it rested on their heads. The sounds and smells were all the same, but seemed clearer somehow. Strangest of all, Harry could feel Ginny’s back pressed against his, and his back pressed against her, at the same time. It was alien and disorienting, but it felt natural, too.
Wow, he thought. She silently agreed, adjusting to the new sensations.
The hat interrupted their contemplation. “Yes, yes, that was it. Well done, and quite handy, I suspect. There’s still a bit of it left, though. Something’s a little fuzzy.”
They knew what they needed to do this time. Each of them reached back to join their hands on the side of the stool where Dumbledore and McGonagall stood.
The moment their hands came in contact, the hat twitched and its voice returned. “Incredible! That’s definitely the right thing to do. Now we can finally get started.”
It was several long moments before Daffydd spoke again. “Well, that’s surprising. Who’d have thought a Slytherin and a Hufflepuff could get along so well? Together, though, that’s something else. Quite a good mind, and more than enough talent to go around. Courage, yes, plenty of courage, sitting up here after an entrance like that. Got something you need to do, I can tell, and you’re quite determined to do it. You would fit anywhere, I suppose. A Potter and a Weasley, though . . . that does point in a certain direction. Better be GRYFFINDOR!”
The last word was shouted to the hall. Ginny reached up and removed the hat from their heads with her free hand. The two quickly reestablished their focus and got up from the stool to see the shocked faces of the Headmaster and Professor McGonagall. Silently, Ginny offered the Sorting Hat to the stern-faced woman.
“Miss Weasley, isn’t it?” the Headmaster asked kindly.
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you happen to know how you came to be here tonight, Miss Weasley?”
“No, sir. I was at home in my room, and then I was here,” she replied.
“I see. Minerva, please contact the Weasleys. Let them know their daughter is safe, and ask them to join us here after the feast. I will complete the Sorting.”
Professor McGonagall nodded and passed the Sorting Hat to the Headmaster before leaving the Great Hall through a small door near the head table.
“Mr. Potter, Miss Weasley, please join your house for the feast. Afterwards, we’ll go up to my office to discuss tonight’s events,” he said, leading them towards the group of red heads at the Gryffindor table.
As they approached, three freckled faces stared alternately at Harry and Ginny as the Headmaster addressed them. “Gentlemen, Mr. Potter and your sister will be having dinner with you. I’m afraid they don’t know anything more than you do, so let’s all enjoy our meal for the moment. I’ve sent for your parents, and we’ll meet with them a bit later.”
As Harry and Ginny squeezed onto the bench together, the Headmaster returned to the front of the hall and the last four students were sorted with no interruptions. Ron joined Gryffindor and sat across from Harry at the long table.
“Bloody hell, Ginny, how’d you get here? What was that bit with the hat all about?” he asked incredulously.
“Ronald, the Headmaster has said that neither of them knows what's going on, so it’s best we leave it alone. Mother, Father, and the Professors will discuss the situation after our meal,” Percy declared pompously.
Students from all four tables were craning their heads to look at Harry and Ginny, but everyone near enough to question them had heard Dumbledore’s instructions, so the two were left alone for the moment. Ginny noticed that Hermione Granger, sitting further down the table, was scowling at the table and glancing inquisitively at Ginny or Harry every few seconds.
The Headmaster returned to his chair and turned to face the students. “Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! It seems that we will be enjoying an eventful year. Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!
“Thank you!”
Food appeared along the center of each table, and the students began serving themselves in earnest. Harry was amazed at the variety of food available. Even when the Dursleys had important people over for dinner, they had never made food like this. Ron, though clearly confused by his sister’s presence, seemed determined to take the fullest possible advantage of the feast, and Harry and Ginny saw no reason not to enjoy it as well.
As Ginny reached for her pumpkin juice, Harry took a bite of roast beef, and they discovered another problem.
Ugh, pumpkin flavored beef. That’s not a good combination. Harry said as he forced himself to chew.
I was more grossed out by my juice feeling like beef, she said, with a pained expression.
Concentrating all the time is going to get old. I hope we get used to it or something.
For now, let’s eat the same things at the same time, Ginny suggested. How about roast beef, boiled potatoes, and carrots?
That’s fine with me, Harry agreed.
Rearranging their plates, they began eating carefully. Fortunately, no one noticed the strange coincidence.
At one point during the meal, Harry glanced up at the head table to find one of the professors glaring at him past Quirrell’s turban. The professor had dark, greasy hair that hung about his pale face and long, hooked nose. When the man’s dark eyes met Harry’s, a sharp pain shot through Harry’s scar. Harry and Ginny both winced and reached for their foreheads as the brooding professor turned to answer a question from Professor Quirrel. As soon as the man was distracted, the pain vanished.
“Harry, Ginny, are you alright?” Percy asked.
Please don’t tell him, Ginny.
“Fine, Percy, just thought I felt something,” she told her brother. Percy gave her a look that Ginny recognized as the first sign of a lecture.
“Yeah,” Harry agreed, hoping to distract Percy. “Who’s that Professor sitting next to Professor Quirrell?”
Percy’s gaze lingered on Harry and Ginny for a moment before he glanced at the head table. “That is Professor Severus Snape, the Potions Master and Head of Slytherin House.”
“He’s a greasy git, and hates anyone who isn’t in Slytherin,” Fred Weasley stated, interrupting Percy.
“Everyone knows he really wants Quirrell’s job teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. I say he just wants to practice them on students,” George added.
“You two don’t like him because you blew up his classroom in your first year, and he’s never forgotten it,” Percy snapped.
That came from your scar, didn’t it, Harry? Ginny asked, pulling Harry’s attention away from the escalating argument between Percy and the twins.
Yeah. Snape was glaring at me, and it burned. It’s never done that before, he replied.
I hope it doesn’t happen often, then. I don’t think I could ignore that without knowing it was coming, Ginny said. Fortunately, the rest of the feast passed uneventfully, aside from the appearance of a dazzling array of desserts. Harry and Ginny happily shared these, discovering spectacular new flavors and textures as they sampled different combinations.
***
After the feast, Headmaster Dumbledore escorted Harry and Ginny to his office. After stepping behind a stone gargoyle, which moved aside with a whispered word from the Headmaster, they ascended a moving spiral staircase that led to an opulent but somewhat cluttered office. Seated in front of a large desk were Professor McGonagall and Ginny’s parents. The professor had apparently already told the Weasleys what had happened.
“Ginny, dear!” Molly exclaimed, jumping up from her chair to hug Ginny tightly. “We were so worried about you! Are you all right? How did you get here?” Ginny was feeling something Harry could not identify; it was unlike anything he had ever felt, but it was wonderful.
“I’m fine, Mum, and I don’t know how I got here. I was in my bedroom, and then I was here.”
Let’s not say anything about us until we can get the Headmaster alone, okay?
Harry agreed. You can do the talking.
“Albus, what’s going on?” Molly returned to her seat, and Ginny took the remaining chair. Harry moved to stand at the back of the group, but Ginny stopped him.
Don’t be silly, Harry. This chair is big enough for both of us.
Unwilling to argue with her, Harry sat next to her in the chair, which was indeed large enough for the two small children to share comfortably.
“That’s an excellent question, Molly,” Dumbledore replied, crossing the office to his chair. “I can only say that she did not apparate, nor did she use a portkey. Hogwarts’ wards prevent apparition, as you know, and I would have known immediately if a portkey was used inside the castle. Clearly she did not arrive by Floo either, because she materialized near the front of the Great Hall, well away from any of our fireplaces. I’m afraid I simply don’t know how she did it.”
“I’m sorry to have caused any trouble, Professor. I truly didn’t try to do anything. I was just suddenly standing there in front of Harry,” Ginny explained.
Rule number one: always apologize early if my parents are upset. It makes them think you’re innocent.
“Ah, yes, how rude of me. Arthur, Molly, this is Harry Potter.” Harry nodded at the two adults and received distracted smiles in return.
Professor McGonagall spoke up for the first time. “Perhaps you could tell us what happened from your perspective, Miss Weasley.”
Ginny nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I was at home in my room, thinking about Hogwarts and all my brothers being here. I got up to go downstairs, and then I found myself in the Great Hall. I wasn’t sure what had happened, but I knew I had to be at Hogwarts. Then I heard the Sorting Hat in my ear, telling me to sit on the stool with Harry. I did, and then he talked about the houses a bit and shouted ‘Gryffindor’.”
That’s really impressive, Ginny. You didn’t tell one lie.
Ginny was going to reply when the Headmaster addressed Harry. “Mr. Potter, perhaps you could tell us what happened before Miss Weasley appeared?”
Now you get to try, Harry.
“Yes, sir. The hat was trying to sort me, and I guess he was looking into my head. He asked me who the red-haired girl I’d met this morning was, and I told him her name. The hat talked to you about authority, and then Ginny was standing there. I heard him ask her to join me on the stool. Then, like she said, he talked about the houses and sent us to Gryffindor.”
Top marks, Potter.
He sent her a mental grin, careful not to let it show on his face.
“Curiouser and curiouser,” Dumbledore commented with a quick glance at Harry, who had the feeling that he had not entirely fooled the greatest wizard in the world. But the Headmaster simply turned to the Sorting Hat, which was now sitting on a stand nearby. “Daffydd, would you care to explain?”
“There’s not much else to say, Albus. I saw Miss Weasley in Potter’s memory, and I thought she should be here. I don’t know how she got here, but since she did, I sorted her.” Harry swore that a tiny wrinkle in the hat winked at them as it spoke.
“What made you decide she needed to be here now?” the Headmaster asked. “Surely you’ve seen her before in her brothers’ memories.”
Daffydd huffed. “She was very young the last time I saw her that way. Besides, Albus, how do you suppose Aberforth felt about you when you were ten?”
“Ah, I see. The viewpoint of a brother is different from that of a friend,” Dumbledore observed.
Friends, Harry? They both knew the answer already, but it was comforting to hear the words.
I sure hope so, Ginny. This would be very hard, otherwise.
Friends, then.
“Why did you choose to sort Mr. Potter and Miss Weasley at the same time?” McGonagall asked.
“I didn’t see any reason I couldn’t look at them both at once, Minerva. The whole thing was taking too long, and they were hungry. It’s not traditional, but neither is a student appearing in the middle of the sorting.”
Mrs. Weasley interrupted the conversation. “Albus, this is all quite interesting, but I think we’d like to get Ginny home and to bed now. It’s been a very stressful evening.”
“Understandable, Molly, but it’s not that simple. Allow me just a moment more.” Turning back to the Sorting Hat, Dumbledore asked, “Daffydd, to be perfectly clear, did you intend to sort both Mr. Potter and Miss Weasley into Gryffindor?”
“Of course. Wouldn’t do to have part of them someplace and the other part somewhere else, would it?”
“I find that I’ve never enjoyed riddles, no matter what purpose they serve,” the old wizard muttered to no one in particular.
“It’s good for you, old boy. Broadens the mind, and whatnot.” With that, the tattered hat sagged slightly and began emitting soft, thready snores.
“Well, we seem to have exhausted that avenue of inquiry,” the Headmaster observed. He looked thoughtful for a moment and then spoke once again, addressing the space to the right of his desk. “Blinkin?”
A small creature with enormous eyes and large flaps for ears appeared next to the Headmaster with a soft ‘pop’. “Headmaster needs Blinkin?”
“Yes, Blinkin. Could you please tell me how many beds there are in the Gryffindor first year girls’ dormitory?”
“There is four, sir. Four beds, but only three trunks. We is looking for another trunk, but we isn’t finding it yet. Blinkin is very sorry.”
“I don’t think there is a fourth trunk to be found, so there’s no need for you to search for it. Thank you, Blinkin.,” Professor Dumbledore assured him.
“Blinkin is happy to help, sir.” The creature bowed slightly then disappeared with another soft ‘pop’.
The headmaster turned to Professor McGonagall. “Am I correct that only three girls were sorted into Gryffindor prior to Miss Weasley’s arrival?”
“Yes, Headmaster. Lavender Brown, Hermione Granger, and Parvati Patil.”
“As I suspected. Your memory continues to be flawless, Minerva.”
With a slight sigh, the Headmaster addressed the Weasley parents. “Molly, Arthur, you may not realize that the castle itself is part of the sorting ceremony. At the beginning of the feast, each of the first year dormitories is empty. As each student is sorted, a bed, nightstand, and a wardrobe appear in the appropriate dormitory along with that student’s trunk. If there are four beds in the Gryffindor first year girls’ room, then four girls were sorted into Gryffindor for the new school term.
“That might explain Miss Weasley’s arrival this evening, as well. If the Sorting Hat decided she should attend, Hogwarts itself may have acted to bring her here.”
It did not take long for Molly Weasley to reach the obvious conclusion. “Albus, you can’t be serious! Ginny’s only just had her tenth birthday. She’s not old enough to attend Hogwarts.”
“The age requirement is intended to ensure a certain level of magical development, Molly. If the Sorting Hat and the castle itself have accepted her, then your daughter has reached that level. More importantly, her acceptance means she’s been added to the magical roster of students. The only way to remove her from that roster is to expel her, which would make it very difficult to readmit her next year. The paperwork involved is really quite intimidating. I’m afraid she is effectively obligated to attend.”
Mr. Weasley spoke up, hesitantly. “Albus, that makes five of them. I’m not sure we can…”
The Headmaster interrupted him quickly. “Let’s not worry about that right now, Arthur. Rest assured that we’ll work something out.”
Ginny, what’s your dad worried about? You’ll be able to stay, right?
I think I know what it is, Harry. Our family is… well, we’re not exactly rich. It’s never really bothered us very much, but Dad wasn’t planning for five of us to be here at the same time until next year.
The solution seemed simple enough to Harry. Pulling his still-bulging money pouch from beneath his robes, he silently placed it in front of the Headmaster. “Is this enough, sir? I can get more.”
The four adults started, having largely forgotten Harry was there. They were baffled by his seemingly instant understanding of the situation.
Harry! You shouldn’t do that. That’s your money. You’ll need it.
Look, Ginny. He remembered visiting his vault with Hagrid and seeing the piles and piles of coins. Do you have any idea how much that is?
He felt her shock clearly. No. I’ve never seen that much money. I didn’t know there was that much money.
I don’t know how much it is either, he admitted. What am I supposed to do with all that? The money for Hogwarts has already been taken out for all seven years. I got this bag of Galleons, and Hagrid said I could buy everything I saw for the whole year with what’s in it.
Mrs. Weasley was the first adult to speak. “Harry, dear, that’s not necessary. You’ll need that money for other things, and it wouldn’t be right for you to pay for Ginny to go to school.”
“I’ve got five school uniforms and two sets of robes and all those supplies from the list, and I’ve got a great owl, too. I can’t imagine what else I could possibly buy,” Harry shrugged. “Ginny’s my friend. I’d like her to be able to come to school this year, if she wants to.”
I want to. I really want to. But it’s not right to take people’s money.
Okay then, your birthday was last month. Happy birthday, Ginny.
The two parents looked shocked at his statement, but it did not appear to distract them from their refusal.
Before the Weasleys’ pride could become involved too much, the Headmaster intervened. “Molly, you may recall that Hogwarts has a small scholarship fund designed to encourage promising students to attend without hardship. The very fact that Miss Weasley has been sorted this evening shows exceptional promise. Would you object to her receiving a scholarship from the school based on that potential?”
Mrs. Weasley could hardly object to this, since it was coming from the school and was a great honor for her daughter. She nodded reluctantly.
“Excellent. Minerva, please make the appropriate arrangements.” The Headmaster turned to Harry, his eyes twinkling once again. “Now, Mr. Potter, might you care to make a voluntary donation to the Hogwarts Scholarship Fund? We can transfer the money directly from your vault at Gringott’s if that’s more convenient for you.”
Mrs. Weasley huffed at this, but did not interfere.
That’s great! I’ve never seen anyone put one over on Mum, Ginny commented.
Harry grinned openly. “Yes, Headmaster, please do.” He thought for a moment. “Are there other students at school right now who could use help like that, sir?”
“Yes, Mr. Potter. Unfortunately, there are usually several students at the school who require assistance of some kind.”
“Could you take enough money from my vault for more of those scholarships this year, then? Four, maybe; one for each house. Do I have enough money for that?” Harry asked.
I think it’s great of you to help other people, too, Harry.
That’s why I did it.
“I’m quite positive that you do, Mr. Potter,” Dumbledore answered him. “Are you sure that’s what you want to do?”
“Yes, sir, but please don’t tell anyone where the money came from.”
“We will allow you to remain anonymous in the records, and I’m certain no one here will share your secret. As a representative of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, I thank you for your generous contribution. Would you mind sharing your books and materials with Miss Weasley during classes tomorrow? We’ll have a set of supplies for her by the next day, I’m sure.”
“That’s fine with me, sir. She can probably wear my second set of robes, too.”
“Excellent, Mr. Potter. Molly, do you have a wand for Miss Weasley?” Mrs. Weasley nodded.
Ginny leaned against Harry in their chair and wrapped her arms around him. The strange feeling was even stronger this time.
Thank you, Harry.
Harry turned to her and smiled slightly. You want to be here, Ginny.
Ginny beamed at him and squeezed him more tightly.
Mrs. Weasley had another objection. “Albus, I don’t suppose I object to Ginny starting school this year, if the Sorting Hat says she can and all the arrangements work out. It will probably be better for her to not spend the year at home without her brothers. But… well, you remember her fifth birthday?”
“Ah, yes, I do indeed.”
What does your fifth birthday have to do with anything? Harry asked.
Every child in my family is tested for magical strength on their fifth birthday; there’s a spell that shows how strong a witch or wizard can eventually be. All of my brothers are pretty strong, but my results were really low. They’re worried that I’m not strong enough yet to attend classes.
Ginny remembered the test from five years ago, and Harry saw the green aura she had produced. He also saw the bright, multicolored sphere Ron had produced when he was five.
Do the colors mean anything? he asked.
Some people think so, but nobody agrees on what they mean, so most everyone thinks they’re random. According to the Quibbler, everyone in the Weasley family is destined to do great things in gardening. Mum’s the only one who likes to garden, and she has the Prewitt’s blue and yellow colors. Hers is much brighter than mine, too.
Wait, that’s it! Ginny exclaimed. Her intuition went by too quickly for Harry to know immediately what she had realized.
“Headmaster, could you perform the test again?” she asked Dumbledore.
“If you wish, Miss Weasley. I hope you are aware that the results do not change with additional attempts. Do you remember your test?”
“Yes, sir,” she replied confidently. “I know what it meant, too. But if you could cast it again, I’d really appreciate it.”
“Very well. I see no reason not to. Sit still, please, Miss Weasley.” Ginny put her hands in her lap and sat up straight as the headmaster began a long incantation.
As he finished speaking and flicked his wand sharply at Ginny, a sphere of light enveloped her and Harry where he sat next to her. The sphere extended into the floor below their feet and almost to the ceiling above their heads. The emerald green of Ginny’s original sphere was still there, but now it was evenly mixed with vivid red and deep purple in a complex pattern of bands and whorls. The entire sphere glowed brightly, drowning out the candlelight and bathing the room in an eerie collage of the three gem-like colors.
From inside, Harry and Ginny could see that the pattern of colors ran all the way through the sphere. Tendrils of each color wound sinuously from the surface towards the center, all seeming to lead to the same point. They could dimly see the shapes of the other inhabitants of the room, but the colors were bright enough that they were only dark patches beyond the shifting light.
After a few moments, the spell expired and the sphere vanished. As the adults in the room stared at her, Ginny explained her request to Harry.
That’s the feeling we’ve been trying to figure out, Harry. It’s magical power. I never had much of it, so the feeling was sort of familiar but much stronger than I’ve ever felt. You’ve always had it, so you got used to it and stopped noticing. When we did whatever it was we did, it got a lot stronger for me and didn’t change for you. Then when we were holding hands, it changed for both of us, right? It… fit better, or something.
It was more comfortable, you said. Harry commented.
Yes, exactly. I bet if we did that test while we were touching, the light would be even brighter.
Their conversation had only taken a few seconds, and the other people in the room were still staring at Ginny. She spoke up again. “Err, Headmaster, I know this sounds odd, but could you cast the spell one more time?”
Unable or unwilling to object, Dumbledore began the incantation again. This time, however, as the old wizard finished the spell, Ginny reached across and took Harry’s hand where it rested on his lap.
The resulting sphere extended into the floor, the ceiling, and the wall behind them. It stretched far enough across the room that it encompassed Professor McGonagall and the Weasleys. On the other side of his desk, Dumbledore was just beyond its edges. The huge mass of light glowed brightly with the same three colors, but this time the complex pattern of colors was actually moving across the surface and within the interior of the sphere. All six people in the room were entranced by the shifting colors until the spell wore off. As the light faded, Ginny released Harry’s hand and returned to her original position.
The elderly wizard finally found his voice, but the characteristic twinkle in his eyes was missing. “That was… quite remarkable, Miss Weasley. It seems that I should no longer attempt to tell you what can and cannot happen.”
“Albus, how... what …?” Mrs. Weasley’s question trailed off when she could not find words to complete it.
“Again, I have no idea. I will most certainly attempt to determine both how Miss Weasley originally arrived here and how the results of that spell could change so dramatically. However, there is no question that she is more than qualified to attend Hogwarts, and I suspect she will excel in her classes.”
After another minute of thoughtful silence, Dumbledore’s eyes regained their liveliness. He stood and clapped his hands gleefully. “Well, then, it seems we’ve sorted out our sorting. Molly, if you’d be so kind as to send along Ginny’s clothes and personal items when you return home, we’ll see that she gets everything else she needs.”
Mrs. Weasley nodded and rose to pull Ginny into a hug. “Now, dear, I know you’ve been allowed to attend, but you’re still younger than your classmates, so pay close attention and be sure to do your homework. Let Percy know if you have any questions, and send us an owl if you need something from home that we don’t pack up for you.”
“Thanks, Mum,” Ginny said before her mother could continue. She moved to hug her father, who squeezed her tightly.
“You’re a good girl, Ginny. We’ll see you soon,” he whispered to her. He then took his wife’s hand and pulled her firmly towards the fireplace.
“Bye, Daddy.”
Once the Weasley parents had exited through the fireplace, the headmaster turned to the students and smiled mischievously. “Mr. Potter, Miss Weasley, welcome to Hogwarts. Perhaps there’s something else you’d like to tell me, now that the elder Weasleys have left?”
Involuntarily, they both glanced at Professor McGonagall, who was still sitting in her chair. Dumbledore saw their glance and interpreted it correctly. “Professor McGonagall will be your Head of House. You should trust her with anything you would entrust to me. Personally, I would trust her with my life.”
By silent consent, Ginny started their story. “Sir, since Harry and I met on the platform this morning, we’ve been… sharing things. That doesn’t really seem like the right word, but I don’t know how else to describe it. We can talk to each other in our heads. We share thoughts and feelings. We even see each other’s memories and can… err… experience things together.”
To his credit, the Headmaster did not immediately disregard her claim. “You two are certainly full of surprises today. Let’s take those things one at a time, shall we?” Dumbledore asked, and they nodded. “First, you said you can talk to each other in your heads. Perhaps you’d be willing to demonstrate that for us?”
“Yes, sir, if you tell us what to do.” Ginny said.
Dumbledore thought for a moment. “Miss Weasley, please go with Professor McGonagall into my library, through that door. Mr. Potter and I will stay here. I’ll tell Mr. Potter something, which I’ll ask him to repeat to you in your mind. Then you can tell Professor McGonagall what I said, and she can repeat it to me to see if it’s the same. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Ginny answered, “but that’s not really going to work. I could just hear it when you tell it to Harry.”
“I will place a silencing charm on the door, Miss Weasley,” said McGonagall.
“Yes, Professor, but I meant that I could just hear it through Harry’s ears, like he does. That’s part of what I meant by our experiencing things together.”
The two professors exchanged a surprised and skeptical glance, then the Headmaster said, “Well, then, perhaps we’ll just conduct this test as a place to start, and then talk about how it works.”
Ginny and Professor McGonagall went into the next room, and the door glowed briefly as a silencing charm was cast.
“Now, Mr. Potter, please tell Miss Weasley that ‘the rain in Spain falls mainly in the plain.’”
“She heard you, sir,” he replied. “Professor McGonagall is saying that your taste in entertainment has always baffled her.”
“Well, that certainly does seem to prove that you can communicate. Please ask Miss Weasley and Minerva to stay in the room for a moment more.” Harry nodded that they agreed to do so. “You said that Miss Weasley hears what I’m saying, and vice versa. Do your other senses, like touch and sight, work the same way?”
“Yes, Professor. Taste and smell, too. Never try pumpkin juice mixed with roast beef, sir.”
The old man chuckled. “I will try to avoid that. What I’d like you to do now is to ask Miss Weasley to close her eyes, and have her ask Professor McGonagall to put something in her hand. I’ll ask you to describe the object for me. Then we’ll try different objects.”
“Yes, sir. The Professor’s gone to fetch something now.” Harry closed his eyes and held his hand out in front of him, palm up, in an unconscious imitation of Ginny’s pose in the other room. “Oh, this is a quill. It’s very long, and it’s been sharpened recently. I think there might be some ink left on the tip; it’s rather sticky.”
“I am afraid I have the bad habit of not cleaning my quills properly, Mr. Potter. Try another item.”
“We’re not sure what this is. It’s round, basically, but it’s made up of metal strips and bars. There are two bands of metal that go all the way around it, like a cage. In the middle, there’s a metal disk that spins inside the cage. The disk isn’t solid, either; it’s got spokes like a bicycle wheel.”
“Ah, yes. A rather obscure muggle toy of mine. I’m not at all surprised that you don’t recognize it. Another item, if you please.”
It was a moment before Harry spoke this time. His hand turned over so that his palm faced the floor. “Your cat is very soft, Headmaster. What’s its name?”
Dumbledore chuckled merrily. “That cat isn’t mine, Mr. Potter. She belongs to no one but herself, and I’m afraid she’s never told me her name.”
“Ow!” Harry cried out suddenly, yanking his hand to his chest. “I don’t think she likes to have her belly rubbed, Headmaster.”
“I daresay she doesn’t. Please ask the ladies to rejoin us now.”
Ginny, with one of her fingers stuck in her mouth, came into the room, followed by the older woman. Dumbledore and McGonagall quickly determined that Harry had accurately reported everything Ginny had heard and felt, including the pain when the cat had swiped at Ginny’s hand.
“Well,” the Headmaster concluded, “it seems that you can indeed communicate silently, as well as see, hear, and feel things together. From what you said earlier, I’m willing to believe you can also share tastes and scents. I’d like to try one other experiment before moving on, if I may.” They nodded again. “Both of you please turn your chairs to face each other and close your eyes. Minerva, please watch to ensure that they aren’t peeking. Now, Mr. Potter, please touch Miss Weasley’s nose with your right index finger.”
Harry reached out and put his finger directly on the tip of Ginny’s nose. She giggled without opening her eyes.
“Yes, thank you. Now, Miss Weasley, please hold Harry’s left earlobe between the thumb and second finger of your left hand.” Ginny reached across their bodies, twisted her wrist, and grasped Harry’s ear gently as instructed. “Excellent. That will do nicely.”
The two students opened their eyes and turned back towards Dumbledore’s desk as he continued. “Have you had any problems handling your shared sensations?”
Ginny said, “At first, Headmaster. We got confused about who was facing what direction on the platform, and we ran into each other. Since then we’ve figured out that we can focus on what our own bodies are doing and tune out the rest. It’s still hard, especially with things that surprise us.”
“Then I certainly advise you to practice that skill if it makes your situation less confusing,” the Headmaster advised. “You also said that the two of you share feelings, and can see each other’s memories?”
“Yes, sir. I’ve seen some of Harry’s problems with his aunt and uncle, and he’s seen what it’s like to fly in the paddock behind my house, among other things,” she replied.
“And the shared feelings?”
“I don’t know how else to describe that, sir. If something makes one of us happy, we both feel happy. When we came into your office, I was happy to see my parents, but Harry was worried that we’d get in trouble. So we both felt happy and worried.”
“We’ll take your word for that, as well, I suppose.” Dumbledore paused for a moment, staring at the ceiling above his desk. “Tell me, Mr. Potter, Miss Weasley. How do each of you, or both of you, feel about this arrangement?”
Ginny answered without hesitation. “We like it, sir. We’re still getting used to it, and it’s very awkward sometimes, but overall it’s nice. It feels… natural, maybe, or comfortable. I wouldn’t want to go back to the old way.” Harry nodded his agreement.
“That’s fortunate, I suppose, since we have no idea how long it might last.” Dumbledore leaned forward in his chair to look at them directly. “Harry, Ginny, I have to admit to you that I’ve never heard of anything like this. The wizarding world has thousands of years of history, folk tales, and even myths, but none of them mention sharing things the way you do. The only known spell this seems to have anything in common with is the Wedding Charm, but even that is only a small part of what you seem to be experiencing.”
“What’s the Wedding Charm, sir?” Ginny asked.
“Have you ever attended a wizarding wedding, Miss Weasley?” She shook her head. “At our weddings, just after the couple is pronounced, the officiant casts the Wedding Charm. For a few seconds, the emotions of the married couple are projected outwards for everyone present to feel. During that time, the couple can feel each other’s emotions as you two seem to do all the time. It’s a very personal experience, so most people don’t talk about it outside the wedding itself.”
Harry and Ginny felt a little embarrassed by this, though they weren’t sure why.
“I must ask you once again, Miss Weasley. Do you have any idea how you came to Hogwarts this evening?”
“No, sir, I really don’t.” Ginny explained what had really happened before and after she arrived, including the hat’s refusal to sort Harry without her there and its insistence that they not try to separate themselves while being sorted.
“Thank you for telling me that. I shall have to investigate how the castle might have brought you here.” After a pause, the Headmaster said, “I understand that you did not want your parents to know everything, but I hope you realize that you’ll have to tell them sooner or later. I caution you not to speak of this with your fellow students, except perhaps Messrs. Weasley. I leave it to you to decide when to talk to them.”
Harry and Ginny both nodded apprehensively.
“If you experience anything else unusual or if you have questions, I encourage you to come and see me. I hope you will both exercise discretion in your use of these abilities. You will each be required to do your own work in classes. Now, it’s very late, and I’m sure we all have very busy days ahead of us tomorrow. Professor McGonagall will show you to Gryffindor tower and see that you’re settled properly. Miss Weasley, your things from home should be along shortly, and they will be delivered to your room as soon as they arrive. Goodnight, and sleep well.”
Harry and Ginny left the office and followed their Head of House to Gryffindor tower. Their thoughts were full of happy speculation about what the next day would bring for them both. Neither they nor Professor McGonagall noticed that they were holding hands as they walked.
Chapter 5: Firsts
Author's Notes: Thanks to my pre-beta, Moshpit, and my beta, Jonathan Avery. Jonathan in particular is almost entirely responsible for the characterization of Septima Vector.
Harry and Ginny climbed through the portrait hole of Gryffindor tower behind Professor McGonagall after memorizing the password “caput draconis.” Ginny’s brothers were the only ones still awake, and the Professor left after Percy promised to be sure that the new students found their dorms.
The pair endured confused questioning from the four boys. Percy seemed most concerned that Ginny had broken school rules, so he was satisfied when they explained that the Headmaster had agreed to her attendance. Fred and George wanted to know how she had arrived, and she explained Dumbledore’s theory that the castle itself had somehow summoned her. Ron was left to ask about the odd sorting ceremony, but Harry and Ginny silently agreed to tell the brothers the same thing they had told Ginny’s parents. They would tell the boys about their odd experiences once they had some idea of what to say.
Finally, Percy pointed Ginny to the girls’ staircase and led Harry up to the first year boys’ dormitory. His trunk waited at the end of one of the four-poster beds, so he walked to that one and sat down. Ginny was happy to find that a trunk had been delivered for her, also, though she was not entirely pleased by the trunk itself.
The trunk was half the size of the other trunks Harry had seen, and it was completely plain. The vertical boards on the sides were unfinished and seemed very likely to cause splinters. The interior was lined with rough wool.
It’s a storage bin. See where Dad added a Muggle latch? Mum was using it to hold yarn in the attic.
Harry changed into his pajamas while Ginny carefully examined the contents of her battered trunk. Inside, she found her clothes, a few treasures from her room at the Burrow, and a birch wand which had once been her grandmother’s. She gave the wand a firm swish, but only a few half-hearted yellow sparks flew into the darkened dormitory.
As she placed her wand on her nightstand, the curtains on the next bed parted and Hermione poked her head out. “Hello, I’m Hermione Granger,” she stated quietly but firmly. She wore her dressing gown over a full-length nightgown. Ginny thought that the other girl must have stayed awake and waited for her to get to their room.
“Ginny Weasley. Nice to meet you,” Ginny whispered.
The brunette wasted no time. “How did you get here?”
This is going to get old, Harry.
“Magic,” Ginny replied out loud and winked. At the other girl’s frown, she added, “I don’t really know. Headmaster Dumbledore thinks that maybe the castle summoned me somehow.”
Hermione did not seem convinced, but let it pass in favor of her next question. “Why did you get sorted at the same time as Harry Potter? Do you know him?”
“I met him on the platform this morning. The Sorting Hat said it was saving time by sorting us both at the same time after I got here.” Ginny shrugged.
“Why didn’t you come on the train, then?”
“I’ve only just turned ten,” she explained.
“They are letting you enroll early?” The older girl seemed vaguely offended.
“The Sorting Hat said I could come, and the castle set up a bed for me, so I guess I didn’t have a choice. If I didn’t start this year, they’d have had to expel me and try to readmit me next year.” Ginny was not ready to admit that the hat had said she must come, not just that she could come.
Hermione looked puzzled. “Surely, you want to be at Hogwarts?”
“Of course I do,” Ginny replied excitedly. “I’ve heard about all the spells, the castle, and everything else from five brothers. I can’t wait to see it all and do everything myself.”
“You’ve heard about the spells?” Hermione bounced to the edge of her bed and began speaking very rapidly. “What do you think of Wingardium Leviosa? It seemed simple enough when I tried it on the train, but the book says it takes a lot of practice to really master the charm. Do you suppose they’ll have us learn the theory and practice the wand motion first, then start casting it, or just let us attempt it and see what happens? I think it’s important to learn why and how a spell works, but I can see how practice might be more effective from the beginning.”
Ginny was taken aback by the other girl’s sudden enthusiasm. I’m not sure she breathed at all, Harry commented.
Wanting to be helpful, Ginny scanned her memory for any occasion when one of her brothers had talked about first year charms. “Err . . . Charlie said his class spent a lot of time practicing, so I guess we probably will too. He said the charm really isn’t very difficult, so the practice is mostly to help you learn fine control of whatever you’re levitating. Then you can levitate things further from your wand, or move them faster.”
Finding a source of knowledge, even second-hand knowledge, only excited Hermione more. She pulled Ginny into a whispered discussion about the mechanics of the levitation charm. Ginny had seen the spell used and had spoken to people who had mastered it, while Hermione had apparently memorized her textbooks almost verbatim in addition to trying the spell herself.
After they recalled everything they could about Wingardium Leviosa, Hermione wanted to move on to Transfiguration spells, but Ginny declined because she was tired. The two girls said goodnight and crawled into their respective beds.
That was incredible, Harry commented. He had followed the discussion as best he could by drawing on Ginny’s memories to explain some of the things the girls said. I never knew there was so much behind a spell. I thought you just waved your wand, and it did what you wanted it to do.
I knew there was more to it, but I don’t think I’d pay much attention to that sort of thing as long as the spell worked. Hermione seems to love it, though. Not even Percy read that much from his textbooks before the first day of school.
It’s a little scary, don’t you think? he asked.
She’s smart, that’s all, Ginny told him. I like her. She must be Muggle-born, and she’s trying to catch up with all the things she missed. It’s not that different from you and me, really. We have to catch up, too. I’m younger and smaller than everyone else, and you might as well be Muggle-born, for all you know about magic.
He thought for a moment. I guess you’re right. If she feels as weird being here as I do, I don’t blame her for doing everything she can to fit in. I could never memorize the textbooks, though. I was barely able to understand what they were saying at all.
We can ask her when we have questions, then, Ginny concluded. Count sheep or something while I put on my nightgown, okay?
Err, sure. Harry began to carefully count the strands of yarn in the tassel at the end of the rope that pulled his curtains open and closed. He was halfway across the thick bundle when Ginny spoke again.
Thanks, Harry. Clad in a long flannel nightdress, she climbed into her four-poster bed and pulled the curtain closed. She left her dressing gown within easy reach at the foot of her bed.
The beds here are great, aren’t they? Harry asked. Mine doesn’t seem to have even one broken spring or lumpy spot.
Why should they? This is bigger and softer than I’m used to, but my bed at home isn’t bad.
Harry thought about the mattress he had slept on at the Dursleys’, and Ginny saw what he meant. The mattress had been abused by Dudley before Harry moved into the smallest bedroom, and it was in terrible shape. I bet the other mattresses aren’t like that, but I’ve never been allowed inside any of the other bedrooms. His resentment stirred again.
Oh, Harry, I’m sorry things were so terrible for you there. It’ll be better here, you’ll see. We can talk to Hermione, and I bet you’ll like Ron once he forgets about how I got here.
Sorry, Ginny, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. I’ve just spent so long being angry at them that I don’t know how to stop, Harry mused.
Dad’s like that, Ginny said. The rest of us get mad really easily and then forget about it quickly. Dad doesn’t get angry often at all, but when he does it builds up for a long time before he shows it at all. Eventually, he disappears into his shed for a while and we hear a lot of banging. Then he’s okay again. Fortunately he only gets angry about big stuff. He never gets mad when one of us does something wrong unless it’s really dangerous.
So someday I’m going to go bang stuff around and then I’ll feel better?
Well, probably not that exactly. But I bet you’ll find some way to let it out, Ginny reassured him confidently.
I hope so, Ginny. I don’t like the way I lose control when I get mad, and I don’t think you should have to feel it.
Don’t worry, Harry. When you get upset, I’ll just cheer you up again. We can pick on Ron or the twins for fun.
He finally smiled again. That sounds entertaining.
Oh, it is. They both felt her yawn, and Harry’s yawn followed before hers ended. Goodnight, Harry.
Goodnight, Ginny. I’m really glad you’re here.
Here in your head, or here at Hogwarts? she thought wryly.
Both, he stated.
They settled down to sleep, but both found it very difficult to get comfortable. Their beds and pillows were wonderful, but they could not seem to arrange themselves well enough to fall asleep.
Finally, Harry’s body relaxed enough to drift off. Harry felt himself drifting in a sort of limbo, but he could still sense Ginny lying in her bed, even though he could no longer feel himself in his.
I’m sorry, Ginny. Are you still awake?
Yeah, she replied groggily. What is it?
Err . . . I can’t feel my body anymore. Just yours.
What? she exclaimed, suddenly alert. After a pause, she said, I can’t feel anything from you, either.
I’m not dreaming, am I? he asked.
I don’t think so. I’ve been awake the whole time, so I know I’m not dreaming. She thought a moment. What were you doing before you stopped feeling your body?
I think I was finally falling asleep. I remember thinking I was still uncomfortable, then feeling like I was floating. That’s when I realized I could still feel you.
That must be it, then, she decided. You’re asleep, or at least your body is. I don’t know why you’re still able to talk to me, though.
Out of nowhere, they saw a flash of green light and heard a high-pitched voice cackling with laughter. Ginny’s eyes were closed, however, and her dorm room was silent.
Oh no, Harry thought.
What was that light?
It’s a nightmare. I get it every few nights, he replied.
What is it, though? Who’s laughing?
Harry remembered his conversation with Hagrid, and Ginny’s body shivered slightly as she heard Hagrid’s story. I think it’s a memory of Voldemort killing my parents. The scene repeated in their heads, over and over.
Oh, Harry, Ginny sobbed. She opened her eyes and focused on a tassel as Harry had earlier. Count with me. They began counting threads, saying each number together silently, and the cycling nightmare faded from their sight and hearing. Eventually, Ginny fell asleep while counting, and they both dreamed of green light and cruel laughter.
***
The next morning, Harry was the first to wake, so he and Ginny found themselves staring up at the canopy above his bed. Ginny identified Ron’s snores coming from the next bed, and other sounds indicated that the other three boys were still sleeping also.
That was awful, Ginny said. They had suffered through cycles of Harry’s nightmare three times overnight. Very briefly, they had shared dreams about other bits of one of their lives, but those images were already forgotten as they woke.
I’ve seen it hundreds of times, but it never gets any better. I’ve never had it that many times in one night.
What time is it? she asked.
Probably about six thirty. That’s when I usually wake up.
Ugh, she grunted. I hate seeing anything before seven. I’d rather sleep.
Well, you are asleep, aren’t you? he teased.
It’s hardly fair if I don’t feel like I’m sleeping.
When you do wake up, or when your body gets up anyway, maybe you’ll feel like you slept the extra half hour.
Let’s hope, she said. I’m cranky when I don’t feel rested.
You, cranky? That’s hard to picture.
She snorted mentally. Everybody’s unpleasant sometimes. We can’t all manage it full-time, like you do, but . . . she trailed off, and Harry could hear her snickering at him.
Keep it up and you’ll reach my skill level, oh young one.
Fine, she conceded. You’re gloomy, I’m young. Let’s get up.
You’re going to order me around in my own body, now?
Did you have anything better to do, Harry?
Well, no, he admitted. How do we get you to wake up?
I don’t know. I guess the light or sounds will get me up pretty soon.
I’m not showering until you’re awake, he stated firmly. You can shower at the same time, if you want, so we only have to deal with it once.
That’s fine, Ginny said.
Harry crossed to the window, and they watched the grounds slowly lightening as the sun came up. Half an hour later, they began to hear sounds from Ginny’s dormitory as she finally drifted awake.
Harry stayed by his window as Ginny pulled on her dressing gown. She opened the curtains around her bed to see the two girls she had not met, wearing only their knickers, pulling their school uniforms from their wardrobes. Unfortunately, Harry was not prepared, so he saw the same thing.
Ginny yanked her curtains closed again, blocking both of their views, as Harry started counting trees in the Forbidden Forest.
I’m so sorry, Ginny. I didn’t know your roommates would be getting dressed out in the open like that.
It’s their room too, Harry, and they don’t know any boys can see them. But I didn’t think about it either. We’ll have to be more careful.
I’d hate to make them mad or anything. I didn’t mean to see, Harry said shamefully.
I know, and of course I won’t tell them. Keep counting trees.
While Harry kept himself occupied, Ginny pulled the curtains open again, quickly gathered her toiletries, and headed for the shower. Okay, Harry. Get to the door of your shower room, and then we’ll both focus on ourselves.
They managed to shower and dress themselves without any more mishaps, and Ginny remembered to distract herself when Harry’s roommates began waking up. Harry wore one of his school uniforms and a set of robes, and he carried his other set of robes for Ginny to put on over her clothes in the common room. Dumbledore had promised that she would have uniforms for the following day, but for now she was wearing blue jeans and a faded green jumper.
They met downstairs and Ginny slipped the robes over her head. They were a couple of inches too long for her, but the difference was not enough to interfere with her feet.
Do you mind if we wait for Ron before we go to breakfast, Harry?
No, I don’t mind. I should probably be nicer to him after teasing him on the train yesterday.
Don’t worry. I’m sure he’s already forgotten about it.
The two of them explored the common room, examining the various knickknacks and odd trophies that had been collected over the years by previous Gryffindors. Students drifted out the portrait hole in small groups. After a few minutes, Hermione came down the girls’ stairs and headed for the exit.
“Morning, Hermione,” Ginny called.
“Good morning, Ginny. Are you alright?” Hermione asked, walking towards them.
“I’m fine, thanks. Why?”
“You woke up this morning, took one look at our room, and then closed your curtains again. You looked startled, or frightened.”
Ginny thought quickly. “Oh, I was startled. I hadn’t expected to be here this year, so I hadn’t thought that I’d wake up with other people in the room.”
“Oh, that makes sense, I suppose. Good morning, Harry.”
“Hi, Hermione,” he replied.
“We’re waiting for my brother Ron to come down to go to breakfast. Would you like to come along with us? If you don’t mind waiting, that is,” Ginny offered.
The older girl seemed to consider the offer for a moment. “I guess that would be okay,” she replied in an uncertain yet hopeful voice.
Soon Ron came down the stairs, and the four students left for breakfast in the Great Hall. After several false turns and deceptive stairways, they reached their destination. Along the way, students they passed pointed at the group, whispering about Harry’s scar or Ginny’s mysterious appearance. Neither of them appreciated the attention, but they managed to ignore it for the most part.
Breakfast was not large enough to be considered a feast, but it was still a greater quantity and variety of food than Harry had seen before arriving at Hogwarts. Ginny and Harry silently agreed on eggs, bacon, toast, and orange juice. By the end of the meal, Hermione was gazing at them thoughtfully, but she refrained from asking about their eating habits.
During breakfast, the students received their timetables for the upcoming term. That morning they had Transfiguration and Herbology, followed by Defense Against the Dark Arts and a mandatory study period in the afternoon.
With Sir Nicholas’ help, they made it to the Transfiguration classroom without any delays. Professor McGonagall was every bit as stern in her classroom as she had been the previous evening. After warning them of the difficulties and dangers of her subject, she gave each student a match and instructed them to attempt to turn it into a needle.
After several attempts, Harry’s match lost its grainy texture, developed a slight point at one end, and a tiny hole appeared in the opposite end. Hermione did better. Her match was definitely silvery, with a hole in the end and a sharp point. Ron’s match, though, was faring poorly. The surface of his match was somewhat smooth, but it was still clearly a match. To Ginny’s dismay, her match was refusing to do more than become rounded on one end.
I don’t understand, Harry. I’m doing everything exactly like you are. I know I am — I can feel what you’re doing. It just doesn’t feel the same when it happens.
I know, Ginny. I can’t tell any difference between what you do and what I do, except that I think you’re more focused than I am.
So what am I doing wrong? she asked, growing frustrated.
Well, the match is the same, your wand movement is the same, and you’re focusing as well or better than I am. What does that leave?
My wand! Ginny exclaimed. The wand chooses the wizard, right? Mine is second-hand, and yours chose you. This old wand must not like me.
Here, try mine then, he offered.
They exchanged wands, and Ginny tried again. This time, her match promptly smoothed out, became bluntly pointed, and developed a hole in the end.
That’s great, Ginny. Your match is better than mine and almost as good as Hermione’s.
Passing Harry’s wand back and forth, they kept practicing. By the end of the period, Hermione’s match had not progressed any further toward being a needle, and Ron had managed a rounded point. Harry and Ginny’s matches were now silvery and sharp, almost completing the transfiguration.
Professor McGonagall noticed them exchanging wands and came by to check on their progress. Leaning close to the pair, she asked, “Miss Weasley, is there a problem with your wand?”
“Not really, Professor. It just doesn’t work very well for me. It was my grandmother’s,” Ginny replied.
“And Mr. Potter’s wand is more suitable?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I see.” The stern woman thought for a moment. “Very well. You may use Mr. Potter’s wand for practical work, but I will need to see you each do the task separately at the end of every class period, and I will need to watch you perform the practical component of any tests. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Professor,” Ginny said. Harry nodded his agreement.
McGonagall gave them each a new match, and they separately transfigured their matches using Harry’s wand. The results were identical to their earlier efforts.
“Well done, Miss Weasley, Miss Granger, Mr. Potter,” the Professor praised.
When class was over, Professor McGonagall asked Harry and Ginny to stay behind for a moment. Ron and Hermione waited in the hallway outside.
“Miss Weasley, you will have the same experience with your wand in Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts. I will speak to Professors Flitwick and Quirrell and ask them to allow you to share Mr. Potter’s wand, if he doesn’t mind,” she told them.
“That’s fine with me, Professor,” Harry confirmed.
“Excellent. You will both be subject to the same rules in your other classes. Your professor will have to see each of you perform a spell separately for either of you to get credit for it. Miss Weasley, as you practice, you will find that you can do more with your wand, but it will never serve you as well as Mr. Potter’s. When possible, I suggest that you visit Ollivander’s for a new wand.”
“Thank you, Professor,” Ginny said. Harry and Ginny left the room and joined Ron and Hermione to walk to the Greenhouses for Herbology.
By the end of their first day of classes, Harry and Ginny were thoroughly exhausted. Neither of them had slept well the previous night, and their classes had been stressful.
Professor Sprout had asked them to identify different types of dirt in Herbology. It was not difficult, but spending time in the heated greenhouse had made it uncomfortable, and neither Harry nor Ginny were particularly interested in the subject. Neville, of all people, had proven to be quite skilled with plants.
After lunch they went to Defense Against the Dark Arts. Everyone had looked forward to Professor Quirrell's class, but the timid man spent most of the period explaining the various protective items in his classroom and on his person. Hermione confirmed that garlic did repel vampires, but even she admitted that Quirrell seemed prepared to hold off an entire flock of them.
The school day had ended with a mandatory study period in the Great Hall. Having just started classes, the first years had very little to study, but Harry and Ginny kept busy by attempting to study their Defense Against the Dark Arts books. They both found the subject interesting, especially considering Harry's past, and they wanted to learn what Quirrell was not teaching them. Harry practiced memorizing things the way Ginny did, even though they were not sure which one of them might be remembering what.
After dinner in the Great Hall, Harry, Ginny, Ron and Hermione were relaxing in the common room. Hermione was reading her textbooks, for the most part, while Ron taught Harry how to play wizard's chess. According to Ginny, Ron was almost unbeatable at chess, but with her help Harry avoided making a fool of himself in his first few games.
Harry was quiet by nature, and Ron and Hermione seemed to have very little to say to each other. Ginny, however, kept the evening friendly by chatting easily with all three of them. She wanted Ron and Hermione to get along with each other. She and Ron had been best friends before coming to Hogwarts, and Hermione seemed like she might become a friend too. So far, however, the only thing the two had in common to talk about was schoolwork. Their approaches to their studies were vastly different, so any conversation they had on that topic inevitably ended in an argument.
After a few hours in the Common Room, the four students went upstairs to bed. In spite of their exhaustion, Harry and Ginny found themselves unable to fall asleep. Neither of them wanted a repeat of the previous night's battle with nightmares, but they were both desperately tired.
I'm sorry we can't sleep because of my dream, Harry said shamefully as they lay in their beds.
I think we could handle the dream, as bad as it is, if we could just sleep when we're not dreaming, she replied. She completely ignored his apology, and he knew she had dismissed it as unnecessary.
I've never really had problems sleeping before. Have you? he asked.
No, Mum says that my problem is waking up, she admitted. I just don't feel comfortable enough to get to sleep here.
I don't understand it. The beds are wonderful and the rooms are a comfortable temperature. Why can't we sleep?
Ron's snoring? Ginny asked. That keeps me awake sometimes.
Dudley's snoring is much worse, and it never bothered me.
They lay in silence for a while longer, struggling to sleep.
This is ridiculous! Ginny raged in their heads. Let's go downstairs and do something to make us sleepy.
Okay. We could read that horrid Herbology book.
If that doesn't work, nothing will, she said sourly.
As promised, a complete set of school books, supplies, uniforms, and robes had been delivered to Ginny's room during dinner. They met in the common room with their copies of Dirt Distinguished and Soil Selected.
Going up or down stairs at the same time is still hard. I keep feeling like I'm losing my balance, Ginny said as she entered the room.
Yeah, but it's already a little easier than it was yesterday, he replied.
Thank goodness.
They chose a sofa facing the banked fire and sat together on the middle cushion. As they read, they gradually relaxed until each of them was reclining against one of the sofa's arms, with their ankles overlapping between them. Oddly comfortable, they quickly and simultaneously fell asleep.
***
While Harry and Ginny were drifting off to sleep, Professor Dumbledore and Septima Vector, Professor of Arithmancy, were meeting in the Headmaster’s office.
“Thank you for coming on such short notice, Septima,” Dumbledore greeted her.
Visually, Professor Vector was thoroughly unremarkable. She was of medium height and weight, with straight black hair and brown eyes. Her robes, though clean and well-kept, never seemed to hang correctly on her body, as though she had not bothered to put them on properly. She moved about the castle with a distracted air. She noticed everyone around her and responded appropriately, but her mind was often stuck in a problem few others would care to understand.
“I always appreciate a late night stroll, Albus. It brings a new perspective to my thinking . . . or, at least, a semblance of movement to the problem.” She gave a half smile and then shrugged. “Besides, my syllabus has not changed in years, so I hardly need extensive preparation time,” she explained.
“Yes, the convenience of Arithmancy. Most of it doesn’t change.”
“Maybe for the students it doesn’t, but . . .” she trailed off and was silent for a moment before adding, almost wistfully, “I always look forward to the next gifted student. They come along so rarely.
“So, how may I help you, Albus? That is why you asked me to come here?” It was more a statement than a question.
“You are familiar with the Arithmantic Magical Power scale, are you not?”
Septima’s eyes lit up. “Of course. The Arthimantic Magical Power scale, or AMP, is fascinating , though it is largely theoretical at this point. It was created by German Arithmancers before Grindelwald’s rise to power as a way to categorize wizards and witches as worthy or beneath notice.
“Though created to promote prejudice, it has become a legitimate tool for gauging the potential power of a witch or wizard prior to their beginning their magical education. Ninety percent of the magical community falls into an AMP range of three to five. The remaining ten percent are split between the two extremes of the scale, and most of them are at the lower end.
“Muggles are said to have an AMP of one, and they provide a base comparison group for the remainder of the scale. Contrary to popular belief, they do carry magical power. They simply don’t have enough of it to do anything recognizable as magic. Squibs have AMP ratings above one but below two. AMP two is the cutoff between squibs and low-powered practitioners of magic.
“Some few wizards and witches, such as you, have an AMP of seven. There have even been rumors that there might be a wizard with an AMP of eight, though those claims have never been documented or independently verified.
“Without pausing for breath, Professor Vector stood and began using her wand to draw simple graphs in the air. Dumbledore waited patiently for an opportunity to interrupt her. “It is important to remember that the levels of power on the AMP scale increase geometrically rather than in a simple linear progression. That is to say that each level on the scale represents twice as much potential power as the previous level.
“Several Arithmancers, notably the Swedish wizard Hansel von Straut, believe that the scale should be adjusted to an eleven point scale with the average wizard or witch’s power set at six. In that case, the divisions would be smaller and the scale more precise, but a closed scale of that sort would not allow for the discovery of power levels beyond those currently documented.
“I myself have not focused my attention on the mechanics of the scale itself. Instead, I have chosen to study the spheres created when a person is tested for magical strength. The spheres vary enough that assigning a rating on the AMP scale based on the configuration of an individual sphere has become something of an art.”
“Do you feel that you can generally identify major differences in power levels, based on the appearance of a sphere?” Dumbledore asked. Before Septima could interject her own warning, he added, ”To an extent that your colleagues would generally agree with your assessments?”
“I believe so,” Vector replied. “As part of my current research, I have amassed an extensive collection of Pensieve memories showing various spheres. I hope to develop a useful guideline for deriving AMP ratings based on all of the visible properties of the spheres. Such a method would be especially useful for AMP ratings of three, four, and five, where the wizarding population provides so many power levels that fall between those ratings. Given significant differences, however, I can reliably estimate AMP ratings based only on volume and brightness.”
“Excellent,” interjected the Headmaster. “Would you be so kind as to cast the testing spell on me, to give us a starting point?”
“Certainly.” Septima repeated the same incantation Dumbledore had used twice the previous day. Albus’ sphere was quite large and consisted of garishly mixed shades of yellow, orange, and green. “I would consider you to be at AMP seven, Albus. Your sphere has been well documented over the years, and every independent assessment has agreed with mine.”
“Indeed, I daresay that my ugly ball of light has been thoroughly tossed about among your colleagues. What other wizards or witches do you know of who have or had an AMP of seven or more, Septima?”
“None that have been independently verified and confirmed,” she responded. “As I mentioned, the measurement scale was developed about seventy years ago, so we have no way of knowing how magical people before that might have tested.
“Grindelwald was suspected to be at AMP seven, like yourself, but that is based solely on records of your battles and the feats he performed in the presence of others. To the best of our knowledge, the test was never performed on him. Merlin might have been an eight or nine, based on the stories told of him, but history has warped the stories too much to be any more specific than that. The founders were very likely sevens and eights, based on the evidence found in Hogwarts itself, but again there is no way to prove that speculation.”
“And Voldemort?” Dumbledore asked.
Septima flinched at the name, but did not hesitate in her answer. “There have been rumors that he was tested and measured on the scale, but no one knows who did the testing, so his rating can not be confirmed through Pensieve-viewing, which is standard. With that caveat, the rumors agree that he was at AMP eight. If the rumors are true, then he is the only eight ever tested.”
“Yes, I’ve heard those rumors also,” the old man said. “I would like to show you several spheres in my own Pensieve, and I’d like you to assess them for me. For reasons that will become clear, I have modified these memories to obscure the person emitting the sphere.”
“Most excellent, Albus,” Septima gushed. “I have been looking for new spheres to test my theories on for several months now. This might help me to verify . . . I mean to test several of my . . . well, my . . . recent hypotheses.”
Ignoring the other professor’s unwillingness to share her research, Dumbledore pulled his Pensieve onto the desk in front of him and set out four vials next to it. Each vial contained a short wisp of memory, and each vial was numbered.
After pouring the contents of the first vial into the basin, Dumbledore swirled the contents and tapped his wand to the surface, causing the memory to appear in miniature above the surface of the liquid.
The power test in the memory had taken place in an office of some kind, which appeared to be in Hogwarts. It was not, however, the Headmaster’s office. In the center of the view was a chair with a patch of darkness obscuring its occupant.
As soon as the scene materialized, a sphere formed around the chair, extending into the floor and out towards the walls in all directions. It was blue, white, and gold, in a pattern of well-defined bands around the circumference. It was clearly larger and brighter than the Headmaster’s sphere had been only moments before.
“Headmaster! That sphere . . . it could only be an . . . I mean . . .” Her voice faded away as she sat mesmerized by the largest sphere she had ever seen. Her eyes were wide and almost fearful as she asked, “Is that his sphere?”
“Incongruously beautiful, isn’t it?” he asked. Vector could only nod.
“Regardless of what individuals in certain professions believe, the colors appear to be truly meaningless,” Dumbledore added. “Where would you place this sphere on the AMP scale?”
Shaking her head a bit, Septima Vector stared absently at the sphere as her finger moved in the air, making calculations as she murmured under her breath. “ . . . standard chair . . . seated . . . no, a child . . . larger than . . .” She thought for a few more moments and then nodded, her face becoming fixed and focused again. “I would agree with the rumors. Though larger than yours, the volume increase is not such that it could be greater than an AMP of eight. It might be slightly lower or higher, but since no other eight has ever been seen, I cannot give you more of an answer than that.”
The scene faded, and Dumbledore returned the memory to the first vial. He then added a memory from the second vial.
A scene formed, showing a sitting room in a home somewhere. There were not enough details to determine where the home might be or who might be in it. This time, the patch of darkness was long and narrow, indicating that the subject of the measurement spell was lying in the middle of the floor. As Septima watched, a vague green sphere formed around the middle of the darkened area, extending barely far enough to be seen in the modified memory.
Professor Vector’s eyebrows furrowed. “That is an odd sphere, Albus. Many of my colleagues would tell you that it represents a powerful squib. However, I believe that the moment a sphere extends beyond the skin, it indicates that magical power can be directed outward. Although it is very small and dim, I would place it at an AMP of two. Even in such weak spheres, though, it is unusual to find only one color with no patterns. Are you certain I cannot convince you to tell me who generated this sphere?”
“Quite certain, I’m afraid. However, the point seems to be moot. Let us examine the next memory.”
“No sphere is ever moot, Headmaster,” Septima argued. “Even the sphere of a deceased wizard holds information that can help in the overall understanding of the AMP system.”
Albus waved off her objection, and he exchanged the contents of the Pensieve for those of a new vial. The scene which appeared showed the Headmaster’s office, with the view centered on the very chair Septima currently occupied. Immediately, a very large sphere formed around the chair, glowing in a whorled pattern of red, green, and purple.
Professor Vector was trembling as she viewed the new sphere. “Albus . . . how . . . how can this be?” Even thrown off balance, she was spreading her arms and making quick calculations. “That sphere is an eight. I am certain of it. Its volume is approximately double that of your sphere. And if that is an eight, I am now certain about He-Who . . . But, if this is not yours, and if it’s not . . . him . . . then who produced this sphere?”
“A question whose answer I must deny you, Septima. I’m sorry,” the Headmaster looked truly regretful, knowing how much the woman enjoyed exploring her field and how disturbed she was by what she was seeing.
“I have one more sphere to show you,” he continued. “Please watch it carefully.”
Memories were exchanged, and the exact same setting appeared above the Pensieve. This time, a sphere appeared which completely filled the viewing area. It was patterned identically to the last sphere, but the patterns were moving across the surface and through the interior of the globe.
“Ridiculo . . .esto es imposible,” Septima muttered to herself as she reached out, framing the image of the globe with her hands and approximating its span based on the dimensions of the room around her. Finally, she shook her head. “Albus, what did you do to that memory?”
“Nothing at all except obscure the subject, as I told you.”
“Headmaster, with all due respect, what you’ve just shown me is impossible. That is clearly the same sphere you just showed me, but it’s grown even larger. I’ve never heard of a sphere changing at all, I’ve never heard of a sphere that large, and the patterns never, ever, move. This must be a forgery!” she stated.
“It is an actual sphere, Septima. As you may have guessed, these are all my own memories. The last two spheres were produced quite recently, and I remain as surprised as you are now,” he replied patiently. “Could you hazard a guess as to the AMP rating of this last sphere?”
“It’s . . . I can’t . . . Albus, really, there is no reliable basis for comparison,” she complained, jumping to her feet and pacing about the room, counting out the radius of the sphere she had just seen. “Today you’ve shown me the first two level eight spheres that any arithmancer has seen in recorded history, and now you have shown me something which is orders of magnitude larger than the level eight spheres.”
Septima stopped pacing and drew her wand to make quick calculations in the air. Numbers, symbols, and runes burned briefly and then faded to be replaced by new calculations. The dark-haired professor took comfort in the familiar process.
Finally she sighed and sank back into her chair. “It could be a nine, because we have no experience of what a nine might look like. But based on the progression of size from seven to eight, I would stake my reputation on this sphere being a ten.
“Albus, you must understand that an AMP of ten is more than purely theoretical. The power potential in an AMP of ten is eight times your own. Arithmancers do not believe that the human body is capable of containing that much power,” she finished.
“I’ve heard that myself, and I find no reason to disagree with it,” Dumbledore said cryptically. “Thank you, Septima. I apologize for not sharing more information with you, but I assure you that secrecy is imperative. I trust you will not share what you’ve seen today with your colleagues?”
She sighed. “If that’s what you want, Headmaster. I hope that someday I or another Arithmancer might be allowed to study these spheres more closely, even if we do not know who generated them.”
“I sincerely hope that there will come a time when you can study these spheres at your leisure and speak to the subject. But that time is not yet come.”
“Very well, Headmaster. Will that be all?” Professor Vector had recovered her composure and resumed her normal attitude of casual distraction. Now, however, there was no question about what she was contemplating.
“Yes, and thank you again,” he replied, nodding politely as she left his office.
Returning to his chair, Dumbledore replaced the contents of the Pensieve with a memory from a vial he produced from his pocket. This scene showed the same sphere that Professor Vector had just assessed as AMP ten. In this memory, however, the subject was not obscured.
Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley sat in the large chair at the center of the memory. When the sphere had fully formed, Albus froze the memory, halting the motion of the globe’s patterns and preventing the scene from fading back into the Pensieve.
He had thought he noticed something when this sphere had been produced the day before, and he had stared at this memory for several hours since that time. He could no longer pretend to be unsure. This magnificent sphere was not centered on Ginny Weasley. Instead, it was centered on the two children’s joined hands.
Dumbledore had lost count of the number of times he had been surprised in the last twenty-four hours, but he thought that this might be the greatest shock of them all.
A/N 2: I had to repost this chapter due to an error resulting from very late-night editing on my part. Sorry for the confusion if you saw the first version.
Chapter 6: To Sleep
Author's Notes: Thanks to my pre-beta (Moshpit), beta (Jonathan Avery), and brit-picker (treecat) for their help on this chapter. Jeconais gets full credit for the Potter family motto, even though I'm not using it as such.
Very early Tuesday morning, Harry and Ginny were rudely awakened by Percy Weasley, who had risen early. He found them on the same sofa, with their heads resting on small pillows at both ends and their legs intertwined.
“Ginevra Weasley! What are you doing sleeping in the common room?” Percy asked loudly, startling the two children.
Harry bolted upright and backed into the corner of the sofa, mortified. Ginny woke up less abruptly, and then she sat up and faced her brother drowsily. Fortunately, she was awake enough to handle Percy properly.
“We were studying Herbology last night, Percival, and we fell asleep. See?” She pointed to their books, which had fallen to the floor.
The studious boy found it difficult to object to the pair’s apparent dedication to their schoolwork, but he was not completely mollified. “Well, it is certainly advisable to read ahead as much as possible, but you should not be doing so in the common room after hours. Read in your own rooms if you feel that you need more time after curfew.”
“Yes, Percy, that’s a good idea,” Ginny responded, mentally rolling her eyes for Harry’s benefit. Harry only nodded, and then they picked up their books and headed for their respective dormitories.
How much of that book did you actually read, Harry?
I don’t know, he mused. I’m sure I must have read something, but all I can remember is the title page.
Tsk tsk, she chided. You should be more studious, like me. I read the table of contents.
Yes, Percival. That’s a good idea, Percival. He grinned as he climbed back into his bed to wait for the rest of the tower to stir.
Ginny giggled silently. He still was not sure how they managed to convey expressions and giggling without actually doing anything, but it worked. He had no idea why Ginny found giggling so appealing, either.
It’s a girl thing, Harry. You’d better get used to it.
Oh, I don’t mind. I just don’t understand, and I don’t mind not understanding, either.
Good boy, Harry. Her tone became more serious. You slept well, right?
Yes, amazingly well, thanks. I only had that nightmare once, for a few minutes, and I don’t remember any other dreams.
Same here, she agreed. I can’t imagine why that couch would be more comfortable than our beds, but I’m not going to complain if it lets us sleep.
I’d rather not get caught again, though. I thought Percy was going to kill me, Harry complained.
If we end up down there again, we’ll set the alarm on your watch to go off before he gets up. Then we can come back up here for the rest of the morning. That way, at least we get a few hours of good sleep.
You’re very handy to have around, Ginevra, he teased gently. She did not mind her full name when he used it.
Why thank you, Mr. Potter.
That evening, after another full day of classes, they had to put Ginny’s plan into action. They tossed and turned in their own beds until almost two in the morning then gave up and went downstairs.
Okay, Harry, let’s pick two sofas, Ginny suggested. This time we can stretch out properly.
He left her the sofa they had shared the previous night so that she could be closer to the fire. He chose a slightly shorter sofa off to the side. It was long enough for him and had a thick blanket draped across its back.
Thank you, she said, touched by his thoughtfulness.
You’re welcome, Ginny. You always feel colder than I do, he explained.
They settled down and said their goodnights after making sure that the alarm on Harry’s watch was set for five o’clock. It only took them a few minutes to realize that they were unable to sleep.
I don’t understand, Harry. Last night we fell asleep easily, and now we’re on the same couches and we can’t sleep at all. What’s going on? Ginny asked, frustrated.
Beats me, but it’s getting old.
It couldn’t have been the Herbology book… neither one of us managed to actually read any of it, she mused.
Are you in the same position you were in last night? Harry asked.
Yes, exactly the same. I even gave up on my pillow. Everything’s the same, but I can’t sleep.
Maybe we should just go back to our rooms, then, he sighed. He knew that if she could not figure out the problem, then he would not be able to.
Stop it, Harry. We can’t figure it out. You’re in here, too, even if you don’t say much. She sighed audibly and sat up. There’s no point in going back upstairs. Come and sit with me, Harry. Misery loves company.
Harry got up and walked around to where she was sitting cross-legged at the end of her sofa. Rather than sitting next to her, he elected to recline on the floor with his back resting against the sofa beside her. He leaned his head back onto the cushion and looked up at her.
We’re going to go nutters if we don’t get any sleep at night, Ginny.
I know, she said. We’ll think of something, though. If nothing else works, maybe we could ask the school nurse for help.
I guess that’s better than not sleeping, he replied.
They stared into the fire, both of their thoughts and memories wandering through their minds. After a few minutes, Ginny unfolded her legs to let them hang off the front of the sofa. Her bare right foot brushed gently against Harry’s left arm.
As Ginny showed Harry her memories of Christmas, which he had never experienced, he fell asleep with his head on the sofa’s cushion. A few minutes later Ginny followed him into slumber.
***
Wednesday morning, Harry’s alarm woke them. He turned it off, and then he tried to stand up from where he leaned against the sofa. He succeeded, but he found that his body was extremely stiff and sore. Ginny had fared better, sleeping upright on the sofa, but she too was suffering from spending the night in an unusual position.
As they stretched, they carefully focused on their own movements to avoid feeling the other person’s discomfort in addition to their own. When they felt a bit better, they went upstairs to their beds.
It was awfully uncomfortable, but I slept really well anyway, Ginny commented.
Yeah, I’ll be sore all day, but at least I’ll be awake.
Wait a minute, Harry! Ginny said excitedly, if we were able to sleep even though we were uncomfortable, that means it’s not our beds that are the problem. Lying in any bed is more comfortable than sitting up on a couch or on the floor, right?
Definitely. Even Dudley’s old mattress would have been an improvement, Harry added.
Then it has to be something else, she continued quickly. The only other difference between the common room and our dormitories is that in the common room, we were touching. The first night, our feet were together, and last night my foot was up against your arm. Remember how we said it felt nicer, more comfortable when we were touching, and how the power test was different? That has to be it!
Harry could not find any objection to her reasoning. So I guess we keep sneaking downstairs at night?
I guess so, she agreed. At least now that we know, we can start off that way and not wait to stumble onto it every night.
That night, they made no effort to sleep in their beds. The two of them stayed awake in the common room until one of the prefects shooed the remaining students upstairs. They changed into their nightclothes and waited in their dormitories for another half hour, then crept downstairs with their pillows. Sharing a sofa in the same positions they had the first night, they quickly fell asleep.
Two hours later, Ginny was awakened from a nightmare by the sofa’s shaking beneath her. Uncurling and sitting up, she looked at the other end of the sofa and found Harry thrashing against the cushions.
Harry?
Thank goodness you woke up, Ginny. That one is awful, and I never manage to wake up on my own.
Ginny realized that she had been having Harry’s nightmare herself. The flash of green light and the cold laughter still looped in her head, and she tried to focus on her own vision to avoid it.
Why is it so bad? We’ve only had that nightmare once, for a few minutes, since we’ve been touching at night. This has been going on for ages.
I don’t know, he replied.
Oh no! When I woke up I had my knees tucked up to my chest. I must have pulled my feet away from yours. We haven’t been touching at all.
Ginny crawled across the cushions and wedged herself between Harry’s body and the back of the sofa. Reaching across his body, she took his right hand in her left and pushed her own right hand under his neck. It was an uncomfortable embrace, but it was enough.
Harry’s body calmed, and the nightmare stopped repeating. I’m sorry, Harry, she said.
Why? You had to see the nightmare, too, and you can’t control how you sleep.
I’ll be more careful anyway, I promise.
Once Harry was sleeping comfortably, she slid back towards her end of the sofa, careful to hold his hand until she could transfer her grip to his foot. She rolled awkwardly onto her side and trapped one of Harry’s ankles between her calves. There, that should keep us together.
Thanks. Try to get back to sleep.
You’re welcome, Harry.
***
Harry sat up against his headboard Thursday evening while waiting for the other students to fall asleep. He was trying to think of ways to be more comfortable while touching at night. Maybe we can push two couches together, Ginny. That way we could stretch out and cross our ankles or something.
It’s worth a try, she responded. We’d have to put them back in the morning, and find a way to move them without making any noise.
I hadn’t thought of that, he admitted.
This is so unfair! We shouldn’t have to sneak around in the common room just to get some sleep! If Snape is half as bad as everyone says he is, we need to be awake for his class.
I know, Ginny, but I can’t think of anything else we can do.
Well, I can, she said firmly. Stay put. I’m coming up there.
Ginny, you can’t . . . he began, but he was cut off.
Ginny had also been sitting on her bed, and as she pushed off of her mattress to go downstairs, she vanished from her dormitory and reappeared a few inches above the foot of Harry’s bed. Her body was still trying to push itself up, but she only managed to fall down to the bed and forward onto her face. Harry helped her up, and they sat facing each other as the curtains swayed gently around them.
How are you doing that, Ginny? I really don’t think the castle decided that you should be in my room.
I don’t know. I wanted to come up here, and when I started to move, here I was.
Harry was shocked. You can move around just by wanting to go someplace? That’s not normal, is it?
I’ve never heard of it before, she confirmed. Did it make any noise or light or anything?
No, you just appeared. Can you go back if you want to? he asked.
I can try. Ginny pictured her own bed and focused on wanting to go there. They waited a few moments, but nothing happened. Help me, Harry. Do you see how my bed looks? My stuffed bear is next to my pillow. Picture me sitting on my bed, just like I’m sitting on yours now.
Okay, he said. Ginny still did not move.
Try thinking about wanting me to be there. She giggled. You don’t want Ron catching me here, do you?
Harry’s eyes widened in fear, and Ginny vanished from his room. Focusing on her vision, he saw that she was in her bed, sitting at the foot, looking over at her pillow and the large stuffed bear.
We did it! he thought, but then he noticed that Ginny was very disturbed by something and beginning to panic. Ginny, what’s wrong? he asked frantically.
My leg . . . look at my leg, Harry!
He checked her vision again and found her staring at her right knee. She was kneeling on her bed, and a tall wrinkle in her bedspread ran up to her leg, and then looked like it went into her leg. Now that he saw it, he could feel it, too. It did not hurt, but it was very uncomfortable on her skin and definitely did not belong.
Ginny shifted her weight and tried to pull her knee away from the bedspread, but the fabric moved with her. She seemed attached to it.
What do I do? she asked. Harry could feel her starting to cry.
Come back here, Ginny. He carefully smoothed his own bedspread to eliminate wrinkles. Try to get just above the bed, instead of on the bedspread.
He focused on the empty end of his bed and willed her to arrive without the blanket stuck in her knee. After a moment, as she desperately tried to focus enough to see through his eyes, she appeared. This time she landed softly from an inch or two above the bed, and Harry thought the air itself sighed in relief as Ginny appeared safely.
Quickly, she scrambled up to her feet and looked at her legs. There was no sign of her bedspread and no indication that anything had happened to her knee. She collapsed back down towards Harry and wrapped her arms tightly around his chest, burying her face in his shoulder and crying softly.
Harry had no idea what to do, so he hugged her back and let her cry. In a moment of inspiration, he quickly shuffled through her memories to find other times she had cried, and what her family had done then. He found a scene where Charlie had been holding her just as Harry was now. Charlie had stroked her hair with one hand and rocked her, telling her she was okay.
It was the right thing to do. Ginny saw him perusing her memories and knew what he was going to do, but she still relaxed as he ran his hand down her long hair and swayed gently. “It’s okay, Ginny. You’re alright. We won’t let it happen again,” he whispered aloud, over and over. The heavy curtains around his bed kept the other boys from hearing her quiet tears and his soft words.
A few minutes later, Ginny looked up at him and smiled slightly. Thanks, Harry. I’m okay now. It was a really weird feeling, and I was afraid I’d be stuck like that.
I was scared too, Gin. He had picked up the nickname from the same memory, but she did not seem to mind his using it.
You didn’t start bawling, though, she admitted ruefully.
He shrugged. I was never allowed to cry.
He felt her settling herself mentally, and she pulled away from his shoulder to sit next to him. So, she said, we both have to want me to move, and we both have to be looking at, or picturing, where we want me to go. And, she grinned, it’s very important to go where there’s nothing in the way.
Do you think I can do it, too? Harry asked.
I don’t know, but I don’t think we should try it with my room. One of the prefects told me that there are alarms on the girls’ stairs to keep boys out. I don’t know how they work, but we wouldn’t want to set them off accidentally.
Harry agreed completely.
We could try the common room, though, she continued. Wait here.
She pulled apart the curtains around his bed and peeked out to be sure his roommates were all asleep. Carefully, she stepped out of his bed and tiptoed across the room to the door. It opened silently, and she padded down to the common room.
Walking over to their favorite couch and facing it directly, she said, Okay, Harry. Look at the couch with me, and want to be here. Wanting was easy. It would be amazing to be able to travel that way. Harry focused on her view of the sofa and pictured himself standing a few inches above the middle seat cushion. Ginny picked the scene out of his imagination and concentrated on it, too.
A moment later, air rushed by Harry’s ears, and he fell to the floor of the common room.
Picture yourself sitting down next time, Ginny giggled as she helped him to his feet.
I had a hard time seeing myself sitting in midair, he replied, embarrassed.
Oh. I didn’t think of that. She paused. Who cares? It worked!
It’s really strange to find yourself somewhere else and not feel anything change, Harry said.
Yeah, but I think we’ll get used to it. It will certainly make sleeping easier.
How? he asked.
I’ll go to my room each night, and you can go to yours, she explained. Once our curtains are both closed, I’ll pop over to your room, and we can get some sleep. In the morning, I’ll go back. Nobody will mess with my bed during the night, so I can remember how it looks and pop there without sticking myself to the bedclothes.
Are you sure it’s okay for you to sleep in my bed, Ginny? he asked hesitantly.
Do you want to sleep at all?
He admitted that she had an excellent point.
Besides, how will anyone know? Ginny continued. We can learn a charm to make sure the curtains stay closed. That will keep anyone from opening them unexpectedly. Then, if anyone tries to wake you up or something, I can pop back to my room before they know I’m there.
You’re right, I guess. Again.
You’re learning, Harry, she beamed at him, inside and out, and he could tell how much she appreciated his respect for her. Now let’s get some sleep. You aim for the head of the bed, and I’ll aim for the foot.
They pictured their respective destinations and willed themselves to travel. Nothing happened.
I guess we can’t both do it at the same time, Ginny commented. You go first, then. I’m going to run to my room to get my pillow anyway.
He returned to his bed easily and pulled the curtains closed. Then he sat near his pillow and looked at the foot of his bed to give Ginny a clear view. In the meantime, she had returned to her room to straighten her bedspread and retrieve her pillow. A moment later, she was there. This time, she appeared only an inch above the bedclothes, and she sank into them with a slight bounce and a billowing of her loose hair.
I can’t wait to get some decent sleep in a real bed. It feels like it’s been ages, she said, crawling up next to him as he lay down.
How did you get the pillow here? he asked.
I figured that if my clothes came along when I popped, then my pillow would, too.
She put her pillow next to his and stretched out on her back with a sigh.
You’ll have to remember not to talk or make too much noise when you’re here, Ginny. I don’t think I could explain a girl’s voice coming from my curtains.
She giggled very softly.
Touch my hand, Harry. I’m tired.
His left hand found her right, and they could feel the sense of comfort they had experienced downstairs. This time, however, they were awake enough to notice it before they fell asleep. Finally, the bed feels right, Ginny sighed.
Harry silently agreed, and they fell deeply asleep.
***
As usual, Harry woke up first the following morning, and Ginny found herself sharing his body with him. She was embarrassed to see that she had curled into a ball next to Harry with her arms wrapped around his waist under his pajama shirt and her head resting on his stomach.
Since you’re not moving, I’m guessing that you’re not really awake yet, he said.
Ginny was mortified. I’m sorry, Harry. That’s how I slept with my bear back at home. In my sleep I must have decided you were Snuggles.
Snuggles? he teased.
I was two when I named him, okay? Mum made me that bear while she was pregnant, and I’ve had it with me every night of my life until this week.
Bring him along next time, then. I don’t mind if you hold on to me, but if you want ‘Snuggles’ I won’t stop you.
Thanks, Harry, that’s really nice of you, she said, considering it. I might bring him along to sit by my pillow, but I think you’ll do, otherwise. If it’s really okay with you.
I always wanted a stuffed bear. Now, I can be one. That’s close enough for me.
I’d hug you, Harry, but I already am. Wake me up anyway, though. You need to use the loo, and I can’t count things without my own eyes.
He roused her gently, and she smiled up at him as she woke up. They concentrated, and she popped safely back to her room. She pushed the billowing curtains apart and got out of bed.
We slept really well, didn’t we? she asked as she gathered her things for the morning.
Yes, it was great. We even got to get up at a normal time. That dream about your car flying was crazy, though. Was that from your memory?
Yeah, Dad bewitched it. It flies pretty well, actually, but he only plays with it when Mum’s out for the day, she explained. Is there really a place where Muggles keep animals in cages, or did we make that up?
The zoo? It’s real. I got to go on Dudley’s birthday. The gorillas weren’t really pink, though.
Pity.
A short while later, they descended to the common room from their respective staircases and found Professor McGonagall waiting for them. Her lips were tightly compressed, and her nostrils flared as she breathed. The room was utterly silent, and the other students stayed as far from her as possible on their way out of the tower.
“Mr. Potter, Miss Weasley. Come with me,” she said. Not bothering to wait for a response or to see if they obeyed her, she spun back to the portrait hole and left the tower.
***
(Twenty minutes earlier)
Minerva McGonagall poured herself a cup of tea and positioned herself in a chair facing the south wall of her sitting room. She began each day in the same way, with her dressing gown, a cup of tea, and that particular wall.
The south wall did not have a fireplace or a window. It was completely uninteresting, on its own. What hung on the south wall, however, was a different matter entirely.
Over a decade ago, five of her students had presented her with a gift on their very last day at Hogwarts. They had handed her a large roll of blank canvas, cautioned her to open it in private, and one of them had leaned over to whisper in her ear, “Mischief monitored, Professor. Don’t forget.”
It had taken her almost a week to discover the purpose of this odd gift. Now, it hung on the south wall of her sitting room. Each morning, she activated it and watched it for a few minutes.
On the canvas was a map of Gryffindor tower. Each level of the tower was shown separately, from the common room at the bottom to the seventh year dormitories at the top. Each class of students shared a level of the tower, but a solid stone wall divided each floor into boys’ and girls’ rooms. Separate staircases from the common room spiraled up one side of the tower, with doors at each level. Due to a mild confundus charm on the stairs, few students ever realized that they shared a wall with their classmates of the opposite gender.
The most impressive feature of this sheet of canvas was not its detailed knowledge of Gryffindor tower itself. Rather, it was its knowledge of the tower’s inhabitants. Each student in Gryffindor was represented by a large dot labeled with his or her name, and the dots moved when the students did.
Normally, McGonagall enjoyed watching the map at this hour of the morning because it was orderly. Aside from the occasional diligent prefect, all of the students were still in bed. Each semicircular room contained a neat, even fan of three to six unmoving dots. With a glance, the Professor could see that all of her charges were accounted for.
On this particular morning, however, something unusual caught her eye. The first year dormitory should have had four dots on the left side and five dots on the right, but today there were only three dots on the left. Ginny Weasley was not in her bed.
Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, she was not hard to find. Directly across the tower on the same level, in the boys’ side, was a single dot labeled ‘Ginny Weasley & Harry Potter’.
McGonagall was outraged. This sort of thing never happened in Gryffindor. The Heads of House heard about scandalous activities in the Slytherin dungeon a few times each year, and it was assumed that something was going on among the older Hufflepuffs on any given weekend. But Gryffindors? It was unheard of. In her experience, Minerva thought, the Gryffindors found much more creative places for their assignations.
The students involved were first years, which meant it was more innocent than it could have been, or at least she hoped it was. Still, what would their parents think? Minerva sighed. Glancing at the bottom right corner of the canvas, she muttered, “Prongs would be proud, I’m sure.” Molly, on the other hand, would be anything but amused, regardless of the children’s ages.
As the transfiguration professor stared at the two problematic dots, trying to decide how to handle the situation, one of them vanished and reappeared on the proper side of the tower. McGonagall was shocked. Ginny had not walked down to the common room or even over to the connecting wall. She had somehow transported herself from one room to the other. It appeared that Miss Weasley’s appearance at the sorting might not have been the castle’s doing, after all.
That conclusion settled the matter of what to do with the odd pair. They would all have to visit with the Headmaster as soon as possible to discuss the students’ indiscretion and Ginny’s method of travel. Minerva tossed a pinch of Floo powder into her fireplace, clearly stated “Headmaster’s Office”, and put her head and shoulders into the green blaze.
Seeing that Dumbledore was seated at his desk, she remained only long enough to say, “Albus, I’m bringing two students to see you. Do not go anywhere.” Then, she pulled herself out of the fire and began dressing for the day.
***
Ginny, Harry, and Professor McGonagall rode the spiral staircase up to the Headmaster’s office in apparent silence. The two children, however, were anything but calm.
She knows, Harry.
Maybe they just want to talk about our classes? He offered hopefully.
We haven’t done anything in our classes except share a wand, and they know all about that. McGonagall must have found out we were in your room somehow. They might expel me for this, Harry. Ginny was worried. She had not planned to be at Hogwarts this year, but she loved it and did not want to go back home now.
Us, you mean. They could send me back to the Dursleys, too.
She shook her head slightly. It’s different for you, Harry. They can’t expel the Boy Who Lived. What would people think?
Well, they’d better be ready to expel me if they want to expel you.
Before Ginny could respond, Professor McGonagall pushed open the door to the Headmaster’s office and ushered them inside. Dumbledore was sitting at his desk, sipping tea and waiting for them.
“Good morning, Professor McGonagall, Miss Weasley, Mr. Potter. To what do I owe the pleasure of such an early visit?” he asked cheerfully, his eyes twinkling as he glanced at the Transfiguration Professor.
“Headmaster, perhaps you would like to ask Miss Weasley where she slept last night,” the stern woman replied, clearly restraining herself.
The old man turned to Ginny. “Miss Weasley?”
Ginny raised her chin and looked the Headmaster in the eye. “We slept in Harry’s room, sir, in his bed.”
Dumbledore’s eyebrows rose above the rims of his glasses, but he did not seem surprised. “That’s very interesting. May I ask why you chose to sleep there?”
“It’s more comfortable than the sofas in the common room, sir,” she said simply.
Rule number two. If you’re caught, and you know it, stand up straight and tell the truth as much as possible without making things worse.
“Is it also more comfortable than your own bed, Miss Weasley?” McGonagall asked sarcastically.
“No, ma’am, probably not, but Harry would set off the alarms on the girls’ stairs.”
Harry could have sworn he saw Dumbledore grin slightly behind his beard.
“Perhaps you’d like to tell us why you felt the need to sleep next to Mr. Potter, then?” he asked Ginny.
Now we’re getting somewhere, Ginny explained. Once they’re listening to your side of the story, you have a chance to survive the lecture.
“As I said, sir, it’s more comfortable,” she repeated. “The first night we were here, we slept in our own beds. We had horrible nightmares and didn’t get much rest at all. The next three nights, we couldn’t fall asleep in our rooms, and we ended up on the sofas in the common room. After Percy caught us the first night, we set an alarm and went back upstairs before anyone woke up in the morning.
“Finally, we figured out that we only felt comfortable enough to sleep if we were touching, and it didn’t matter where we were. Last night I decided it was silly to have to deal with sofas and alarms. So I went up to Harry’s room, and we slept there, holding hands. We finally got a good night’s sleep, too.”
“I see. Mr. Potter, do you agree with Miss Weasley’s version of events?” Dumbledore asked.
Harry shrugged. “Ginny sees what I see and feels what I feel, sir.” Ginny had a sudden hunch, and Harry acted on it. “Apparently she dreams what I dream, too.”
Ginny spoke next, on cue. “Professor, what spell makes a bright green flash? Is it a joke spell? Because someone was laughing about it.”
Dumbledore paled.
“I see,” the Headmaster repeated. He visibly shook himself and then continued. “So you find yourselves unable to sleep properly unless you are in physical contact?” They nodded, and he leaned forward in his chair.
“Harry, Ginny, you must understand that all of the rules here at Hogwarts are in place for a reason. I trust that you two are entirely innocent in your actions, but allowing any students to sleep together will make the other students think it is acceptable for them to do so also. For the older students, and for the two of you in the future, it simply cannot be allowed. Do you understand?” They nodded hesitantly.
“Very well. We will speak with Madam Pomfrey about this and find a solution that does not involve your sharing a bed. In the meantime, we will provide you with a small dose of Dreamless Sleep potion. I must insist that you not sleep together in your rooms, the common room, or anywhere else.”
“But, Headmaster,” Ginny began, “we can’t take potions forever. We just want to . . .”
Dumbledore cut her off, “I am afraid that it cannot be allowed, Miss Weasley.”
Harry’s anger, which had been slowly fading since he arrived at Hogwarts, returned in full force. Ginny felt Harry becoming enraged and got angrier herself that the Headmaster was having such an effect on Harry. The temperature in the room rose several degrees in response.
I’ll hex him into next week! Ginny fumed.
Wait, Ginny. I have an idea. Maybe we can get all of this out of the way at the same time.
Okay, Harry, but if it doesn’t work, he’ll have bats where he doesn’t have any bogeys.
What? he asked, confused. She quickly showed him a memory of the last time she had used the Bat Bogey Hex. That’s great! We’ll have to use that one someday.
It’ll be today if you don’t get started, she warned.
He returned his full attention to Dumbledore, and Harry’s anger made him bold. “With all due respect, Headmaster, I don’t think you can stop us.”
“Mr. Potter!” McGonagall began, outraged. “You will not speak to the Headmaster in such a tone!”
“I assure you, Mr. Potter, that we can.” Dumbledore warned, his expression tightening. “The dormitories have very effective magical wards, though we do not normally use them. Even I cannot pass through those wards without the proper counterspell. How could you do it?”
“Like this, Headmaster.”
With that, he thought of his bed back in Gryffindor tower and wanted Ginny to be there. She caught on and vanished almost instantly.
Okay, Ginny?
I’m fine. She caught a stray lock of her hair and tucked it behind her ear. What now?
Be ready to come back, but see if you can arrive just behind the Headmaster this time.
“Ginny’s in my room now, Headmaster. Would you like to try your warding spell?” Harry challenged.
He did something, Harry. I heard the door close, and the room is buzzing now.
“If Miss Weasley is in fact in your room, she will now find it impossible to leave.” Dumbledore’s expression had become grave, though he did not yet appear to be angry. “Minerva, please locate Miss Weasley and bring her back here.”
Professor McGonagall stepped to the fire, tossed in a handful of Floo powder, and shouted “Gryffindor Common Room!” as she stepped into the green flames.
Ginny opened the curtains on Harry’s bed and perched at the end, facing the door. A moment later it opened, revealing McGonagall on the other side. The professor cast a spell on herself silently and then stepped through the hazy blue light which filled the doorway. As soon as she spotted Ginny on Harry’s bed, Ginny winked broadly at the older woman and popped back to the Headmaster’s office, leaving her Head of House staring at the curtains as they fell closed. Ginny appeared behind Dumbledore’s chair and swayed slightly as she fell the last half-inch to the floor.
“Hello, Headmaster,” she said from directly behind him. Then she popped back to her original place beside Harry as the candle flames in the room danced briefly. “Professor McGonagall will be along shortly, I’m sure.”
Harry addressed Dumbledore again. “Didn’t you say that you shouldn’t try telling Ginny what is and is not possible, sir?”
McGonagall emerged from the fire in a controlled tumble and nodded briefly to the Headmaster, confirming Ginny’s location of a moment before.
“Indeed, Mr. Potter, it seems that Miss Weasley has surprised me once again. I am certain, however, that if I were to send her home, her mother would be sure that she did not wander.”
“You’re probably right, Headmaster,” he shrugged, unconcerned. “That’s okay, though. I’d really like to visit the Burrow in person. Want to go, Ginny?”
Harry, we can’t go to the Burrow! We could land on something and get stuck.
They don’t know that. Remember this spot, Gin. We’ll go to your bed this time. If you went through the wards on my room, I should be able to go into yours. You pop there and let me see it, then I’ll pop to the other end of your bed.
Okay, Harry. I hope this works.
Ginny vanished. Harry grinned slightly, his fringe rustling against his forehead, and followed her. They faced each other on her bed for a moment, then popped back to Dumbledore’s office. Harry arrived first this time. Fortunately, neither Dumbledore nor McGonagall had moved, and their landing place was empty.
“You’re right, Ginny, it’s wonderful,” he said aloud. “Smells like bacon for breakfast, too.”
Fortune favors the bold, eh, Harry? Ginny said, amused at his cheek.
Whatever it takes, Ginny.
This time, both Professors were clearly shocked. As far as they knew, two first year students had just transported themselves two hundred kilometers away and then returned, all without regard to the wards designed to prevent magical transit.
“How did you do that, Mr. Potter?” McGonagall asked.
“We don’t know, Professor. But it seems to work, doesn’t it?” he answered.
Harry decided it was time to stop playing with their new ability. “Headmaster, Professor, we’re really not interested in breaking rules or starting fights for the fun of it. We just can’t sleep when we’re separated. Ginny came up with a way to keep anyone from finding out that she’s in my room, and she can get there without anyone knowing. If you’ll teach us how to charm our curtains closed, we’ll promise to make sure it stays a secret.”
Professor McGonagall was slowly reddening, but the Headmaster seemed willing to discuss the matter. “You are aware that I could simply expel you both, aren’t you?”
Ginny gave Harry the insight he needed. “Yes, sir,” Harry replied evenly. “You could. But you won’t, will you?”
Dumbledore stared at Harry with his eyes narrowed for a long moment. “No, I won’t,” he agreed at last. “Very well, Miss Weasley, you have my permission to sleep in Mr. Potter’s room provided that you are not seen and that you fulfill one other condition.
“Tonight, the two of you will visit the Burrow. If you can obtain Mrs. Weasley’s permission to share a room, I will allow it here at Hogwarts. Agreed?”
It was Harry’s turn to pale, and Ginny gulped audibly.
Being able to sleep is worth it, right? she asked.
She’s your mother, Ginny. If you don’t want to have to tell her about it, we’ll find another way to get some sleep, he replied.
His quiet acceptance of her decision strengthened her resolve. We can do it, Harry. I’ll find a way to convince her.
“Agreed, Headmaster,” Ginny said aloud.
Dumbledore nodded. “I will make arrangements for you to travel to the Burrow at six o’clock this evening and to return on Sunday afternoon at four. I leave it to you to think of a plausible story to tell your brothers, but eventually you will need to tell them the truth. For now, you should both return to Gryffindor tower to prepare for today’s classes. I believe you can still attend breakfast in the Great Hall if you hurry.”
“I think we can make it, sir,” Ginny replied, smirking slightly. Harry popped to his bed, and a moment later Ginny was in her bed as well.
***
When both of the students had vanished, McGonagall sank into one of the chairs facing the Headmaster’s desk. “How do they do that? It’s clearly not apparition.”
“No, it is not apparition,” he agreed. “They make no noise, they do not use their wands, and of course the castle’s wards prevent it. The only effect I noticed was a slight stirring of the air. I have no idea how they are transporting themselves, and I feel confident that they do not know either. Clearly they can do it at will, but they have not yet thought to question why or how. We must watch them closely to determine what exactly they are doing.”
McGonagall could not think of anything else to do, so she nodded her agreement. “Albus, do you think Molly will agree to this arrangement of yours?”
“Once again, I have no idea. As Mr. Potter pointed out, the usual rules of probability do not seem to apply to Miss Weasley or, it seems, to himself. But Molly Weasley is a unique phenomenon in her own right.” He paused thoughtfully. “Perhaps we will finally discover the answer to an ancient question.”
McGonagall, familiar with Dumbledore’s cryptic ways, indulged him. “Which question is that?”
“What happens when an unstoppable force encounters an unmovable object?”
Chapter 7: Perchance to Dream
Author's Notes: Thanks, as always, to Moshpit, Jonathan Avery, and Treecat, who make this intelligible.
Harry and Ginny arrived at breakfast Friday morning while most of the students were still eating. The whispers that raced around the hall as they entered made it clear that the entire school had heard that McGonagall had dragged them out of Gryffindor tower less than an hour ago.
They chose seats across the long table from Ron. Moments later, Fred and George dropped into the empty places on either side of them. They saw that Percy was on his way to them from his usual place near the head table.
“Morning, Gin-Gin,” Fred said cheerfully.
“We heard that you and Harry here chatted with McGonagall this morning,” George added.
Ginny had an explanation ready. “She wanted to ask us about the sorting ceremony again.”
“Did she, now?” Fred drawled. “From what we heard, McGonagall wasn’t wearing her ‘asking’ face when you left the tower.”
“Sounded a lot more like her ‘telling’ face, if you ask me,” George offered.
“Could be, George, could be. But it might have been the ‘lecturing’ face, too. Subtle difference there.”
“Right you are, Fred.”
The twins leaned in towards Harry and Ginny as though sharing a secret. The younger students were pushed together uncomfortably.
“We understand, though,” George whispered. “Asking about the sorting isn’t a bad cover story.”
“Simple, vague, and rooted in truth. That’s a good combination,” Fred complimented them.
“And if we can’t find out what you really did, then no one else can, either. That means you pulled it off.”
“Good show, O Favorite Sister,” Fred agreed. “And Harry, it’s good to see youngsters getting into the game for the first time. We old hands like to know that the mayhem will continue, you know?”
“Carry on, then,” George concluded as the twins stood up. “Let us know if you need any advice.”
They’ll make anything a joke, won’t they? Harry asked.
They were serious, Ginny corrected him.
Percy stopped across the table from them and heard the twins’ final remarks. “Ginevra, I sincerely hope you have not done anything to draw more negative attention to yourself. You should be focusing on your studies and seeking recognition for diligence, not for foolishness.”
“We didn’t do anything wrong, Percy. Like I told the twins, McGonagall just wanted to ask us more questions about the sorting.”
The older boy looked skeptical. “I rather doubt that, but I trust that Professor McGonagall handled the situation properly, either way.” He turned sharply and walked back to his place.
Are you sure he’s related to the twins?
Yeah, but none of them want to admit it, Ginny giggled.
She turned to her youngest brother, who had heard everything the other Weasleys said. “Well, Ron, do you want to ask about it now?”
“Did you lose any points or anything?”
“No,” Ginny answered. That much, at least, was true.
“Then why should I care?” he shrugged. “I’m just glad I didn’t have to talk to her.”
The morning mail arrived shortly after Harry and Ginny started eating. Hedwig brought Harry a note from Hagrid, inviting him to tea that afternoon. He accepted, glad for any excuse to be away from the common room during their free time.
Harry, do you think it would be okay if I came along? If I stay in the castle, Percy will start lecturing me.
I’m sure Hagrid won’t mind, Ginny. He’ll like you.
After breakfast they went to the dreaded potions class. It was even worse than everyone’s horror stories of the class. Harry lost points for Gryffindor when he did not know the answers to Snape’s questions, and the sour Professor took every opportunity to ridicule Harry for his supposed celebrity status. He sneered briefly at Ginny, apparently knowing that she was younger than the other students, but the professor seemed intent on tormenting Harry.
At the end of the double period, Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione fled the dungeon for the safety of lunch. Hermione was quiet, but the others spent the meal complaining about Professor Snape, which made them feel better about the class. When they finished eating, Harry and Ginny excused themselves to visit Hagrid.
A few minutes later, they were approaching the Gamekeeper’s small, stone and wood cabin. They knocked on the door, and a large dog began barking inside. “Fang, quiet!” a gruff voice rumbled from inside. A moment later the door cracked open and Hagrid’s large and hairy face appeared. “Oh, it’s you, ‘Arry. Come in. Back, Fang!”
The door swung open, and Harry and Ginny stepped into the cabin as Hagrid pulled a large boarhound away from the door by the collar. “An’ who is this, eh?” Hagrid asked as he released Fang. The dog made a beeline for Harry, trying to lick his face.
“This is my friend Ginny,” Harry responded, attempting fend off the boarhound and failing.
“Another Weasley, eh? I though I ‘ad the last of yer lot with them twins. Right bunch of trouble they are. Can’t seem ter stay away from the forest. Not like yer brother Charlie. Real decent bloke, that ‘un.”
Ginny and Hagrid fell into a companionable conversation exchanging stories about Ginny’s brother. As they talked, Harry cleaned off a chair for them to sit in. In the mess on the chair he found a recent Daily Prophet that spoke about the continuing investigation into the break-in at Gringotts on the 31st of July by followers of You-Know-Who.
That’s when Hagrid took me to Gringotts, Harry exclaimed, quickly reading the article.
Really? Ginny replied, trying to chew off a bit of the rock cake Hagrid had given her. She quickly perused his memories of the day. Ron said something about it on the train, too. What did Hagrid get while you were there?
Don’t know. He said it was for Dumbledore.
Well the article says that the vault had been emptied earlier in the day. You were there pretty early.
Harry saw her logic and actually made the next connection himself. You think Voldemort was trying to get whatever Hagrid got?
“Hagrid?” Harry asked. “What was that thing you picked up at Gringotts?” He waved at the paper in his lap. “Is that what these people were trying to steal?”
“Tha’s Dumbledore’s business. Great man, Dumbledore. Don’ you worry about it,” Hagrid said, handing over more tea and rock cakes.
Harry shrugged, but Ginny was certain that Hagrid knew more than he was saying.
They visited with Hagrid for as long as they could, but at last they had to return to Gryffindor tower to pack for their weekend trip. Harry climbed up to his room and found Ron reading a battered copy of Quidditch Through the Ages. Opening his trunk, he emptied the schoolbooks from his knapsack and began pulling out clothes from his wardrobe.
“Where you goin’, Harry?” Ron asked.
“Err . . . well, I’m going to your house, actually.” Harry launched into the story that he and Ginny had put together. “Your mum asked Dumbledore to send Ginny home for the weekend, to see how classes are going, or something. She wanted me to come too. I guess she wants to ask me about the sorting again.”
Ask him if he wants to come, Harry. That’ll put him off, Ginny advised.
“Do you want to come along?” Harry asked Ron. “I bet your mum would be glad to see you, and maybe it wouldn’t be as weird.”
“Uh, no, thanks,” the other boy replied. “I just got away. I’m not ready to go back yet. Say hi for me, though, yeah?”
Spot on, Gin.
Harry nodded. “Yeah, sure.”
We’re going to have to tell him sometime, aren’t we? Harry asked Ginny. He’s most likely to catch us.
Yeah, but we need to tell Mum and Dad first. We can worry about Ron when we get back, she replied.
Ginny had finished packing already and was waiting for him in the common room. Harry joined her downstairs, and they set out to meet Dumbledore. Just as the portrait was about to close behind him, Harry noticed Hermione staring intently at them, her brow furrowed in thought.
They walked to the Headmaster’s office, and the gargoyle stepped aside as they approached.
Dumbledore handed them a frayed bit of rope. “This is a portkey,” he explained. “It will take you to the Weasley residence.”
Harry was confused until Ginny showed him her memory of the previous summer, when she had taken a portkey to visit her great aunt. When he knew what to do and what to expect, they each took one end of the rope.
“The same rope will bring you back here at four o’clock on Sunday. Enjoy your visit,” he said, his eyes twinkling.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like to come along, sir?” Ginny asked with a straight face.
The twinkle dimmed a bit, and the old man looked slightly nervous. “Ah, no, Miss Weasley. I am sure you will have a grand time without me.”
She grinned at him, but she could not speak as something hooked them and jerked them out of the office. They appeared on the front lawn of the Burrow. Ginny and Harry tumbled forward to the ground, completely disoriented.
I wasn’t ready for that at all, she said.
Yeah, suddenly there were two different views of a new place, and I couldn’t figure out which was which, Harry agreed.
I like our way better.
They picked themselves up and proceeded into the front room of the Burrow. As they opened the door, Molly Weasley bustled into the room to meet them.
“Welcome home, Ginny,” she said, hugging her daughter. “And Harry, it’s nice to see you again.”
“Thank you, ma’am. It’s very nice of you to have me,” Harry replied politely.
“It’s no trouble at all. Now sit down, here, and we’ll have a chat.” Mrs. Weasley sounded friendly and welcoming, but Harry could tell that he had been given an order.
Mrs. Weasley directed her daughter and Harry to the sofa and took a chair facing them. Ginny faced her mother, but Harry scooted to the end of the sofa and watched the two quietly.
“Now, Ginny, what’s this all about?” Molly asked. “Albus said that you and Harry had something you needed to discuss with us. but he wouldn’t say anything more. What did you do that was bad enough for him to send you here in person to tell us about it?”
Oh, thanks a lot, Headmaster, Ginny commented sourly.
“Mum, is Dad home yet?” she asked, hoping to delay the conversation.
“He’ll be here in time for dinner.”
“Can we wait until he’s here, then?” Ginny requested. “It’s really hard to explain, it’s going to take a while, and we don’t want to have to do it more than once. I promise that I’m not in trouble at school, and none of us are in any danger. When Dad’s here, we’ll tell you everything and answer any questions you want to ask, if we can.”
Molly was puzzled by her daughter’s statement. What could be so difficult for a ten-year-old girl, and why would it involve an eleven-year-old boy? It must be a very strange story indeed, she decided. Still, she knew her daughter would never lie to her. If Ginny said she would explain everything, then she would.
“Well, alright,” she agreed finally. “Your father will be home in just a few minutes, and we’ll have dinner. But that’s as long as I’ll wait, do you understand me?”
“Yes, Mum. Thanks.”
Mrs. Weasley turned to Harry, who was glancing back and forth between the Weasleys nervously. “Harry, I hope you like shepherd’s pie.”
“Yes, ma’am, very much,” he replied carefully.
“Good. You look as though you could use a good meal or two. Ginny, show Harry to Ron’s room, then both of you should wash up for dinner.”
On the way up the stairs, Ginny pointed out the doors to Percy’s and the Twins’ rooms on the second floor, and her room and the loo on the third. At the very top of the stairs, on the fourth floor, was Ron’s room. Harry dropped his knapsack at the foot of Ron’s bed, which was as brightly orange as the rest of the room. The two of them returned to the loo to wash their hands and faces and then went downstairs to the kitchen.
Mr. Weasley had arrived while they were upstairs, and he and his wife were waiting for them at the dinner table. The shepherd’s pie and various side dishes were set at one end of the long table. Harry and Ginny sat together across from Mrs. Weasley, with Mr. Weasley at the head of the table.
The four began serving themselves, and without thinking Harry and Ginny chose the same foods and put them in the same places on their plates. Mrs. Weasley chatted casually with Ginny about her first week of classes. Mr. Weasley asked Harry about Muggle plugs and spent several minutes describing his collection. Even knowing Mr. Weasley from Ginny’s memories, Harry was still amused by the man’s fascination with Muggles. He was completely different from Harry’s uncle, and for some reason, that allowed Harry to relax as he and Ginny ate.
When they all finished eating, Molly broke off her conversation and cleared her throat softly.
“Well, Ginny, would you and Harry like to tell us why you’re here?” she asked. Her tone was polite but firm, indicating that she was unwilling to wait any longer for an explanation.
Ginny took a deep breath, and Harry reached over to take her hand under the table.
Here goes nothing, Harry.
“This is going to be really hard to believe, and there’s a lot that we don’t understand. Please let us tell you what we can. We’ll answer your questions if we can, but I hope you won’t get mad if we just don’t know something,” she began.
“Just start at the beginning, Firefly, and we’ll listen,” Mr. Weasley said.
“Thanks, Dad,” Ginny smiled. Harry felt her utter trust and devotion to her father. “Okay, well, when Harry and I met on the platform last weekend, something happened. We don’t know what it was, but ever since then, we’ve been . . . connected, I guess. That doesn’t really seem right, but I can’t think of a better word.”
Mrs. Weasley already looked concerned. “Connected?”
“We share things,” Ginny explained. “Almost everything, really. If Harry sees, tastes, smells, hears, or touches something, it’s like I’m doing it, too. I can see his memories just like they were my memories. I can tell how he’s feeling, and we share thoughts. He can do all the same things with me.”
“I don’t understand,” said Arthur.
Help me, Harry. He understood what she needed.
“Mr. Weasley,” he began, “when Ginny was four, she watched you try to charm a blender. It ran wild and chopped up a few of Mrs. Weasley’s roses, and you stopped it by smashing it with a golf club. You called the golf club a walking stick, though.”
He turned to Ginny’s mother. “Mrs. Weasley, you do the dishes by hand when you’re upset, but you use magic most of the time. A few years ago Ginny asked you why, and you told her that doing them the hard way helped to work off your extra energy.”
Both Weasleys stared at him. Mr. Weasley, surprisingly, recovered first. “Ginny, did you tell Harry those things?”
“No, Dad, I didn’t,” she answered. “I guess I can’t prove that, though. Ask him anything you want. He remembers everything I do.”
He looked thoughtful for a moment. He then turned to Harry. “Harry, what was Ginny’s favorite bedtime story?”
Harry and Ginny both blushed, but he answered. “It was my story, sir. She wanted to hear about the night my parents died, but she’d never let you make up stories about what happened later on.”
Mr. Weasley looked at his wife. “She’d never have told him that.”
He’s right about that. I hope it doesn’t bother you, Harry.
I’d rather nobody talked about me at all, Ginny, but if everyone knows all that, I can’t blame you for hearing about it. He considered this new information for a moment. I’m glad you didn’t listen to any crazy stories about me, though. That’d be weird.
It didn’t seem right, she shrugged.
Mrs. Weasley had been watching their expressions and saw Ginny’s shrug. “You can really talk to each other in your heads?”
Ginny nodded. “Yes, Mum. Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall had us prove it by passing messages back and forth between them from two different rooms. We showed them how we share senses, too.”
“What do you mean by sharing senses?” her mother asked.
“If we’re not concentrating, each of us feels, tastes, smells, sees, and hears what the other does.” Ginny relaxed her sight. “Right now, I can see that I’m sitting across from you, but I can also see that there’s nobody sitting in front of me.”
“Is that why you were eating the same things? I thought Harry was just nervous.”
“He’s still nervous, Mum, but yes, it’s easier for us to taste the same food than it is to try to keep things separated at mealtimes.”
Molly’s maternal instincts kicked in. “Harry, there’s nothing to worry about. Whatever’s going on, we won’t let it hurt you.”
Harry opened his mouth to respond, but Ginny cut him off. Let me, Harry.
“That’s not what he’s worried about. We know it doesn’t hurt. We like it, actually. Harry’s afraid you’re going to yell at him or toss him out because you think he’s doing this to me on purpose.”
She turned to Harry and spoke aloud for her family’s benefit. “Nobody’s going to make you sleep outside, Harry. If my parents get upset, they might yell a little bit, but they won’t be yelling at you. You didn’t cause this, and they realize that. Right, Mum?”
And no matter what, I won’t let them take you away from me, she added silently.
Harry was embarrassed by her announcement of his fears, but he knew she thought it would help.
“Oh, dear. Of course we’re not angry with you, Harry. This is all very strange, but it’s not your fault,” Mrs. Weasley said kindly.
“Ginny, did you say that you and Harry like having this ‘connection’ of yours?” Mr. Weasley asked.
“Oh yes,” the red-haired girl replied. “It feels very natural, mostly. Sharing vision and such can be very confusing, but we’re getting used to it. The hardest bit is going up and down stairs, and the portkey this afternoon really had us turned around.
“Dad, Mum, we’re really sorry not to have told you about this sooner. It started on the platform at King’s Cross, and we were getting used to it by the time we met with you in the Headmaster’s office. It’s not that we didn’t want to tell you, it’s just that we weren’t sure what to say.”
“Is this the reason you started Hogwarts early, Ginny?” her mother asked.
“We’re not sure, but it makes sense. The Sorting Hat saw that I was sharing everything with Harry, and it told me to come because it couldn’t sort Harry without sorting me.”
“Have you figured out how you got there, then?” asked Mr. Weasley.
“Sort of,” Ginny replied. “We know what happened, and we can show you that part. But we don’t know how it works.”
Harry and Ginny stood up and stepped away from the table. Ginny vanished and reappeared at the foot of the table. Harry popped over to join her there. After squeezing her hand briefly, he disappeared and reappeared behind Mr. Weasley. Ginny winked and then was sitting in her chair. Harry followed a moment later. Each time they landed, they were steadier on their feet. When they were both at their original places, Harry joined Ginny at the table.
“We just figured out how to do that last night,” Ginny explained. “Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall don’t seem to know how it works, and the wards at Hogwarts don’t stop us. We can go anywhere one of us can see, or anywhere we’ve seen before that we’re totally sure is empty. That’s how I got to Hogwarts for the Sorting Ceremony.”
The table was silent as Ginny’s parents tried to absorb all of the unbelievable things they were being shown and told. At last, Mrs. Weasley began asking questions again. “Albus and Minerva don’t know how any of this happened?” Ginny shook her head. “Does anyone else know about this? Your brothers? Or the other professors?”
“Nobody else knows, Mum. We wanted to tell you first, and the Headmaster thinks we should keep this a secret as much as we can,” she explained.
“What about Harry’s relatives?” Mr. Weasley wondered.
“They’re Muggles, sir. They wouldn’t understand at all,” Harry answered in a firm tone.
Harry, that’s not why we’re not telling them, and you know it.
I know, Ginny, but I don’t want to tell them that the Dursleys would rather I didn’t exist at all.
Mrs. Weasley asked one of the questions they were dreading. “Does Albus have any idea how long this . . . situation will last?”
“No, Mum. It hasn’t faded or anything since it started last weekend. We’ve just figured out how to deal with it.” Ginny swallowed and continued. “Harry and I feel like it’s permanent, but nobody knows for sure.”
Mrs. Weasley’s eyes widened and she sat up straighter in her chair, speaking very forcefully. “Permanent? I should hope not! You can’t live your life like this. In a few years, you’ll . . .” She stopped herself, then closed her mouth with an abrupt snap. “Well, it just can’t be that way forever,” she said firmly.
“But, Mum,” Ginny argued, “we like it this way. It’s nice, and we’re never lonely. Our best friend is always there to talk to.”
“Young lady.” Her mother’s voice rose another notch. “You can talk to your friends without having them in your head! What about your roommates? They must be nice girls. Aren’t they your friends? You can talk to them every day and every night.”
“Harry’s right here, Mum!” Ginny’s voice crescendoed to match her mother’s. “Don’t talk about him as if he’s not a good enough friend for me. It doesn’t matter if he’s a boy or a girl, he’s a good friend. He talks about things with me and makes me laugh. He helps me to see things in different ways, and he stands up for me. He treats me like he wants to be around me instead of like he’s been forced to keep an eye on me. Isn’t that what a friend is supposed to do?”
“Don’t you speak that way to me, young lady!” Mrs. Weasley yelled. “Maybe you’re too young to go to Hogwarts after all, if you don’t understand what’s good for you.”
“How can you say that?” Ginny screamed. “You don’t even understand what’s happened to us. How can you say if it’s good or bad?”
The room was warming noticeably as the two women argued. Mr. Weasley was beginning to sweat, and the butter was melting into a puddle. Ginny’s anger was sparking Harry’s temper as well. He tried to restrain himself and let Ginny deal with her mother, but Mrs. Weasley’s next words enraged him.
“I’m your mother! I decide what’s good for you because you don’t know any better. You’re acting like a foolish, ungrateful child!”
Vernon Dursley had called Harry foolish and ungrateful for ten years. He refused to hear anyone talk to Ginny that way. None of this was her fault.
Ginny felt that things were getting out of hand, and she fumbled to retain some control. “Mother, stop, please! You’re upsetting Harry.”
“This is none of Harry’s business! He can go back to Hogwarts right now if you won’t behave yourself.” Mrs. Weasley bellowed.
“No!” Ginny screamed, jumping up from her chair and planting her hands on the table. She no longer cared what her mother thought. She would not let Harry be sent away. “You don’t understand! You won’t understand! You’re not even listening to me. We want to be this way, and you can’t stop us! ”
The wood beneath Ginny’s hands began to smolder, and when she lifted them to avoid being burned, the edge of the table burst into flames. Harry jumped out of his chair and away from the spreading blaze as Mrs. Weasley screamed in surprise.
Mr. Weasley acted quickly. “Both of you, outside. Now!” he ordered. He whipped his wand out of his pocket and said “Aguamenti! ” Water poured from the end of his wand onto the fire.
Ginny knew better than to question her father at a time like this. She ran for the door, with Harry close on her heels. They went into the yard and turned back to face the house. Ginny grabbed Harry’s hand and waited for whatever her parents might say when they emerged.
After extinguishing the fire, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley came out of the kitchen door to find the two children standing hand-in-hand. A shimmering haze of heat surrounded the young pair, wilting and blackening the damp grass beneath their feet. Both of them were soaked in sweat. They glared at Ginny’s parents, clearly prepared for another round of shouting.
Mr. Weasley stopped his wife just beyond the threshold. “Molly, stay here, please.” Mrs. Weasley, who was recovering from her fright and still fuming, glared at her husband, but she nodded. She knew when to let him do the talking.
The usually jovial man’s face seemed calm and somewhat sad as he faced his daughter and her friend. He put his wand back in his pocket and took a few steps forward.
“Ginny, Harry, we’re sorry. You came here to tell us something very important to you, and we were surprised. We reacted to our shock instead of reacting to what you were saying. Your mother and I love you, Ginny, and we want you to be safe and happy. If Harry’s your friend, then he must be a nice boy, and we want him to be safe and happy too.
“We need to talk about this. We’ll promise not to yell at you, if you’ll promise not to yell at us,” he concluded.
Ginny was on the verge of tears as her father’s words brushed aside her anger, but Harry was not appeased. “You can’t call Ginny foolish or ungrateful or stupid, either,” he demanded.
Mr. Weasley looked pained, but he faced Harry’s blazing green eyes squarely. “We won’t say anything like that about you or Ginny. I promise.”
Harry, please. I know Mum said awful things, but I was yelling too. I’ve never been that angry before, and I got carried away, just like Mum did. They’re really not like the Dursleys. They’re worried about us, that’s all.
Harry turned to Ginny, stared into her eyes, and let go of the division between them. Brown faced green facing green facing brown. He felt how anxious she was, and how much the fire had scared her. She showed him her memories of previous arguments and how they had ended. He saw that it was possible to be happy after an argument instead of just being punished.
I trust you, Ginny, he said, finally relaxing.
Ginny stepped over to him, hugged him, and leaned up to kiss his cheek as she always did with her brothers. Thank you, Harry. We’ll work this out.
“Okay, Dad,” she said aloud. “No more yelling, and no more insults. We promise.”
Mr. Weasley turned to his wife. “Molly?”
Mrs. Weasley had seen the way her daughter and Harry looked at each other and how the dark-haired boy had suddenly relaxed. More importantly, she had seen Ginny kiss Harry like he was a member of the family, and she would never ignore that. “I promise,” she whispered tearfully.
They all sat down at a picnic table nearby. After a few minutes of awkward silence, Mr. Weasley steered the conversation in a different direction. “Ginny, why did you ask Headmaster Dumbledore to cast the potential power charm on you? Did you know what would happen?”
“Not really, Dad, but I had a hunch,” she answered. “When I met Harry, I felt something change. I didn’t know what it was, at first, but I figured out that it was magical power. I didn’t have a lot before, so I didn’t know what it felt like to have that much. Harry has always had it, so he didn’t know what it was like to not have it. I asked the Headmaster to cast the spell so I could find out if I was right, and I was. You saw my new sphere. I bet it looks just like Harry’s always has.”
“And the second time? Do you know why the sphere grew so much?” her father asked.
Ginny shifted a little on the bench. This was getting close to the part she knew they would not like. “That time, I was holding Harry’s hand. When we’re touching, we both feel more powerful.”
Mr. Weasley smiled gently. “Well, that explains what happened to the table and the grass.”
“I’m sorry about the table, Dad,” Ginny began.
“I could go and get you a new table, since we ruined the old one,” Harry offered in a small voice.
“There’s no need, Harry,” the older man replied, chuckling. “With a family our size, the kitchen table takes a beating, so we started conjuring them years ago. Normally, we have to conjure a new one every few weeks. We just got a head start this time. It’s already there.”
Mrs. Weasley had finally calmed down enough to speak. “Ginny, Harry, are you happy with this connection of yours? It’s not hurting you?”
“Yes, Mum, we’re happy,” Ginny smiled. “And it doesn’t hurt us at all. For me, it’s like I lived for ten years with only one arm and then suddenly discovered that I had another one. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”
“And you, Harry?” she asked.
“Ginny knows what I’m thinking and feeling, Mrs. Weasley,” he replied. “Anything she says goes for me, too. She’s smarter than I am, though. I hadn’t thought about having two arms. That’s exactly how it feels.”
“Well,” Mrs. Weasley sighed, “I suppose that’s what matters the most. Harry, I’m sorry for shouting at you earlier.”
“It’s okay, Mrs. Weasley. Ginny showed me what it meant.” He was not comfortable with the woman yet, but he felt that he could be, given time.
Mr. Weasley blinked. “That will take some getting used to.”
“Would anyone care for pudding? I have pumpkin pie and apple pie cooling in the kitchen,” Mrs. Weasley said brightly, rising from the table and clearly hoping to distract everyone.
“Apple for us, please, Mum,” Ginny said.
“Not pumpkin, Ginny? You always pick pumpkin when I make it,” her mother replied, confused.
“Harry doesn’t like it very much, and apple pie is just as good,” the girl explained.
Ginny, you should have whichever one you want. I can do something else while you eat pumpkin pie.
It’s okay, Harry. I like the apple a lot, too. There’s always pumpkin pie at Hogwarts if I want it.
Ginny’s choice of pie, more than anything, helped Molly to begin to understand. “Well, apple it is then.”
The group moved back inside and took their seats at the new kitchen table. After they had all eaten their pie, Ginny finally had the courage to make their real request. “Mum, Dad, there’s one more thing.”
Both of her parents looked wary. Having seven children made them understand that in a series of shocks, the last one was always the worst.
Seeing their expressions, Ginny tried to reassure them. “It’s not something bad. It’s just . . . awkward.” She sighed. “Ever since we met on the platform, Harry and I haven’t been able to sleep unless we’re touching. We’ve spent the last few nights on one of the sofas in the common room."
Molly's eyebrows shot to her hairline as her mouth fell open, but Ginny pushed ahead. “We talked to the Headmaster this morning . . .” Ginny began.
"You what?" Molly demanded, her voice louder than ever. "You've been sleeping together?"
Ginny tensed up as her mother's voice echoed in the room.
You call that talking? Harry interjected silently, trying to help her relax.
Hush, you.
Ginny decided that finishing the plunge would be simplest, despite her mother's spluttering and rapidly darkening face. “ . . . and he said he’d allow us to both sleep in Harry’s bed at Hogwarts if you gave your permission. I can pop into his room without anyone knowing, and pop back to my room in the morning. He can’t stop us from doing that, but we said we’d come and talk to you about it,” she finished.
“Share a bed?” Mrs. Weasley asked incredulously. “No. Absolutely not.”
“But, Mum . . .” Ginny argued.
“No, Ginny. I realize that you and Harry are in a very unique situation, and that you like it and want to be together all the time. But that’s no reason to do something so inappropriate,” Molly said in a tone that brooked no argument.
Ginny stubbornly pushed onward. “Mum, it’s not about being inappropriate. We just want to sleep, and we can’t sleep separately. We either have nightmares or we stay awake.”
“You’ll get used to it, dear, and you’ll sleep just fine,” Mrs. Weasley stated firmly. “Now, since you can do this popping thing, I don’t suppose we can force you to stay in separate rooms. But Ginny, listen to me. I’m asking you, as your mother, not to sneak into Ron’s room to stay with Harry. I’m going to trust you not to do that. If you do it anyway, I’ll be very disappointed in you. You’re in our house, so you will follow our rules. Do you understand?”
Ginny sighed heavily. “Yes, Mum, I understand.”
What are we going to do, Ginny?
We’ll keep trying, Harry. She’s right. I couldn’t bear to disappoint her by sneaking around. But we have another day and a half to change her mind.
“Thank you, Ginny.” Mrs. Weasley said, relieved.
After Harry and Ginny cleaned the dishes from their pudding, they joined Ginny’s parents in the sitting room. Hoping for a more normal conversation, Molly asked Harry about his first week at school. With Ginny’s help, he managed to avoid telling Mrs. Weasley exactly the same things her daughter had told her over dinner. Instead, he talked about the things that would have been completely new to him if he had not met Ginny, such as talking portraits and moving staircases. At nine thirty, Mrs. Weasley sent the children up to bed.
Harry and Ginny trudged up the stairs together. Ginny stopped at the third floor, and with a last look at Harry, went into her room. Harry climbed up to the fourth floor and laid down on his back on Ron’s bed. At the same time, Ginny changed into her nightclothes and settled onto her bed in the same position.
Well, I guess that could have been worse, she said hopefully.
Yes, we could have burned the house down instead of destroying the table.
Ginny shuddered. I’ve never seen anything like that happen before. My brothers all did odd things, but they never set fire to anything.
I’m sorry, Ginny. That was probably my fault. I used to make things heat up at the Dursleys’ until I learned not to get angry. When we both got so mad tonight, it just went out of control.
You need to teach me how to keep my temper, then, Ginny said. We can’t go around burning things whenever someone says something mean.
Didn’t you say I had to find a way to let the anger go, instead of just holding it inside? It wouldn’t help if you’re just holding it inside too, Harry commented.
We both need to work on it then. She paused, feeling something vague from Harry. What is it, Harry? What are you trying to figure out?
Is this . . . is this what it’s like, Ginny? Having a family, I mean. You have dinners and jokes and fights. Then you get a hug and you’re sent to bed and everything is okay? he asked wonderingly.
That’s pretty much it, yeah. She considered his skepticism for a moment. Tonight was a really big fight, though. Usually there are a lot more stories and jokes. Sometimes we play games together, and during the day we do chores and such. But at the end of the day, you get a hug and everything is okay. It’s not perfect, like it would be if we were together, but it’s okay.
You feel something wonderful when your mum hugs you. It’s warm, and safe, and happy.
Ginny had never thought about it that way. That’s just how I feel about Mum. I love her.
That’s what love feels like?
I’m sorry, Harry. I sometimes forget about your horrible relatives for a while. Yes, that’s what it feels like for me to love Mum.
Harry was puzzled. You mean it feels different with different people?
Sure it does. Here, this is Mum. Ginny thought of her mother and all the things she loved about the woman who was raising her. The same warm feeling inundated Harry’s senses. Mum’s overprotective, and she has a pretty quick temper, but she really does care about us and want us all to be happy and safe. No matter what I do, Mum will take care of me, even if she doesn’t like it and doesn’t speak to me ever again. That’s just how Mum is.
This is Ron. She repeated the exercise for her youngest brother. He’s crazy about Quidditch, chess, and food. Other than that, he’s clueless. Everyone knows exactly what he thinks and feels, so he never deceives anyone at all. But Ron kept me company when nobody else wanted to, and he was always there when I needed him. Ron sometimes knows just what to do, and he does it no matter what it is.
Ginny’s feelings for Ron were slightly different than her feelings for her mother. With Ron, there was companionship, reliability, mischievousness, and a small bit of exasperation.
I love them both, but it’s different, see? Ginny explained, and Harry agreed silently. Now, I don’t know if this will work, but this is you. A new feeling formed. This one was harder to define, because so much of it was tied up with how Ginny felt about herself. You’re my friend. I can tell you things that I wouldn’t tell Mum or Ron, and I know we can have fun together doing anything we feel like. You’ll stand up for me when you feel like you need to, but you’ll let me stand up for myself when I need to.
You . . . you love me? Harry wondered in disbelief.
Sure I do. But they’re all different, see? Mum’s mum, Ron’s my brother, and you’re my friend.
Thanks, Ginny. I guess I, err . . . well . . .
I know, Harry. I knew what to call it before you did. She said. Now come downstairs and meet me on my landing.
Whatever Ginny had in mind had gone from idea to action so quickly that Harry was halfway down the stairs before he even considered asking what they were doing. They met on the landing, and Ginny took his hand and pulled him back down to the ground floor.
In the sitting room, they found Mr. Weasley reading the Daily Prophet while his wife knitted and listened to the wireless. As the children stepped off the stairs, Mrs. Weasley put down her work and stood to face them.
“Is everything alright, Ginny?” she asked.
“Mum, could you give Harry a hug? He’s never had one from anyone but me,” Ginny stated simply.
“Never? What sort of Muggles are those relatives of yours?” Mrs. Weasley stepped forward and reached down and grabbed Harry around his shoulders and pulled him close. She squeezed him so tightly he thought he was going to burst, but it was a comforting feeling nonetheless.
With his face pressed into Mrs. Weasley’s shoulder, Ginny was out of his line of sight, but he could feel that she was grinning playfully at his back. You’re almost impossible to prank, Harry. I had to take the chance when I saw it, she said. Besides, you needed it.
Ginny’s mother released Harry with one arm, which she used to pull Ginny in to her other shoulder. “You’re a good girl, Ginny,” she whispered.
Serves you right, Harry teased.
After a minute, Mrs. Weasley released them both, and Ginny took Harry’s hand again and pulled him back towards the stairs. “Thanks, Mum,” she said as they began to climb.
“Anytime, children.”
Thanks, Ginny.
Anytime, Harry.
He left her at her landing again and returned to Ron’s room. This time, he changed into his pajamas before laying down on the bed.
I guess we should try to sleep, Ginny offered with a grimace. Maybe Mum’s right and we’ll get used to it.
I don’t really think so, but it’s worth a try, Harry responded.
Pointless to say goodnight, isn’t it? she asked.
Yeah. One of us will just end up in the other’s head, unless we fall asleep at the same time.
See you later, then.
Later.
Friday night was horrible. Harry and Ginny slept for only a few hours and spent most of that time locked within nightmares dominated by flashes of green light. As dawn approached, they lay on their beds and stared at the ceilings, waiting for Mrs. Weasley to wake up so that they could abandon the pretense of sleep.
When Ginny heard faint noises coming from the kitchen, they stumbled out of bed and dressed for the day. Harry met Ginny on her landing, where she hugged him tiredly. They took what comfort they could from the brief contact before they went downstairs and joined Mrs. Weasley at the kitchen table, slumping forward onto their elbows.
“Good morning,” Molly greeted them as she made tea.
“Morning, Mum,” Ginny replied.
Her daughter’s strained voice caught Mrs. Weasley’s attention. “Ginny, are you alright? Are you feeling well?”
“We didn’t get any sleep, Mum. Did you think I was making that up last night?” Ginny demanded irritably.
“Ginevra Molly Weasley, don’t you take that tone with me,” her mother snapped.
Ginny sighed. “I’m sorry, Mum. We really didn’t get any sleep, and I’m cranky.”
Molly?
Yeah. All the boys got old Weasley family names for their middle names, but nobody can remember any other Weasley girls. So I got Molly from Mum.
I don't know my middle name. My Hogwarts letter was addressed to Harry J. Potter, though, so I guess it starts with 'J'.
Hagrid said your dad’s name was James, didn’t he? That could be it, Ginny suggested.
Mrs. Weasley poured three cups of tea and brought them to the table. Sitting down across from Ginny, she asked, “Why couldn’t you sleep?”
“It’s hard to explain, but we’ll try,” Ginny began.
Is it worth trying? Harry asked her.
The more she hears, the more she’ll think about it. That’s the best we can hope for.
She returned her attention to her mother. “When we’re not touching at night . . .”
“I’ve already made my decision about that. You shouldn’t keep pushing me about it,” Molly warned.
“I’m not pushing, Mum,” Ginny answered. “I’m just telling you how we feel. Okay?” Her mother nodded cautiously. “Well, when we’re not touching it feels . . . uncomfortable. It’s like trying to sleep with your hands up in the air. We just don’t feel relaxed enough.
“Eventually, one of us falls asleep anyway, because we’re so tired. But when only one of us is asleep, their body is sleeping, but their mind is still hanging around in the other person’s head. Does that make any sense?”
“Not really, dear.” Molly admitted. “What do you mean by hanging around in each others’ heads?”
Ginny thought for a moment. “Normally, when we’re both awake, we keep our senses mostly separate. We can’t help thinking together or sharing emotions, but Harry uses his own eyes and ears while I use mine. We can combine our senses if we want to and see or hear both at the same time, and it’s really pretty neat, but it takes some getting used to.
“Anyway, when Harry’s asleep and I’m awake, like last night, Harry can’t see out of his own eyes or hear with his own ears, but he can still use mine. For that time it’s like both of us are occupying one body without the other body doing anything. When we’re both asleep, it feels like sleep used to before we met.
“So, Harry’s body finally fell asleep sometime after midnight. We were waiting around for my body to sleep, too. But then Harry started having nightmares. When he has dreams while I’m awake, we can watch the dream even though I’m not sleeping. With a normal dream, we can tune it out and it fades away, but with a nightmare it’s much harder. We spent about two hours last night trying really hard not to see his nightmare. Concentrating on that kept me from sleeping and made us even more tired.”
Mrs. Weasley looked confused, but she did not interrupt Ginny’s explanation.
“After that,” Ginny continued, “Harry woke up and the nightmare finally stopped. I fell asleep pretty quickly after that. He was awake, though, so we were stuck looking out of his head instead of mine. Harry never got back to sleep because we were uncomfortable, and I woke up an hour or so later. Then we just stayed there until we heard you down here.
“Overall, we figure that Harry’s body slept for two hours and had nightmares the whole time,” she concluded. “My body slept a little less, but we didn’t have nightmares. At the same time, both of us can remember being awake for every minute of the last twenty-four hours. It’s exhausting.”
“It sounds very complicated, but I can see that neither of you got much rest.”
I’m so glad she can see that. It’s so helpful, Harry spat sarcastically.
Be nice, Harry. She’s trying.
Sorry, Ginny.
Mrs. Weasley left them sitting at the table and went to prepare breakfast. Mr. Weasley woke up when the smell of cooking bacon filled the house, and he was at the table when Molly served breakfast. Afterwards, as Ginny predicted, Molly found them something to do.
“Ginny, why don’t you take Harry out to the garden? The gnomes have been creeping in again, and it’s time to toss them out. Some exercise should help you sleep tonight, too,” she said.
Gnomes? Harry asked.
Yeah, gnomes. She showed him her memories of the bulbous little creatures and the proper process for getting rid of them. It’s actually fun, when it’s not too hot.
They spent the morning chasing gnomes, snatching them up, and flinging them over the garden fence. They were too small to really discourage the creatures from coming back, but they knew that Mrs. Weasley was trying to tire them out.
Ginny was right, and they did enjoy themselves. Harry had done plenty of chores, but he had never had anyone to help him, and he had never been allowed to have any fun while doing them. In comparison, degnoming the garden with Ginny was like playing.
They had lunch with Ginny’s parents at the picnic table outside, and Mrs. Weasley tried to learn more about Harry. By silent agreement, no one looked at the scorched circle of earth in the yard nearby.
“Harry, how is your family?” she asked innocently as she passed around a plate of sandwiches.
Harry glanced up at her sharply, his posture becoming rigid, and the cool September air warmed noticeably around the table. “They’re not my family,” he stated flatly.
The elder Weasleys recoiled from his expression.
Calm down, Harry. They don’t know anything except what Dad used to tell me every night.
His shoulders slumped and he stared at the table, ashamed of his outburst. Sorry, he muttered. He picked up his sandwich and began eating slowly and carefully.
Don’t worry, Harry. I’ll take care of it.
“Harry’s relatives,” Ginny accented the word slightly, “don’t like him very much. He doesn’t like them either.”
“Why don’t you like them, Harry?” Mr. Weasley asked.
“He’s too embarrassed to tell you, Dad, but I’m not,” Ginny answered.
Ginny, please don’t . . .
They need to know, Harry. They have to try to understand.
He was mortified, but he decided to trust her. The Weasleys were her family, and she had far more experience dealing with them than he did.
“Harry lives with his Uncle, Vernon Dursley, his Aunt Petunia, and their son Dudley. His mother was Petunia’s sister. The three of them are Muggles, of course, and they’re horrible people.
“They made him sleep on a cot in their broom cupboard until just a few weeks ago, while Dudley had two bedrooms of his own. They never told him he was a wizard. Vernon tried to keep him from getting his Hogwarts letter, and Hagrid had to go deliver it in person. The whole family was hiding in a shack on some little island. His uncle had a shotgun and was going to shoot Hagrid, Dad.”
Mr. Weasley clearly knew what a shotgun was, and he recoiled at the thought of threatening Hagrid with one.
Ginny continued her explanation. “All his life, Harry’s gotten nothing. His only toys are things his cousin has already broken and binned. He does all the chores in the house, and his relatives never say anything nice to him. They call him things like stupid, ungrateful, and foolish.” Ginny glanced at her mother. Mrs. Weasley blushed strongly and looked away from Harry.
“They never even use his name. When he gets hurt or sad or scared, they lock him in his cupboard and tell him to shut up. Once, they left him in there for two days with no light and nothing to eat or drink. They’re terrible people, and they’re not his family at all.”
Molly sniffed loudly as Ginny finished speaking, and Arthur sat there blinking at Harry. Harry himself buried his head in his crossed arms, unwilling to face the Weasleys’ reaction. He studied the grain of the wooden table to avoid seeing it through Ginny’s eyes as well.
I’m sorry, Harry. I know how embarrassed you are, but they needed to hear it, even if they don’t understand it yet.
I guess so, Ginny, if that’s what you think. Thanks for leaving out the worst bits, though.
Honestly? I don’t want to see those things again.
“Well,” Molly said. Then she stopped, unable to decide what else she could say. Finally, she grabbed two more sandwiches off the platter and set them on Harry’s plate. “Eat your lunch, Harry.”
That’s Mum. ‘When in doubt, feed it.’
Harry grinned in spite of his mood at Ginny’s comment, and he glanced up at Mrs. Weasley in thanks. She beamed at him when she saw him smiling.
After lunch, the two friends explored the land around the Burrow. The pond was too cold for swimming that day, but Harry dipped his toes in the water anyway. Ginny showed him the paddock where her brothers played Quidditch and she secretly flew at night. They walked through the woods at the edge of the paddock, watching small animals scurry away from them and occasionally chase each other through the trees.
Around four o’clock, they made their way back to the Burrow and relaxed in the sitting room. Harry sat at one end of the sofa, and Ginny flopped across it with her head on the other armrest. They did not say anything out loud, but they spent the time sharing funny memories. Ginny had a lot more of those than Harry, but she thought that the few television shows he had seen were hilarious.
Molly looked in on them once and found them looking at each other and occasionally glancing around the room. They were silent, but they grinned and nodded periodically. She could tell that they were having the same sort of conversation that all children do, except that they were not speaking aloud. She resolved to try to accept at least that aspect of their connection.
Later, when dinner was ready, Molly entered again to call them to the table. This time, she found them sound asleep. Harry was still sitting up at his end of the sofa, and Ginny was lying with her head at the opposite end. Molly noticed that Harry’s hand was resting lightly on one of Ginny’s bare feet.
She hated to wake them, but dinner was waiting. She walked over to her daughter and laid a gentle hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Ginny, wake up. Dinner’s ready.”
Ginny’s eyes fluttered open and focused on her mother’s face. As she realized that she was awake, she sighed sadly. “Yes, Mum,” she said. She sat up and leaned over to Harry. “C’mon, Harry, wake up. It’s time for dinner.”
“ ‘m here,” he mumbled, opening his eyes. The two of them rose from the couch and stumbled upstairs to wash up before dinner.
As Ginny and Harry settled into their separate beds that night, Ginny grumbled. I wish Mum could have left us on the couch for a while longer. I was just starting to get some real sleep when she woke us up.
Yeah, me too, Harry replied. Your mum’s cooking is great, though. I thought I was going to burst from all the food she kept putting in front of me.
You can blame me for that if you want to, but you didn’t really mind.
No, I didn’t, he agreed. Maybe we’ll be able to sleep tonight. I think we’ve been awake, one way or another, for about forty hours if you ignore that little nap.
It seems like so much longer when you remember it all, doesn’t it? she asked.
Yeah. My mind is more tired than my body, I think.
Harry’s body fell asleep first again, but their exhaustion only intensified the nightmare. The green light and horrible laughter played over and over, and they found that they could not concentrate well enough to try to ignore it.
They lay there, staring at Ginny’s ceiling. Watching the nightmare always frightened Ginny, and tonight she could not keep herself from seeing it at all. Harry felt her fear, and it fed the anxiety he always felt when he had this dream. Harry’s feelings went back to Ginny and multiplied her terror. Back and forth the emotion raged, growing stronger and stronger. After a while, Ginny’s body was trembling and she was sobbing brokenly into her pillow.
Harry, we can’t live like this! We just can’t! We’d rather die than go through this every night and never sleep.
I’m sorry, Ginny, I’m so sorry. I never wanted to do this to you, he replied, her tears in his voice.
It has to stop. It has to. We have to make it stop. Why won’t they let us make it stop? she cried.
Your mum . . . Harry began.
Mum! Ginny screamed in their heads. She leapt from her bed, forgetting her dressing gown, and ran for the stairs.
Ginny burst into the sitting room and found her mother knitting again. “Mum, you have to let me help us! Please!” she sobbed.
Molly saw her daughter’s haunted, tear-filled eyes and reacted instinctively, disregarding her daughter’s choice of words. “Ginny, what’s wrong? What do you need?” she asked, leaping from the sofa to hold Ginny’s shoulders.
“Harry needs me, Mum! Come on, I’ll show you. Hurry!”
Ginny grabbed her mother’s arm and dragged her up the stairs to the fourth floor. She pushed through the door to Ron’s room, revealing Harry asleep on the bed inside. He lay on his back, the bedclothes tangled around his waist and legs. His pajamas were drenched in sweat, and his head was thrashing violently from side to side. His arms and legs, their muscles visibly overstrained and out of control, lifted off the bed and slammed back into the mattress.
Molly darted towards the bed to attempt to comfort the suffering boy. She sat on the edge of the bed and reached down to put her hand on his shoulder, but as soon as she touched him he flung out his arm and knocked her hand away. She stood up from the bed and backed away, holding her right hand in her left.
Arthur caught up to his wife and daughter in time to see Molly retreat from the bed. He stopped in the doorway and watched anxiously as Ginny clutched her mother’s arm.
“He’s really sorry, Mum. He can’t wake himself up, and it won’t stop. Please, please let me help him!” Ginny begged, tears streaming down her face.
“How can you help him? He won’t let anyone close to him,” her mother said worriedly.
“I need to be there with him, Mum. He won’t hurt me. I need to be holding him and touching him so he can sleep,” she replied, desperately trying to make her mother understand. Her voice became less hysterical as she focused on convincing her mother.
“But Ginny . . .” Molly began.
“Mum,” Ginny said quietly and intensely, “do you know what he’s seeing right now? Do you know what I’m seeing right now? We’re watching the curse that killed his mother and listening to Voldemort laugh at her. Over and over and over again. It’s been going on for half an hour. Last night, after an hour of this, the dream changed and we saw the curse hitting you as you screamed my name.”
Ginny . . . Harry tried halfheartedly to protest.
Hush! Just be quiet and listen!
Mrs. Weasley paled. She occasionally had nightmares like that, where one of her children died in front of her, but never so intensely. Arthur walked up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders in support.
“This is just like when Ron has a nightmare,” Ginny continued. “You hold his hand and talk to him until he calms down and goes back to sleep. But nobody’s ever done that for Harry. He doesn’t know that’s what you’re trying to do, because it’s never been done for him before. Until last night when you hugged him, I was the only person who’d ever touched him in a way that wasn’t hurtful.”
“What do you mean by that?” Molly asked, eyeing Harry sadly.
“If we had time, I could tell you about every single time he’s ever been touched more than just bumping into someone in a hallway. His uncle touched him mostly to shove him towards a chore or into his cupboard. His aunt slapped his wrist to keep him from taking a second piece of toast at breakfast. His cousin . . . well, his cousin just plain beat him up. Other kids at school shoved him around, and his teachers avoided him completely.
“When we met at the platform, he took my hand, and that’s the very first time he can remember someone touching him without hurting him at all. I’m the only one he recognizes as a friend, and because of our connection I’m the only one who can help prevent the nightmares in the first place.”
Ginny spoke clearly and carefully, but tears streamed silently down her cheeks. “If you won’t let me do it for him, please, let me do it for myself. I see everything he sees, Mum, and it’s horrible. I don’t know how he’s survived like this for so long. He’s listened to Voldemort murder his mother so often, for so long, that he’s used to it. Can you imagine that? I really don’t want to find out what it’s like, Mum. Please let me help us.”
Molly was crying now. Her little girl had always suspected that this boy was not the happy hero the world made him out to be, but it was shocking to see just how right she truly was. How could any mother refuse to do whatever it took to keep this sort of torment from affecting a child, especially her own child? “You can help him, Ginny? You can make it stop for both of you?” The tiny girl nodded firmly. Molly glanced back at her husband, who nodded also. “Show me. I need to see it.”
Ginny needed no more permission than that. She leapt around Harry’s bed and tucked herself quickly under his flailing arm. He did not try to push her away. Instead, his left arm stilled on the mattress behind her back. Lifting the hem of his pajama shirt, she slipped her arms around his waist and rested her head on his heaving chest.
Aloud and mentally, she soothed him. “We’re here, Harry. It’ll stop now. It’ll stop.” She spoke to herself as much as to him.
Harry’s body relaxed almost immediately as their connection became complete. His breathing slowed, his limbs settled, and his head fell to one side in exhaustion. Soon, he appeared to be sleeping normally.
Ginny’s tears had finally stopped, as well. As the panic left her eyes, she took a deep breath and looked up at her mother without moving her head. “Thank you, Mum. Thank you so much.”
“Can you wake him now, Ginny?”
“I could, but I won’t,” she replied. “His body is exhausted, and he needs to rest.” She yawned. “We both need to rest.”
“He’s there right now, with you, even though he’s sleeping? He can hear us?” Mrs. Weasley asked tentatively.
“Yes, Mum, he’s always here if I’m awake,” Ginny mumbled, falling asleep herself.
“Could you tell him . . . tell him I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
Ginny lifted her head from Harry’s chest to look at her mother sleepily. “It’s okay, Mrs. Weasley. Thanks,” she said. Then she put her head back down.
Molly Weasley raised her hand to her mouth in horror as her husband’s hands clenched on her shoulders. It was one thing to be told that your daughter shared her mind with another person, but it was quite another thing to see it demonstrated so bluntly. She realized, at last, that Ginny and Harry might always be this way. It was a truly disturbing thought.
She stared at her daughter’s face for a long moment. The girl’s eyes were closed, and her face was relaxed. After a long and clearly stressful two days, she finally looked peaceful. Molly reached out and gently brushed a lock of Ginny’s long hair out of her face. Then she reached up and lightly stroked Harry’s forehead and cheek. The dark-haired boy did not react to her caress.
Molly sighed. “Go to sleep, Ginny. We’ll sort out the rest tomorrow.”
A/N: My beta, Jonathan Avery, has written a 'side story' relating to this chapter. It provides the story behind Ginny's nickname, from Arthur's point of view. The nickname was his idea to begin with. Check out the story on his author page.
Chapter 8: Aye, There's the Rub
Author's Notes: Thanks to Moshpit, Jonathan Avery, and Treecat, my superteam of beta goodness.
Sunday morning at the Burrow, Ginny woke when her mother shook her shoulder gently. “Ginny, dear, it’s almost time for breakfast. Can you get Harry up?”
“Sure, Mum,” she yawned. “We’ll be down in a few minutes.”
Is there some way you’d like to be woken up, Harry?
Not really. I don’t like being shaken, though. That’s what the Dursleys always did.
She was still lying curled up next to Harry’s hip, with one arm wrapped around his waist and her head on his chest. Sitting up, she pulled her hand out from under his pajama top and patted the center of his chest lightly. His eyes slowly drifted open.
“Good morning, Harry,” Mrs. Weasley said. “Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, ma’am, very well,” he replied.
In fact, they had slept wonderfully. Instead of a night filled with horrible images, they remembered getting Mrs. Weasley’s permission to help each other and then nothing after Ginny first curled up next to Harry.
“Wonderful,” Molly said with a strained smile. “Breakfast will be ready in just a few minutes.” Molly left the room and paused before going down the stairs. She glanced over her shoulder and looked directly at Ginny. “Oh, and Harry?”
Harry looked up from his position on Ginny’s right, confused about why Mrs. Weasley was looking at Ginny if she wanted to talk to him. “Yes?” he asked.
Mrs. Weasley turned slightly to face Harry, looking slightly relieved. “Is there anything in particular you like for breakfast?”
Harry shook his head. “No, ma’am. Anything is fine.” Mrs. Weasley nodded briefly before descending the stairs.
That was odd. I didn’t expect her to be so cheerful, Harry commented.
She’ll pretend everything is normal for as long as she can, Ginny explained. Then it will all come back to her, and she’ll either accept it partially or reject it completely. But you’re right. She was acting a bit odd.
What about your dad?
Dad’s harder to figure out. He seemed more open to the idea last night, but he might hate it and is just letting it build up until he wants to say something.
So we just wait? he asked. He had really hoped for a faster resolution.
Yes, we wait. There’s nothing else we can do right now. She paused and then gently pushed him towards starting the day. You can shower first, Harry.
Okay, he agreed.
They walked together down to the third floor, where Harry entered the loo and Ginny went into her room. Once she was engrossed in setting out her clothes and repacking her knapsack, he enjoyed a quick shower before heading back to Ron’s room to get dressed while Ginny showered. He put his clothes back into his bag and then headed downstairs, carefully counting the steps along the way.
He sat at the kitchen table and peered around the room, studying the collection of wizarding photographs scattered across the wall. There were dozens of pictures of the Weasley family and a few that were noticeably older. He spent some time studying a picture of Charlie Weasley. He was seated on a boulder overlooking a forested area where a large dragon was pacing. Although he knew that dragons existed, he had never seen even a picture of one. He decided that it might be interesting to see one in person some day. As he looked away from Charlie’s picture, a recent picture of Ginny waved cheerfully at him, and suddenly he caught a glimpse of the shower curtain upstairs. Harry dropped his eyes and counted the tiles on the kitchen floor, and the sight of the loo upstairs faded.
Sorry, Ginny, he apologized quickly, hoping he would not lose his fragile focus.
It’s okay, she replied. Sometimes I have trouble focusing, too, and your showers are shorter than mine. It takes forever to rinse the shampoo out of my hair.
“Are you alright, Harry?” Mrs. Weasley asked. Startled, Harry glanced up at her. Mrs. Weasley was standing across the table from him and frowning slightly.
“I’m fine, thanks,” he replied, then returned his gaze to the tiles at his feet. From the corner of his eye, he caught her looking at him thoughtfully for a moment before she returned to her cooking.
A short while later, Ginny finished dressing and told Harry he could relax. He exhaled in relief and looked up to find Molly studying him with a concerned look. A moment later, Ginny entered the kitchen with her hair still wet from her shower. She sat down next to Harry and looked up at her mother, who was glancing from Harry to her daughter suspiciously.
Ginny immediately knew what her mother must be thinking, and Harry became very nervous. Oh no, he said, his eyes widening.
We knew she’d figure it out sooner or later. She paused. I wish it could have been later, though.
“You were watching Ginny in the shower!” Mrs. Weasley shouted accusingly.
“No, Mum, he wasn’t!” Ginny reassured her quickly. “He was looking at the tiles on the floor so he wouldn’t see what I was seeing. If we focus on something, we don’t have to share our vision. We’re careful to always distract ourselves when one of us is showering or changing.”
They promised they wouldn’t shout, Harry scowled.
I’m sorry, Harry, but that was only good for last night. Asking Mum not to shout is like asking a fish not to swim. If it gets out of hand again, I’ll stop her. I promise.
Okay, Ginny, he agreed reluctantly. As long as they don’t start calling you names.
“If you share memories, how does that help?” Arthur asked as he stepped into the kitchen. He had obviously heard some of the conversation. “Doesn’t one of you just see the memory later on?”
“Arthur!” his wife said angrily.
Unbidden, images came to the surface of Harry and Ginny’s consciousness. Harry groaned and buried his face in his hands.
“Well, we hadn’t,” Ginny said as they both blushed furiously. “But since you just mentioned it, we did.”
I know you want to apologize, Harry, but don’t. Neither one of us knew that was going to happen.
Her mother was working up to a full rant. “Ginny, you must not think of things like that. It’s simply not proper!”
Cross your fingers, she said silently to Harry.
She faced her mother calmly. “Mum, I’m sorry. I know this is really bizarre to you. It’s strange for us, too, but this is the way we are now. We can’t change it, and we don’t want to. Can you accept us this way? Can you please not make this any harder than it already is?” she pleaded.
To Harry’s surprise, Mr. Weasley took up their cause. “Molly, you know they’re not trying to do anything they shouldn’t. They’re in a very odd position, and they’re doing the best they can. Ginny’s the same girl she was last week, but now she’s brought a friend along. You said yourself that they behave like Fred and George sometimes. Try thinking of Harry as a black-haired twin for Ginny. That’s what . . . well, that helps me a bit.”
Ginny beamed at her father. “Thanks, Dad. That’s just what it’s like.”
“So long as they remain siblings,” her mother muttered. She was quiet for a few long moments, looking at Ginny’s hopeful face and the top of Harry’s head as he stared nervously at the floor. She sighed in apparent resignation and smiled weakly. “I can’t very well chuck you out, now can I, Ginny? I’ve put too much work into you for that. Just promise me that you’ll behave yourself.”
“I will, Mum. We will. We promise,” Ginny stated firmly. Harry nodded.
“Now, let’s have breakfast. I’m sure you two have some homework you should do after that,” Mrs. Weasley said, determined to return the conversation to more normal topics.
What about last night? Harry asked Ginny.
She’ll talk to us about it when she’s ready. Probably at lunch, she replied.
The two friends spent the morning dutifully writing the essays Professor McGonagall had assigned them on Thursday. They had been asked to summarize the information from their textbook about the physical similarities between matchsticks and needles. Writing two different essays with the same facts was challenging, but they finally managed it. In the end, they wrote one essay together in Ginny’s handwriting. Then they wrote a whole new one in Harry’s handwriting with the same information and changed it enough to make it distinct from the first essay.
As they worked, they joked with each other and laughed aloud with the energy of any pair of young students. Ginny tried to predict Professor McGonagall’s response to Harry’s writing “you’re” instead of “your” in his essay. Harry had fixed the error, but she found the situation amusing.
She pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows haughtily. “Mr. Potter, if you are a matchstick, I have a candle that requires your attention. Otherwise, I suggest you work with your matchstick and avoid spontaneous combustion.”
“Sounds more like Percy than McGonagall, I’d say,” Harry grinned.
“Hey! There’s no reason to be insulting,” she protested.
“It’s not my fault. I’m just telling you what I see.”
“You’ll pay for that, Potter!” she cried and leapt towards him. She reached out to tickle him, but he knew what she was doing, and he jumped up from the floor to escape. Ginny was only a step behind his thoughts, so she abandoned her effort to tickle him and scrambled to her feet.
Harry ran from the sitting room and into the kitchen where Ginny’s parents were sitting. They chased each other in circles around the kitchen table, laughing wildly, before darting back into the sitting room. Harry put the sofa between him and Ginny for protection, but she just transported herself to his side and tackled him to the ground.
They landed together, but Ginny was ready. She bounced up to her knees and reached down to tickle him. He laughed and curled himself into a ball with his back to her, trying to avoid her wiggling fingers.
“Say uncle!” Ginny demanded. Harry shook his head, laughing too hard to speak.
“I won’t stop tickling you until you say uncle,” Ginny threatened, but Harry just shook his head in stubborn pleasure. “Fine, then. You’re in for it now.”
Ginny redoubled her efforts, reaching across him to tickle him on both sides at once. He howled with laughter, and she found herself laughing, too, as she felt him being tickled. She tried to tickle and be tickled at the same time, but at last she gave in to the laughter.
“Uncle! Uncle!” she cried as she pulled her hands away from Harry. They collapsed onto their backs side-by-side, laughing and catching their breath.
I win, Harry declared.
You can’t win. I was the one tickling you.
But you said uncle, not me.
That’s . . . that’s not fair!
You should have thought of that before you decided to tickle me, he grinned.
Returning to their original places on the floor, Harry and Ginny settled down and tried to finish their essays. It became hard for them to concentrate, however, when they heard Ginny’s parents’ voices coming from the next room. Ginny glanced into the kitchen to find her father and mother sitting at the table and occasionally watching them. Her mother sighed and turned to where her father sat reading the newspaper at the kitchen table. “Look at them, Arthur. Yesterday afternoon they were talking, but they never laughed and they hardly moved at all. Now they’re running around and behaving like the children always do at that age. And either way, most of what they say is completely silent.”
Mr. Weasley lowered his paper to look at his wife carefully. “Surprising what a good night’s sleep will do, isn’t it?”
Putting the paper down, Arthur turned and looked directly at his wife. “Molly, I know you don’t like what’s going on,” he conceded. “I don’t like it either. But they proved to us that they’re telling the truth, and we’re going to have to deal with it for now. If we find a way to change things in the future, we’ll think about it then.”
Harry felt Ginny’s hope at her father’s words, but they were both still wary. They knew that her mum had not made a final decision.
“I’m still not sure, Arthur. It’s . . . I just feel that . . . oh, bother. I can’t explain what it is, but I don’t like it.”
There was silence except for the occasional scratch of quill on parchment for a few minutes. Ginny and Harry both were paying more attention to the conversation than to their homework now.
“I understand, Molly,” Arthur said. “It feels like she’s growing up so quickly. In just a week, she’s gone off to Hogwarts and discovered some strange relationship to a genuine hero.”
“It’s the nature of that relationship that scares me the most, Arthur,” she admitted. “I’m seriously considering letting my only daughter share a bed with a boy. I don’t know if I should yell at them or start planning a wedding.”
Why do people keep talking about weddings? Are you planning to marry me someday, and I just haven’t noticed?
Hmm, she pretended to consider it. Do you have a white horse?
What? he asked, confused. He knew she was teasing him, but he could not determine how. Of course I don’t have a white horse.
Then I’m afraid you’re not qualified to marry me. Sorry about that. She grinned, but then she became serious. Harry, I’m ten. Even Mum and Dad didn’t get married until they were finished with Hogwarts, and that’s forever from now. I don’t know why they’re so fussed.
“You saw them last night, Molly,” her father answered. “As strange as everything is, she’s still a child, and she needs her parents. For that matter, he needs parents too, and those relatives of his will never qualify.”
Ginny looked up in time to see her father give her mother a strange look.
“I know, Arthur. It should be easy, but it’s not. He’s just not like the others.”
“You’ll try anyway, Molly. You wouldn’t be yourself if you didn’t.”
Ginny’s mother got up from the table and began wiping her counters with an old rag. Her father returned to his newspaper, and Ginny and Harry turned back to their essays.
I don’t understand, Ginny. What others?
We’ve always had our friends over in the summers, she explained. Charlie and Bill usually had two or three visitors each year, and Lee Jordan has been by to spend time with Fred and George. Even Luna stayed for a couple of weeks while her father was traveling. Whenever anyone is here, Mum treats them like they’re hers.
But I’m different to her? he asked. Why am I always different?
Well, none of the others have ever shared a bed with her daughter, have they? Give her time, Harry. She’ll come around. She pulled his attention back to their essays determinedly. Now, what are the properties of . . .
By lunchtime, Harry and Ginny had finished their homework, and they joined Ginny’s parents in the kitchen for a lunch of sandwiches and fresh fruit. When everyone had eaten their fill, Mrs. Weasley made her announcement.
“Ginny, your father and I will go back to Hogwarts with you this afternoon to speak with the Headmaster. We’ll let you sleep in Harry’s room, but we need to make some arrangements.
“First, Percy needs to know what’s going on so he can keep an eye on you both. He’s a prefect, so it’s natural for him to check up on the first years.” Mrs. Weasley spoke matter-of-factly, clearly not prepared for any opposition. Harry and Ginny decided to take whatever they could get.
That’s going to be awful. We’ll spend so long listening to Percy’s preaching that we won’t get any sleep anyway, Ginny predicted.
“As soon as we can, we’ll get the whole family together and tell your other brothers. If you want to talk to Fred, George, and Ron earlier than that, it’s up to you.
“Also, we’ll send you some new pajamas,” Mrs. Weasley continued. “You can wear your brother’s old ones for now, but it’s time you had something that suited you.”
They’ll probably stick to my skin and stun anyone else who touches them.
Don’t you wear nightgowns? Harry asked.
Only because Mum forces me to, she explained. I always wanted to wear pajamas, but Mum wanted me in gowns because they’re more ‘ladylike.’ I used to steal Ron’s old pajamas and change into them after I went to bed. Mum would catch me in them and hide them from me. I’d find them, and we’d start all over again. It was almost a game.
Why’s she getting you pajamas now, then?
It wouldn’t be proper for you to see my ankles, Mr. Potter, she replied sarcastically. That’s why she’s so eager to give me those old pajamas I’ve been trying to wear.
“Ginny, Harry,” Mrs. Weasley said sternly, “you should talk out loud when you’re with other people. It’s rude to have private conversations with people watching.”
In other words, she doesn’t like not knowing what we’re saying.
Harry grinned internally, careful to keep his expression private. We’ll have to be more careful, then.
“Sorry, Mum,” Ginny apologized.
"What should we do this afternoon before you two go back to Hogwarts?" Mrs. Weasley asked brightly, hoping for a more normal end to the weekend. "Would you like to visit the village?"
Harry had an idea, and he voiced it before Ginny could object. "Mrs. Weasley, could we go to Diagon Alley? I'd like to get Ginny her own wand. The one she has doesn't work very well."
Harry, they're not going to like that.
Before her parents could react, Harry added, "We've been sharing my wand in class. Her marks would be awful if she had to use hers."
That might actually work.
“Harry, it’s very generous of you to let Ginny share your wand. I’m sorry you’ve had to do that. Is there something wrong with the wand we gave her?” Mrs. Weasley asked.
"Ginny's welcome to borrow my wand any time she wants," Harry promised. "I don't mind at all. But it takes longer for us to practice spells when we have to trade back and forth. Her wand just doesn’t work very well for her."
"I don't know . . ." Ginny's mother began, but she trailed off and looked to her husband. Mr. Weasley nodded. "Very well. We'll go to Ollivander's, and your father and I will buy you a wand, Ginny. It's very generous of you to offer to buy it for her, Harry, but it's not necessary."
Harry was going to protest, but Ginny stopped him. Don't, Harry. This is important to them.
Half an hour later, Harry and Ginny were standing beside the fireplace. Mrs. Weasley handed Harry a ceramic pot. Inside was a small quantity of glittering green powder.
What’s this?
It’s Floo powder, Ginny replied, remembering her previous trips through the Floo network.
“Just firmly call out your destination, Harry,” Mrs. Weasley said.
Harry nodded and took a pinch of the Floo powder. He walked to the fireplace and threw the glittering powder onto the flames. The fire turned green, and Harry stepped into the cool blaze. He attempted to shout “The Leaky Cauldron!”, but a bit of ash entered his throat, and he coughed out the last word.
The flames swallowed him, and Harry was falling through a twisting tunnel of green flame. He could see fireplaces zooming past him on all sides. Panicked, he tried to get control of himself as Ginny shouted instructions in his head. Finally, he straightened his tumbling progress and shot out of a fireplace into a store filled with potion ingredients. He noticed the sign in the window and realized he was in the apothecary’s shop in Diagon Alley.
Shaking his head, he stumbled to his feet and then promptly collapsed again as Ginny entered the Floo network, and the world spun in front of her eyes. A moment later, she was in the Leaky Cauldron. When she was standing still, Harry was able to concentrate on the hundreds of bottles of ingredients, and his stomach began to settle down.
Just stay there, Harry. We’ll meet you in front of the shop.
Harry looked up at the apothecary, who was eyeing him curiously. “I’m sorry, sir. I missed the grate at the Leaky Cauldron,” he explained.
“Happens all the time,” the man said and returned to his work.
Ginny explained what had happened to her mother when she appeared, and the two of them headed toward Diagon Alley. Mrs. Weasley greeted Tom, the barkeep, and led Ginny through the concealed entrance to Diagon Alley. Harry was waiting for them nearby.
"Come along, now, children. We don't have a lot of time this afternoon," Mrs. Weasley ordered as Harry rejoined them.
They walked briskly down the street. Ginny had visited Diagon Alley many times in her life, during all seasons. Harry, however, had only seen the shops when they were teeming with students preparing for a new term. Today, the street seemed much calmer and quieter, though there were still plenty of shoppers moving to and fro.
Mr. Ollivander looked up as they entered. "Molly Prewitt. Didn't expect to see you again quite so soon. Have you kept your wand properly?" Without waiting for an answer, he looked at Harry. "Mr. Harry Potter. Back so soon? Not having any problems, I hope?"
He paused expectantly. Apparently, he wanted an answer for this question. "No, no problems, sir."
"Well then, that leaves you." He peered down at Ginny. "Ah, yes. The youngest Weasley, and a girl at last. I haven't seen one of you in almost two hundred years. What's your name, child?"
"Ginny, sir."
I've never liked him. He scared me when I was little, and I always waited outside the shop with Dad.
I'm glad I'm not the only one. He gives me the willies, Harry agreed.
"Well, Ginny Weasley, let's have a look at you." Mr. Ollivander tossed his tape measure in her direction. Ginny stood still and let it take various measurements as a quill scratched away on a nearby notepad.
Before the measuring ended, the odd old man pulled a box from a nearby shelf and shoved it into Ginny's hands. "Give it a wave, then," he ordered.
Ginny swished the wand forcefully, but it produced only one halfhearted pink spark.
"No, no, that won't do." He took the wand away and replaced it with a different one. Ginny did not even manage a single spark.
Six wands later, Ollivander muttered to himself, "No unicorn hairs, then. Usually a good bet for this sort." He moved to the other side of the shop and pulled several boxes off of the shelves.
Ginny waved them one after another. Two produced brighter sparks than the first wand she had tried, but none seemed very enthusiastic in their performance.
After an hour of swishing countless wands, Ginny's arm was tired. Ollivander produced another wand for her to try, and she lifted it half-heartedly. When she swung it downwards, it produced a shower of pink sparks that fell harmlessly to the floor.
"Aha! Holly and dragon heartstring, eight inches, rather stiff. An unusual wand. Fascinating, fascinating," Ollivander enthused. "Still, the wand chooses the witch, and there you are."
Ginny was not as excited. "It's the best of the lot, I suppose."
"Best of the lot? That wand chose you, Miss. You'll not get any better than that."
Silently, Harry handed Ginny his wand. She swung it gently and a fountain of bright red sparks sprayed across the shop.
Ollivander stared at the wand in her hand. "Well now. Holly and phoenix feather, of course, eleven inches. Never seen something like that before."
"Do you have any other holly and phoenix feather wands, sir?" Harry asked Mr. Ollivander.
The ancient wizard shook his head. "No, no. Rarest of the cores, phoenix feather. Easier than getting heartstrings from a dragon, you'd think, but phoenixes are finicky birds. Haven't any feathers at all at the moment."
"Well," he continued, "you'll take the dragon heartstring wand for now, then, and you'll not pay for it. Found the proper wand for every witch and wizard to enter this shop, and I'll not stop now. If I find a phoenix feather, I'll be in touch, and you can pay then."
Mrs. Weasley protested, but Ollivander insisted on giving Ginny the wand. "Odd wand, been here for ages. Well-crafted, of course, but shorter and stiffer than most. Suits her better than anyone else I've seen. Take it, take it. Wouldn't want it to get bored."
Err . . . wands don’t get bored, do they, Ginny?
I don’t think so. He’s just barmy, she replied.
Bemused, Harry and the two Weasleys left the shop after Ginny thanked the strange man. Ginny's mother turned to address her. "Now, Ginny, Mr. Ollivander has been very generous, and I want you to take good care of that wand. We'll give it back to him when he finds a phoenix feather for you."
"Yes, Mum," she answered. Ginny was shocked at the idea of not taking proper care of any wand, much less one that had chosen her. It did not seem to produce the same results that Harry's wand did, but it was vastly superior to the wand she had inherited from her grandmother. She was suddenly very fond of her new wand.
Mrs. Weasley took the two children to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor before they returned to the Burrow. Harry had chocolate peanut butter, and Ginny chose strawberry banana. The two flavors mixed wonderfully, they decided.
By three o'clock, they were back at the Burrow. Harry and Ginny brought their knapsacks down to the kitchen, and Ginny returned her grandmother's wand to her mother. They spent the remainder of the afternoon pretending to be interested as Mr. and Mrs. Weasley exchanged stories from their first years at Hogwarts. The two adults clearly enjoyed trading bits and pieces of various tales they had told many times before, but it was hard for the children to follow.
At four o'clock, all four of them held onto the frayed rope and were pulled back to Hogwarts.
Harry and Ginny stumbled and nearly fell again, but her parents remembered to reach out and catch them. They smiled thankfully at the two adults and then turned to face Dumbledore where he sat at his desk.
Albus Dumbledore stared at his guests, his eyebrows lost in his hairline and his jaw hanging slightly open. He blinked rapidly and his gaze bounced from Ginny to Molly and back. Ginny thought he seemed surprised that the two Weasleys were not glaring at each other.
She could not help teasing him. “Good thing we don’t have flies at Hogwarts, Headmaster.”
The old man’s mouth snapped shut and his gaze focused fully on the ten-year-old girl who was grinning at him. He chuckled softly, recovering his poise, and replied, “Quite right, Miss Weasley. I have never found a fly whose flavor I appreciated. I did once find a bean flavored like a fly, though I don’t care to recall the experience.”
He cleared his throat and turned to the elder Weasleys. “Molly, Arthur, it’s nice to see you again. May I suppose that your presence indicates that you wish to speak with me?”
Molly took a steadying breath and spoke firmly. “Albus, we’ve decided to allow Ginny to sleep in Harry’s room here at Hogwarts.”
“I see,” the Headmaster replied cautiously.
“Ginny shouldn’t have to see what they see at night, Albus. No one should have to remember that at all. You know very well what I’m talking about,” Mrs. Weasley said, glaring at the aged wizard.
He sighed heavily. “Yes, Molly, I do.”
The intimidating woman nodded and continued. “We need you to help us make appropriate arrangements. Would you summon Percy here, please?”
“Certainly.” The Headmaster used the fireplace to call Professor McGonagall’s office. A few moments later, he returned to his chair. “Minerva and Mr. Weasley will join us presently.”
A few minutes later, McGonagall entered with Ginny’s studious brother in tow. Percy looked stiff and proud as he walked in, but his face fell into an expression of confusion when he saw his parents, sister, and Harry.
I bet he thought the Headmaster was going to give him a medal for something, Ginny guessed.
He’s not going to like this, is he?
Ginny sighed. No, he’s not.
Percy decided on a course of action and straightened his shoulders again. “Hello, Mother, Father. I suppose that Ginevra and Harry have violated the rules of Hogwarts. I would be happy to assist in their punishment. That is my duty as a Prefect. Will you be taking Ginevra home with you?”
Ginny glared at her brother. What an insufferable git!
Molly headed off the developing confrontation between her two offspring. “Percy, Ginny and Harry have done nothing wrong. Ginny is doing very well at Hogwarts, and Harry seems like a, err, nice boy. We’re here to ask for your help in a family matter.”
The young man’s expression softened only slightly. “Very well. What would you have me do?”
“For now, Harry and Ginny appear to be joined in some way that we don’t understand,” Mrs. Weasley began. “Their connection has very unusual effects, and we don’t have time to explain all the details right now. What you need to know is that they share knowledge and memories. Harry remembers everything Ginny does, so he knows you and your brothers already. You should treat him like a . . . well, like an old friend of the family, I suppose.”
Percy clearly did not believe what he had heard. “That’s impossible. This must be some sort of foolish prank.”
Harry had heard that word far too often recently, and his temper flared at hearing it again. His face darkened and the temperature in the room rose a few degrees.
Mr. Weasley recognized what was happening. “Percy,” he said firmly, “Harry and your sister are not foolish, and they are not playing a prank. You should apologize to them.”
The young prefect’s lips tightened as his father spoke, and he turned to focus on the wall above his sister’s head. “Ginevra, Harry, I am sorry if you were upset by my . . . assumption.”
Ginny knew that his apology was insincere, but she decided that it was the best they were going to get. “If you don’t believe Mum, ask Harry something. Ask him anything you think only I would know.”
Percy sniffed and looked to his parents, who nodded encouragingly. He turned back to Harry and looked down his nose at the younger boy. “If you insist. Harry, what was the first spell Ginevra performed successfully?”
The memory came to Harry as easily as any of the others. “When she was five, you taught her the scourgify spell to get the stains out of her clothes. She told you that was the first spell she’d ever cast because she didn’t want you to tell on her. Really, she already knew a charm that Fred and George showed her. It turned your underwear pink, and you blamed the twins.” He felt her nostalgia as he spoke. “Back then, you called her Ginny,” he added accusingly.
He didn’t start with ‘Ginevra’ until his third year at Hogwarts, she remarked.
I still think it’s a nice name, Ginny.
You don’t say it the way he does.
“Mr. Weasley,” Dumbledore addressed Percy, “I myself have seen satisfactory proof of everything you’ve been told. Will you trust my word that it is true?”
Percy was caught between confidence in his own knowledge and showing confidence in the Headmaster. In the end, he knew he preferred to keep Dumbledore’s trust. “Yes, Professor. I will certainly accept your word in the matter.” He did not notice the angry look on his mother’s face or the sad sigh from his father.
“Thank you, Mr. Weasley,” the Headmaster said graciously.
Arthur addressed his son as Molly struggled to regain her calm. “Percy, one of the unusual effects of their connection is that they’re unable to sleep if they’re not touching each other. We’ve decided that Ginny will sleep in Harry’s dorm room here at Hogwarts.”
Percy’s eyes widened and he inhaled sharply.
“We don’t want the other students to know about this, because they won’t understand the situation,” Mr. Weasley continued, ignoring Percy’s incredulous expression. “Ginny is responsible for getting in and out of Harry’s room without being seen, and she can do it on her own. We want you to keep an eye on them. Make sure nobody in the boys’ dorm except your brother knows that she’s there, and make sure that Ginny’s only in the room to sleep. They can study or talk somewhere else.”
Percy was completely floored. “You mean . . . you want her to sleep with him? You’d allow that? She’s going to be in his bed every night like some kind of courtesan?”
Ginny felt Harry tense as his anger quickly approached rage. She was deeply offended, but she knew that this was a time to let someone else argue for her. Harry, no! Let Mum handle him. I think he’s jealous, but I’m not sure why.
“Percival Ignatius Weasley!” Molly shouted. “You will not say such things about your sister! Do you understand me, young man?”
Harry relaxed slightly when he saw that Ginny’s mother would defend her. Ignatius? he asked. I wouldn’t be so picky about names if I had one like ‘Ignatius’.
You don’t know what your ‘J’ stands for. It could be Jehosephat.
Percy stood and stared at his mother with his lips pursed. After a few moments, he nodded stiffly. Locking his gaze well above Ginny’s head again, he reluctantly said, “I apologize, Ginevra.”
Harry put his hand next to Ginny’s face and waved. “She’s down here, Perce,” he said, knowing how much the nickname irritated the older boy.
The fifteen-year-old closed his eyes and exhaled sharply. After a moment, he looked directly at Ginny. Harry thought he could see the plea in her brown eyes even without feeling it himself. “I’m sorry, Ginny,” Percy whispered.
“Thanks, Percy,” she replied, hugging him quickly and lightly.
“No one is more concerned for your sister than I am,” Mrs. Weasley said. “If I am allowing this to happen, you don’t need to worry about her.”
Dumbledore shifted the conversation to somewhat safer ground. “Miss Weasley, you will need to cast a sticking charm on your own bed curtains before you leave each night, to keep your roommates from discovering your absence. Likewise, the two of you will need to cast a sticking charm on Mr. Potter’s curtains so that his roommates don’t know you’re both there. You might also consider a silencing charm to prevent the other boys from hearing you.
“Mr. Weasley, do you know how to cancel those two spells?” Percy nodded, apparently glad for the chance to demonstrate his knowledge. “Excellent. You may check on your sister and Mr. Potter as needed. It would not be unusual for a responsible prefect to look in on the first years from time to time.”
“Molly, Arthur, do you intend to inform your other sons of this situation?” he asked the elder Weasleys.
“We’ll tell everyone as soon as we can get the family in one place, Albus,” Molly replied. “In the meantime, we’ve told Ginny she can talk to Fred, George, and Ron if she wants to.”
“Very well. Mr. Potter, Miss Weasley, Mr. Weasley . . . please do not tell anyone outside the Weasley family about this situation. If you have concerns about one of your classmates or professors, talk to me or Professor McGonagall before approaching them. Do you understand?” The three students nodded.
Ginny thought of something, and Harry brought it up. “Headmaster, we’d really appreciate it if you’d talk to us, too, before you decide to tell anyone else. It’s our life, and we feel like we should know about everyone who knows what’s going on.”
Dumbledore looked seriously at Harry for a moment before responding. “Agreed, Mr. Potter. I will let you know before I tell anyone else about your situation.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” Ginny said, “but that’s not exactly what Harry asked for.”
“Ginny!” her mother said sharply. Percy looked terribly offended for some reason.
Surprisingly, the Headmaster only chuckled. “She’s quite right, Molly. I’m afraid my habits control my words from time to time. Ginny, I agree to discuss it with you and Harry if I want to tell anyone else about your situation. Is that satisfactory?”
“Yes. Thank you, sir,” Ginny said, nodding.
Satisfied that everyone understood the importance of secrecy, though Percy still looked mutinous, Dumbledore began giving instructions. “Minerva, please take Mr. Potter and Miss Weasley to your classroom and teach them the sticking and silencing charms. I’m sure they will have no difficulty with either one.
“Mr. Weasley, please return to Gryffindor Tower. If anyone asks about your absence, tell them you wished to speak to me about your duties as a Prefect.
“Molly, Arthur, would you care to join me for a cup of tea before returning to your home?” he finished.
“That would be lovely, Albus, thank you,” Mrs. Weasley replied.
That means they want to talk about us when we’re not around, Ginny interpreted.
Professor McGonagall, who had been standing at the back of the room and observing the conversation, collected the three students and led them out of the Headmaster’s office. When the stone gargoyle closed behind them, Percy left in the direction of Gryffindor Tower, and the Transfiguration professor escorted Harry and Ginny to her classroom.
Closing the door behind them, Professor McGonagall stared at them with thin lips. “We will start with the sticking charm.”
Half an hour later, Harry and Ginny could each perform the sticking charm. They also learned the finite incantatem spell to cancel the adhesive effect. When they started, McGonagall glanced disapprovingly at them every few moments, but by the time they mastered the second spell, she had regained her usual detached manner. Then Professor McGonagall moved on to the silencing charm.
“I am not entirely pleased with the Headmaster’s decision to teach you the silencing charm,” she confessed. “It is relatively simple to cast, but it is normally not taught until fifth year because it is essentially an offensive spell. Cast on a witch or wizard, it prevents them from making any sound through their vocal chords. Clearly, this makes it very difficult for them to cast spells. I hope you can see why we postpone teaching it.”
Harry did not understand, but Ginny had seen the spell used before. It would be really easy to hurt somebody if you took away their ability to cast spells at you, Harry. Non-verbal magic is hard for some people, and it’s hard to make it work for some spells.
Harry nodded in response to both Ginny and the professor.
“If you are going to allow someone else to cast the silencing charm on you, you should trust that person absolutely,” McGonagall continued. “Miss Weasley, do you understand that you will be unable to speak until Harry or someone else removes the charm?”
“Yes, Professor,” Ginny answered confidently. “Just because I can’t speak out loud doesn’t mean I can’t talk to Harry. He’ll remove the spell if I want him to.”
Are you sure, Ginny?
Of course I’m sure. Do you really think you could ignore me if I really wanted you to do something?
No. I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable, he replied.
We’ll only use it if we really need it, Harry. It will keep people from hearing me laugh or cry or something.
McGonagall was thinking along the same lines. “Very well, Miss Weasley. I caution you both to only use this spell if you feel that it is absolutely necessary. If you are silenced and you can not get the effect removed, for whatever reason, find me or the Headmaster immediately. Also, if you use it on anyone else, I will take points from both of you and you will be serving a detention. Is that perfectly clear?”
Neither student felt brave enough to risk the wrath of their Head of House for a prank, so they nodded their understanding.
For a moment, Professor McGonagall stared at Harry and Ginny as if she were judging them. Finally she nodded in satisfaction and said, “The incantation is silencio. The wand motion is a counter-clockwise half circle followed by a short, sharp horizontal slice to your right. You might picture the combination as a capitalized letter ‘J’ lying on its back.”
Harry and Ginny practiced the incantation and wand movement until they could cast the spell on each other. Each time they succeeded, they promptly removed the spell with finite incantatem.
After another half an hour, McGonagall decided that they were proficient enough to protect their sleeping arrangements. “Excellent work. Five points each to Gryffindor for learning these spells so carefully. Please do not make me regret teaching them to you.”
“Thank you, Professor. We won’t,” Ginny replied for them both.
“I believe it is time for dinner. Return your things to Gryffindor Tower, and then you may join your classmates. I suggest that you walk to your destinations whenever possible. There is no need to invite suspicion without cause,” the professor warned.
The two students nodded, thanked McGonagall for teaching them, and left the classroom with their knapsacks. On their way up to the Tower, they found Neville Longbottom sitting on the floor in a corridor.
“Alright, Neville?” Ginny wondered.
“Oh, err, hello,” the round-faced boy replied hesitantly. “I’m alright, thanks. I was just, ahh, looking at this painting.” He pointed at the large wizarding painting on the opposite wall, which showed an open, empty field. Ginny knew that there were usually pixies in the field, but they were absent at the moment.
He must be lost, she concluded.
“It’s a nice painting, isn’t it?” she asked Neville. “Harry and I were going back to the Tower, and then we’re going to the Great Hall for dinner. Would you like to walk with us? If you’re finished looking at the field, of course.”
Neville’s face brightened enormously. “Well, sure, I could walk with you, if you don’t mind. I could, err . . . I could always come back to look at the painting.”
“We don’t mind, do we Harry?” Ginny smiled.
Harry did not know much about the other boy, but he knew what Ginny thought was the right thing to do. “Nope. More company is always better,” he recited one of her mother’s sayings from her memory.
Neville followed them back to the tower as the three students discussed their classes and professors. Ginny and Harry were unsurprised to learn that Neville enjoyed Herbology and was terrified of Potions.
After dropping off their knapsacks and changing into their school robes, Harry and Ginny hurried down the stairs to the Great Hall with Neville. Ron was sitting with the other first year boys, and Hermione was sitting by herself a few seats down on the opposite side of the table. Ginny steered them to the sit next to the bushy-haired girl, which placed Ginny on Hermione’s left and Harry facing Ron at an angle. Neville, uncertain of his welcome, wandered away to sit by himself.
Next time, we should invite him to sit with us, Ginny decided. Harry nodded his agreement as she turned to her brother.
“Hi, Ron,” she said. “Mum and Dad say hello.” Ron only grunted around a mouthful of food as he listened to the other boys discuss Quidditch. Ginny turned to Hermione. “Hello, Hermione. How was your weekend?”
“Fine, thank you. I had plenty of time to spend in the library. Did you enjoy your visit home?”
“It was nice,” Ginny replied. “We spent a lot of time telling my parents about last week, but we also got to explore a bit, and we did our essays for Transfiguration.”
“You finished the essay?” Hermione asked eagerly. At Ginny’s nod, she continued. “I did too. How did you choose to organize the differences and similarities? I initially wanted to divide them up by visible and non-visible properties, but that seemed too simplistic. Instead, I . . .”
The two girls launched into a comparison of their essays. Hermione clearly knew more about the details of what matchsticks and needles were made of, but Ginny knew the material from the textbook well enough to understand most of what she said. Harry found that he understood the conversation better if he ignored Hermione. Instead, he focused on Ginny’s thoughts and memories as she discussed the subject. It was very difficult for him, but he managed it for a few minutes. Following along this way, he felt like he probably learned as much as Ginny did, and he was very surprised by his success.
While the girls talked and Harry listened in his own way, he chose food from the platters for himself and Ginny. When both plates were full, Ginny picked up her fork and began eating without a break in her conversation with Hermione. Engrossed in the discussion, they both began eating, automatically choosing the same foods at the same time. Neither of them noticed the distracted glances Hermione began to throw their way as her brow furrowed in confusion.
“How are you doing that?” she demanded, interrupting a long lecture on density which Ginny was barely following.
“Err . . . doing what, Hermione?” Ginny replied, confused by the abrupt change of topic.
“You and Harry are eating your food simultaneously. It’s like watching synchronized swimming.”
Ginny tried to stall. “We are?”
Are we? she asked Harry.
I’m not sure, but I think so.
We’ll have to be more careful. Ginny decided. Hermione doesn’t miss anything.
“Yes, you are,” the other girl argued. “You’ve each eaten seven baby carrots and nine bites of ham, and you’ve had four drinks of pumpkin juice. You both wipe your mouths with your napkins after each drink, and you eat the carrots with your fingers instead of your forks. You haven’t looked at Harry at all, though.”
See what I mean, Harry?
She’s creepy. Nice, but creepy.
Our eating like that is probably pretty creepy, too, from the outside, Ginny observed.
That’s true, he admitted. What do we tell her, though?
“Oh, it’s a trick we got from the twins,” Ginny said to Hermione in a burst of inspiration. “They used to do it to impress people, and we thought we’d give it a try. I eat slowly, and Harry just watches me and does whatever I do.”
Gryffindor’s genius did not seem completely convinced. “Well, if it’s a trick, you’re doing it really well.”
“Thanks,” Ginny replied. She and Harry spent the rest of the meal eating as normally as possible. They devised a system of alternating bites of different foods. It appeared that they were choosing their bites separately, but they never actually ate two different things at the same time. Hermione watched them carefully and looked more thoughtful than usual, but before she could make any further comments, the group sitting to Harry’s left launched into a loud discussion of Gryffindor’s Quidditch prospects for the coming year.
“I went to the tryouts on Friday, and it was awful,” Ron complained. “The team got two good Chasers, I’d say, but they’re a third year and a second year. Captain Wood is only a fifth year, and the others are all in third year. It might be the youngest house team ever.”
“What about the Seeker?” Seamus Finnegan asked. “I heard that nobody showed up to try out.”
“Yeah, that’s the short of it,” Ron agreed. “The seventh year who was Seeker last year got beaten up so badly that nobody wants the position. He was Captain, too, and he never tried to get anybody interested in taking his place. It’s no wonder we lost so much while he was around.”
“Where are we going to get a Seeker, then?” the Irish boy wondered.
Ron shook his head sadly. “Fred and George said that Wood is going to try to find someone he can talk into playing. I’d do it myself if we were allowed to have our own brooms. I can’t imagine what we might end up with, but if we don’t have a Seeker, the team can’t play at all.” The other boys nodded solemnly at Ron’s dire announcement.
That’s Ron for you, Ginny commented to Harry. Bring up Quidditch, and he’s like a completely different person.
Maybe if they don’t find a Seeker, he could do it next year, he suggested.
He’d be better than nothing, but he’s really not suited to seeking. He focuses too much on the Quaffle.
They remembered hours of watching Quidditch games at the Burrow. The Weasley children played with a battered Quaffle, a broken statue charmed to be a Bludger, and a sluggish Snitch that Charlie had stolen in his third year. The boys had never let Ginny play with them, but she had used all three balls on the rare occasions when she got to fly in daylight.
You’d be a better Seeker than Ron would.
Maybe. I’ve never actually played Quidditch, though, and I can’t have a broom any more than he can.
When they finished eating, Harry and Ginny stood up and went back to Gryffindor Tower with Hermione. Ron chose to stay with the other boys, who were now comparing Quidditch to Muggle football. “Don’t see why you spend so much time with girls anyway,” he whispered to Harry. “They never say anything interesting.”
Shows what he knows, Harry commented as he left the hall.
Hermione retrieved her Potions book from her room and claimed a chair with good light for reading. Harry and Ginny were finished with their homework and did not care to read ahead. They considered playing chess, but Ginny realized that they each would know what move the other was going to make before they made it.
Instead, they settled on their usual couch and stared into the fire. Harry thought Quidditch sounded like great fun, so he and Ginny tried to remember everything she had seen and heard about the game. Several minutes passed before they noticed that they were holding hands on the sofa between them.
Percy came in soon after they arrived, and they quickly released their grip on each other. He glared at them for a moment from across the room and then strode purposefully towards their sofa. He stopped close enough to tower over Harry and said, “Mr. Potter, I will be visiting the first year dormitory at ten o’clock sharp. I expect you to be there at that time.” He glanced at Ginny and then climbed the boys’ staircase towards his room. A moment later the portrait hole opened, and the first year boys stumbled into the common room in the midst of an intense argument.
I don’t understand, Ginny. Why is he so different from the rest of your family? All he seems to care about is enforcing the rules and impressing the professors, He indicated the argument that was going on, and Ginny understood that Percy would have stopped the noisy debate.
Ginny spoke slowly as she tried to express her understanding of her brother. Percy is . . . focused. What he wants more than anything is to be important. He hates that we’re poor, and he hates that Dad isn’t higher up in the Ministry. The only way for him to be important at Hogwarts is to be a Prefect, so he worked really hard to get his badge. Now he wants to be Head Boy, so he’s doing his Prefect duties as much as possible. That’s why he acts the way he does.
Harry considered this for a moment. I’m sorry, Ginny. I know he’s your brother, but I just don’t like him.
It’s okay, Harry, she said with a deep sigh. I love him, but I don’t really like him anymore either.
Ron broke away from the argument with Dean Thomas about Muggle Football with a huff of indignation. “Wait’ll you see Quidditch! Then you’ll understand,” he snapped before walking over to Harry and Ginny and dropping into a chair near the fire. Harry remembered Ron’s conversation from dinner and had a question about the Gryffindor team. Ginny’s knowledge gave him the answer, but she suggested that he ask Ron anyway.
“Hey, Ron, do you mind if I ask you something about Quidditch?”
Ron sat up straighter and tried to look authoritative. “Sure, Harry. What d’you wanna know?”
“Well, at dinner you said that the Gryffindor Seeker last year got beaten up a lot. How did that happen? Did he make someone on the other team mad?” the dark-haired boy asked.
“No, not really. Seekers just attract a lot of attention on the pitch, because catching the Snitch is worth so many points,” Ron explained. “The Beaters aim Bludgers at the other team’s Seeker whenever they can, and sometimes Chasers and Beaters try to ram the Seeker so he doesn’t find the Snitch. All in all, he gets roughed up more than the other players.”
“Why would anyone do it, then?” Harry asked, genuinely curious.
“Charlie once told me that it was the best flying anyone would allow you to do without sending you to St. Mungo’s for your own safety.” Ron was clearly in awe of his second-oldest brother, and Harry realized why as Ginny showed him memories of Charlie flying at incredible speeds around the Burrow. They also recalled his stories of when he had been a seeker for Gryffindor. Harry thought that Charlie had, indeed, gotten knocked around a lot.
Harry kept Ron talking about Quidditch for the next hour. He knew most of what the red-haired boy had to say, but Ron really did know a lot about Quidditch. Harry and Ginny learned a few things she had not known before. Before coming to Hogwarts, none of the kids at his school would talk to him, so he never got the chance to play sports or even talk about sports. He enjoyed talking with Ron and realized that Ginny’s brother might become a good friend with a little effort.
Ginny was pleased. If you like talking about Quidditch, being Ron’s friend will be easy.
Don’t we get our first flying lesson this week? Harry asked, excited.
Yeah. She grinned wickedly. I can’t wait to see Ron’s face when I get on a broom.
I hope I’m not awful at it.
You’ll be fine, Harry, Ginny assured him. I’ll help you if you need it.
At nine thirty, Ginny claimed that she was tired. She said goodnight to Harry, Ron, and Hermione, then went upstairs to change into the old pajamas she had added to her knapsack that morning. Fifteen minutes later, Harry yawned and also went upstairs to get some sleep. He quickly changed into his nightclothes and made sure his bedspread was flat against his mattress.
Five minutes before ten, Ginny cast the sticking charm on her bed curtains and popped to the foot of Harry’s bed. He held his curtains still while she charmed them shut.
We’ll have to deal with Percy before we can get comfortable, she reminded Harry. They lay down side by side, with as much space between them as they could manage. They clasped their hands between their bodies and waited.
At precisely ten o’clock, they heard Percy enter the room. He removed the sticking charm, then parted the curtains just enough for him to stick his head through the gap. He saw their carefully innocent pose and frowned as if he wanted to criticize them but could not. “Make sure no one finds out you’re here,” he whispered quickly to Ginny. Then, more loudly, he said, “Good night, Mr. Potter.”
He left the room, and Ginny re-sealed the curtains. Finally. Who’d have thought we’d have to pretend to relax before we could really relax?
Ginny sat at the foot of the bed and eyed her pajamas critically. They had clearly once belonged to Ron. They were a dingy tan color with Quaffles, Bludgers, and tiny Golden Snitches scattered across the fabric. The legs and sleeves covered her feet and hands completely, and all of the edges were badly frayed.
Using her new wand, she shortened the legs to fit her properly, removing the frayed material. She cut the arms off neatly so that they stopped just above her elbows. She ran her wand over the other edges, neatening them as much as possible without removing any fabric.
That’s the best I can do, I guess. Normally Mum would be proud of me for using those charms, but I’m not sure she’d like it this time.
She put her wand on their nightstand next to Harry’s and lay down next to him in what was becoming their usual position. The shorter sleeves of her pajama top allowed her forearm to rest against his stomach under his shirt, providing the contact they needed.
I’m really glad this all worked out, Ginny.
Me, too. Maybe we’ll be able to pay better attention in class this week.
When are we going to tell Ron? Harry asked.
Soon, but not yet, she replied. I need to get over Percy’s attitude before I’ll want to tell Ron.
Harry was quiet for a moment before he asked, Maybe we could do something get him back for it? He pulled up the earlier memory of changing Percy’s underwear pink.
Ginny began giggling under her breath. Why didn’t I think of that?
You did, I just . . . I think I just reminded you.
No, that was your idea, Harry. We’ll prank Perfect Prefect Percy when we see a chance.
What’ll we do to him? Harry was still bothered by Percy’s comments, and the thought of some innocent retribution was soothing.
I don’t know, but we’ll come up with something. We’ve got all year, if you don’t mind waiting to do something really good.
That’s fine with me.
Sleep well, Harry.
You too, Ginevra.
They fell asleep quickly, and slept deeply for the entire night.
Chapter 9: Taking Off
Author's Notes: Thanks, as always, to Moshpit, Jonathan Avery, and Treecat.
Thursday morning, Harry and Ginny woke refreshed. They had enjoyed four nights of normal sleep with only one brief nightmare, and they felt immensely better than they had a week earlier. Lifting her head from its place on Harry’s chest, Ginny rubbed her eyes, waved briefly, and popped back to her dormitory.
A few minutes later, they each stood outside their respective lavatories with their shower things in hand. Each dormitory of the tower had its own large bathroom with three showers, three stalls, and three sinks.
Ready for more fun with the tiles? Ginny asked.
I guess so, Harry responded.
They went into the stalls and started their daily routines of counting and cleaning. When Harry finished, he sat on a bench in the small private dressing area outside the shower stall and played with the tiles. He always waited for Ginny to tell him he could stop.
After they returned to Hogwarts, Harry had started using the charm Ginny once used on Percy’s underwear. At first, he cast rosasempra on his toothbrush and made sure that he could reverse the charm with finite incantatem. Once he had succeeded, he learned to make individual squares of tile turn pink instead of just counting them. When he knew how to do that, he moved on to ‘drawing’ pink designs on the white wall of the bathroom. Today, he tried to spell his name in pink letters, but the tiles were too large to make a good ‘A’.
Harry was thoroughly tired of pink, so he decided to experiment with different colors. He realized that practicing spells on the lavatory wall was probably not a good idea, so he picked up an unused towel.
Clearly, he would have to use some other incantation. He knew from Ginny’s memory that rosa was the part of the spell that made things pink. Rosa was from Latin, but neither of them knew the names of any other colors in that language. Instead, he thought about English words that had parts of color names in them. He hoped to use part of another word referring to a color and put it in his spell to replace rosa. The first such word that came to mind was ‘brunette’. ‘Brune’ sounded rather like brown, and it fit nicely with the rest of the word.
Harry focused carefully on the towel and pictured it as a soft shade of brown, such as he had seen on some of the animals at the zoo. When he had the image firmly fixed in his mind, he concentrated as hard as he could and tapped the towel with his wand as he said “brunesempra!”
The towel shimmered slightly and became a pink plush rabbit. The rabbit was about a foot tall, with floppy ears that framed its head. It stood on its hind legs with its front paws extended, as though it were grasping something. The rabbit’s eyes and the stitching forming its mouth and nose were brown, but the rest of the animal was bright pink. Harry was almost positive that the creature was mocking him with its slight grin.
Ginny’s laughter rang through Harry’s head, and he imagined that he could hear her howling with glee with his ears also. Startled by the appearance of the rabbit, his concentration faltered, but Ginny’s eyes were closed as she doubled over laughing in her shower.
Bemused, Harry reached out and tentatively touched the rabbit’s fur. To his surprise, it was much softer than the towel it had once been. It was stuffed tightly enough to sit upright and retain its shape, but it was still very plush.
He sighed and shook his head. Clearly, he thought, experimenting with spells was not as simple as it might seem. He raised his wand to cancel the charm and return the towel to its place. “Finite . . . ”
Wait! Ginny screamed.
What’s wrong, Ginny?
Can I keep him? He looks like he wants a hug. Hogwarts won’t miss one towel.
Harry could tell that she genuinely liked his odd creation. I think it looks more like it wants to hit me, but sure, Ginny. You can have it if you want it.
Great! she said happily.
What about Snuggles? he wondered.
He always likes to make new friends. She thought for a moment. The bunny will need a name, though. You made him, so you get to name him.
Harry had no idea what sort of name to give to a stuffed rabbit, but it was important to Ginny for some reason. Err . . . well, it’s a bunny, like you said, so I guess you should call it, umm, Bun-bun?
Bun-bun? she repeated. That’s not very creative, is it?
And Snuggles is pure genius?
It’s not bad for a two year old, she insisted. She paused and then said, Okay, his name is Bun-bun. It fits somehow. Thanks, Harry. He’s wonderful.
You’re welcome, Ginny. He could not imagine why she was so fond of a pink rabbit that had started life as a towel, but if she liked it, he was glad to have made it for her.
He picked up Bun-bun, wrapped him in another towel to conceal him from his roommates, and put the bunny with the rest of his things. Then he returned to the bench and continued trying to write his name in pink tiles while Ginny rinsed her hair.
Harry, this is silly, Ginny said. We’ve seen our own memories, right? And neither of us laughed or anything, did we? He agreed. Can we just stop worrying about it? I know you won’t make fun of me, and you know I won’t make fun of you. We won’t tell anyone else.
If that’s what you want, Ginny. I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable.
We’ll get used to it. Go ahead, stop charming those stupid tiles and get on with your day.
Harry got up from his bench, used a few finite incantatem spells to erase his work on the tiles, returned to his room, and dressed for the day. Alongside his own senses, he saw the ceiling of Ginny’s shower and felt water running down his back. Wow, that stuff is heavy when it’s wet! he said, resisting the urge to tense his neck against the weight.
I’d appreciate it if you didn’t refer to my hair as ‘stuff’, she replied wryly.
You know I like it, Ginny. I just never thought about what it would be like to wash it. He put away his shower things and tucked Bun-bun between the two pillows on his bed. Then he pulled the curtains closed to avoid awkward questions from his roommates.
Wait until I start brushing it. Then you’ll really appreciate what it means to have hair this long.
As promised, brushing Ginny’s hair took much longer than Harry had imagined. He finally understood why he spent so much time waiting for her when she washed it.
Still like it, Harry? she asked. Harry knew she was only half teasing. She really hoped he did not mind the hair she cherished so much.
Of course I do. It’s your hair, and you can do whatever you want with it.
Great! Now I can shave my head, just like I’ve always dreamed about. Thanks, Harry. Now she was joking, though they both knew she appreciated his willingness to let her make her own decisions. Her mother or brothers would have tried to tell her what to do with her hair if she gave them the opportunity.
At breakfast, a long stream of owls brought the morning post. One of the first owls to enter the hall dropped a small package in front of Neville. The shy boy was sitting next to Harry and Ginny, as had become the norm at meals ever since Ginny first issued the invitation. As other students continued to receive mail, Neville tore open the package to reveal a small glass ball filled with swirling white smoke.
“A Remembrall!” he exclaimed. “It’s from Gran. I always forget things, and this is supposed to turn red if there’s something I’ve forgotten to do.”
I bet you do a much better job of reminding me of things than any Remembrall would, Ginny, Harry teased.
She grinned. And don’t you forget it, Potter.
As Neville wrapped his fingers around the ball, it turned bright red. “Oh, no. I’ve forgotten something already.”
“Maybe you should remember to write a letter to your Gran,” Ginny suggested.
The Remembrall returned to its original white color, and Neville smiled broadly. “That’s it, alright. Thanks, Ginny.” Unfortunately, the Remembrall promptly turned scarlet again. “Oh, well,” he sighed. “At least that’s one less thing I’m forgetting.”
Hedwig flew into the Great Hall with the last of the post owls. She carried a package wrapped in brown paper, and Harry and Ginny watched as she flew towards them. The white owl dropped the package directly in front of Ginny, picked up some bacon from Harry’s plate, and flew back out of the hall. The brown package was clearly labeled “To Ginny Weasley, from Mum.”
“Why is Harry’s owl bringing your mail?” Ron asked.
“She was probably bored,” Harry answered for Ginny. “I don’t get much mail, and I bet Hedwig knows we all sit together at breakfast.”
Ginny reached for the box to open it, but she was distracted by the arrival of Draco Malfoy and his goons. The blond boy noticed Neville’s Remembrall glowing red on the table next to him.
“You’ve forgotten something, Longbottom. What could it be?” Malfoy pretended to think with his hand on his chin, and Crabbe and Goyle mimicked his pose. “Ah, yes! You’ve forgotten that you’ll never be anything more than a worthless squib. Try it now. I’m sure it’ll turn white again.”
“Shove off, Malfoy,” Ginny snapped acidly.
“Ah, hello, baby Weasel,” the Slytherin replied haughtily. “You’ve got a package, too, have you? And it’s wrapped in such nice brown paper. I can’t imagine what’s inside . . . that paper must have used up every knut your idiot father made this week.”
Harry, Ginny, and Ron all leapt to their feet at once, eager to make Malfoy regret his insults. At that moment, however, Professor McGonagall approached them from the Head Table. “What is going on here?”
“Nothing, Professor,” Malfoy said quickly. “I was just helping these Gryffindors with some questions they had.” Smirking, he led Crabbe and Goyle back to the Slytherin table. McGonagall looked sternly at Harry and the Weasleys until they sat back down again, and then she went back to her own chair.
I hate him, Ginny fumed.
Me too, Harry agreed readily. I met him that first time in Diagon Alley, and I thought he was awful. He's only gotten worse since then. I wanted to hit him on the train when he insulted your family.
I met him once at the Ministry of Magic when I was with Dad, Ginny said. His father is always hanging around there talking to the Minister, and Draco was following him that day. Dad and Mr. Malfoy started arguing about something — they hate each other. Draco’s father must have already told him about my family, because he walked right up to me. He said my hair must be so long because we couldn’t afford to have it cut. She pulled the mass of her hair over her shoulder and held it in both hands. Then he said if we were smart, we’d realize that if we just chopped it all off, we could sell it to a wigmaker and maybe get to eat meat for once.
Harry saw the memory clearly and felt how horrified eight year old Ginny had been by the thought of losing her hair.
I asked Dad about it later, she admitted. He said he would never even think about making me cut my hair. He said it was worth all the galleons in the world because it was attached to my head, and it would be completely worthless if it wasn’t. I haven’t wanted to do more than trim the ends of it since then.
Malfoy’s treatment of Ginny, then and now, made Harry angry, but he was interrupted before he could respond.
“Aren’t you going to open that, Ginny?” Ron wondered, pointing at the parcel Hedwig had delivered.
Ginny opened the box and found the pajamas her mother had promised to send. Mrs. Weasley had apparently done her best to find pajamas that were feminine but offered complete coverage. They had a green and white floral print against a soft blue background. Ginny identified the flowers as lilies of the valley.
Not bad at all, really. One of the advantages to being the only girl is that sometimes I get new things instead of hand-me-downs from the boys.
“Figures,” Ron said sourly. “More new clothes.”
“You’re welcome to wear them if you want to, Ron.” Ginny said. Her brother snapped his mouth shut.
Harry suddenly remembered a similar scene from when Ginny was seven. Her mother had bought her the blue sundress she had been wearing when she and Harry met on Platform 9 ¾. At the time, it had been quite large for her. Ron, seeing the flawless material, asked why Ginny got new clothes while he had to wear his brothers old things. Mrs. Weasley replied that if Ron wanted to wear dresses, he was welcome to, and he could give them to Ginny when he outgrew them.
“You could have worn any old pajamas,” Ron muttered. “They don’t have to be new and flowery and everything if you’re just going to sleep in them.”
Ginny glared at him, frustrated by his unwillingness to let the matter drop. Instead of meeting her gaze, Ron focused on his breakfast and repeatedly stabbed at the sausages on his plate.
There’s a note, Harry observed, fighting his own annoyance with Ginny’s scowling brother. A folded sheet of parchment was tucked between the buttons on the front of the long-sleeved pajama top. Ginny pulled it out, unfolded it, and began to read.
Ginny,
Here are your new pajamas. The buttons have been charmed especially for you. They can’t be buttoned or unbuttoned anywhere except the girls’ loo on your floor of Gryffindor Tower. If you don’t put them on for 24 hours, they’ll screech at you loudly enough to wake up your roommates. Once you put them on, you have to keep them on for at least four hours, so you should use the loo before you get ready for bed each night. Professor McGonagall can reset the charms if needed.
They’ll grow so that they always fit you. We hope you like them.
Love,
Mum & Dad
P.S. You can’t take the buttons off of the fabric, either.
Ginny was fuming, and Harry was not much calmer. Their frustration at the note added to their lingering anger at Malfoy and Ron, making them both very quick to lose their temper.
I didn’t think they’d actually charm my pajamas! How could they do that? Does she really think I’m going to run around the tower starkers?
Why can’t they just trust us? I’m not a criminal or anything, Harry groused.
I’m the one who has to wear pretty blue shackles every night for the rest of my life!
“Going to be a great day, I can tell,” Ron muttered. “Ginny gets a present, and now the ruddy castle’s heating up again.”
Aargh! Ginny screamed silently and wordlessly. Let’s go outside so we don’t set the stupid table on fire.
They got up and moved towards the door. Ginny carried her new pajamas with her. Ron was too busy shoving sausages into his mouth and ignoring them to notice that they left.
Maybe if we managed to burn the table, we could say the pajamas were lost in the fire, Harry suggested, only half joking.
Don’t tempt me.
By silent consent, they stopped and sat on the grass. Ginny tossed the garment box onto the ground in front of them and glared at the pajamas still resting innocently inside. She was silent for several minutes, and Harry let her unformed thoughts swirl past him.
Finally, she spoke again. They are pretty, aren’t they?
Ginny did not need or want an answer. She knew her mother had bought the nicest pajamas she could find so that Ginny would want to wear them. Knowing that didn’t stop her from admiring the fabric.
Harry saw where her thoughts were leading. Does it really make a difference? You always change in your room, and you never get up in the middle of the night.
I know. And I can’t imagine not going to bed at all, so the twenty-four hour thing shouldn’t matter. She sighed. It’s the idea, though. We’re not doing anything wrong, but they keep putting minders on us. These charms are just ridiculous.
Well, maybe we can learn how to remove the charms, Harry suggested. It might take a while to find the spells or whatever, but apparently you’ll have them for years.
Yeah. And if we take off the charms and don’t get sent to Azkaban or something, we can show them that we didn’t need the charms in the first place.
Resigned, Ginny closed the box, and the two children headed back to Gryffindor Tower to get ready for their first class. Both of them approached Charms with a bit more interest than they had shown the previous day.
***
That afternoon the Gryffindor first years shared their first flying lesson with the Slytherins. Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione walked through the castle towards the main entrance discussing the Transfiguration essays McGonagall had returned to them a few minutes earlier.
“She didn’t find any errors,” Hermione said, “but I’m sure she was being lenient for our first essay. I’ll have to work harder next time.”
Do you think it’s occurred to her that McGonagall didn’t find any errors because there weren’t any errors? Ginny asked Harry, grinning slightly.
Probably not. Should we tell her? he replied.
She wouldn’t believe us.
“How did you do, Harry?” Hermione asked politely.
“Pretty well, I guess. She said my sentences were awkward, but she didn’t take off too much for it.”
Sorry about that, Harry. My mark was better. I guess she liked the way we wrote it the first time.
Are you kidding? Harry asked, incredulous. That’s the best mark I’ve ever gotten on anything.
Still, Ginny insisted, next time we’ll write your essay first and mine second. We can take turns.
“What about you, Ron?” Ginny asked. “Did you get a good mark?”
The red-haired boy shrugged. “Good enough.”
Hermione huffed loudly at his lack of concern. “You’ll never be a Prefect with an attitude like that.”
“Fine with me,” Ron replied with a wave of his hand. “Bunch of swotty gits, Prefects.”
The bushy-haired girl inhaled sharply and clenched her jaw. Tears formed in her eyes as she increased her pace to distance herself from the group.
“Oh, good one, Ron,” Ginny snapped.
I don’t understand why she’s that upset, Ginny.
I’d guess that she’s been called a swot every day for years, so she’s sensitive about it. What happens when someone calls you a freak? she asked.
Oh. Harry felt his cheeks flush with anger at the mention of his least favorite word.
Ron was oblivious to their exchange and to Harry’s sudden understanding. “Thanks,” Ron replied, clearly not understanding what his sister had meant either.
If all Prefects are like Percy, he has a bit of a point, Harry thought after a moment.
They’re not, Harry! she replied vehemently. None of the others have bothered us at all!
She was irritated with him, and Harry did not like the feeling at all, even if he was unsure what he had done wrong. I’m sorry, Ginny, he said sincerely.
Ginny sighed. It’s okay, Harry. I’m not really upset with you. Ron’s the one who’s thicker than a castle wall. He shouldn’t have said that to Hermione.
He followed her thought and realized what she meant. She wants to be a Prefect?
Probably about as much as you want to keep your right hand.
The first years emerged from the castle to find Madam Hooch waiting for them on the front lawn. The sight of the brooms laid out for their use drove all other thoughts from Harry and Ginny’s mind.
The flying coach started the lesson by having them all shout “Up!” to their brooms, causing them to leap off the ground and wait at hip level. Most of the class waited while Hermione, Neville, and a Slytherin girl struggled to get their brooms aloft.
I don’t know why she had us do that, Ginny said. I’ve never seen anyone do it before. Usually you just get on the broom and go.
Hooch had them mount their brooms and gave instructions for hovering just above the ground. When they tried it, Neville kicked too hard and shot up into the sky, out of control. Seconds later, he fell to the ground and broke his arm. As Madam Hooch escorted him to the Hospital Wing, Draco Malfoy laughed out loud to his friends.
“Did you see that?” he gloated. “Someone should have just told him that a fat idiot like him would never be able to fly properly. Could have saved us all some time.”
“Shut up, Malfoy,” Parvati Patil snapped.
“Sticking up for Longbottom, Patil?” Pansy Parkinson sniped back.
Looking around, Malfoy found Neville’s Remembrall lying in the grass nearby. He picked it up and tossed it lightly from hand to hand. Harry and Ginny were absolutely sure that the blonde Slytherin did not intend to return Neville’s gift.
“Hand it over, Malfoy,” Harry ordered.
“You want it, Potter? Come and get it, then,” Draco said. Without waiting for a response, he leapt onto his broom and soared into the air, sneering down at Harry on the ground below.
“Afraid, Potter?”
Help me, Ginny. What do I need to know about flying?
As quickly as possible, Ginny remembered her first experiences on a broomstick. Harry saw how to steer, ascend, descend, and change speed. He rose slowly into the air and circled once, trying out the controls Ginny showed him. Finally, he stopped in front of the surprised Slytherin and said, “Hand it over, Malfoy.”
“Just because you asked so nicely, I will,” the boy sneered. “Go fetch, Potter!” He threw the Remembrall in a long arc across the castle’s lawn and dropped back to the ground.
Without stopping to think, Harry dove after the falling bauble.
Remember to lean over on the broom. You’ll go faster! Ginny advised.
Harry flattened himself on the handle, and the broomstick responded with more speed. He rushed towards the ground, and Ginny closed her eyes so they could focus on the tiny sphere. Just before he hit the ground, Harry reached out with his right hand and caught the fragile Remembrall, pulling sharply on the broomstick with his left hand. His dive flattened into a slower glide across the lawn as the Gryffindors applauded.
The feeling was amazing. Soaring through the air . . . feeling the wind rush past him . . . pulling out of his dive and knowing he would not hit the ground. It was intoxicating.
That was incredible! Ginny agreed happily as she clapped. I’ve never done a dive like that before.
Really? If I did it, you could do it, Harry replied confidently.
I don’t know, Harry. I think I would have pulled up sooner than you did.
Harry steered his broom back towards the other students. As he came to a stop, he saw Professor McGonagall rushing across the grounds towards him.
Uh-oh.
“Mr. Potter! What do you think you’re doing?” the Professor demanded.
“Neville dropped his Remembrall, Professor, and . . .” Harry began, but his Head of House cut him off.
“I am not interested in your excuses, Mr. Potter! Come with me.” Behind McGonagall’s back, Malfoy smirked broadly at Harry’s predicament.
Ginny glared at him and opened her mouth to tell him off, but Harry stopped her. Don’t bother, Ginny. Right now, one of us is in trouble. If you hex Malfoy, we’ll both be punished, and he’s not worth it.
The Professor led him into the castle and out of sight. Ginny and the other first years waited for Madam Hooch to return. “Now, Potter, tell me what happened,” McGonagall instructed.
Harry told her everything, only leaving out Ginny’s help with flying. When he finished his story, the stern woman stared at him for a moment, then said, “Come with me, Potter.”
As they climbed the stairs towards the third floor, they passed Madam Hooch as she returned from the Hospital Wing. Harry climbed the stairs carefully and watched with Ginny as the flying lesson resumed.
“No more accidents, please,” Hooch said sharply. “Try hovering again. No more than a few inches off the ground.”
Harry started down the hall, and Ginny hovered easily on her broom. “Very well. Those of you who are hovering, dismount and spread out. Try flying in small circles to your left and right,” Hooch instructed. As some of the students moved away, the hawk-faced woman worked with the rest to help them balance on their broomsticks.
McGonagall opened the door to the Charms classroom and asked to speak with someone named Wood. Harry counted flagstones to keep himself from watching with Ginny as she circled slowly. Ginny could perform such simple maneuvers half asleep, so she watched and listened as a tall, athletic boy emerged from Flitwick’s class.
“Mr. Potter,” the Transfiguration professor said, “this is Oliver Wood, Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Mr. Wood, this is Harry Potter. He will be our new Seeker.”
Ginny had to wrench her attention back to her own body to keep from falling off of her broom in surprise.
Harry, that’s wonderful! Harry could feel how proud she was of him.
But it wasn’t me, he argued. You were showing me what to do.
Who cares? You’re the one who did it.
McGonagall told Wood about Harry’s catch out on the front lawn. He was surprised to hear her compare him to Ginny’s brother Charlie. The second Weasley brother had been much more impressive in Ginny’s memories than he had been.
“Ever seen a game of Quidditch, Potter?” Wood asked.
“Students,” Madam Hooch shouted, “continue circling and try to ascend and descend as you turn.” Ginny obediently rose and fell as she looped easily.
Harry shook his head. Ginny remembered plenty of Quidditch games from her backyard, but he did not want to admit that to the older boy.
"He's just the build for a Seeker, too," Wood said, examining Harry closely. "Light and speedy. We'll have to get him a decent broom, Professor. A Nimbus Two Thousand or a Cleansweep Seven, I'd say."
“I will speak to the Headmaster about finding a broom for him,” McGonagall said. “I would very much like to keep Slytherin from winning the Quidditch Cup again.”
“Well, we’ve got a Seeker now. Our chances will be better,” Wood remarked hopefully as he turned to go back to his class.
On the lawn, the flying coach asked for volunteers for a short race on their brooms. Ginny, Malfoy, Ron, and five other students arranged themselves along a line Madam Hooch drew in the grass with her wand. Ron gave Ginny a perplexed look as they hovered in place.
“You’ll fly from here to the right side of the Quidditch pitch.” She instructed. “Circle around behind the pitch and come back here. The first to cross this line will be the winner.”
“Professor, may I speak to you for a moment?” Harry asked McGonagall.
“Very well, Potter. Follow me,” she replied and led Harry back towards the stairs.
Madam Hooch blew her whistle, and the eight students accelerated towards the Quidditch pitch. Ginny was completely focused on flying as fast as possible, and Harry loved the feeling of skimming along above the lawn. As the racers approached the pitch, Ginny and Malfoy were side-by-side in the lead, with Ron and a stringy Slytherin close behind.
Harry started down the stairs at McGonagall’s side as Ginny and Malfoy began circling around the pitch. As the two crossed behind the circular structure and out of view of Madam Hooch, Malfoy reached across the gap between them and tugged sharply down on Ginny’s robes. The pull caused her to lean sharply to her right, but she was able to compensate and straighten without losing speed.
Dirty cheater! Ginny complained.
Next, she saw the Slytherin fall slightly behind her. Looking over her shoulder, she watched as he grabbed the twigs at the end of her broom and leaned backwards, forcing her to pull them both for a moment. Then, suddenly, he pulled forcefully back at the same time as he leaned forward and accelerated. Ginny knew that the move, which was a clear foul in Quidditch, was intended to allow him to get ahead of her, but she managed to keep up with him.
As the two flyers neared the point where they would emerge from behind the pitch, Malfoy apparently became desperate. The blonde boy swerved sharply to his left, attempting to force Ginny to collide with the outer wall of the pitch. They saw him coming, and Harry yelled wordlessly to Ginny, but she was already moving.
Ginny threw herself to her left, away from Malfoy, and allowed her body to swing below her broom as she lost altitude and steered to cross beneath him. She continued her roll, and her long ponytail brushed the ground before she pulled herself back onto her broom. She and Malfoy had switched positions, but his surprise at her maneuver cost him a few seconds, and she pulled ahead of him as they emerged from behind the pitch.
Harry stepped off the stairs onto the first floor as Ginny evaded Malfoy, and he found himself falling as she raced towards the finish line. He caught himself painfully on his hands, but he was not really hurt.
“Are you alright, Potter?” McGonagall asked. Ginny crossed the line well ahead of Malfoy, and the Gryffindors cheered as the Slytherins hissed. She landed smoothly, smiled hugely, and quickly patted the dirt out of her hair.
I won! I’m glad I practiced that move after I saw Charlie do it. Her focus relaxed as she addressed Harry, and she found him picking himself up off the floor. He felt her concern push aside her elation. Harry! Are you okay?
Yeah, I think so. I was coming off the stairs when you did that.
I’m sorry! I wouldn’t have done it if I’d known, she apologized.
It’s okay, Ginny. I should have been paying more attention. Your race was amazing! He let his happiness for her build so that she could tell how impressed he was.
“Mr. Potter?” McGonagall repeated, growing concerned as Harry failed to respond.
“Sorry, Professor. I’m fine,” he said. He glanced up and down the hall, making sure they were alone and then whispered, “Ginny was flying, and I got confused.”
“I see,” McGonagall replied cautiously. She turned and continued towards her office. Harry followed her carefully.
On the lawn, Madam Hooch awarded Ginny five points and ended the lesson. As Ginny started back towards the castle, Malfoy scowled at her and muttered, “This isn’t over, baby Weasel.” She rolled her eyes and continued on her way.
Ron caught up with her and leaned over. “Where’d you learn to fly like that, Ginny?” he asked disbelievingly.
She grinned mischievously. “Same place you did, Ron. See you later!” Harry and Ginny cherished the look on Ron’s face as she broke into a run and entered the castle, headed for Gryffindor Tower.
“Here we are, Mr. Potter. Have a seat,” McGonagall instructed. Harry sat in front of her desk, and she crossed to her chair behind it. “What did you wish to speak to me about?”
“Professor, I shouldn’t be your Seeker,” he admitted. “Ginny told me how to fly and helped me catch Neville’s ball. Just now, she outran everyone else in a race, even though Malfoy tried to cheat. She should get to play.”
Ginny caught up with Harry’s plan immediately. Oh no you don’t, she warned. She ducked into an empty classroom and willed herself to Professor McGonagall’s office. She appeared between his chair and the desk and then spun to face the surprised woman.
“Don’t listen to him, Professor,” the small girl insisted. “I only showed him how to control the broom. He did the flying. I couldn’t have caught that ball.”
I bet you could have, Ginny, but I wouldn’t have gotten off the ground without your help.
Ginny turned around to look Harry in the eyes. Don’t be stupid. Madam Hooch would have told you all that anyway.
It doesn’t matter. She hadn’t told me yet, and you had. You were brilliant in that race, so you deserve to be on the team. He picked up her next thought without words. Don’t try to tell me you don’t want to be on the team. I know you’d love it.
So would you, Ginny countered. We felt amazing when you were flying.
“Excuse me, Miss Weasley, Mr. Potter,” McGonagall interjected.
They stopped and looked at her bashfully. They had completely forgotten she was there, and apparently it was obvious that they had been arguing.
“You’re right, Miss Weasley. This is an issue I face continuously in my classes. You gave Mr. Potter the information he needed, and you believe he did the rest on his own.” McGonagall turned to Harry. “Mr. Potter, you believe it was Miss Weasley’s knowledge and help that allowed you to fly as you did. Correct?”
Both students nodded. Ginny was glad the Professor agreed with her, but neither of them knew why.
Seeing their confused expressions, McGonagall said, “Perhaps I can show you. Please sit down, Miss Weasley.” Ginny sat in the chair on Harry’s right, and the older witch continued. “Do you know how to braid your hair?”
Perplexed, Ginny nodded. “Yes, Professor. I’ve been doing it for years.”
“I suspected as much,” McGonagall replied. “Hair the length of yours can be difficult to manage. Could you demonstrate for us, please?”
Still uncertain, Ginny reached up and swiftly braided a lock of hair near her right ear. After a minute or two, she had braided her waist-length hair into a pleat that hung only to her elbow.
“Now, Potter, do you know how to do what she did? Do you know the pattern of movements needed to make the braid?”
“Yes, Professor,” Harry replied.
“Miss Weasley, would you permit him to braid your hair?” Ginny nodded.
Harry reached across the gap between their chairs and took some of her long hair in his hands. He separated it into three sections, but they were all different sizes. He began laying one strand across another, back and forth. He braided Ginny’s hair for several minutes, but he only managed half of its length before he gave it up as a bad job. The lock he had braided was lumpy, crooked, and had individual hairs looping out of it.
McGonagall answered his confused look. “You see, Potter, that knowing how to do something is not the same as being able to do it well. Ginny showed you how to fly and how to braid, but you flew well because you are a talented flyer. Apparently, you are not a talented hairdresser.”
That’s it exactly, Ginny added. You’re a great flyer. I just got you started.
But you could be on the team, Ginny, he repeated. You’d love that.
I’ll just share with you whenever you play, and it’ll be just like I’m flying. That’s why you fell on the stairs, right?
He nodded. It was awesome.
“I see you both understand,” the professor remarked. “I appreciate your loyalty, Mr. Potter, but as an educator and former Quidditch player, I assure you that you are on the team because of your own skill. I look forward to seeing your performance on the pitch.”
McGonagall waved them out of her office, and the two friends walked back to Gryffindor Tower.
I can’t wait to tell Ron you made the Quidditch team, Ginny said.
He may not want to talk to you after that flying lesson.
Why not? She managed a completely innocent expression. It’s not my fault that he and the others never let me fly with them at home.
They found Ron in the common room reading a Quidditch magazine he’d found lying around. Sitting on a sofa next to his chair, they leaned forward to catch his attention.
“Ron, you’ll never believe this,” Ginny began. “McGonagall made Harry the new Gryffindor Seeker!”
“What?” he asked incredulously. “No way. No first year has played on a house team in about a hundred years! The last one was before they made the rule about first years having their own brooms.”
“It’s true,” Ginny confirmed. “McGonagall took him to see Wood. She said he was as good as Charlie when he caught that Remembrall.”
Ron nodded reluctantly. “That was pretty amazing, Harry. How did you learn to fly with those Muggles?”
“He didn’t. That was his very first time on a broom,” Ginny answered excitedly.
Ron glanced at his sister in annoyance. “He can talk for himself, can’t he?”
“Err, yeah,” Harry said. “I’ve never flown before today.”
“That was brilliant for a first go, then.” He paused for a moment. “Say, how are you going to be on the team if you can’t to have a broomstick?”
“I don’t know,” Harry admitted. “McGonagall said she’d talk to the Headmaster about it.”
"Right pair you are," the other boy frowned. "Harry makes the Quidditch team, and Ginny makes us all look like snails in that race."
"She was great, wasn't she?" Harry agreed. "I've never seen flying like that before."
Harry! Ginny warned.
"It's a standard chaser move, really, but . . ." Ron trailed off as he realized Harry's mistake. "Say, how could you have seen it? You were in the castle with McGonagall."
Ginny sighed. Oh well. We should go ahead and tell him, I guess. At least he’s happy about Quidditch right now.
“Ron, look . . . can we talk to you upstairs?” she asked hopefully.
“What for?” her brother asked.
She leaned closer to him and whispered, “It’s a secret, okay?”
Ron scowled, but Ginny knew that her brother could not resist the lure of a secret. Harry and Ginny led him upstairs to the boys’ room. Fortunately, Harry’s other roommates were elsewhere. They sat on Harry’s bed while Ron faced them from his.
How do you think he’ll react? Harry asked. I hope he’s not like Percy.
They’re more alike than either of them would ever admit, so Ron tries really hard to not be like Percy, Ginny answered. Ron’s always had to follow our brothers’ footsteps, and he never seems to do anything that they haven’t already done. He’s good at chess, but otherwise, he thinks of himself as second-hand, just like all of his things. I'm worried that he may see this as one more way in which he'll never be able to stand out, no matter how silly that thought may be.
“Ron, Harry and I have something we want to tell you,” Ginny began. It occurred to her that this explanation was not getting any easier with practice. “Since we met last week, we’ve been connected somehow. We share memories, thoughts, vision, and all sorts of things. That’s how Harry saw me fly . . . he was watching through my eyes. When I did that roll, he fell in the hallway.”
They waited expectantly for the youngest Weasley brother’s reaction. He stared at them for almost a minute. “Fred put you up to this, right? He’s downstairs turning my bag pink or something, isn’t he?”
What is it with your family and pink? Harry asked.
We have red hair, so we all hate pink. It makes us look like walking sunburns.
“No, Ron,” she said. “We’re being serious. The twins don’t even know about this.”
“You want me to believe that you two can trade memories and stuff? Yeah, right.”
“Do you remember on the train when I asked you about spiders?” Harry asked. “Ginny told me to say that.”
“Yeah, she told you on the platform. So?”
“She didn’t tell me on the platform. I told you that so you wouldn’t ask how I knew you don’t like spiders. She told me right then when I said it.” Harry sighed at Ron’s disbelieving look. “Okay, what about this. When you were five and Ginny was four, the two of you wanted to prank the twins by putting ants in their sock drawer. You scooped up part of an anthill in a jar, but you got bitten a lot when you did it. Then you put the jar in their drawer, but the ants just stayed inside and burrowed around in the dirt you’d gotten in there. The twins just laughed, but you got in trouble for playing with ants and getting bites all over your arms.”
“I’d forgotten all about those stupid ants. Why’d you tell him that, Ginny?”
“I didn’t tell him, Ron,” Ginny said, getting tired of his skepticism. “He remembered it, just like I do.”
“He wasn’t there. How could he remember it?”
“We told you, we share memories. Go ahead and try it. Ask him anything that only I would remember,” she offered.
“Fine.” Ron thought for a moment. “What happened the first time Mum made me help de-gnome the garden?”
Why do they always pick the silly things?
Because you did a lot of silly things? Harry suggested lightly.
I had fun, that’s all, she insisted. You’d better answer him.
“Ginny was seven, but she was too small to help,” Harry explained. “Your mum caught her letting the gnomes back into the garden while the rest of you were trying to toss them out. Gin said she thought the gnomes were lonely, so she didn’t get into trouble. Mrs. Weasley gave her a plate of biscuits to give to the gnomes outside the garden, but instead she gave them to you and your brothers. While you were eating, the gnomes snuck in again, and you had to start over.”
“You did?” Ron asked, outraged. “We thought it was gnome season or something. It took forever to get them all out.” Again, it took a moment for Ron to realize what had happened. “Bloody hell,” he said slowly.
Ginny felt Harry’s surprise. Ron started saying that after he heard Charlie say it. Mum hasn’t been able to stop him since.
“You two really know all that stuff? Do you remember You-Know-Who, Ginny?” Ron asked excitedly.
“Ron!” Ginny scolded him. “That’s not something you should make us think about. Yes, I remember stupid Voldemort, and I remember Harry’s mum screaming before she died. Does that make you happy?”
“Well, err . . . no, ‘course not,” Ron replied, his eyes widening in fright at the mention of Voldemort’s name. He glanced about the room, avoiding Ginny’s gaze, before his eyes stopped on a family picture by his bedside. “Do Mum and Dad know about this? Mum’ll freak!”
“That’s why we went home last weekend,” she confirmed. “Dumbledore wanted us to tell them.”
“What’d she say?”
“It took a while, but she’s okay with it.”
‘Okay’? I’m not sure I’d call her okay, Harry commented.
She’s learning to accept things, and if it makes Ron happier, I’ll pretend that’s ‘okay’.
Ron thought for another minute then sighed. “It figures. You spend ten years talking about Harry Potter, and in one day you’ve got him in your head.” He glanced at Harry. “Did she tell you that ‘Harry’ was her third word? It came after ‘no’ and ‘cookie’.”
“That’s not true!” Ginny protested. Ron raised an eyebrow at her, and she added, “It was my fifth word, okay? I got ‘mummy’ and ‘dad’ first.”
I really wish they’d all been girls, she complained.
“Is that how you learned to fly, then, Ginny?” Ron asked, looking wise. “He was helping you?”
Harry answered to prevent her from exploding. “It was the other way around, Ron. She showed me how to control the broom before I took off after Malfoy. When you raced, I was just along for the ride. She’s been flying for four years.”
Ron was incredulous. “What? None of us ever showed her how to fly.”
“Just because you lot wouldn’t teach me doesn’t mean I couldn’t learn,” she scoffed. “You might have found out if you’d ever let me play Quidditch with you.”
“We didn’t know you could fly!”
“Did you think I was asking just for the fun of asking? You’re all lousy Chasers unless Charlie’s visiting.” Ginny was irritated. For his part, Harry was amused at Ron’s complete ignorance of his sister’s life. Harry’s quiet mirth kept her from becoming truly angry.
“Hey! I can make goals when I want to,” Ron protested.
“That’s because you’re the only one who wants to play Keeper. You stick with your nice, stationary hoops. I’ll take care of the Quaffle.”
Little harsh, Gin, don’t you think? Harry asked.
It’s his own fault if he never saw what was right under his nose.
“Oh, fine,” Ron retorted. “You found a way to get stuck to Harry Potter, super-Seeker, and now you’re the bloody queen of Quidditch. You should know, Harry,” Ron continued, turning to Harry. “She probably set this whole thing up just to get to you. She’s been talking about you all her life, and she’s smarter than she looks.”
Ginny reached for her wand, but Harry intercepted her hand. That won’t help, he reminded her. Even though Harry knew better, Ron’s accusation stung, and his insulting her appearance was completely uncalled for.
He . . . he has no right! She glared at her brother for a moment, and angry tears came to her eyes. As she fumed, she noticed that tiny wisps of smoke were rising from the carpet beneath her feet, and she knew that if she let Ron say anything else, she might endanger the entire tower. She made a strangled sound of anger and frustration, then sobbed and ran down the staircase, across to the girls’ stairs, and up to her bed.
Harry’s amusement vanished and was replaced with outrage. The curtains in the room billowed madly as he scowled at his friend’s brother. “How could you say that to her? She’s your sister! And she’s a lot nicer than you . . .” He struggled for the most insulting comparison while Ron smirked at him. “You and Percy!” Ron’s face paled suddenly, and Harry pushed on relentlessly. “I hope the rest of her brothers aren’t complete gits like you two.” He stomped out of the dormitory and down to the common room.
Ginny curled up and sobbed into her pillow, saddened by such a callous reaction from the brother she considered to be one of her best friends. Harry wanted to go up to sit with her, but Hermione Granger was reading in her bed nearby and looked up in concern as Ginny burst into the room.
“Ginny, are you alright?” Hermione asked. Ginny looked up to find that the older girl had put down her book and was standing hesitantly a few feet away.
“I’m okay, Hermione, thanks. My brother’s a stupid prat, that’s all,” the younger girl explained.
He’s wrong, Ginny. You know he’s wrong.
Of course he’s wrong! She screamed in his head. I couldn’t . . . I’d never do that to you!
I know you wouldn’t. And it’s a good thing, remember? Neither of us did anything to the other. It happened, and we like it this way. We don’t have to be ashamed of anything.
I’m not ashamed, Ginny agreed as her tears slowed.
“Ron, you mean?” At Ginny’s nod, Hermione continued. “He does seem a bit thick, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
“Yeah, that’s Ron. He’s a good brother, really, but he never thinks before he talks. And he either says the worst thing or the best thing, never anything in between.”
“Well, I am sorry he treated you poorly.” Hermione wrung her hands for a moment before adding, “Would you like to look over that History of Magic essay we did?”
“No, thank you.” Hermione’s expression crumbled, and Ginny hastily offered, “Maybe we could do it after dinner?”
Hermione smiled in response. “That would be wonderful.”
“Okay. Do you mind if Harry comes? We wrote our essays together.”
“Alright.”
“Thanks, Hermione. Really,” Ginny said sincerely. She wiped her eyes and went downstairs to join Harry on the sofa. When she sat down, he reached out and took her hand without thinking about it. She sighed as the familiar sense of comfort washed over them.
Thanks, Harry.
Don’t thank me. I feel better, too, he replied.
Ron’s just so . . . so . . . Ron.
I wanted to use that hex you showed me, but I decided you should get to do it.
That’s not a bad idea. Ginny considered it for a moment. When she had reached for her wand, she probably would have used that hex, but . . .she shook her head. It’s not really his fault. He’s the youngest of my brothers. I think he feels like everyone always gets good things and does good things before he does. Even I get new things sometimes, like my pajamas, just because I’m a girl.
I saw his room, though, Harry protested. He has all kinds of neat stuff.
Oh, Harry. Of course he’s got a lot of things compared to you, but he doesn’t know that. All he has to compare himself to is my other brothers, and everything he has was once theirs.
Before Harry could respond, Ron came down the boys’ stairs and approached them, dragging his feet. In spite of her sympathy, Ginny raised her chin and faced her brother defiantly. Meeting her eyes, he squared his shoulders, walked directly towards hers and stopped when he was close enough to ensure privacy.
“I’m sorry, Ginny. I know you didn’t do anything to Harry.” He took a deep breath and then continued, “You’re a really great flyer, Ginny.”
Ginny released Harry’s hand and jumped up to embrace her brother. “Thanks, Ron. I didn’t mean what I said about Quidditch. You’ll be a great Keeper someday. I’m sure of it.” She pulled him down to sit on her side and grabbed one of each boy’s hands.
See? She commented to Harry, happy again. He’s Ron.
Glancing around to make sure that no one else was nearby, Ginny leaned over and whispered to Ron. “Look . . . everything we told you is true. Mum said it’s easiest to think of Harry and me as another set of twins. You know how Fred and George always finish each other’s sentences and everything.”
“Alright, I’ll try that,” he nodded. “Just don’t charm my clothes to sing or anything, okay?”
“Okay. No singing clothes,” Ginny promised.
Her brother frowned for a moment. “So you two really do know everything the other thinks?” he asked hesitantly.
“Yeah.”
“Isn’t that . . . I mean, doesn’t that scare you a little?”
“How do you mean, Ron?” Ginny wondered.
“Well, everybody has thoughts and memories that are silly, or stupid, or embarrassing, right?” Ron observed. “Stuff you wouldn’t want other people to know. But you don’t get to keep those things secret, do you?”
“I guess not,” she replied. “Harry’s heard and seen all kinds of things that were a little embarrassing, and I’ve remembered some things I know he’d rather not share. But it’s different, somehow, than just telling someone about those things.
“Harry knows why I always asked to hear his story at bedtime, and he knows how I felt about it,” she continued. “He doesn’t like that anyone hears his story at all, but he’s not upset with me for being interested in him. I know he’s okay with it, so why should I be embarrassed?”
“I understand that, I guess, but I’m still not sure I’d want someone else in my head,” Ron said.
“Really, Ron, we like it,” Ginny assured him. “It’s comforting, in a way. I know that Harry already knows everything that bothers me, and I know that he won’t make fun of me. If something upsets me, he knows why, and he knows exactly what to do to help. I wouldn’t trade him for the world.”
“Ginny’s a great person,” Harry added quietly.
“Well, I guess it’s good that you like it. But I don’t think I would,” he concluded.
“Ron, there’s one more thing,” Ginny said cautiously. “This connection we have means we have to sleep in the same bed, so I’ve been sneaking up to your room at night. If you hear me make any noise or anything, let us know. We really need you to help us keep this a secret from everyone else.”
Ron looked hesitant. “Mum knows about that too?”
“Mum knows,” she stated. “She set Percy to watching us, and those pajamas I got this morning are charmed so that I can hardly use the loo without permission or alarms.”
“Well, okay then,” Ron agreed, looking relieved. “As long as Mum knows. Just try not to snore too much.”
“I do not snore!” Ginny declared and whacked her brother playfully on the arm.
He nodded solemnly and looked over her head at Harry. “She does, Harry.”
“Yeah, I know, but I’m getting used to it,” Harry replied in mock seriousness.
“Not you, too!” she protested, but she smiled as she whacked Harry in turn.
You do, you know. It’s really quiet, and compared to Ron you might as well be silent.
Fine. I’ll make sure to point out the next time you start rattling the curtains, she pouted, hiding her smile.
He nodded and then smirked. I have to do that. If I didn’t, someone might hear you.
So it’s all for my sake?
Of course.
Well, that’s entirely different, then. She raised her nose and said, Carry on.
“You really are talking to each other, aren’t you?” Ron asked. At their nods, he breathed, “Wicked!”
Hermione came down the stairs and found the three friends smiling and talking on the sofa together. “Alright, Ginny?” she asked as she crossed the common room.
“Yes, thanks. Are you going to dinner?” Ginny asked. The older girl nodded. “Do you guys want to go eat now? We’re going to look at that History of Magic essay with Hermione after dinner, Ron.”
“Err . . . okay, I guess,” her brother replied. Ginny strongly suspected that Ron had not yet written his essay.
She turned to her roommate. “Want some company, Hermione?”
“Yes, that would be nice.”
Ginny rose from the sofa and pulled the boys along with her. The four left the common room together, all previous arguments and suspicions put aside for the moment.
After they finished their dinner an hour later, they were talking among themselves when they were interrupted.
“Well, Potter, are they letting you take the train back to London, or are they just tossing you out of the gates? That’s what I’d do,” Malfoy declared.
Turning around, Harry saw Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle hovering over Ron’s shoulder, sneering at them all. “Isn’t it odd that you always show up here with those two lumps trailing along behind you?” Harry asked, waving his hand at Crabbe and Goyle. Then he turned to Ginny. “He must be worried that you’re going to hurt him, Ginny.”
He’s not smart enough for that, she said as she grinned. Neville, sitting with his back to Malfoy, covered a laugh with his hand.
“I’m not afraid of a little girl!” Malfoy barked.
See?
“I’ll fight any of you, any time, on my own,” he continued. “What do you say, Potter? Wizards duel, you and me. Tonight at midnight in the trophy room.”
Don’t, Harry! Ginny warned, but it was too late.
“He’ll be there,” Ron stated. “I’ll be his second. You bring one of those two so Harry can beat them when he’s done with you.”
“Fine,” Malfoy agreed, and then he turned to smirk at Ginny. “You should come along, baby Weasel. I can at least show you how to hold a wand properly.”
As Crabbe and Goyle laughed, Malfoy turned and led the way out of the Great Hall.
Ginny reached across the table to hit her brother on his shoulder. “Ron! Why did you say that? You didn’t give Harry a chance to say no.”
“Of course he wasn’t going to say no. Were you, Harry?” Ron asked confidently.
“Well . . . no, probably not,” he replied. He had not had time to think about it, but now he could not imagine backing down from the hated Slytherin.
“Harry, you can’t really be thinking of dueling him!” Hermione exclaimed. “You’ll get caught, and you’ll lose loads of points. They might even expel you for real.”
Malfoy would never make an offer like that unless he was absolutely sure he would win, Harry, Ginny reasoned with him. If you duel him, he’s not going to do anything but hurt you.
“I don’t care,” Harry responded to both girls. “I’m tired of him being mean to everyone, and if I have a chance to stop him, I’m going to take it.”
Harry, he probably knows some awful curse that nobody else has heard of. You don’t even know how to block a spell!
I can do that Bat Bogey Hex you came up with, he countered. I’m sure he’s never heard of that.
“I heard what he said to Ginny this afternoon. He deserves it,” Ron agreed.
Just don’t duel him, and you won’t have to worry about it.
No, Ginny. I know you don’t like it, but I can’t let him get away with treating other people the way he does. He’s been saying awful things to you for years, and you shouldn’t have to live with that.
I don’t care! He’s an awful, petty boy with too much money and too little sense. It doesn’t matter what he says.
“That doesn’t mean you should let him get you into trouble,” Hermione protested.
It does matter because it hurts you, and you know it, Harry said. You don’t have to come, but I’m going to be there at midnight.
Thoughts and feelings swirled and shifted in their heads as they walked back to Gryffindor Tower. They both knew that Ginny was right about Malfoy’s intentions, but they both agreed that the blond boy needed to be stopped. Ginny was willing to let Malfoy be mean to avoid getting Harry in trouble, and Harry was more than willing to get in trouble to keep Malfoy from hurting Ginny with his words.
Fine, she agreed at last with a sigh. I don’t think it’s a good idea, but I can’t stop you. I’m going with you. If you get hurt, so help me I’ll hex him myself, and then I’ll hex you too.
Harry knew she was serious, and he resolved to win in any way he could.
Just be careful, Harry. Try to figure out what he’s planning before he does it.
I will, Ginny, he promised.
The students went to bed at the normal hour that night, and Ginny told Hermione that she was going to try to sleep before midnight. Then she transported over to Harry’s room to be there for Percy’s regular bed-check.
As the two of them settled back to wait until midnight, Ginny glanced over at Harry and noticed a white towel stuffed between their pillows. Oh no! she gasped. Bun-bun!
I’m sorry, Ginny, Harry consoled her. I didn’t know it wouldn’t stay that way.
Ginny sat up abruptly and picked up Harry’s wand from their nightstand. She placed it firmly in his hand and held the towel in front of his face. Fix him, she insisted.
Harry decided that he would rather not sleep with Ginny in a bad mood, so he obediently muttered “brunesempra”. Bun-bun reappeared in all of his soft pink glory, and Ginny clutched the bunny to her chest happily. Harry realized that he would probably have to cast that spell every night for the foreseeable future.
Yes, you will, Ginny agreed. Harry returned his wand to the table and settled back to wait.
You could cast it yourself, you know, he pointed out.
Of course I could, but it’s your spell, so you should get to cast it.
Like when I wanted to let you cast your own hex on Ron? he asked, beginning to understand.
Exactly, she confirmed. If we need to cast one of those spells in a hurry, that’s okay, but normally it feels more polite to let you cast your own spell.
Harry had another thought. Do you mind if we put Bun-bun in my trunk during the day? The other guys might ask questions if he’s on my bed.
I guess that’s alright, she agreed.
At eleven thirty, Ginny went back to her room and descended the stairs to meet Harry and Ron. When she left, Hermione’s curtains were closed and quiet.
“I really wish you wouldn’t do this,” a voice whispered. Glancing around, Harry spotted Hermione sitting in a chair nearby. “You could get hurt, or get in trouble, or anything,” she continued.
“I’m sorry, Hermione,” Harry said gently. “I just can’t let Malfoy get away with behaving the way he does.”
“Why are you going, Ginny?” she asked. “You know it’s not going to turn out well.”
“I’m making sure they don’t do anything stupider than they have to,” Ginny answered. She was still not happy about the upcoming duel, but she would never leave Harry to face it alone.
Ron pulled open the portrait hole, and Harry and Ginny followed him out into the hallway. Stubbornly, Hermione climbed out of the room after them, still trying to dissuade them. “Why don’t you do something else? You could tell the Headmaster, or write a letter to the Board of Governors. We could all write letters!”
“His father is on the Board of Governors,” Ginny muttered sourly.
“Well then . . .” Hermione began, but she stopped as she heard the portrait swing shut behind her. She started to say the password to get back in, but they all noticed that the Fat Lady was missing from her painting. Hermione tugged on it anyway, but it would not move. She turned back to the rest of the group. “Fine. Fine! I’m coming with you. When we get caught, at least I can say I was trying to stop you.”
“I want to come, too.” The voice from the shadows of the hallway made them all jump. Ginny spotted Neville poking his head out of a nearby alcove. “I want to see someone beat Malfoy after he tried to break my Remembrall.”
“Come on, both of you,” Harry agreed. “I don’t want to be late.”
The five of them crept down the maze of hallways to the trophy room on the third floor. When they got there, Harry peered into the room and found it empty. “They’re not here yet,” he announced.
As Hermione opened her mouth, probably to suggest that they all go back to bed, they heard a voice coming from the other side of the trophy room.
“Sniff around, my sweet. They must be here somewhere.” Filch’s voice drifted into the hallway where they hid.
“Run!” whispered Ginny. All five of them raced away down the corridor.
As they ran, Hermione whispered to Harry. “It was a trap, Harry, don’t you see? Malfoy must have told Filch that you’d be there. He never intended to be there at all.”
She’s right, Harry. Ginny was not smug, but she was convinced that Hermione had figured it out.
I know she’s right. You were right. I was stupid, like always, he responded morosely.
You had to try, Harry, and you weren’t stupid. I’ll convince you later.
Ginny, at the front of the group, rounded a corner and faced a dead end with a door set into the wall. She tried to open it, but it was locked.
“Hermione!” she said softly. “Do you know how to do the unlocking charm?” Ginny was certain that if any of them knew a third-year spell, Hermione would.
The older girl tapped the lock and whispered “alohomora!” The lock clicked, and Hermione pulled the door open. All five students rushed through the doorway, and Harry threw himself against the door to close it.
Harry and Ginny both pressed their ears to the door to listen as Filch reached the end of the corridor. “Wouldn’t go in there,” they heard him mutter. “Must have hidden behind one of those tapestries.” The caretaker’s voice receded as he went back down the hall.
Harry felt someone tugging on his robes, and he looked over his shoulder to see Ron yanking on his sleeve and staring further into the room. Following his gaze, Harry found himself looking up, very up, at a huge, three-headed dog.
The monstrous creature was at least ten feet tall, and each of its heads looked large enough to swallow a first year without chewing. Twelve canines the size of kitchen knives gleamed wickedly as it snarled at the intruders. Behind it in a corner was a mountain of old blankets that apparently served the dog as a bed.
“Open the door!” Neville squeaked. Ron pushed Harry away from the door and tugged frantically at it, but it would not budge. Without prompting, Hermione reached past Ron’s shoulder and cast the unlocking charm, but the red-haired boy still could not open it.
“The door’s stuck! Help me pull,” Ron requested.
Ginny turned to watch the giant dog while her friends struggled with the door. “It’s coming this way!” she announced.
We need to distract it so we can get this stupid door open, Harry said.
But how do we distract a giant three-headed dog?
I don’t know. Does it have any chew-toys?
Harry, that’s it! Use Bun-bun!
What? he asked incredulously.
In the briefest of moments, he understood what she meant. Together, they pointed their wands at the nest of blankets and shouted, “Brunesempra!”
Two of the large blankets at the edge of the pile promptly transformed into three foot tall replicas of Ginny’s new stuffed animal. Harry assumed that the size of the blankets resulted in larger toys.
The appearance of two large pink rabbits caught the dog’s attention. It turned to face its bed, and the left-most head bent down to sink its teeth into the one of the plush animals. The center head was also interested, and it bit into the rabbit where it hung out of the left mouth. The head on the right picked up the second toy and tore into it gleefully. As the dog tore at its toys, Harry and Ginny turned back to the door.
Ron and Neville were tugging on the handle, but it still had not opened. Harry slipped between them to help. “On three, we all pull. One, two, three!”
The boys all heaved at the same time, and the door jerked open, sending them tumbling backwards. Hermione caught the door and held it before it could close again. Ginny helped Harry to his feet, and the five of them scrambled out of the room.
Minutes later, they burst into the common room. They had managed to return to Gryffindor Tower without encountering Filch, Peeves, or anyone else.
“What do they think they’re doing, keeping a ruddy great dog like that in the school?” Ron demanded.
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Obviously, the dog was guarding something. Did you fail to notice that we were in the forbidden third floor corridor?”
“Guarding something? Why do you say that?” Ginny asked before Ron could respond. She and Harry had been too focused on distracting the giant canine to notice what it had been standing on.
“It was standing on a trapdoor. There must be something important down there,” Hermione concluded.
I bet it’s the same thing Hagrid took from Gringott’s, Harry added.
“Whatever it is, that dog can keep it,” Ron declared. Neville nodded his agreement. “I wonder what could be dangerous enough to have that thing guarding it?”
“It does not matter!” the bushy-haired girl insisted. “We should not have been down there in the first place.”
“You’re right, Hermione, we shouldn’t,” Ginny placated her. “But we can’t go back and change it, and we were lucky enough to get away with it. You have to admit that it’s a good question. Just to think about, of course.”
“Well . . . I suppose so,” she admitted reluctantly. She turned to address Harry also. “How on earth did you transfigure those blankets into giant stuffed rabbits?”
“I, err . . . I was experimenting with a spell this morning, and that’s what I got,” he admitted truthfully. “I didn’t actually mean to do it that time, but when we needed something to distract the dog, it seemed like a good idea. I told Ginny about it earlier today.”
“You were experimenting with a spell? Harry, that’s dangerous! You could have been killed!”
“Yeah, well, when I made a pink rabbit by accident, I realized that it isn’t a good idea to play around with spells,” he admitted.
Hermione sighed. “I am going to bed. I think I've had quite enough rule-breaking for my lifetime. Are you coming, Ginny?”
“Yeah, it’s too late to try to figure everything out tonight,” Ginny answered, stretching her small frame as she yawned.
I’ll be there in a few minutes, Harry.
Hermione and Ginny climbed the girls’ staircase as Harry, Neville, and Ron went up to their room. Harry climbed into his bed and cast the sticking charm on the curtains. A few minutes later, Ginny appeared in Harry’s bed wearing her new pajamas. She had already used her wand to crop the long sleeves of the pajama top, and she had neatly reattached the cuffs at her elbows.
Mum’s note said the charms were on the buttons, so I took a chance on shortening the sleeves.
The two settled into their usual positions, and Ginny sighed as she relaxed.
I’d never tell Hermione, but that was almost fun, she said.
You mean before or after we thought we’d be eaten?
She smiled against his chest. Both.
I should have listened to you and Hermione, Ginny. I could have gotten us all in big trouble.
We were all there, Harry, Ginny said soothingly. Even Hermione went along willingly, in her own way.
And now that we’re not running from Filch or escaping a giant dog, you need to understand that you’re not stupid. Sometimes, we all do stupid things for different reasons, but that doesn’t mean that we’re stupid ourselves. When you do something for the right reasons, you may just have to accept that it’s not the smartest thing ever, and then do it anyway.
Harry was still doubtful, but what Ginny said made sense.
That’s what courage is, right? She continued. Knowing that something is stupid or dangerous and doing it anyway because it needs doing. Congratulations, Harry. You’re a Gryffindor.
A whisper came from outside the curtains. “Harry?” It was Ron.
Harry got up and removed the sticking charm and parted the curtains just enough for Ron to stick his head inside. “I thought I heard you sigh, Ginny. How’d you get up here? I was watching the door the whole time.”
Ginny and Harry had forgotten to tell Ron about that part, but at the moment they were much more concerned with being discovered by the other boys. “You heard me?” she asked. “Do you think anyone else did?”
“Nah,” Ron reassured her. “I only noticed because I was listening for you and I know what you sound like. Anybody else would have thought it was Harry if they heard it at all. I’ll let you know if you make too much noise.”
“Oh, good. I’ll show you how I got up here tomorrow, okay?” she offered.
“Yeah, alright. ‘Night guys.”
Ginny smiled at her brother. “Goodnight, Ron. Thanks for looking out for us.” Harry only nodded.
See, Harry? He’s not like Percy, because he’s looking out for us, instead of looking in on us.
Whatever you say, Ginny. I’m just glad he’s not yelling anymore.
That, too, she agreed.
Ron went back to his bed, and Ginny picked up her wand to reseal the curtains. Just before she cast the spell, Ron poked his head back in.
“You’re sure Mum knows about this sleeping thing?” he asked, knowing it would be odd for his mother to agree to something like that.
“Yes, Ron. Look, here’s the note she sent.” Ginny had slipped the note into the front pocket of her pajama top after reading it the first time, and she pulled it out to show to Ron.
Her brother read it and handed it back to her. “Yeah, that’s Mum,” he agreed reluctantly. “Just . . . don’t do anything weird, okay?”
Ginny rolled her eyes. “Fine, Ron, we won’t do anything weird. Harry, I’m sorry, but we can’t have that bogey contest you wanted.” She turned back to her brother and forcefully said, “Goodnight, Ron.”
“’Night.”
Ron went back to his four-poster, and Harry and Ginny settled back onto their bed. She picked up Bun-bun and tucked herself into Harry’s side, clutching the rabbit with her right arm and draping her left across his torso.
Five Gryffindors fell asleep almost simultaneously that night. Somehow, they were all a little closer than they had been one hour before.
A/N: For the purposes of my AU, Bill was born in 1969 and Charlie was born in 1970. This resolves the issue of Charlie's age in canon where the Seeker position is concerned. There were two years between Charlie's last year and Harry's first year.
Chapter 10: Gifts
Author's Notes: Thanks to Moshpit and Jonathan Avery as usual. Thanks also to regdc, who filled in while my usual brit-picker is on vacation.
Special, huge thanks go to Chreechree, who helped with certain portions of this chapter. Those sections should be obvious.
WARNING: Please be advised that this chapter has a minor scene involving the natural growth and development of the human body.
One week after their midnight excursion, a school owl dropped a small brown parcel next to Hermione’s plate. She opened the attached card, and Ginny was sure she saw the other girl flush slightly as she read the card. Hermione placed the package on the seat next to her and resumed eating as if nothing had happened. As soon as she finished her breakfast, she picked up the unopened parcel and left the Great Hall without her usual smile for Ginny.
What’s that all about? Why didn't she open her package? Harry asked. He had not noticed anything himself, but he and Ginny were sharing their senses more regularly, so he saw the studious girl’s subtle reaction.
I don’t know. I don’t think she’d have taken the package with her if it was dangerous or anything.
That evening after dinner, Ron invited Harry to play a game of chess, so Ginny went up to her room to get her Defence Against the Dark Arts book. On the way, she passed Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil heading in the other direction and whispering intently to each other.
As Ginny entered her room and pulled the door closed behind her, she looked up and found Hermione standing beside her bed wearing her uniform skirt and a delicate beige bra. It was small and relatively modest, but it was clearly a young woman’s garment. Harry frantically attempted to count all the possible moves each of his chess pieces could make, and Ginny reacted to Harry’s instinct and slammed her eyes shut.
When she was sure that Harry was completely occupied, Ginny opened her eyes. Hermione had put her shirt back on and was buttoning it up to her neck as usual. Ginny was embarrassed to have interrupted such a private moment, and she knew that Hermione’s blush was no deeper than her own.
“I’m sorry, Hermione. I didn’t know you were . . .”
“It’s alright,” she answered, her eyes fixed on the task of straightening her shirt. Ginny was sure that Hermione was lying in an effort to be polite.
She’s dressed again, Harry.
Thank goodness. I’ve never . . . I mean, I didn’t think about seeing anyone’s . . .
I didn’t either, but I should have. You may learn more about, err . . . girls’ bodies than you want to know.
Looking around in an effort to find something else to talk about, Ginny spotted a square of bright blue wrapping paper lying atop the brown paper she had seen at breakfast. Guessing, Ginny asked, “Is it your birthday, Hermione?”
The brunette responded quietly without actually looking at Ginny. “Yes. September 19, 1979.”
“Well . . . happy birthday,” Ginny said, blushing as she turned away from her roommate. “I wish I’d known ahead of time.”
“Thanks,” Hermione muttered.
After a moment of silence, the older girl glanced at Ginny and asked, “Uhh, Ginny . . . what did you think? Did it look like it . . . fit?”
“What? Oh. I think so. You looked, err . . . great,” she answered.
“My mother sent it to me. She said my old one was too small.” Ginny thought Hermione sounded almost hopeful.
Ginny could not resist asking a question. “What does it feel like? I mean, to wear one, you know, and to . . . well, to need it.”
Hermione flushed slightly and continued to avoid looking at Ginny. “It feels . . . odd. It’s slightly uncomfortable, really, but I suppose I'll get used to it,” Hermione answered, choosing her words with care. “This one is better than my old one, though. It was a training bra, and it . . . well, I needed a bit more support and more coverage.”
“Well, that’s good then, right?” Ginny pointed out.
“Yes, that’s good,” Hermione echoed quietly. She appeared to steel herself a bit before continuing. “It’s just that you, Lavender, and Parvati aren’t wearing anything at all yet. They saw it in the box and ran off, muttering about the owlery.”
“I passed them on the stairs,” Ginny nodded. She thought for a moment, and then added, “You’re the oldest, right? So shouldn’t it happen to you first?”
“I suppose so,” Hermione sighed. “I just wish it wasn’t so . . . obvious.”
“It doesn’t really show through your shirt very much, and in your robes or a jumper I don’t think anyone would know it’s there,” Ginny said hesitantly. She could tell that Hermione would rather not draw attention to her new garment or the reason she needed it.
I can’t see that she looks any different than she did earlier today, Harry added helpfully.
That’s good, Harry. Don’t stare at her when you see her in person, okay?
I won’t, he promised. It’s not really what I expected, and it looks uncomfortable, but that’s pretty much all I could say about it.
If you’re anything like my brothers, that won’t last, she replied wryly.
“That’s good, I suppose,” Hermione said. “I know I’m going to grow up, and I know it’s perfectly logical, but I wish I hadn’t started before everyone else.”
“Well, this way you can tell me all about it before it happens to me.” Ginny flushed a bit and then frowned. “If it happens to me. I’m so short that I wonder if I’ll ever grow in any direction.”
“Everyone grows up, Ginny, and people who grow in one place are likely to grow in all places. Later on, you may appreciate having started out small,” the older girl replied, picking up her hairbrush.
“What do you mean?” Ginny wondered.
Hermione sighed. “Ginny, girls who grow faster up here,” she waved vaguely at her chest and blushed again, “tend to gain weight faster, too. My mother’s been exercising every day for years to stay healthy. You may never have to worry about that.”
“Oh,” Ginny replied. She was not sure what else she could say.
Hermione began brushing her hair as she read a book lying on her bed, and Ginny crossed to her trunk.
Harry, I’m going to make Hermione a card. It’s the least I can do for her. I’ll be down later, okay?
Sure, Gin. Ron won’t mind beating me a few more times. He’s been looking at me strangely, so I should probably pay more attention anyway.
Why do you keep playing with him? she asked, amused. Everyone but Dad gives up after the first two or three games, and even he hardly ever wins anymore.
He shrugged mentally. Playing any game is better than playing no games at all. Who knows . . . maybe someday I’ll lose less spectacularly.
Don’t count on it.
Ginny dug out a clean bit of parchment and a jar of blue ink. She set out the supplies on her bed and closed the curtains to keep from spoiling the surprise for her roommate.
Several minutes later, she finished writing the birthday message and decorating the edges of the parchment with books of various sizes. She waved the parchment around in the air to dry, and then she opened her curtains and crossed the room to her friend’s bed.
“Here you are, Hermione,” she said hesitantly. “Happy birthday.”
You’re giving her a chocolate frog, Harry, she commanded.
Sure, he agreed.
Ginny reached into her trunk and retrieved a chocolate frog Harry had given her from the batch he bought on the train. “And this is from Harry.”
“Thank you, Ginny, the card is very nice.” She took the sweet and looked at it oddly. Ginny thought that some of the lingering tension in the room finally faded. “I will be sure to thank Harry, also.”
“You’re welcome. I wish I’d known your birthday was coming. We could have made something nicer for you.”
“Neither of you needed to get me anything at all,” Hermione reassured her and watched Ginny closely.
“Of course we did. We’re your friend, and friends give birthday presents.” It was the most obvious thing in the world to Ginny. The other girl blinked at her in confusion.
Hermione is our friend? Harry asked curiously. He liked the studious girl well enough, but he was not sure when someone became a friend instead of an acquaintance. We really haven’t talked to her much, have we?
We have to start somewhere, Harry. She can be a new friend today who becomes an old friend tomorrow.
Err . . . that makes sense, I guess. I’ve never had a friend except for you, and you’re . . . well, you’re you.
Ron’s your friend, too, Ginny insisted. Boys just don’t talk about it very much. At least, my brothers never talked about it when they had friends over.
Hermione thought for a minute, her expression hesitant, and then seemed to come to a decision. “You know, there is something you could help me with, if you wanted. It would be better than any present.”
“Oh? What is it?” Ginny asked, still eager to make up for embarrassing her friend.
“Well, I would really like to know what is going on with you and Harry,” Hermione said.
Ginny and Harry both froze in their separate locations, while Ginny stared at her roommate with wide eyes.
Oh, no, said Harry.
“You don’t have to answer,” Hermione promised. “I would never pry, but I am very curious.”
She sat on her bed and faced Ginny intently. "First, you appeared in the middle of the sorting ceremony, and the Sorting Hat sorted you with Harry. Not just at the same time as Harry. The Hat shouted Gryffindor once for both of you.”
“Later, you said that you had just met him that morning at Platform 9 ¾, but you both behave as though you have been best friends for your entire lives, and Harry seems to know a lot more about your brothers than they know about him.”
“At meals, you always eat the same things. At first you chose the same dishes and ate them in the same order. A few days later, you were eating in synchronization. I do not believe that Harry could have copied your movements and gestures that effectively. Since then, you and he have been eating the same foods in a different order, but always with a consistent rhythm. It is subtle, but it is definitely a pattern.”
I told you she notices everything, Ginny said nervously.
Like I said, Harry replied, she’s nice, but creepy.
Hermione was not finished. She stood up from her bed and began pacing in a precise pattern of four steps in either direction. “In class, you used to share Harry’s wand, and it worked very well for you. I know your first wand was second hand, but according to my reading, it is very rare for someone to get any sort of useful results from another witch or wizard’s wand. So Harry’s wand should not have worked any better for you than the one you had at first. In our second week, you had a new wand that worked much better for you, but you still borrow his wand for new or difficult spells.
“The first weekend we were here, you took Harry back to your parents’ house. You said it was because they wanted to ask about the sorting ceremony, but I think they could have asked you the same questions they asked Harry.
"Your curtains are always closed. Before you go to bed each night, you cast a sticking charm on them to keep them closed. Where and why did you learn a sticking charm?
“When we worked on our last History of Magic homework, I saw both of your essays. They were so nearly identical that I would not have been able to tell which of you wrote which essay without looking at the handwriting. The content, structure, and tone were almost exactly the same.”
This is amazing, Harry said. We didn’t even notice all of this stuff.
Hermione’s observations continued to come quickly as she drove her point home. “After your fight with Ron, you and Harry were holding hands on the couch when I came downstairs, and I am not sure that either of you realized it. You always leave rooms together, but I have never seen you talk to or even look at each other to show that you were ready to leave.
“When we found that Cerberus last week, you and Harry cast the exact same spell at the exact same time for the exact same purpose, without saying anything at all. It worked, I suppose, but I cannot imagine that it was a coincidence.
"Sometimes, both of you seem to stop paying attention to what is going on around you. You just stare at each other or at nothing, but you still act like you're talking to someone.
“Finally, you respond to Lavender, Parvati, and I as though you have never seen us before. You were clearly startled when you saw them without their uniforms, and a few minutes ago . . . well, it was very embarrassing, but you looked like you expected to be punished for walking into your own room."
Hermione, who was apparently Hogwarts’ most observant student, finished her speech and looked expectantly at Ginny. “So I would like to know what is happening, if you are willing to tell me. If you would prefer not to, just say so, and I won’t bother you about it again.”
What do we do? Harry said, idly moving a pawn in his current chess game.
Stall? It’s all I can think of.
“What do you think is happening, Hermione?” Ginny asked cautiously.
“I have considered two theories,” the other girl answered promptly. “First, you may have lied to me about when you met Harry. If you and he have been friends for a very long time, then that might explain some of the odd things you do, but not all of them. You don't seem like the sort of person who would lie just for fun, but I could be wrong.
“Second . . .” she trailed off, choosing her words carefully. “Second, you might be the subjects or victims of some magic I have not yet read about. I find that theory much less satisfying, because it is so very vague. But it does have the potential to address all of the points I raised.”
“However,” Hermione mused, seeming to speak to herself as much as to Ginny, “I have read a lot of books since I got my Hogwarts letter. My parents took me to Diagon Alley the very next day, and we bought quite a few books in addition to my textbooks. I have at least scanned all of them, and since arriving at Hogwarts I have studied primers for all branches of magic taught here. None of those books mentioned anything like this, but there must be many things I have not yet encountered in my reading.”
We need to take her to see Dumbledore, Harry, Ginny concluded after a long moment of silence. It wouldn’t be hard for her to talk to one of my brothers to make sure we haven’t known each other forever. That means she’ll think about her second idea, and it’s as close to the truth as anything we’ve thought of.
You’re right. Should we go and find him now?
I’ll go. Ron will get suspicious if all three of us leave without him.
“Come with me, Hermione. We need to see Professor Dumbledore,” she said aloud.
Hermione was instantly concerned. “The Headmaster? Why? Did we do something wrong?”
Ginny faced her friend with a serious expression. “No, but if you want any sort of answer to your question, we have to see the Headmaster.” She grabbed Hermione’s elbow and pulled her out of the room.
As the two girls crossed the common room towards the portrait hole, Harry glanced up and looked Hermione in the eye. He was worried, and apparently she noticed his expression, because her face registered surprise for a moment.
Dumbledore had never given them the password to his office, so Ginny took her roommate to the Gryffindor Head of House. She knocked politely and entered the office with McGonagall’s permission.
“Good evening, Miss Weasley and Miss Granger. How may I help you?”
“Professor, Hermione and I would like to speak to the Headmaster,” Ginny suggested politely.
“Professor Dumbledore is quite busy,” McGonagall replied with a small smile. “I would be glad to speak to you about anything you would care to discuss.”
Ginny stepped closer to the desk and cocked her head intently at the older woman. “Professor, Hermione and Harry and I need to speak to the Headmaster. We’d be happy if you came along, too.”
The experienced professor paused only for an instant before nodding in response to Ginny’s emphasis. “Very well. Come with me.”
Try to get away from Ron, Harry. I think you might need to join us soon. He agreed and abandoned his third chess game, saying he was going upstairs to read ahead. He climbed into his bed, sealed the curtains, and waited.
Looking surprised and confused at the sudden acquiescence of their Head of House, Hermione followed her friend and professor out of the office.
A few minutes later, the three of them ascended the spiral staircase and entered the Headmaster’s office.
“Hello, Minerva. Miss Granger, Miss Weasley . . . it is always a pleasure when students visit for reasons other than discipline. I trust this is the case?”
“They have broken no rules that I am aware of, Albus. Miss Weasley asked to speak to you, and she requested that Miss Granger and I accompany her.” McGonagall raised an eyebrow significantly. “I believe Mr. Potter was mentioned, also.”
“I see,” said Dumbledore. “In that case, Miss Weasley, I am at your service.”
Ginny turned to her friend. “Hermione, could you please tell them everything you told me a few minutes ago?”
Ginny decided that the bushy-haired girl must be overwhelmed. Only minutes ago, Hermione had watched her roommate persuade their Head of House to escort them to the Headmaster, and now the Headmaster himself was deferring to her. Without realizing it, Hermione obeyed her friend just as readily as her professors had, though Ginny thought she looked rather nervous.
Haltingly, she listed her observations. This time, she left out any mention of Ginny’s reactions to her roommates, for which Ginny was very grateful. She also excluded their adventure on the third floor, and she finished by summarizing her two theories again.
As she spoke, her expression became more worried, but the Headmaster’s face transformed. He smiled behind his beard, and his eyes twinkled madly. He looked fondly at Hermione for a long moment, and then he turned to Ginny.
“Miss Weasley, would you be willing to ask Mr. Potter to join us as soon as possible?” he asked.
Ginny knew what the Headmaster meant. He wanted to know if she and Harry would tell Hermione their secrets.
What do you think, Harry? If we tell her, she might be able to help me make sure the other girls don’t find out.
You trust her, Ginny, and that’s good enough for me. Besides, she knows already, really.
Okay. Ginny turned to her right, away from Hermione, to give Harry a clear view of the Headmaster’s office. A moment later, he appeared in the empty space. He dropped the last inch to the floor, landed lightly, and pushed his fringe out of his eyes as he straightened.
“Hi, Hermione,” he said.
She stared at him open-mouthed. “You cannot apparate into or within Hogwarts,” she whispered. Ginny thought that her friend was almost pleading.
“Indeed, Miss Granger, apparition is impossible. Your friends seem to have found a viable alternative, however,” he explained. “Everyone, please, sit down. Lemon drop, anyone?”
Professor McGonagall and the three students each took a chair facing the Headmaster’s desk. Hermione accepted a lemon drop and held it between her fingers, already forgotten. Her eyes were clouded, as if she was trying to process too much information, but she quickly regained her composure as her brow furrowed and she began tapping her fingers on the arm of her chair.
Returning Dumbledore’s gaze, she listed options quickly. “Portkey, some sort of invisibility, or a very small Animagus form. None of them fit. What did he do?”
The wizard’s smile broadened. “There is a very simple answer, Miss Granger . . .” She straightened in her seat. “I have no idea.”
Hermione deflated and looked as rebellious as Ginny thought she was capable of. “Well, that is an answer. It fails miserably as an explanation, though.”
“The best questions are the hardest ones,” he agreed. “Miss Weasley, perhaps you would consent to tell your story once again?”
Ginny told Hermione almost everything she had told the professors, her parents, and Ron. She left out the contents of Harry’s nightmare. When she finished, Hermione was quiet for several minutes. Her brow furrowed, and she flicked her eyes at random between Harry, Ginny, and the floor in front of her chair.
She spoke with some of her usual confidence. “You share all five senses . . .”
“Six,” the Headmaster offered.
“Five,” Hermione insisted distractedly. “You have to count them properly. Taste and smell are really two different mechanisms for interpreting the same information. That leaves proprioception as the fifth.
“You share all five senses,” she continued, resuming her summary, “and you share thoughts and emotions. You can access each other’s memories. You feel more comfortable when touching, and you have horrible nightmares if you sleep separately. You can transport to each other or to a well-known location any time you like, but only one at a time. Have I left anything out?”
“I think that’s all of it,” Ginny replied in amazement. She was already familiar with the intelligence Hermione showed in class and during their study sessions, but this aspect of Hermione’s personality was very different and more confident than she was accustomed to. At the moment, Hermione was being forceful, direct, and articulate, much like Ginny’s eldest brother Bill was when he faced a challenge.
“May I ask questions?” Hermione inquired.
Do you think she’d explode if we said no? Harry wondered.
“Of course!” Ginny smiled slightly. “We don’t know all the answers, though,” she admitted.
“I suppose that is understandable,” Hermione conceded. “Will you tell me what the nightmares are about?”
Ginny shook her head. “We’d really rather not.”
Dumbledore intervened with a useful answer. “I know the contents of their nightmares, Miss Granger. I assure you that they are not relevant to this conversation.”
Hermione glanced at Harry, but she nodded. “Alright.”
We might as well have told her, Ginny decided.
I’d still rather not. If she can figure it out, that’s fine, but I don’t want to talk about it.
Hermione tapped her fingers in thought for another moment. “Ginny, do you think my hair looks nice today?”
The redhead blinked at the question but answered honestly. “Sure, you did a good job on brushing it out.”
“Thank you.” Her friend barely acknowledged the response before turning to Harry. “What do you think, Harry?”
“Err . . . it’s hair, isn’t it? It looks like it does every day. If Ginny says it looks nice, then it probably does.”
“Interesting. Very interesting,” muttered Hermione. “You said this connection started when you met on Platform 9 ¾. Specifically, you said that it began when you touched for the first time. Did either of you notice anything odd prior to that? Could someone have cast a spell on you, or did you pick up a strange object?”
Ginny reviewed Harry’s memory of that day. She had seen it before, but she wanted to be sure. “Neither of us noticed any spells being cast or anything that felt like a spell cast on us. Harry didn’t touch anything except his things and his trolley, and I was holding Mum’s hand most of the time. We both felt a sort of pull, but we didn’t realize we were looking for each other until we were very close together. Other than that tugging feeling, everything was normal until I grabbed his hand. Then we were . . . like this.”
“You remember the scene from both points of view?” The younger girl nodded. “There was no other obvious trigger, then.” She paused. “What does it feel like when you transport from one place to another?”
“It doesn’t feel like much of anything, really,” Ginny answered. “We’re here, and then we’re there.”
“Their arrival generates a slight breeze, as you may have noticed, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore added.
“Yes, it disturbs the air but does not make any noise. That detail is not particularly helpful, but it is worth considering. Headmaster . . ." Hermione hesitated before completing her question. "Headmaster, you implied that you do not know how they travel. What are your theories about their connection in general?”
“I have none, Miss Granger,” he admitted. “There are spells that can duplicate some of the effects they experience in very limited ways, but those spells are difficult and would not produce such complete results. It seems logical to assume either that some sort of magical connection has been imposed on them, or perhaps that they have some natural magical affinity that we do not understand. That, of course, is the second theory you mentioned initially.”
I’d much rather think it’s the natural magical affinity, Harry said. Ginny agreed wordlessly.
“There is always a third possibility,” Hermione pointed out, furrowing her brow in concentration. “It could be something so alien to us that we are unable to even imagine its existence with the knowledge we currently possess.”
“Very astute, Miss Granger. You are quite correct.”
What does she mean by that? Harry asked.
I’m not sure. She considered for a moment. I think she means there are things we don’t know enough to even dream of. Like . . . I don’t know . . . the whole universe we see being the white stuff inside some boy’s Remembrall.
That’s strange, alright.
“There is another effect that Ginny did not mention,” the Headmaster continued. “I believe she hoped to be modest, but I am confident that you will not be troubled by the information.
“Miss Granger, have you encountered the Arithmantic Magical Power scale in your reading?”
“Oh yes,” she answered, surprising no one. “The scale is mentioned in chapter four of One, One, Two, Three, Five: An Arithmantic Primer. It sounds very interesting, but I have never seen the power test performed. I have not yet had the opportunity to read the references listed in the primer’s bibliography, either, although I did notice that they’re in the library here.”
“Please allow me to demonstrate.” Dumbledore spoke the incantation and cast the testing spell on Hermione. A pale yellow sphere with irregular pastel pink patches extended almost a meter from the girl’s body. From within the sphere, Hermione studied the pattern of her magical signature closely.
“A lovely specimen, Miss Granger,” the Headmaster complimented her as the sphere faded.
“I’m lucky, I suppose,” she admitted. “It looks rather like an Easter egg, but it could have been much worse.”
Now I’m sure the colors don’t mean anything, Ginny commented. I can’t imagine that anything about Hermione is pastel.
“I will spare you the sight of my own sphere,” Dumbledore winked. “Miss Weasley, may I cast the spell on you once more?” Ginny nodded, and he cast the spell again.
Ginny’s brilliant sphere appeared just as it had on September first. The whorled pattern of red, purple, and green illuminated the room but did not move.
Hermione was startled by the size of her friend’s sphere, but it did not distract her from her questions. “Is Harry’s sphere similar?”
“An excellent question. I do not yet know the answer,” Dumbledore replied. “May I, Mr. Potter?”
Harry nodded. He was curious to see his sphere, too.
Harry’s test was disappointing, in a way. His sphere was perfectly identical to Ginny’s. Even the whorls and bands matched.
“That has never happened before, has it, Headmaster?” Hermione asked.
“No,” Dumbledore replied, though he did not appear to be surprised. “It is generally believed that every wizard or witch has a unique magical signature. However, that is not the last piece of this particular puzzle.” He turned to Harry and Ginny. “Together, now, if you please.”
Ginny reached out and took Harry’s hand. She did not bother to hide the gesture this time. A moment later, their combined sphere appeared and swirled gently as it filled the office.
“It’s beautiful,” Hermione whispered.
“Yes, it is very impressive in many ways, as are their individual results,” Dumbledore agreed as the room returned to normal. “I suspect that Miss Weasley and Mister Potter will have to learn restraint in stressful situations.” He glanced at Ginny as he spoke, and the red-haired girl blushed spectacularly.
“We set fire to my parents’ dinner table,” she admitted in a whisper.
“You did what?” Hermione exclaimed. “Why on earth would you do that?”
“One of them said something that wasn’t very nice,” Harry said, scowling. “We didn’t mean to set anything on fire, though.”
“I should hope not.” The older girl paused to consider what she had seen. “That explains why Ginny uses Harry’s wand for difficult spells. If they have the same magical signature, then it is logical that they would need the same wand.”
She made a connection among the information she had heard, and she turned to Ginny. “You transport yourself to Harry’s room and sleep there at night, don’t you? That's why your curtains are charmed closed.” The youngest Gryffindor nodded. “Then you told me all of this so that I could help you keep it all a secret. If the other students found out, the situation would be very difficult.”
“We hope you’ll agree, Hermione,” Ginny said. “Ron knows, and he’s watching out for us in the boys’ room. If you helped us keep Lavender and Parvati from finding out, we’d be really grateful. But even if you don’t want to help, we won’t regret telling you. We’re your friend.”
Hermione’s thoughtful expression shifted into a subdued grin. “That sounds much less odd now that I understand your pronouns.” She paused, and then her eyes brightened.
“I would be happy to help you,” she announced. “You will let me ask you about how it works, though, won’t you?”
Harry anticipated Ginny’s question this time. Fine by me.
“Sure we will. Maybe you can help us figure out what’s going on,” Ginny said hopefully.
“Well then, the first thing we need is more data,” Hermione declared. “I’ll give you each a roll of parchment. You should start by writing down everything you feel and categorizing it as originating from Harry, from Ginny, or from both. Then you should rate the strength of each emotion. I’ll design a scale so that we can measure them consistently. Also, you should write down whatever happened to trigger each emotion. Really, it would be much easier if we had one of those pensieves that I’ve read about. Headmaster, do you suppose we could . . .”
“Miss Granger,” McGonagall cut her off sharply. “Please remember that Mr. Potter and Miss Weasley are friends and classmates, not laboratory specimens.”
Hermione’s face fell and she spoke quietly. “Yes, of course. Ginny, Harry, I’m so sorry. I got carried away. Just let me know if you want my help, alright?”
“It’s okay, Hermione,” Ginny smiled. “We really do want your help, but we want to have normal lives and keep this secret from everyone else. We can’t do that if we write everything down all the time.”
“We’d end up spending all our time writing about how much we hate writing about things,” Harry added, grinning.
Hermione frowned at Harry's remark, but she nodded reluctantly.
“Please tell us if you learn something or if anything new occurs,” Dumbledore requested. “For now, you should return to Gryffindor Tower. Remember that Miss Granger and Miss Weasley should walk, and Mr. Potter should return directly to where he was before this meeting. Miss Granger, please remember that this must be kept utterly secret. Discuss it with Mr. Potter or the Weasleys only if you are absolutely sure that you cannot be overheard.”
“Yes, Headmaster, I understand,” Hermione agreed.
“Harry, we’ll meet you in the common room, okay?” Ginny asked out loud for Hermione’s benefit.
“Okay.”
A moment later, Harry was back in his bed in Gryffindor Tower. Ginny and Hermione talked as they walked through the castle, and Harry stayed where he was so that he could focus on their conversation.
The girls started by discussing their classes and homework, but when they reached a deserted corridor, Hermione leaned closer to whisper in Ginny’s ear. “Harry saw me this evening, didn’t he?”
Harry was mortified. I’ll never be able to talk to her again. She must hate me.
It wasn’t your fault, Harry, but I don’t know what she’ll think of it.
Without looking at her friend, Ginny nodded.
“What did he say?” Hermione demanded.
Ginny hesitated, but she knew that Hermione needed an honest answer if she was to remain friends with Harry. “He only saw you for a moment before I shut my eyes, but he said it looked uncomfortable.”
The older girl pondered this for a moment. “Is he listening now?”
I'm not sure it would matter, but I won’t if she doesn’t want me to, Harry offered.
“Yes, but he says he’ll stop if you want.”
“There's not much point in that, is there?” Hermione pointed out. “He could just remember it later, even if he didn’t want to.” She was quiet for a minute and then came to a decision. “Ask him to meet us in the alcove across from the statue of the tall fellow outside the common room. That’s where Neville was waiting for us last week, if you recall.”
Ginny knew Harry was nervous about seeing Hermione, and she could see that Hermione was just as nervous about talking to Harry. You need to talk to her, Harry, or at least let her talk to you.
He sighed. If you say so, Ginny.
“He’s on his way there.”
Harry left his room and went downstairs to the common room. He spotted Ron and skirted the edge of the room behind the red-haired boy to avoid having to explain his departure. Stepping out of the portrait hole, he spotted the secluded alcove and stepped into it. A minute later, Ginny and Hermione emerged from the staircase and joined him. Harry stared at the floor, unwilling to meet Hermione’s gaze.
The three students stood in awkward silence for several long moments. At last, Hermione took a deep breath and said, “Harry, look at me.”
Please, Harry?
Reluctantly, Harry raised his head and faced the bushy-haired girl, who blushed but kept her head up and her back straight. He watched her expression as she returned his gaze. At first, she looked nervous, but her face relaxed as she looked into Harry’s green eyes.
As usual, Ginny knew what was happening. “Harry,” she asked, “do you think any differently of Hermione today than you did yesterday?”
“Not really,” he replied, embarrassed. “I mean, she's still Hermione, isn't she?”
Ginny turned to Hermione and raised an eyebrow. The older girl sighed and said, “Thank you, Harry.”
“Err . . . you’re welcome,” he answered, though he was not sure what he was being thanked for.
I’ll explain it to you someday, Harry. For now, just accept it, okay?
He nodded as Ginny addressed her roommate. “We need to be careful, Hermione. Harry and I can’t keep our vision separated all the time. I’ll try to keep my curtains closed when you and the others are changing, and you should remember not to get dressed when I’m there. Is that okay?”
“That’s fine. I don’t fancy having Lavender and Parvati stare at me, anyway.” She paused as another thought occurred to her. “What about you, though? You can’t very well hide from yourself.”
“We decided to stop worrying about that,” Ginny muttered, blushing slightly.
“But what about when . . .” Hermione began slowly.
The younger girl cut her off. “We’ll figure that out when we get to it,” she stated.
What? Harry asked.
Ginny sighed. We talked about this earlier, Harry. Someday the things that are happening to Hermione will happen to me. Your body will change, too.
His only answer was a deep scarlet blush. He did not entirely understand why, but he was well aware that such things would be considered inappropriate.
“You had to tell him, didn’t you?” Hermione asked as she noticed Harry’s reaction.
“Yeah.”
“Well, that’s good, in a way, isn’t it?” the older girl asked cautiously.
Ginny smiled crookedly. “Yeah,” she repeated more quietly. Even with his insight into Ginny’s thoughts and feelings, Harry was unsure what had just been said. He knew the words, he knew that Ginny was happy with him in some way, and he knew that it had to do with the changes Hermione was experiencing. Given all of that, though, he still could not understand how it all connected. Ginny chose not to explain it to him, but he decided that he did not mind based on how calm she felt about it.
The three friends returned to the common room and joined Ron on a long couch where he was reading Quidditch Through the Ages. Ginny turned to her brother and whispered, “Hermione knows, okay?”
“Knows what? The middle names of all the Headmasters of Hogwarts?” Ron asked at a normal volume.
Ginny whacked him solidly on the arm. Hermione huffed and got up from the sofa. She stomped up the stairs to her room without looking back.
She probably does know the middle names of all the Headmasters, but he shouldn’t say things like that, Ginny told Harry.
“She knows about Harry and me,” Ginny continued. “She’s going to help us in my dorm like you do in Harry’s. So we can talk about it around her, okay?”
“Yeah, alright,” Ron agreed.
“And stop being a complete prat when she’s around,” she added. “Just because she’s smart doesn’t mean she’s boring.”
Ginny went up the stairs after Hermione and found the older girl sitting on her bed and reading her Transfiguration textbook. “Hermione, I’m sorry for what Ron said. He’s not that bad, really . . . he just hardly ever says the right thing.”
“Yes, well, he’s your brother, so I suppose he cannot be completely awful,” Hermione admitted. “But that does not mean I have to sit there and listen to him.”
“No, I suppose it doesn’t,” Ginny said with a sigh.
***
After the three Gryffindors left the Headmaster’s office, Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and smiled broadly.
“Why are you so happy, Albus?” Minerva wondered, perplexed by his casual attitude.
“I am always happy to have worked out the answer to a difficult puzzle,” he replied.
“Oh? What would that be?”
“The question of what has happened to Mr. Potter and Miss Weasley, of course,” Dumbledore explained.
McGonagall frowned. “I fail to see how we have found the answer to that question.”
“Ah, but we have, Minerva,” he said, beaming. “We’ve delegated the question to Miss Granger. Now all we have to do is wait.”
She sniffed. “You may well be right about that. I sometimes wonder why exactly she was sorted into my house.”
“There are many kinds of courage, Minerva,” he said solemnly. “I suspect that it takes quite a lot of it for someone like Miss Granger to participate in society at all. Leaving her family and culture behind to explore an entirely new world must have been very difficult for her.”
The Sorting Hat spoke from his shelf behind the headmaster’s desk. “He’s right, for once, Minerva. Let’s hope it doesn’t go to his head, shall we?”
***
The next morning, it was Harry’s turn to receive a mysterious parcel. Hedwig and a brown school owl brought him a long, narrow package and a note. He opened the note and read it quickly.
Mr. Potter,
Enclosed is a new Nimbus Two Thousand racing broom. Do not open it at the table. Please understand that this is not your broom. It is a Gryffindor house broom purchased for the use of the Gryffindor Seeker. As you currently hold that position, I request that you keep it in your possession. I trust that you will care for it properly.
Mr. Wood will meet you at the Quidditch pitch at seven o’clock tonight for your first training session.
Sincerely,
M. McGonagall
Head of Gryffindor House
Ginny was beaming as he passed the note to Ron.
“Wicked!” Ron declared and then gave the note to Hermione at Harry’s nod.
Hermione scanned the note and sniffed. “Sophistry has its uses, I suppose.” Harry, Ginny, and Ron gave her an odd look but let the comment pass.
After dinner, Harry and Ginny made their way to the Quidditch pitch to meet Wood for Harry’s first practice. The burly fifth-year was waiting for Harry with a crate of Quidditch balls.
“Hello, Potter. Who’s your friend?”
“This is Ginny,” Harry introduced her. “She wanted to watch the practice, if that’s alright.”
Wood glanced at the Gryffindor crest on Ginny’s robes and then at her hair. “You’re Ginny Weasley, then? Should have recognized you after the sorting. Don’t distract us while we’re practicing, and you can stay, right?”
Ginny nodded and crossed to the stands to find a seat. All she really wanted to do was to enjoy flying with Harry without making excuses for her distraction.
“Alright, Potter. Do you know how Quidditch is played?” Wood asked.
“I think so,” Harry replied. “Ginny and her brother Ron told me all about the players and balls and rules.”
“I’ve heard about Ron Weasley from his brothers,” Oliver nodded. “Knows his Quidditch, but I can’t say much for his choice in teams.”
“Right, then,” he continued. “If you know that much, we’ll get started practicing. It’s too dark to release the Snitch, but McGonagall gave us these white balls to practice with.” He gestured toward a basket of Muggle golf balls. “I’m not sure what they are or where she got them, but they’ll do.”
Wood mounted his broom and hung the basket from the shaft in front of him. Harry climbed onto his Nimbus Two Thousand and took off into the air.
“Here, Potter, try to catch this,” Wood shouted from below him. The older boy threw a ball high into the air in Harry’s direction. He had no trouble steering to catch it in his right hand. He tucked the white orb into his pocket, and Wood threw another. This time, the ball went away from him in a shallow arc towards the ground.
Harry raced after it, darting under its arc to catch up with it. Several meters off the ground, the ball smacked firmly into his palm.
You need gloves, Harry.
They’re part of the uniform, aren’t they? he asked.
Yeah, but that doesn’t help you now, she replied, rubbing her hand.
Wood’s next projectile flew in a high arc, and it was too far from Harry for him to catch it before it began falling rapidly to the ground. He concentrated on tracking its progress and flying fast enough to catch it without hitting the ground. Ginny followed the ball with her own eyes, and for a moment Harry saw himself and the falling ball from her point of view.
With that added perspective, Harry realized that he was not as close to the ball as he thought, so he sped up even more. Barely a foot from the ground, he snatched the ball out of the air.
“Well done, Potter. I thought that one was a miss for sure,” Wood remarked.
Harry chased golf balls for another twenty minutes, at which time Wood declared that he was ready to chase the snitch during team practices. The Quidditch Captain shook Harry’s hand and walked off towards the broom shed with the crate holding the balls.
Want a go, Gin? Harry offered, knowing already what the answer would be.
Thanks, Harry! She scampered down from the stands and ran to where he was standing in the middle of the pitch. He handed over his broom with a grin, and Ginny took off.
Harry had pursued the golf balls diligently, but Ginny faced no such requirement. She soared above the pitch in loops, dives, and rolls. Both of them rejoiced in the speed and agility of the high-quality broom Ginny rode. Harry sat in the grass and closed his eyes to focus on the sensations of flying.
This is wonderful, Ginny! Harry exulted. I wish we had two brooms so we could play together.
We’ll go flying next time we’re at the Burrow, she promised. Maybe we can show my brothers a thing or two. Do you want to fly again now?
You go ahead. I’ll have lots of chances at Quidditch practice.
Harry could feel her appreciation clearly even though her grin was invisible above him.
This is what we need, Harry. Nothing matters while one of us is flying. Can you feel how free we are?
There’s nothing like it, he agreed.
Wood emerged from the broom shed and spotted Ginny flying above him. He walked up behind Harry and startled him out of his reverie. “Well, now . . . the twins never told me their sister could fly like that.”
Harry grinned. “They don’t know.”
“She does play Quidditch, I hope?”
“She wants to,” he confirmed.
“Don’t let those brothers of hers stop her, then. We’ll need her in a few years.” Wood glanced appreciatively up at Ginny one more time, and then he set out for the castle.
As the autumn progressed, Ginny attended all of Harry’s Quidditch practices. The twins assumed that she was there to watch them, but she really flew along with Harry. After every practice, Ginny borrowed Harry’s broom and soared around the Quidditch pitch until it was too dark to see properly.
The first time Fred and George saw her flying, they just stared at her. After a few minutes, George turned to Fred. “She’s been at it for years, Fred. Probably knows my broom as well as I do.”
“What do you think she’s doing on Harry’s broom, then?” his twin asked.
They both turned to look at Harry expectantly. He was less nervous about the twins than about Ginny’s other brothers, so he answered honestly. “She knew I’d let her use it. You two wouldn’t have believed she could fly,” he grinned.
George winced. “He has a point,” he admitted.
“When she comes down . . .” Fred began. Then he looked up at his baby sister soaring above him. “. . . if she comes down, tell her she can borrow our brooms anytime.”
Nice of them, but not terribly likely while you’re around with this broom, Ginny commented.
Harry grinned broadly. “I’ll tell her. Maybe if you’re nice she’ll give you a few pointers.”
“Oi!” exclaimed Fred in mock indignation. “Are you sure you don’t have red hair, Potter? You sound just like her, and she’s got the reddest hair of us all.”
In other words, good one, Harry.
“Good one, Harry,” George said. High in the air, Ginny laughed out loud at George’s unconscious echo of her words.
As the twins left to return to the castle, Harry heard Fred say, “Do you think we could teach her to throw a Quaffle? We’d have better games in the paddock.”
That’ll be loads of fun, Ginny predicted. After Mum found out I was flying at night, she showed me a few old Chaser moves. The twins won’t know what hit them.
Why haven’t we told them yet? Harry wondered.
Because I’m not at all sure what they’ll say, she admitted. Ron and Percy were easy, but the twins . . . I don’t know what they’ll think. Mostly they’re carefree and easy to get along with, provided that you can put up with their pranks. Sometimes, though, they’re . . . a bit intense, I guess, and I don’t always know what they’ll do when they’re like that.
Well, we don’t have to tell them any time soon, do we?
No. Let’s worry about it later, okay?
Harry agreed, and he closed his eyes to join Ginny in flying above the pitch. For these few minutes, three times a week, they were truly united and truly happy.
A/N: A few readers have expressed concern about future experiences, so here's my explanation. Physically, Harry and Ginny will develop normally for children of their ages, and they will face many challenges along the way. That does not mean that they will be sexually active at an indecent age. Teenagers will be teenagers, and all that, but there is a line that I will not cross. Where exactly that line is will remain my secret for now, but I am confident that no one will be bothered by it. If you have concerns about such things, feel free to send me a private message.
Chapter 11: Necessary Roughness
Author's Notes: Thanks to Moshpit, Jonathan Avery, and Regdc for their extensive help with this chapter.
WARNING: The rating of this story has been changed to R, and a violence warning has been added. This chapter is the reason.
For the remainder of September and the whole of October, Harry and Ginny’s life at Hogwarts settled into a tentative routine. They went to class, did homework, and practiced Quidditch. When they had free time, they played games or talked with their small group of friends.
Ron and Hermione were invaluable in keeping their secret. Ron coughed whenever Ginny made too much noise, and once he distracted Dean Thomas when the other boy asked why Harry kept his curtains closed so much. Ron was still not entirely comfortable with their sharing a bed, but he protected their secret faithfully.
Hermione reminded them of things they would never have noticed on their own. At meals, she nudged Ginny’s foot when she saw them eating too similarly, and she covered for them when they became lost in conversation with each other and failed to notice someone else trying to get their attention. She carefully read all of their essays and helped her friends make them sound distinctive, but she refused to change the information itself.
In the girls’ dorm, she kept Lavender and Parvati from bothering Ginny by simply telling them that their youngest roommate was shy around the older girls. The two girls had both received the training bras they had written to their mothers to request, and they were very proud to wear them. Their condescending smiles when they saw Ginny only confirmed that they believed she was intimidated by their maturity. Ginny did not care for that characterization, but she agreed with Hermione that it was the simplest and most effective solution.
As much help as Ron and Hermione were to Harry and Ginny, they were still quite cool towards each other. Hermione told Ginny that she would tolerate Ron when the four students were together, but she seldom addressed him directly. Occasionally, when the red-haired boy said something that irritated Hermione, she would simply leave for a while and return when the topic of conversation had shifted or Ron had gone elsewhere. When Ron was not around, she relaxed and talked freely with Ginny and Harry.
Ron seemed oblivious to the reason for Hermione’s behavior, but he often commented to Harry that Hermione was even more boring than Percy. “Besides,” he said during one of their chess games, “she never talks about anything but schoolwork. She’s completely mental. Every time I mention Quidditch she ups and leaves.” Harry remained silent. Ginny had several ideas about how to respond to her brother, but none of them contained things Harry was willing to say aloud.
Neville hovered around the quartet at meals and after classes. Although he did not talk much, he listened with an eager expression, and he laughed or frowned or nodded whenever the conversation called for such things. Occasionally, Ginny would deliberately ask him something about Herbology, and Neville would spend a while blissfully discussing his favorite subject. Ginny and Harry were not particularly interested in what he had to say when he started detailed discussions of various flora, but she insisted that Neville should feel like their friend, which he was, instead of a tolerated observer.
Harry and Ginny saw very little of the twins. At Quidditch practice, they were friendly to Harry and teased Ginny about watching the team and waiting for her turn to fly. Aside from that, they could normally be found huddled in a corner with Angelina, Alicia, and Lee Jordan. Ginny’s experience led her to notice that these whispered sessions were often followed by mysterious events at the school, such as the disappearance of all the quills in Snape’s office or the third-floor paintings’ inclination to sing bawdy songs at all hours of the day and night.
Percy avoided them except for his nightly checks to ensure that they went to bed ‘at a proper hour and with proper decorum.’ After a week or so, Harry and Ginny had stopped posing themselves for her brother, but by that time he seemed to have adjusted enough to the situation that he did not comment on Ginny’s position curled up against Harry’s side. Bun-bun proved useful in an unexpected way — Ginny was certain that her brother was reassured by the sight of her sleeping with a pink bunny in her arms.
After their flying lesson, Ginny wrote to her mother to tell her about the Remembrall, the race, and Harry’s joining the Quidditch team. Mrs. Weasley had responded promptly, taking advantage of the opportunity to warn her daughter over and over again about proper behavior. To help her mother see that they were not doing anything wrong, Ginny wrote regularly about their lives at Hogwarts. She described their classes and professors, and she told her mother about some of the odd experiences they shared. Molly seemed to accept hearing about odd flavor combinations at meals or the confusion of reading the same material at different speeds, but Harry and Ginny were careful never to mention anything that might lead to questions about showering or sleeping. Nevertheless, Mrs. Weasley’s replies always contained thinly veiled warnings and advice about ‘proper decorum.’
Ginny also wrote about her brothers and what they seemed to be doing. Molly was openly grateful for that information. Of all her brothers, Percy was the only one who wrote to her mum from school, and his letters were apparently filled with detailed accounts of his prefect duties, interspersed with question-by-question analyses of his test scores. To offset this, Ginny wrote that Percy was spending a lot of time with a pretty Ravenclaw prefect, that the twins seemed to be getting fewer detentions than Ginny had heard about from the previous year, and that Ron was doing well enough in classes and spending lots of time reading Quidditch magazines. She knew that these were the sorts of things her mother wanted to hear about.
When she found an excuse, Ginny shared simple stories from Harry’s childhood. She avoided the worst of the Dursleys’ behaviour, but she tried to let her mother know how little affection Harry had been shown. Many of her stories ended up revolving around Dudley’s decadent lifestyle, and Ginny hoped that the unspoken comparison to Harry’s upbringing was clear.
Ginny always signed her letters “Love from Ginny and Harry,” but Mrs. Weasley persisted in addressing her responses to Ginny only. As time went on, however, Mrs. Weasley would occasionally ask a question about Harry, even if it was just whether or not he was eating well at Hogwarts. Ginny thought that was a good sign, but Harry was not as sure.
He understood that Mrs. Weasley would have a hard time accepting him with open arms considering everything going on, but he had also seen Ginny’s fond memories of her mother. They both knew that their recent experiences with the woman did not match those memories at all. Ginny knew that her mother was trying to avoid dealing with her relationship to Harry, and Harry was irritated that Mrs. Weasley was needlessly distressing Ginny with her deliberate avoidance. Harry could also feel Ginny’s sadness that her beloved mother refused to become his mother, too. With each letter Ginny received, they became more dismayed and more resigned to Mrs. Weasley’s rejection.
It’s okay, Ginny, he told her. I can’t really miss it if I’ve never had it, can I?
Twice, Ginny and Harry received letters from Mr. Weasley, and Ginny treasured them. Her father wrote to both of them, and he never shied away from addressing questions to Harry. In fact, he seemed to delight in asking Harry about Muggle life even though Ginny knew the answers to his questions. Unlike his wife, Mr. Weasley never said anything about their behaviour or warned them about getting caught. He simply told stories from his busy work life and asked an endless stream of questions. Once, in a postscript, he did say that Mrs. Weasley seemed pleased that Harry and Ginny got to fly regularly, as it reminded her of her own days as a Chaser for the Gryffindor team.
Harry was grateful to Ginny’s father for his outward acceptance of the situation. They were sure that Mr. Weasley did not like the things that were happening, but he treated Ginny and Harry normally anyway. Harry felt Ginny’s adoration for her father, and he knew the man had earned her affections, but he was starting to believe that he could like and respect Mr. Weasley for his own reasons.
Harry’s appointment to the Gryffindor team only increased the amount of attention he got in the halls. Before that, whispers and pointed fingers had followed both Harry and Ginny as they moved around the school, but the unwanted attention had faded somewhat as the events of the Sorting Feast became old news. Now, however, the rumours and whispers were back in full force.
Harry was inclined to be frustrated by the attention, but Ginny shrugged it off and helped Harry to accept it, even though they were both sure that they would never like it. She usually managed to keep Harry from dwelling on the attention, and if she was unable to, then their classes often did. As October progressed, the material became more difficult, but at the same time much more interesting.
On October thirty-first, during their last class of the day, Professor Flitwick began teaching his first year classes the levitation charm. He divided the students into pairs. Ginny’s new wand worked much better than her old one, but she still borrowed Harry’s wand for new or difficult spells. Knowing this, the jovial professor always assigned them to work as a pair. Today, their partnership had the unfortunate side effect of leaving Hermione and Ron to learn the Wingardium Leviosa spell together.
Harry and Ginny made some progress on the levitation charm, but they were distracted by their friends working nearby. Hermione repeated “win-GAR-di-um lev-i-O-sa” every minute or two in an effort to teach Ron the spell. He tried repeatedly, but his feather never moved at all. Finally, in frustration, Hermione levitated the feather herself. It bounced lightly over their heads, following the point of her wand.
“Well done, Miss Granger, well done!” Flitwick applauded. “Five points to Gryffindor.”
As the students filed out of the Charms classroom, Ron caught up with Harry and Ginny. “Had to show off, didn’t she? Had to make sure everyone knows how bloody smart she is, the swot. Why do you put up with her, anyway? Does she help you that much with your homework?”
Ginny’s temper flared. She turned towards Ron to tell him off, but she was interrupted when Hermione herself pushed past Harry and Ron and hurried down the corridor. Harry saw tears already forming in Hermione’s eyes as she fled. Ginny settled for glaring at her brother before she set off down the hall after her roommate. By the time she reached the corner, though, Hermione was nowhere in sight.
Enraged, the tiny redhead stormed back up the corridor. “You insensitive prat!” she yelled at Ron. “She wasn’t showing off, she was doing the spell we’d been assigned! Harry and I like her because she’s nice. She doesn’t go around saying stupid things that make other people think she’s a complete git!”
Ron opened his mouth to say something, but Ginny raised her right hand above her own eye level to point her finger at his face. “You think she’s boring because she never talks about anything but homework. Do you realize that she actually knows a lot about Quidditch? You wouldn’t because she doesn’t talk about it around you. She knows that you would look at her like she has no business knowing about your precious sport.”
“Don’t you get it, Ron? She doesn’t talk to you or around you because you’ve never treated her like anything more than a walking textbook. Most of the school treats her that way, and she doesn’t want to put up with it from you too. So, good show, Ron. You’ve proven what a prat you really are.”
Ginny turned away from her brother as he tried to protest. “Hey, I’m not . . .”
She spun back towards him. “Oh yes you are!” She shoved him roughly with her palm. To everyone’s surprise, Ron stumbled backwards several steps and sprawled onto his back. He stared wide-eyed at her from the floor. He, Ginny, and Harry were the only ones who knew that her hand had never actually touched him.
When everyone started whispering, Harry and Ginny realized that the air had warmed around them. Harry was irritated, but he had not achieved the towering rage that Ginny had.
Ginny, we have to get out of here, Harry pressed. He knew that her anger would soon make him angry, too, and their combined temper would be up for hours if they did not calm down.
Fine! Anything to get away from my idiotic brother.
Let’s go for a fly, he suggested. I’ll meet you on the pitch with the broom, okay?
Ginny nodded and stormed down the hall towards the staircase. Ron picked himself up and looked up at Harry, bewildered.
“You pissed Ginny off, Ron. That’s almost as stupid as what you said about Hermione,” he said.
Leaving Ron and the other students behind, he ran up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower and retrieved his Nimbus Two Thousand. A few minutes later, he found Ginny on the Quidditch pitch and wordlessly handed her the broom.
Ginny leaned back and shot straight up into the air, spiraling tightly as she climbed. High above the Quidditch Pitch, she leveled off and soared in a large, fast circle over the grounds.
Harry felt his friend sigh as the sensations of flying flowed over them. Ron is stupid.
Yes, Harry agreed.
And he’s insensitive.
Yes.
He’s such a . . . he’s such a boy.
Err, yes.
I’m well aware that you’re a boy too, Harry, but you’re not like Ron! At least never when I’m around, and as I’m always around, there’s no problem.
Thanks.
He’s a complete and utter prat!
Yes he is.
Ginny paused in her litany, and her voice became softer. I could have hurt him.
But you didn’t.
He’s my brother, and I almost hurt him!
You didn’t mean to, Gin, Harry assured her. I felt what you felt, and I know what you were thinking. You had no idea that you could hurt him. You were just angry with him.
If he’d hit his head or broken his arm it wouldn’t matter what I meant to do.
Harry felt as though he were answering Ginny in her own voice. What he was saying did not come naturally for him, but he knew it was what she needed to hear.
He didn’t hit his head or break his arm, he reminded her. And you can’t change what happened. All you can do is try not to repeat it.
How? How do I do that? She demanded.
The same way we did today, he said confidently. I’ll keep an eye on you, and you’ll keep an eye on me. When one of us gets angry, we’ll come out here until we calm down.
Ginny dived to the ground and landed gently in front of him. Setting the broom on the ground, she turned to face Harry and looked into his green eyes pleadingly. What if we both get mad at the same time?
He grinned, sensing that her mood was shifting. Then we’ll ask Dumbledore to put the castle back together for us.
The corners of her mouth rose slightly, and she stepped forward to embrace him. Thanks, Harry.
I’m pretty sure that you did all the mental work.
I don’t think so, but it doesn’t matter, she assured him.
They spent the rest of the afternoon taking turns on the Nimbus and reveling in the sheer joy of flying. The first years had only had one flying lesson before the Thursday afternoon period became an optional flying practice time, so Charms was now their last class of the day on Thursdays. Half an hour before the Halloween feast, they went back to Gryffindor Tower. Harry went upstairs to put away his broom, and Ginny approached the sofa where Ron was sitting and gingerly perched on its arm.
“Ron, are you okay?” she asked.
Her brother’s casual answer was rather forced. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Lost my balance, that’s all.”
“Alright,” she replied. They both knew he was lying, but they silently agreed to pretend.
Harry joined them on the sofa and avoided looking at Ron.
“It’s okay, Harry. He apologized,” Ginny assured him.
“What? No he didn’t, he just . . .” he trailed off as she interrupted him.
It was an apology, Harry. Trust me.
“Okay, then. No worries, Ron,” Harry said.
“It’s a bit scary when you do that. You know that, right?” his friend asked.
Ginny’s memory flashed a scene into their consciousness, and Harry grinned. “Not as scary as that time Ginny got you to wear your mum’s makeup.”
“Ginny! You promised you’d never tell anyone about that!” Ron protested.
“She didn’t say a word, did she?” Harry retorted.
“It’s unfair, you know,” the other boy pointed out. “Harry comes up with all this stuff about me, but I don’t know anything to use against him.”
Ginny had been smiling at the banter between her brother and her best friend, but as she thought about Ron’s words her face fell into a sad frown, and she spoke quietly. “I’ve seen some of the things Harry did when he was little, Ron. When I find something that’s even a little bit funny, I’ll pass it on.”
“Oh. Right,” Ron muttered. He glanced at the floor for a moment and toyed with a loose thread on his shirt. Then he looked up and smiled with false brightness. “About time for the feast, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, let’s go,” Harry said before Ginny could chastise her brother. He did not want to discuss his childhood with Ron, even in general terms. Ginny, feeling his distress, allowed him to pull her up from the couch, and the three students left the Tower.
Along the way, they passed Lavender and Parvati and overheard the blonde girl say that Hermione had locked herself in one of the lavatories and refused to come out. Ginny shot her brother an annoyed glance and sighed. “I’ll go and find her. Save us seats at the feast, okay?”
Do you want me to come along? Harry asked her.
They said she’s in a girls’ loo, Harry, Ginny smirked. You’re not supposed to go into those.
Oh, right. I forgot.
She set off down the corridor, and Ron and Harry entered the Great Hall and claimed enough space for the four of them to sit. Ginny reached the first floor lavatory and found it empty.
She won’t be on the second floor - nobody ever goes to the girls’ room there. She ran the wrong way from the Charms classroom to go to the one on the third floor, so she must be in the dungeons.
Just as the food appeared on the long house tables, Professor Quirrell burst into the great hall. He ran jerkily towards the high table and stopped almost exactly where the Sorting Hat had been two months earlier.
“Troll!” he screamed. “Troll in the dungeons!” Then he fainted and fell to the floor.
Pandemonium erupted in the crowded hall. Dumbledore quickly took charge of the situation and directed the prefects to lead the other students back to their common rooms. As he joined the line behind Percy, Harry realized that Ginny had not stopped walking towards the stairs to the dungeons.
I have to tell Hermione, and then we’ll be there, she promised as she broke into a run.
Well . . . he did not want her anywhere near a troll, but he knew that she would never abandon her friend, and he was sure that he would have gone after Hermione if he were in Ginny’s shoes. Be careful, Ginny. The troll’s down there somewhere.
He leaned over to Ron and whispered, “Ginny’s getting Hermione, and they’ll meet us back in the Tower.”
Ron paled. He had clearly forgotten that the girls were not in the Great Hall.
Ginny burst into the girls’ lavatory in the dungeon. Only one of the stalls was locked, and she heard sniffling coming from inside.
“Hermione, come on!” she exclaimed. “There’s a troll loose in the dungeons, and we’ve got to get back to the tower.”
“Do you seriously expect me to believe that?” Hermione asked. “Just leave me alone. That’s probably what you want to do anyway.”
“Listen to me, Hermione!” Ginny commanded. “I don’t care whether you believe me or not, but it’s still true. You don’t have to talk to us or Ron ever again, but please come out of there and go back to the tower!”
The stall door unlocked and slowly swung open to reveal Hermione’s tear-streaked face. “You really think there’s a troll in Hogwarts?” she asked skeptically.
“Yes! Quirrell shouted it to the whole school just a minute ago,” Ginny assured her.
Hermione relented, apparently assured that the troll was real because a professor had announced its presence. “Fine, but I’m not talking to your stupid brother any more.”
“Yes, I know, he’s a complete and utter moron. I already told him that. Come on!” Ginny grabbed Hermione’s arm and tugged her towards the door.
As the bushy-haired girl finally started moving, the door slammed open and was held against the wall by a very large club. A troll entered the lavatory head first, sniffing the air constantly with its bulbous nose. As it forced its body through the door and straightened, the two girls gasped. The troll was grayish-green and nearly twelve feet tall. Its torso was massively overdeveloped, and its arms reached to its knees. Deep-set yellow eyes focused on them, and it turned to face them, swinging its club in slow, menacing arcs.
On the fourth floor, Harry grabbed Ron’s arm and pulled him out of the line of Gryffindors and into a nearby alcove. “The troll’s got Ginny and Hermione trapped in the girls’ lav in the dungeons. Come as fast as you can!” Without waiting for Ron to respond, Harry transported himself into the lavatory.
Both girls backed up against the lavatory wall, as far from the troll as they could. Hermione screamed once and then flattened herself against the wall with wide, panicked eyes.
As Harry arrived behind the troll, hoping to distract it, Ginny drew her wand and pointed it at the massive creature’s head. “Vespertilius mucilagus!” she shouted. A jet of yellow light shot from her wand and hit the troll, and large, grey bats fell out of its nose and began flapping around its head and attacking its face.
Unfortunately, even the oversized bats were too small to do more than enrage the troll. Bellowing, it swung out blindly with its club and demolished several stalls as its other hand bashed two bats into the wall. The girls and Harry ducked and covered their heads with their arms to avoid the ragged sections of wood flying across the room.
“Stay here! It can only go after one of us,” Ginny cried, darting down the corner of the wall furthest from Hermione. Spotting her motion, the troll focused on her and turned partially away from Hermione. “Run, Hermione!” she ordered, but Hermione only shook her head and tried to back further into the corner.
On the other side of the lavatory, Harry struggled to think of something he could do. Apart from the hex that Ginny had already attempted, Harry did not know any spells to use against something that big, but he knew that he absolutely had to keep it from hurting Ginny. She was his first and best friend, and the only person he thought could ever really understand him. When the troll heard Ginny yell and turned towards her, Harry’s mind went blank, and he bellowed and charged at the troll’s back.
Harry, no!
A few steps away, he leapt impossibly high into the air and turned his shoulder towards the troll. The impact of his body between the monster’s shoulder blades caused it to stumble a half-step. Harry, however, fell heavily to the ground, hitting his head sharply on the floor. In the corner, Ginny winced and reached up to rub the side of her head, but Harry forced himself back to his feet in spite of his sudden disorientation. The troll turned to face him, peering down from nearly three times the boy’s height. It growled and raised its club. Harry tried to back away, but dizziness overcame him and he fell down again.
“Leave him alone!” Ginny screamed. She darted out from her corner and wrapped her small body around the troll’s right leg. It did not seem to notice the extra weight and continued to focus on Harry, so she sank her teeth into the raised tendon at the back of its huge knee.
Somehow, Ginny’s teeth had found a soft spot on the troll’s thick hide. It howled, forgetting Harry completely, and reached around its legs with its huge left hand to grasp the back of Ginny’s robes. She clung to its calf as hard as she could with her arms, legs, and teeth, but she was no match for its strength. It lifted her into the air in front of its face and examined her, as though attempting to determine what she was.
Ginny, in a moment of desperation, shoved her wand forward and into one of the troll’s massive, dripping nostrils. Half the length of the short wand disappeared, and it was wrenched out of her hand as the troll twisted its head away from her. Roaring in pain, the troll dropped Ginny back into the corner in its haste to paw at its nose.
Although Ginny managed to avoid hitting her head when she landed, she was battered by the impact, and pain screamed at her from almost every part of her body. Unable to separate his focus, Harry yelled in pain with her as she slid to the floor. Unable to quickly get away, she put her back to the corner and stared wide-eyed at the troll looming above her.
For the moment, the troll was occupied by the wand in its nose. It batted at the slender rod, screaming in pain and annoyance every time it brushed the embedded stick with its hands. Flailing its arms in frustration, the troll stomped through the lavatory, shaking its head. Harry managed to get onto his hands and knees and scramble out of the troll’s way, but his own dizziness coupled with Ginny’s violent and painful movements kept him from standing.
Ginny was trapped between two walls and the troll itself. Enraged, the troll spun around towards her, recognizing the cause of its pain. It took one long step towards her and swung its massive club sideways.
“Ginny!” Harry shouted aloud and mentally. He pulled at her desperately with his mind, and just before the club hit her, she disappeared and fell to the floor behind Harry, several yards from the confused troll. She crawled to the far wall and turned back to find Harry still in the middle of the room, too disoriented to move. He had lost his glasses somewhere in the rubble, which did not help him at all.
Harry refused to stop trying. He could not see clearly, but he felt a section of pipe under his left hand. He grabbed it and sat up to his knees to find himself looking at the back of the troll’s knee. Bracing himself as well as he could, he swung the pipe with all of his strength at the knee Ginny had bitten. The metal pipe bounced off of the huge joint, jarring Harry, but its impact drew the troll’s attention.
The troll spun ponderously in place and looked for the new threat. Harry was close enough and short enough that it did not spot him immediately, and he took advantage of the opportunity to smash his pipe down on the foot he could make out on the floor in front of him. He thought he heard one of the gnarled toes break, but he was not sure.
The troll howled again and reached down to wrench the pipe away from Harry, who had raised it over his head for another blow. The troll hurled the pipe across the room, and a mirror shattered as the metal tube ricocheted off the wall. Forgetting its club, the troll swung its fist down at Harry, who was looking around blearily for another weapon. Its first swipe barely missed Harry’s head.
“Harry, move!” Come to me! Ginny ordered frantically. Don’t worry about what you see. Close your eyes and look through mine!
He was glad to squeeze his eyes shut, and as soon as he did he could see himself from Ginny’s point of view as the troll’s fist approached his head again. She turned to look at the empty space next to her, and they willed him to be there.
He collapsed onto his back next to her in a boneless, disoriented heap. Ginny ignored the pain and her body’s protests as she draped herself diagonally across his chest, her loose hair falling across his face and chest in a tangled shroud. She put one arm around his head protectively and pulled his wand out of his robe pocket with the other, though she had no idea what spell she could cast to help.
Hermione took advantage of the troll’s distraction to finally try to get out of her corner, but her path was littered with debris from the damaged stalls. As she climbed over some of the twisted wood, one of the buried support poles snapped. Hermione screamed as the troll turned back towards her and lifted its club to crush her.
Sprinting down the last set of steps, Ron rushed down the hallway to the dungeon lavatory, his lungs on fire and his legs burning from running. The door was jammed open and Ron skidded into the frame, his mind freezing as his sister screamed out Harry’s name.
A loud snap and clatter of debris suddenly drew Ron’s attention to the other side of the lavatory. Hermione was crawling across the wreckage of a stall, her hair in disarray and her face streaked.
When she screamed, Ron acted on instinct alone, whipping his wand out and casting the first spell that came into his head. “Wingardium Leviosa!” The club was pulled from the troll’s hand and hovered in midair. The troll stumbled, stopped, and looked up at the weapon hanging above its head with a confused expression.
The opportunity was perfect for Ron. He flicked the tip of his wand sharply downwards, and the club followed its motion to impact heavily against the troll’s upturned forehead. The monster staggered and fell to its knees, still staring upwards. Ron raised his wand and swung it down again, hitting the top of the troll’s head. This time, the troll slowly toppled forward onto its face, but the red-haired boy did not relent. Over and over, he raised and lowered his wand, bashing the huge club into the troll’s head as it fell. When the creature lay still on the tile, he lifted his wand again.
Ginny watched, shocked, as the troll fell under blows from its own club. When it stopped moving, Hermione scurried out from her corner and ran to Ron’s side.
“Stop, Ron! It’s enough. The troll’s unconscious. It’s enough!” she implored him.
Ron lifted his gaze from the felled troll to look at her. He was breathing raggedly through his nose, and the tendons in his neck stood out as he clenched his jaw. He blinked, and something returned to his eyes that had been missing. He looked down at his wand as if it were strange to him, then opened his white-knuckled fist and let the slender rod fall to the floor. The club dropped from mid-air to land heavily on the ground next to the troll.
Hermione looked into Ron’s eyes and watched him realize what he had done as well as what he had been about to do. She put her hand on his forearm and said, “That was a good spell, Ron.”
The red-haired boy nodded mutely, still staring at his wand on the floor. Hermione turned to Harry and Ginny with wide eyes, and Ginny saw that she was breathing in short gasps. “Are you two . . . alright?” she asked.
“I’ll be okay, I think, but Harry’s having trouble seeing. Can you find his glasses?” she asked. Hermione nodded and stepped towards the middle of the room, but her foot caught on a bit of wood and she stumbled to her hands and knees. Looking shaken but determined, she crawled forward and found Harry’s glasses. One of the earpieces was twisted oddly, and one of the lenses was cracked. She pulled out her wand and muttered “Reparo,” returning them to their original condition.
Hermione tucked Harry’s glasses safely into her pocket and approached the troll slowly. When it did not move, she reached down and yanked Ginny’s wand out of its nose. It still did not stir, so she wiped the wand off on the troll’s ragged tunic. Then she crawled back across the room to Harry and Ginny and returned his glasses and her wand.
Ginny pocketed both of their wands and pushed Harry’s glasses gently onto his face. He opened his eyes cautiously, but his vision swam in front of him, so he closed them again. He wrapped his arms around Ginny’s back and clung to her as tightly as he could without hurting her. As the adrenaline faded from their systems, the pain and horror of the last few minutes rushed in on them, and they realized how close they had come to losing half or all of themselves. Neither of them was willing to let go any time soon. Ginny cried quietly as she shifted to wrap her arms tightly around Harry’s neck.
As Hermione stood up and looked at her three friends in concern, Professor McGonagall swept into the destroyed lavatory with Professor Snape and Professor Quirrell close behind her. “What on earth is going on here? Mr. Potter, are you alright?” she demanded. Snape bent to inspect the troll, and Quirrell backed slowly towards the door with wide eyes.
Ginny ignored her pain as much as she could and focused on Harry’s body for a moment. “He hit his head, Professor, but I think he’s just dizzy and bruised,” she said carefully, not wanting the other professors to find her assessment odd.
“What did you think you were doing?” McGonagall fumed. “You could all have been killed! Why aren’t you in your dormitory?”
Ginny began to reply, but Hermione was faster. “They came after me, Professor,” she stated. “I read all about trolls, and I thought I knew a spell to put them to sleep. Ginny tried to stop me, but the troll trapped us in here and my spell didn’t work. Harry and Ron heard me screaming, and they came to help. Harry and Ginny . . .” she trailed off and glanced at her friends in a sort of awe, “. . . well, they fought it for a minute until Ron knocked it out with its own club. If they had not arrived right when they did, it probably would have killed both Ginny and me.”
Ron looked confused, but Ginny nodded solemnly at McGonagall. Come on, Ron, don’t say anything. She’s trying to help us. For a moment, Ginny wished that Ron could hear her as easily as Harry did.
“A spell to put a troll to sleep? That hardly seems likely,” Snape drawled. “Perhaps it would be best to inspect Miss Granger’s wand, and those of the others, to determine what happened here.”
“These are my students, Severus,” McGonagall snapped, “and I will investigate their actions in due time and as I see fit.”
“Your actions today were very irresponsible,” she continued more calmly, addressing the four students. “Miss Granger, five points will be taken from Gryffindor for your foolishness. If you are unharmed, you may return to your dormitory.”
Hermione nodded. She bent and picked up Ron’s wand from the ground at his feet and put it in his hand. “You dropped this, Ron,” she said softly, and then she left the room. She glanced worriedly at Ginny as she passed.
“Mr. Weasley, Miss Weasley, are either of you hurt?” McGonagall asked.
They shook their heads, but Harry spoke up wearily. “Ginny got thrown around as much as I did.”
“I see,” the stern professor replied. “Mr. Weasley, please help me escort your friends to the hospital wing. Mr. Potter, can you walk?”
“I think so,” he replied. Ron shook himself out of his slight stupor and helped Harry and Ginny get up from the floor. He reached out to put an arm around each of their shoulders, but Ginny ducked out from under his hand and moved to Harry’s other side. She lifted his right arm and draped it across her own shoulders, leaving Ron to support Harry’s left side. With great care, the three students walked out of the lavatory and towards the stairs.
Professor McGonagall followed them, watching the two smaller students closely for signs of injury. As the procession reached the staircase to the first floor, Professor Dumbledore approached them from the other direction.
McGonagall spoke before the Headmaster could question them. “Professors Snape and Quirrell are in the lavatory behind us with the troll. They can answer your questions. When you have finished, I hope you will join us in the Hospital Wing.”
Recognizing his colleague’s priorities, Dumbledore nodded and walked towards the lavatory.
Harry clung to Ron to stay upright, and the taller boy supported him without complaining. Ginny helped Harry to keep his balance, but mostly she made sure that she was touching him and tried to minimize her own pain as they walked. They had not released each other since fighting the troll.
Their Head of House spoke quietly as she followed them. “Five points each to Gryffindor for your decisive actions, gentlemen. Five points to you, Miss Weasley, for attempting to curb Miss Granger’s enthusiasm. We will all accept that version of events.”
***
Albus Dumbledore stepped into the lavatory and found it demolished. The troll lay face down in the middle of the room surrounded by large and small bits of wood and porcelain from the shattered fixtures. A small pool of red was spreading slowly from its head. The pipes in the room were coated in condensation that dripped steadily to the floor, and the room itself was noticeably warmer than the hallway. The mirrors that had previously lined one wall were all destroyed.
“What happened here, Severus?” he asked the Potions Master.
Grudgingly, Snape relayed the story told by the four Gryffindors. The state of the room around them told both men that they did not have all of the details.
“The troll?” Dumbledore asked simply.
“Dead, Headmaster,” Snape replied gravely. “Its skull is broken in several places.”
Dumbledore sighed heavily and looked much older than he usually did. “If anyone asks, it was unconscious. We made arrangements to have it transported to Lichtenstein. Do you understand?”
Snape and Quirrell nodded as Dumbledore studied the corpse for a few minutes, noting its position and injuries. Then he waved his wand, and the troll’s body vanished. With another sigh, Dumbledore turned and left the room to see to his students.
***
Harry and Ginny staggered into the Hospital Wing with Ron supporting as much of Harry’s weight as he could. He led them directly to the nearest bed and let them collapse onto it as McGonagall followed them into the ward. They lay on their sides, facing each other, with their eyes closed and their hands clasped between them. McGonagall quietly, but firmly, sent Ron back to Gryffindor Tower after cautioning him not to talk about the evening’s events.
Madam Pomfrey walked briskly out of her office and saw the two smaller children, battered and filthy, lying on one of her pristine beds.
“Good heavens! What’s happened?”
Without waiting for an answer, she crossed to the bed and began to lift Ginny off of it and onto the next bed. Ginny struggled weakly and moaned in pain as the matron rolled her onto her back.
Harry’s vision still swam and his body felt unwilling to cooperate, but he knew that someone was trying to move Ginny and hurting her in the process. “No!” he protested, clinging to her hand. When he spoke, Madam Pomfrey was shoved away from the bed by an unseen force. She staggered and kept herself from falling, but she eyed the children warily.
“Madam Pomfrey,” McGonagall interjected quickly, “please allow these two children to remain on one bed for the moment. I will explain later, but first they must be tended to. I believe Mr. Potter said he was dizzy.”
“I can’t tend to them very well if I can’t examine them,” Pomfrey objected.
McGonagall’s expression softened slightly. “I must insist that you do your best without separating them. Please, Poppy.” At the other woman’s nod, the professor addressed Harry and Ginny. “Mr. Potter, Miss Weasley. Please allow Madam Pomfrey to examine you both. She will not attempt to separate you.”
After the matron released her, Ginny rolled back onto her side, facing Harry. When Pomfrey cautiously returned, Ginny reached out and gently pushed Harry onto his back without releasing his hand.
“He’s got lots of bruises, and he hit his head. He’s having trouble seeing,” she told the mediwitch through the hair that had fallen across her face.
“Thank you, child. Be quiet, now, so I can help him,” Pomfrey instructed, looking at her oddly. She ran her wand over Harry’s body from his toes to his forehead. “Lots of bruises, indeed. Did you run afoul of a seventh year, Mr. Potter?”
“It was a troll,” Ginny answered for him.
Pomfrey glanced up at McGonagall, who nodded silently. The nurse shook her head and returned her attention to Harry. She flicked her wand over his legs, arms, and torso, and Ginny and Harry could feel the pain from his bruises recede. Then, with her wand pointing directly down at him, Madam Pomfrey outlined his body. As she did, tiny bits of wood and glass separated from his clothes and skin and hovered at the tip of her wand. When she completed her circuit around him, she moved her wand over a waste bin and allowed the fragments to fall. Finally, she tapped each of his limbs with the tip of her wand.
“You have a slight concussion, Mr. Potter, which is why you’re having difficulty with your vision. I’ll give you a potion to fix that in no time at all,” she promised.
“Help Ginny first. The troll dumped her into a wall,” Harry urged.
“Into a wall? Then she’s very lucky, indeed. That sort of thing might well have killed her.” Pomfrey rolled Ginny gently onto her back again, causing her hair to fall away. “What in the world is all over your mouth, Miss Weasley?” she asked, nonplussed.
Ginny finally realized what she had done and what tasted so horrible. She tumbled off the side of the bed and staggered to a basin mounted on the wall nearby. Clutching its edge with both hands, she wretched violently.
Harry felt what was happening, and he dragged himself off the bed as she bent over the basin. He had almost reached her when he felt the first spasm wrack her body, and his own muscles clenched in sympathetic response. He recovered as she coughed, and he stumbled over to stand behind her. He gathered her long hair in his left hand and held it behind her collar while he put his right arm carefully around her waist to keep her from falling over.
She vomited several more times and sobbed into the sink. At last, Harry turned his unfocused gaze towards Pomfrey. “She needs water,” he announced hoarsely, unconsciously compensating for the rawness of Ginny’s throat. The matron picked up an unused potion goblet from a nearby shelf and rounded the bed. She filled it with water from the sink and put it in Ginny’s hands. Seeing her tremble, the older woman helped her lift the cup to her lips and drink from it. Rather than swallowing, the girl swished the liquid in her mouth and the spat it out into the sink. Over and over she rinsed out her mouth, until the cup was empty. Pomfrey refilled it, and this time Ginny drank deeply.
When she finished the water, Ginny scrubbed her face roughly with a wet towel. When she felt cleaner, Harry closed his eyes and focused on her undamaged vision as he helped her back to the bed. She lay down gratefully, and he dropped onto the bed next to her. Madam Pomfrey followed them and pointed her wand at Ginny’s open mouth. “Dentiscourgis,” she muttered.
“Thank you,” Ginny whispered.
“Do not attempt that charm yourself, Miss Weasley,” the matron warned. She treated Ginny as she had Harry, running her wand across the length of Ginny’s body. “Heavens, child, I should have tended to you first,” she whispered sadly.
Madam Pomfrey healed the various bruises, scrapes, and cuts on Ginny’s body, but the process took much longer than it had for Harry. Harry and Ginny sighed together as her pain finally faded, leaving only the lingering ache of abused muscles.
The matron went into her office and returned with a small vial of a purple potion. “Drink this, Mr. Potter.”
Harry did as he was told, and his head cleared almost instantly.
“Is your vision back to normal, Mr. Potter?” Pomfrey asked.
“Yes, thank you,” he replied gratefully.
“Very well.” The matron turned to McGonagall. “They need showers and a good night’s sleep. Given those, they will be as good as new in the morning. Now what exactly is going on here?”
“A perfectly reasonable question, Poppy,” Dumbledore said from the doorway. “Miss Weasley, Mr. Potter. Would you like us to answer it?” he asked.
I think we should, Harry, Ginny said. She’ll have a hard time helping us if she doesn’t know, and we’re going to need her sooner or later.
Harry was still uncertain about the matron, due mostly to her attempt to separate the two of them, but he realized that she would not have done that if she had known about them ahead of time.
Seeing their hesitation, Dumbledore added, “I trust Madam Pomfrey completely.”
Ginny turned to her Head of House. “Do you, Professor McGonagall?” The stern professor had helped them so much already, and Ginny was coming to value the professor’s opinion.
McGonagall looked straight into her eyes and said, “Yes, I do.”
Ginny smiled and said, “Okay, Headmaster. Madam Pomfrey should know.”
“Thank you, Miss Weasley. Poppy, will you please allow Minerva to accompany you to your office and explain the situation to you?” he asked.
The matron nodded, and the two women went into the office and closed the door.
Dumbledore sat in a chair near the bed Harry and Ginny shared. “What you did this evening was very brave,” he said. Then he looked directly into Harry’s eyes. “I must caution you, however, to be more careful with your own lives. You are both very important to those who care about you and strive to keep you safe.”
“Hermione needed us,” Harry insisted. “We couldn’t let her get hurt.”
The Headmaster sighed slightly. “I would expect nothing less of either of you. Or both of you, as the case may be.”
“Professor McGonagall has already seen to the disposition of house points, has she not?” he asked. When they nodded, he smiled. “Excellent. Aside from that, I award ten points to Miss Weasley for a most ingenious method of attacking a fully grown mountain troll.”
Ginny blushed and reached up to wipe her mouth. All traces of the troll’s blood and flesh were gone, but she imagined that she could still feel it on her lips.
“I leave it to you to inform others of this event,” Dumbledore continued. “I trust that you will practice discretion, as you have done thus far with other matters.”
Does he think we’re going to brag about it? Harry wondered.
I’d rather try to forget about it, she said.
You were great, Ginny. Crazy, but great. You probably saved my life.
You saved mine once or twice, too. Let’s hope we don’t have to keep count, okay?
Okay, he agreed. The two relaxed on the soft bed for several minutes, quietly holding hands as Dumbledore kept his twinkling gaze on them.
Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey emerged from the matron’s office. The matron walked directly to Harry and Ginny’s bed.
“Sit up, please. Side by side, facing me. Be still,” she ordered tersely.
Pomfrey ran her wand up and down Ginny’s body more slowly than she had before. She then repeated the process with Harry. Apparently satisfied, she turned to Harry. “Mr. Potter, where is Miss Weasley experiencing pain or discomfort?”
“Err . . . all of her muscles are sore, but her neck and jaw are the worst,” he answered. “Her left shoulder aches, her scalp itches, and she still thinks she needs to wash her mouth out.”
“And Mr. Potter?” the matron asked Ginny.
“He’s sore, too, but it’s mostly up and down his right side. He has a headache, and his left palm stings a bit.”
Madam Pomfrey picked up Harry’s hand and examined his palm closely. Then she sniffed and tapped her wand gently on his skin. The slight pain faded as she healed a tiny cut.
“Your soreness will fade with rest,” she told them. “Normally, I would keep both of you here overnight, but I understand that that would be problematic. Please go to sleep as soon as possible. If you do not rest properly, you will be stiff for several days.”
The aging witch looked back and forth between them and then sighed. “I expect I’ll be seeing quite a lot of the both of you over the next several years.”
Harry and Ginny heard a discreet noise, and the entire group turned to find Hermione and Ron standing in the doorway. Hermione looked nervous and determined, while Ron seemed worried.
“Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley. Did I not tell you to return to your dormitories?” McGonagall demanded.
“Yes, Professor, and we did,” Hermione answered timidly. “But we wanted to find out if Harry and Ginny are going to be alright.”
“I believe we can forgive them this time, Minerva,” Dumbledore commented. “Come in, both of you. Mr. Potter and Miss Weasley are fine.”
Ron stepped in front of his sister. “Alright, Ginny?” he asked. She smiled and nodded, and he reached out to hug her gently. He released her and looked over at Harry. “You okay, Harry?”
“I’m okay, Ron.”
Hermione took Ron’s place and hugged both Harry and Ginny with surprising strength. Her eyes were suspiciously moist.
She’s almost as bad as your mum, Harry said.
Please, Harry, whatever you do, don’t ever say that to either one of them, Ginny implored him.
“If you would be so kind, please escort Mr. Potter and Miss Weasley back to Gryffindor Tower,” the Headmaster instructed Ron and Hermione. “They can eat there with the rest of the students, but ensure that they are able to go to bed as soon as reasonably possible. Mr. Weasley, I hope that you will watch to make sure that they are not disturbed by your roommates.”
Ron nodded, but Hermione glanced apprehensively at Madam Pomfrey.
“Poppy has been informed of the situation, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore assured her.
Relieved, Hermione nodded. “What do we tell the others?” she asked.
Ginny considered for a moment. “I needed to go to the loo, and Harry walked along with me. We thought we saw the troll, so we tried to get away. It took us all this time to get back to the common room from where we finally ended up.”
Hermione gaped at her friend, and Dumbledore chuckled. “A masterfully crafted statement, Miss Weasley. That will do.”
“It won’t work if you two look like that,” Hermione observed. She pulled out her wand and cast scourgify on their clothes. They did not look quite normal, but they were clean enough to pass a casual inspection. Ginny pulled her hair back into a loose ponytail and held it there with an elastic from her pocket.
“Off you go, then,” Dumbledore said.
On the way back to the common room, Hermione pulled them all into an empty classroom. “Are you two really alright?” she asked.
“We’re okay, honest,” Ginny replied. “Just tired and sore. How about you?”
“I’m . . . okay, I suppose. All I did was cower in the corner,” she admitted bitterly.
“You covered for us when it mattered,” Ginny argued. She glanced at her brother and said, “None of us were in any condition to talk to the professors when they came in. I don’t want to think about what would have happened if you hadn’t given McGonagall a story she could believe.”
“Still, I should have done something,” Hermione insisted. “The levitation charm was perfect.”
Ginny turned to Ron. “What about you, Ron? You alright?”
“Yeah, I reckon,” he answered, not meeting her eyes.
“You saved us, Ron. Don’t feel bad about what you did,” she advised.
“Well, it was going to hurt all of you, so I had to do something, didn’t I? I did what you and Harry did, really. I just . . . got a bit . . . carried away.” He finally lifted his gaze and grinned slightly at his sister. “Least I didn’t bite the bloody thing.”
“Language, please, Ron,” Hermione chided, but then she smiled. “It wasn’t bloody until after she got her teeth into it.”
Harry joined the new game happily. “Howled like a kicked puppy, didn’t it?”
“I don’t blame it,” Ron said sagely. “She bit me once, and it hurt like hell. I almost feel bad for the poor thing.”
“It worked, didn’t it?” Ginny demanded, feigning irritation.
“Yeah, Gin,” her brother nodded. “You were brilliant.”
Hermione’s face became serious as she met Ron’s gaze. “Thank you again, Ron.”
The red-haired boy shuffled his feet awkwardly. “No problem. And . . . you know, thanks. For, err, giving my wand back.”
The bushy-haired girl nodded. “You’re welcome, Ron.”
Ginny was sure that Ron knew he owed Hermione for a lot more than picking up his wand, but her brother would never admit it. Hermione seemed to understand what he was unable to say, and that was good enough.
An hour later, Ginny and Harry settled into his bed. They had showered and eaten a little, but neither had much of an appetite. Ron was sitting quietly on his own bed, pretending to read but really making sure that they were not disturbed. After a minute of silence, Ginny verbalized what had been running through their heads ever since they left the lavatory.
We could have died, Harry. Either of us. Both of us.
I know. I was terrified.
I only wanted to keep you from getting hurt, Ginny said, but you felt everything that happened to me, didn’t you?
Yes, and I know it hurt you when I hit my head on the floor.
We have to be more careful. If we’d thought about it, maybe we’d have done what Ron did, but we were just too . . .
Too worried about each other, he finished for her.
Yeah, she agreed. She knew there was something else they should realize about the situation, but she was too tired and too overwhelmed by events to track down the elusive thought.
After a moment, Harry said, Ron was great, wasn’t he? I hope he’s okay. He was still a little quiet in the common room.
I think he’ll be alright. He just surprised himself. If Hermione hadn’t been there, though . . . she shuddered slightly.
Yeah. I don’t think he’ll be calling her any names for a while.
I wouldn’t bet on that, but if he does, I’ll hex him until he can’t find his feet, Ginny promised.
Try to sleep, Gin. He paused, searching for words. Be careful, okay? If you’d been hurt or . . .
I know, Harry. You, too. I don’t know what would happen if one of us died, and I don’t ever want to find out.
They slowly drifted off to a fitful sleep, finally putting a long and stressful day behind them.
Chapter 12: Fun and Games
Author's Notes: Thanks, as always, to Moshpit, Jonathan Avery, and regdc for their invaluable work on this chapter.
Chapter 12 — Fun and Games
After the Troll Incident, as Harry and Ginny liked to call it, Harry noticed a change in Ron. Ginny explained to Harry that the events at Halloween had changed them all in various ways. Harry and Ginny had become more protective of each other, avoiding even casual collisions with other students in the hallways. At Quidditch practice, Harry continued his spectacular dives, but they became almost obsessive about avoiding Bludgers.
The changes in Ginny’s brother, however, were far more pronounced. Harry turned out to be correct in guessing that Ron would stop calling Hermione names. He still grumbled about Hermione’s obvious intelligence and dedication to her studies, but his complaints sounded less heartfelt, and he completely avoided saying anything when she was in earshot. He talked about Quidditch whenever the opportunity presented itself, but he seemed to notice when his friends were bored with the subject and allowed them to steer the conversation in other directions.
Hermione, for her part, became more accepting of Ron. She listened to what he had to say about Quidditch, and occasionally she employed her phenomenal memory to exchange obscure Quidditch facts with him. Ginny was convinced that her roommate had spent some of her time in the library reading about Quidditch for exactly that reason. Hermione’s constant concern for her grades and those of her friends changed tone, as well. Before, she had missed no opportunity to remind them to study. Now, although she spent just as much time studying as she ever had, she invited her friends to join her instead of predicting their academic doom if they did not.
Most surprisingly, the vehement arguments between Ron and Hermione had settled into an almost friendly bickering. They still disagreed about most things, but they avoided discussing any topic they knew was truly important to either one of them. Privately, Ginny suspected that if her brother and friend were to actually listen to each other about these sensitive topics, they would discover that their respective opinions were not that different.
On the fourth of November, Harry and Ginny found Neville waiting for them outside the castle as they walked to Quidditch practice.
“Something happened, didn’t it?” he asked. “On Halloween, with you two and Ron and Hermione.”
Ginny and Harry were unwilling to lie to their friend, so Ginny simply nodded.
“Are you all okay?” Neville asked. She nodded again. “Ron and Hermione . . . they’re friends now?”
“We think so,” Ginny said.
Neville nodded. “That’s good, then. Maybe you can tell me about it someday. Best of luck at practice.” He turned and started back into the castle.
“Neville, wait,” Ginny called. He turned back to them, and she spoke more quietly. “Look, we did something really, really stupid a few days ago. Some of us got hurt, and if you’d been there, you might have got hurt too. We’re glad you weren’t there, and you’re still our friend, same as always. Alright?”
Neville nodded with a small smile. “Thanks, Ginny. I’ll see you two later.”
Eliminating the strain between their two friends was a relief for Harry and Ginny, especially since Quidditch practices were now being held daily in the week between Halloween and the first Quidditch match. Gryffindor would be playing Slytherin, and a win would not only propel Gryffindor forward in the race for the House Cup, but also validate Harry’s position as Seeker to his critics in the other houses
The first Quidditch match of the season took place on a cool, sunny Saturday in early November. That morning, Harry and Ginny sat at the table for breakfast and stared at their filled plates. They were both suffering from Harry’s nerves about the morning’s game and could not bring themselves to eat.
Hermione, sitting on Ginny’s right, leaned over to her friend and whispered, “Ginny, you have to eat, at least. Otherwise people will notice.” Reluctantly, Ginny picked up her fork and managed to eat a sausage. Harry’s stomach roiled at the taste of Ginny’s food, but he gritted his teeth and somehow kept himself from throwing up.
All week long, the Slytherins had been taunting Harry about the upcoming match. Many of them were content to just sneer at him in the hallways, but a dozen or so students delighted in loudly reciting all of the various injuries that the previous Gryffindor Seeker had suffered in the previous year. A select few, mostly members of the Slytherin team itself, went so far as to ask Harry if the food served at his funeral would be worth the bother of turning up.
Draco Malfoy, who had appointed himself the leader of Harry’s opposition, entered the hall with his henchmen in tow. He spoke loudly as he passed behind Harry and his teammates. “I heard that they’ve put cushioning charms on the entire Quidditch pitch. Maybe we’ll get to see Potter bounce when he falls off his broom.” Crabbe and Goyle laughed obediently as the Slytherins passed out of earshot.
Don’t listen to him, Harry. We both saw him fly, and you’re much better than he is. He’s only saying that to make you nervous.
Well, it’s working, he replied. I’ve never played a real game of Quidditch before. I’ve never even been to a real game.
So what? Just fly up out of the way until you see the Snitch, then catch it like you do in practice.
Sure, it’s easy when you say it.
At ten thirty, Harry walked down to the Quidditch pitch with Ginny, Hermione, Ron and his teammates. The three other first years climbed the stands to get good seats in the Gryffindor section while Harry entered the changing rooms. Wood’s speech was long and passionate, but to Harry only a few seconds passed until the team filed out onto the pitch.
Neville arrived late to the game, and Ginny and Hermione waved at him as he passed them in his search for an open seat. I should have saved him a seat, Ginny said. She had forgotten about their quiet friend in the excitement of the morning.
You’ll remember next time, Harry reassured her.
As Harry flew up to circle above the pitch, Ginny watched the rest of the players take up their starting positions. Madam Hooch stood in the center of the pitch holding the Quaffle. The lead chasers, Angelina Johnson and Marcus Flint, the Slytherin captain, hovered a few feet above her head, facing each other. The remaining Chasers from each team waited behind and above their teammates in case the lead Chasers missed the Quaffle when it was thrown into the air. The Beaters flew higher still, at the level of the stands, and much further back. They were spaced evenly around the field so that they could pursue the Bludgers as soon as the game started. The two Keepers guarded their goalposts, and the Seekers circled above the stands. They were the only players allowed to cross to the other team’s side of the field before the game started.
After Madam Hooch blew her whistle, Harry saw the opening moves through Ginny’s eyes as he performed a slow lap around the pitch. Madam Hooch tossed the Quaffle straight up above her, and Angelina and Flint both rushed towards it. Gryffindor’s chaser was faster, but the trollish Slytherin used his longer arms to push her reaching hands aside and grab the Quaffle. Above them, Fred and George each chose a Bludger to pursue. The iron ball on Fred’s side was on the Slytherin half of the pitch, and one of the other team’s Beaters reached it quickly and batted it at Wood, who was watching the Chasers. The Gryffindor Captain evaded it easily, and Fred flew down retrieve it. George reached his Bludger quickly and controlled it temporarily by trapping the iron ball between his broom and his bat. When his twin was ready, the pair sent both Bludgers into the approaching formation of Slytherin Chasers. The three Gryffindor girls flew above and on either side of their counterparts, looking for an opportunity to steal the Quaffle.
Reluctantly, Harry tore his attention away from Ginny’s point of view and concentrated on finding the Snitch. As he scanned the pitch carefully, Ginny’s vision faded. The last thing he saw with her was Hagrid pushing his way into the crowd of students to join Harry’s friends in the Gryffindor section of the stands, displacing four second-years to sit with them.
Good luck, Harry, Ginny said. They had agreed before the game that she would not look for the Snitch herself. It would feel too much like cheating, they decided, and Ginny wanted to watch the Chasers anyway. After watching the Gryffindor team practice, she had developed a keen interest in the position. Although she loved watching and feeling Harry’s dives and his incredible speed, she was more excited by the maneuvering and intricate timing of the Chasers.
After twenty minutes passed with no sign of the Snitch, Harry had relaxed just enough to pay attention to Lee Jordan’s commentary. Slytherin was ahead by twenty points, and the green-clad team seemed committed to playing as roughly as they could. Katie Bell narrowly avoided being hit by another Bludger when Harry spotted the Snitch hovering near one of the Slytherin Chasers.
Harry focused on the tiny golden ball and raced down to it as fast as he could. He spotted the opposing team’s Seeker approaching from one side, but Harry thought he would get to it first. It’s yours, Harry! Ginny agreed with him.
He was reaching out to try to catch the Snitch when Ginny’s warning rang through his head. Look out left! After many Quidditch practices and near misses from Bludgers, Harry had grown accustomed to Ginny’s warnings, and he reacted instantly.
Flint, the Chaser Harry had passed in pursuit of the Snitch, was angling in towards Harry on a collision course. Harry put on a burst of speed to avoid the older boy, but Flint managed to ram the handle of his broomstick into the tail of Harry’s, sending Harry spinning off course. Madam Hooch’s whistle blew immediately, but when Harry righted himself after the collision, he was flying straight at the wall of the pitch at high speed. Mere feet from the wall, he yanked the handle of his Nimbus up hard and hoped that he would not hit the wall. As his path became vertical, he felt his robes flapping against the side of the pitch and realized just how close he was. He kept flying straight up and burst above the stands, causing the Ravenclaws who were watching him to leap back from the wall between them and Harry.
Lee Jordan saw Harry’s maneuver and crowed loudly to the entire stadium. “Woohoo! It’ll take more than that to get Harry Potter off his broom, you dirty snakes!”
”Jordan!” Professor McGonagall shouted.
“Sorry, Professor,” Lee replied. “I’m sure they showered last month.”
Harry briefly saw McGonagall pull Lee’s wand away from his mouth. At the same time, Ginny saw Alicia Spinnet lining up for the penalty shot resulting from Flint’s attack on Harry. She scored easily, and the game continued, but the Snitch was long gone.
After nearly ten minutes, both teams had scored another goal. Harry soared well above the action and searched relentlessly for the Snitch. As he dodged a Bludger sent his way by the Slytherins, he felt his broom give an odd lurch. He gripped the handle tightly, but it lurched beneath him again. He was certain that this had never happened before, and he did not remember that Ginny had ever heard of it, either. Struggling with his broom, he was distantly aware of Ginny alerting his friends and Hagrid to the problem.
As the Nimbus leapt violently up and down, Harry noticed that the game had stopped. The students in the stands were all watching him. The Slytherin team had also stopped to watch, except for Flint who was playing the match single-handedly and was still driving towards the unattended Gryffindor goals. Wood and the twins met in midair and pointed at Harry as they yelled frantically. Several of the professors in their box were pointing their wands at Harry, but none of them had cast a spell yet.
In the middle of another sharp dive, Harry’s broom bucked underneath him and threw him forward over the front of the handle. He clung to it with one hand and heard Ginny scream among the shouts and gasps from far below him.
What do I do? he asked.
I don’t know! Hold on, Harry, hold on!
Harry glanced down and saw the twins streaking towards him on their brooms as his other teammates circled beneath him, closer to the ground. When Fred and George were approximately thirty feet away, Harry’s broom leapt higher into the air, maintaining its distance from the two Beaters. After this occurred twice, Fred and George stayed far enough below him to keep the broom from reacting.
Hermione shook Ginny’s arm forcefully to get her attention. She saw that Hermione held Hagrid’s binoculars in her other hand, but the younger girl was too preoccupied with Harry to wonder why her friend had them.
“Ginny!” Hermione whispered sharply. “If he falls, transport him to just above the ground. If he doesn’t fall very far, it won’t hurt him. But don’t do that until he’s falling! It’s better for people to see him transport than for him to fall from that high, but don’t do it unless you absolutely have to. I’m going to try to stop what’s happening to his broom.”
“Please help him, Hermione. Please,” Ginny whispered, tears forming in her eyes. Hermione nodded and dashed away with her wand drawn.
Harry managed to get his other hand onto his broom, but it was still moving too wildly for him to pull himself onto it. Hang on, Harry. If anyone can think of a way to help, it’s Hermione, Ginny said, struggling to remain calm so that she could move him if he fell.
After half a minute of tense waiting, during which Harry clung to his broom with desperate strength, the Nimbus stopped moving and hovered placidly above him. Carefully, he pulled himself back into a normal flying position. Ginny closed her eyes and concentrated on his vision to help him recover as she took several deep, relieved breaths. Looking around, he saw that Flint had scored five times while the Gryffindor team was distracted. He waved to the other members of his team, but before he could fly down to them, he spotted a flash of gold hovering near the Slytherin goalposts.
It’s mine, he snarled. He was shaken by his near-fall, and adrenaline pumped madly through his veins. Ginny was still recovering from her fright, but she was completely in favor of Harry’s catching the Snitch and ending the game.
Harry dived slightly to aim directly at the Slytherin goalposts and summoned all the speed he could from his broom. He flew like an arrow towards the golden ball, which appeared to be hiding behind the left-hand post. The Slytherin Keeper flew over to position himself between Harry and the Snitch, hoping to cause enough of a delay that the Slytherin Seeker could get to the Snitch from the other side.
Harry scowled and maintained his course straight towards the snitch, which he could see fluttering over the Slytherin’s shoulder. Just as Harry was about to collide with the other player, the Snitch leapt upwards. Harry, following its progress, slipped neatly through the Slytherin hoop and caught the Snitch on the other side. He held the struggling ball above his head, and the crowd erupted in cheers as the Slytherin Keeper cursed loudly.
“Harry Potter catches the Golden Snitch, and Gryffindor wins 200 to 110!” Lee Jordan proclaimed.
Harry flew the rest of the way to the ground and met his teammates, who slapped him on the back and hugged him once he had assured them that he was alright. Although Harry was elated, the events from a few minutes before were catching up to him, and he needed a chance to recover.
Can we get out of here? he asked Ginny.
Hold on.
Ginny leaned over to Hermione and whispered, “Harry needs to get away. Ask Hagrid if we can come over for tea.” She saw her friend realize what she meant.
“Hagrid, would you mind some company for tea this afternoon?” Hermione asked. “I’m sure Harry will want to get away from all this mess after a fright like that.”
“O’ course!” Hagrid replied, delighted. “Yer all welcome at my ‘ouse anytimes.”
“I’ll go tell him,” Ginny volunteered.
Go get changed, Harry. I’ll meet you outside the changing room.
Harry never showered in the locker rooms so that Ginny did not have to worry about his teammates. Normally, he showered in the castle after each practice, but he had no interest in traipsing through the crowds in the castle today. Instead, he took off his Quidditch uniform, hung it in his locker, and emerged from the locker room in the baggy Muggle clothes he had inherited from Dudley. As he left his teammates, he heard Fred shout to him that there would be a party in the common room after dinner that evening.
Harry and Ginny walked around the pitch to get to the path to Hagrid’s hut. As soon as they were out of sight of the other students, they stopped, and Ginny flung her arms around Harry’s neck. He put his arms around her and held her as she squeezed him tightly.
That was too close, Harry.
I’m sorry, Ginny, he said. I was scared, too.
She shook her head against his shoulder. It’s not your fault. Something happened to your broom. I just wish it hadn’t.
After another long moment, they released each other, and Ginny wiped her damp eyes. Dangerous sport, Quidditch. She kept a tight hold on Harry’s hand as they continued along the path.
A few minutes later, they found Ron, Hermione, and Hagrid waiting for them outside Hagrid’s hut. He led them all inside and served them tea in teacups the size of pewter tankards.
“Tha’ was a righ’ decent bit of flyin’, Harry,” he said. “Nerve-wrackin’, but good flyin’.”
“What happened?” Harry asked. “My broom just went crazy, and then it stopped.” He glanced carefully at Hermione.
“It was Professor Snape,” she declared. “I used Hagrid’s binoculars and saw him staring at you and muttering. He must have been jinxing your broom.”
“What did you do, Hermione?” Ginny asked. “You ran off, and a minute later it stopped.”
“Well, I . . . I set his robes on fire,” she admitted in a whisper.
“You did what?” Ron exclaimed.
“I took the fire away once he stopped jinxing Harry!” she said, misinterpreting Ron’s expression.
“Wicked,” he muttered, his face alight with mirth.
“I’m not going to just sit around and scream anymore,” Hermione promised.
Ginny smiled ruefully. “I guess it was my turn for that.”
“Wha’s this, then?” Hagrid demanded. “Wha’ happened the firs’ time?”
“We, err . . .” Ginny began.
“We had a bit of an accident in potions, that’s all,” Hermione said. “Ginny’s cauldron exploded a little bit.”
Hagrid grunted his amusement. “Don’ you worry abou’ tha’, li’l Ginny. Done it a few times meself. Bet ol’ Snape didn’ care for it, though.”
Ginny smiled at her large friend. From a man the size of Hagrid, being called ‘little’ was hardly an insult, and she was much less than half as tall as he was.
“Why would he jinx my broom?” Harry wondered.
“He probably heard what Lee Jordan said about knocking you off your broom and thought it was a good idea,” Ron speculated.
“I’m not sure . . .” Hermione trailed off and everyone looked at her expectantly. Blushing slightly, she continued. “Last week, I went to find Professor Flitwick to ask him a question. He wasn’t in his office, so I went to the staff common room. When I got there, the door was ajar, so I looked inside.
“Professor Snape was there with Mr. Filch. He was bandaging his leg, which was covered in blood, and I heard him say something about watching all three heads at the same time. When I heard that, I left as quickly as I could.”
“He must have tried to get past that three-headed dog!” Harry exclaimed. “What did you call it, Hermione? A Cerberus?”
“Fluffy’s no Cerberus,” Hagrid scoffed. “Sure, ‘e’s got some things in common, but there ain’t no snakes growing out of ‘is back, is there? ‘e’s just a regular tyke with three heads.”
“Regular tyke?” Ron repeated. “Hagrid, he’s the size of a flippin’ house!”
“Oh no, ‘e’s just a bit bigger ‘n regular size . . .” he trailed off and finally realized what he was saying. “’ere now, how’d you lot know about Fluffy?”
“Fluffy?” Ginny asked incredulously. “His name is Fluffy?”
He’s no better at names than you are, she teased Harry.
“’Course it is. Named ‘im m’self when I got him. ‘e was just a li’l pup then, only abou’ this ‘igh.” He held his hand up above Ginny’s head. “I let Dumbledore borrow ‘im to guard . . .”
“What, Hagrid? What’s he guarding?” Harry asked.
“Never you mind tha’,” Hagrid insisted.
“But Snape may be trying to steal it!”
“He’s not tryin’ ter steal nothin’,” Hagrid said. “’e might be a slimy bugger, but ‘e’s an Hogwarts professor, and ‘e’d not cross Dumbledore. Old Nich’las Flamel hisself wouldn’t cross Dumbledore these-a-days. Tha’s why he asked Dumbl’dore to keep an eye out on the . . .” he trailed off again. “Well, never mind tha’.”
The four students tried everything they could think of, but Hagrid refused to say anything else about Fluffy, Nicholas Flamel, or the thing that Dumbledore was protecting. They spent the rest of the afternoon with Hagrid discussing Quidditch, their classes, and Ginny’s brothers. Harry already knew that Hagrid was fond of Charlie, but he was surprised to learn a lot about Ginny’s oldest brother, Bill.
“Bill, now . . . Bill was a bit diff’ren’ than the rest o’ you’s ha’ been,” Hagrid reminisced. “’e were never worried much abou’ what other people thought o’ him, and ‘e never let anyone get away with thinkin’ bad stuff abou’ someone else for no reason. ‘e was brainy, o’ course, but you’d never of guessed it from meetin’ him. Best ‘ead Boy we’ve had in ages, I reckon.”
He’s right, Ginny confirmed. Bill’s wonderful. I only remember a few years before he moved away from home to take his job in Egypt, but he was always nice to me, and he always talked to me like I was his age. He told me all about his classes and girlfriends, and he let me talk about whatever I wanted.
Harry remembered some of Ginny’s conversations with her oldest brother. One in particular jumped out at him. Ginny had told Bill that the twins had been teasing her for listening to Harry’s story every night. Ginny asked Bill what he thought, and Bill said that his opinion did not matter. What Ginny thought about Harry Potter was her business, he said, and no one had any right to tell her whether it was right or wrong. The only person in the world who really knew what Harry was like was Harry himself, and everyone else was just guessing.
Do you think he’ll like me? Harry wondered.
I’m sure he will, Ginny answered, but I don’t know how he’ll feel about us. Bill’s wonderful, but he’s protective, and he took care of me almost as much as Mum and Dad did when I was a baby. He was the one who usually kept the twins away from me until I was old enough to fight back. We can at least count on him to hear us out, though.
Well, that’s an improvement, Harry agreed.
Late in the afternoon, the four friends said goodbye to Hagrid and went back to the common room. Harry finally took his shower, and they relaxed in the common room until it was time for dinner. The Great Hall was abuzz with talk of the Quidditch match and the odd behaviour of Harry’s Nimbus Two Thousand. Harry accepted everyone’s congratulations and claimed that he had no idea what had happened to his broom.
The party in the Gryffindor common room was complete chaos. The twins had found a punch bowl somewhere and filled it Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans. The bowl was on a long table otherwise filled with bottles of pumpkin juice and trays of biscuits. Someone had produced a wireless from somewhere, and music from the Wizarding Wireless Network filled the room.
Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione claimed a long sofa for themselves, and Ron brought them all pumpkin juice and biscuits. A few minutes later, Neville pulled up a chair and joined them with his own food.
A steady stream of Gryffindors came by to congratulate Harry, and he thanked them shyly. Harry and Ginny really wanted to leave and sit someplace a bit quieter, but Ginny thought that it would be rude to leave early from a party in the team’s honour. Finally, at ten o’clock, the five first years waved goodnight to the older students and went up to their dormitories. Minutes later, Ginny joined Harry in his room and they settled down to sleep.
Three hours later, Harry was rudely awakened by familiar voices outside the curtains.
“Finite incantatem,” one said.
Fred! Ginny exclaimed. Her body was still sleeping against Harry’s side. Quick, wake me up!
Parchment rustled, and then the curtains parted enough to admit Fred’s head. A moment later, the curtains on the other side of the bed opened and George peered through.
Too late, Harry reached down and patted Ginny’s arm where it was draped across him. Her eyes opened, and both of them scooted up to sit at the head of the bed.
“See, Fred?”
“I see, George.”
“This can’t be good.”
“Not good at all. Perhaps even bad,” Fred speculated.
In one smooth motion, Ginny reached over to the bedside table and retrieved her and Harry’s wands. She passed his to him, and they raised them simultaneously. Fred and George, apparently startled by such an abrupt action, did not even have time to raise their wands.
“Silencio! ” Harry and Ginny whispered together. The twins gaped at the two of them, unable to speak.
“Get in here and be quiet!” Ginny ordered, while she and Harry kept their wands pointed at her brothers. Realizing that they had very few options, Fred and George climbed onto the foot of the bed and sat by side facing Harry and their sister.
Ginny and Harry lowered their wands. “Okay, listen,” she whispered. “There’s a reason I’m here, and we’ll tell you what it is. The Headmaster, McGonagall, and our parents know all about it, and if you get us caught you will be in a lot more trouble than we will. We’ll take the spells off, but you’d better not say a word until we go somewhere private. Right?”
Two red heads nodded, and Harry and Ginny removed the silencing charms. George motioned for them to follow, and the twins led them quietly out of the dormitory and down to the common room. As they passed the long table at the side of the room, George picked up the empty punch bowl and carried it along with him.
As they crossed towards the portrait hole, Fred whispered over his shoulder. “We can’t talk here. Percy wanders around at all hours, looking for someone to hand over to McGonagall.”
“Yeah, we found that out already,” Ginny said. Fred looked sharply at her, but he was silent as the four students left Gryffindor Tower. The twins led them down to the fifth floor and down a series of corridors until they reached an old portrait of a sleeping centaur. Fred tapped the centaur with his wand and whispered something, and then the painting slid aside to reveal a tightly spiraling staircase. George lit his wand, and they descended the stairs to find themselves at the beginning of a long, broad passageway.
Fred lit several candles along the walls. Three large, battered armchairs were grouped in a loose circle in the center of the open space. Fred and George each claimed a chair as though it was an old habit, and Harry and Ginny wedged themselves into the third chair together. George carefully placed the punch bowl on the ground.
“This used to be some sort of secret entrance to the castle,” he explained, “but it’s caved in a bit further up the passageway. It’s a good place to talk.”
“And we have lots to talk about,” Fred added. Harry thought that serious expressions looked rather out of place on the twins’ faces.
“Do you remember when Harry and I met on the platform?” Ginny began. At their nods, she continued. “Ever since then, Harry and I have been sharing things. Thoughts, feelings, sensations . . . almost everything, really. He even remembers what I do, and vice versa.”
“You know everything he knows?” George asked.
“And he knows everything you know?” Fred added.
Harry knew his cue. “When you two were nine, you traded names for a week to see if anyone noticed. Ginny figured it out on the first day, but you made her promise not to tell anyone. She’s the only one who’s ever been able to tell you apart all the time. I can do it, too.” He pointed to the twin on the left, “You’re George,” he turned to point to the twin on the right, “and you’re Fred.” He spoke with absolute conviction.
“Nobody can do that except Ginny,” Fred said to his brother.
“Still don’t know how she does it,” George remarked.
“She doesn’t either,” Harry shrugged. “I think it has something to do with your cheeks, though.”
“What did you mean about sharing thoughts and feelings and sensations?” George asked Ginny after a few moments of reflection.
“If I see something or hear something, Harry sees or hears it too,” she explained. “If he gets angry, I get angry. And when I think something . . . well, it’s not so much that he hears me. It’s more like he’s thinking it at the same time.”
“Harry, if that’s true, you’d better flee to South America now,” George advised. “She’s got a vicious temper.”
“So does he,” she responded. “It’s caused a few problems.”
“Like what?” Fred asked.
“Well, we might have set the table on fire back at the Burrow. Just a little bit,” Ginny admitted.
“Aha! So that’s why you went home. . .”
“. . . to burn down Mum’s kitchen! Brilliant!” Fred finished.
The same realization came to both of them, and their faces fell. “Wait . . . you told Mum about this?” George asked, and Ginny nodded. “Blimey, that’s the bravest thing I’ve ever heard.”
Fred was quiet for a moment, and then a grin lit his face. “Had kittens, didn’t she?”
Ginny smiled in a way that all of the Weasley children knew. “Yeah.” She ticked items off on her fingers. “We got the screaming, the fully red face, the threats, and she called me ‘young lady’ twice.”
George looked puzzled. “What, she skipped using your full name? That should come before you get the threats.”
“She came back for that one later,” Ginny admitted. “She never quite got to the point of waving her finger in my face, so I knew we were okay.”
Ginny, what? Harry did not know where to start with his questions.
Mum’s pretty predictable, see, so we have a system. Her memories flashed through his mind rapidly.
“How’d you avoid the finger?” Fred asked. “I can’t see how this wouldn’t get her right riled up.”
“Well, that’s when we set the table on fire. Then Dad got involved, and Harry made them promise that they wouldn’t yell at us any more.”
The brothers were awed. “Harry made her stop yelling?”
“She called Ginny foolish,” Harry said.
Fred glanced over at George, and they both nodded. “Right. Take a note, George,” Fred said. “Don’t call Ginny foolish.”
“Got it, Fred,” George noted.
“I think ungrateful and stupid were also mentioned,” Ginny said with a smile.
George snorted. “Even we’re not that stupid.”
What did you do to them? They don’t sound anything like Percy or Ron.
I just play the sorts of games they like to play, Ginny answered, shrugging. If they prank me, I prank them back. If they go too far, I hex them, and I never let them get caught unless I mean to.
And that makes them okay with all of this? Harry wondered, cocking his head to one side.
I don’t know if they’re okay with it, but they’re at least willing to listen to me and believe what I say. Bit like Bill, that way.
“Oi, Fred, they’re chatting away without us,” George observed.
“Sorry,” Ginny apologized. “Harry was surprised that you aren’t anything like Percy and Ron.”
Fred laid a hand flat over his heart. “Wow, Harry, thanks. That’s beautiful . . .” he sniffed, “that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to us.”
George nodded sincerely. “Really means something, old boy.”
“Ron’s fun to toy with,” George continued, “but he never plays back. Percy . . . well, I don’t know what’s wrong with Percy. I think Bill must have dropped him on his head from an upstairs window when he was a baby.”
“You’re not freaked out that I’m sharing your sister’s head?”
“Well now, that depends.” Fred turned to Ginny. “Gin, are you freaked out that Harry’s sharing your head?”
“Nope,” she answered promptly. “It’s wonderful.”
“You having fun inhabiting the mind of the most famous infant ever to crawl the streets of England?” George teased.
“Yeah. You wouldn’t believe this whale of a cousin he’s got.” Ginny grinned. “I hope you get to meet him someday. You could make his life wonderfully horrible.”
“That’s it, then. If she likes it, and she’s having fun, and we get a new pranking target, then we’re okay with it,” Fred declared.
George’s expression was completely serious. “You’ve got to have fun, Harry. Whatever you do, you have to enjoy it. If you don’t, what’s the point? If you have fun, and it doesn’t really hurt anyone, what’s the harm?”
“I think Percy would say you’ve really hurt him,” Ginny reminded them. “What about that time you turned him into a lizard?”
“He got better,” George protested.
“Wish we could figure out how to do that on purpose,” Fred added. “It would be a great trick.”
Harry saw what had happened. They transfigured Percy into a lizard without their wands?
Yeah. He was being a right prat, and they got tired of it.
I’ll bet that kept him quiet for a while, Harry grinned.
She nodded. He didn’t say anything to them for a week. Of course, he couldn’t say anything to anyone for a few hours.
If they learn to do it, do you think they’d show us? he wondered.
“There they go again, oh brother of mine,” Fred said.
Do you suppose . . . Harry began.
“Can you two do that?” Ginny asked. “Talk without saying anything, I mean.”
“Nope,” George admitted. “Be right handy, that would.”
“Oh. We just thought that since you’re twins, and you finish your sentences and everything . . .”
“What, you mean this,” Fred said.
“Little trick? This is,”
“Nothing. We’ve just been,”
“Saying the same things for so long that,”
“We know what’s coming already,” Fred finished.
Can we try, Harry? Ginny asked eagerly.
Sure.
By mutual consent, they relaxed the mental barrier they maintained between them and let their words flow seamlessly
“No one,” Ginny started.
“would,” Harry continued.
“ever”
“guess”
“that,” they said in unison.
“you’re”
“not”
“reading”
“each”
“others’,” together again.
“minds.” Ginny finished. Their entire statement sounded perfectly natural, except that it was spoken in two different voices, sometimes separately and sometimes together in a strange echo.
The twins’ mouths hung open in identical expressions of awe. “Wicked,” they whispered reverently.
Fred’s brain got back on track quickly. “So why did we find you in Harry’s room tonight, Ginny?”
Ginny frowned slightly. “Aside from all the rest, we also share dreams and nightmares. Harry has some pretty intense nightmares, you know?”
The twins knew as well as anyone what had happened to Harry. “You mean . . .”
“Yeah, that. Well, if we’re not touching, it’s hard to get to sleep. When we do sleep, we have these nightmares for hours at a time, and we end up like zombies during the day. If we’re together, then we get to sleep normally and rarely have nightmares.”
“So you sleep in Harry’s room? And Mum knows about this, too?” George asked.
“She knows, alright,” Ginny nodded. “She had to see it to believe it, mind, but she allowed us both to sleep in Ron’s room after that. She still wasn’t happy about the whole thing, and she sent me these pajamas,” she grabbed her pajama shirt and shook it, “that I can’t take off without an act of Parliament signed in blood by the Queen.”
“So whatever it was she saw was enough to convince her to let you and Harry sleep together at home and at Hogwarts?” Fred summarized.
“She insisted on it, actually,” Harry answered.
George shuddered. “That’s damn well good enough for us, then.”
“So this is why you showed up during the sorting?” Ginny nodded. “And this is why McGonagall wanted to talk to you that morning in our first week?” She nodded again. “How did she find out?”
“She didn’t tell us, and we weren’t stupid enough to ask.”
“Right. Not stupid. We noted that down,” Fred said wryly. He turned to George. “I guess we still don’t know, do we?”
“We’ll get into McGonagall’s room someday and find out,” George replied. Turning back to Ginny, he asked, “So this must be why we’re all going to the Burrow for Christmas this year?”
Earlier in the week, all five Weasley children and Harry had received notes from Mrs. Weasley. The five letters to her children had been firm notices that they would be coming home to the Burrow for the holidays. Harry’s letter had been phrased as an invitation, but Harry and Ginny both knew that the difference was purely theoretical.
“Yeah,” Ginny nodded. “Mum said she was going to get everyone together to talk about it and tell any of you who hadn’t heard yet.”
“Ron and Percy already know, you said?”
“Mum told Percy so that he could keep an eye on us,” she confirmed. “We decided to tell Ron so that he could help me hide from Harry’s other dormmates.”
George looked almost hurt. “Why the heck didn’t you tell us before now?”
“It wasn’t because we didn’t trust you,” Ginny assured them apologetically. “We just weren’t sure what you would say. Ron and Percy were both really mean to us, at first, and we didn’t want to go through that again until we had to.”
“Percy was a complete ponce, wasn’t he?”
“Absolutely. He volunteered to help punish us before he even knew what was going on. Once Mum explained it to him, he was jealous or something, and he hasn’t been civil to us since then. He wasn’t particularly nice to Mum and Dad, either.”
“Jealous? Yeah, I just bet he was.”
“Do you know why, George?” Ginny asked curiously.
Her brother shifted nervously. “Look, you didn’t hear this from us, okay? Mum would skin us. But . . . well, you’re going to suss it out sooner or later.”
“Right,” Fred nodded. “Percy’s been getting awfully friendly with Penelope Clearwater. . .”
“Is that her name?” Ginny wondered. “That Ravenclaw prefect with the brown hair?”
“Yeah, that’s her. Anyhow, Percy’s been spending a lot of time with her. He’d never do anything remotely improper, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t thought about it often enough. He’s jealous that you two could do something that he probably never will.”
“What’s that?” Harry asked, puzzled.
“Sorry,” George said. “We’re not going to answer that one. It just wouldn’t be right, in so many ways. But it’s the same reason Mum doesn’t like you two sleeping together, okay? And in a few years, you’ll . . . well, that can be Mum’s problem.”
“Why would she be worried about . . .” Ginny trailed off and reddened slightly as her eyes flicked towards Harry. “Oh.”
Harry blushed furiously, dropped his eyes to his feet, and tried desperately to separate all of his senses from Ginny’s.
“Oh,” she repeated, and then she straightened her shoulders. “I don’t see why everyone gets so worked up about that. And Percy . . . that’s just disgusting.”
“So, err . . . what did Ron say?” Fred asked, apparently eager to change the subject.
Ginny shook her head rapidly to clear her mind, and they both concentrated on the memory of their conversation with Ron. “He went around the twist a bit at first,” Ginny said. “He said that I must have bewitched Harry or something, because I’d talked about him so much when I was little.”
“Bet that went over well,” George interjected. “Did you hex him before you forgave him, afterwards, or both?”
“Neither, actually. Harry took care of him for me.”
The twins raised their eyebrows at Harry, looking for an explanation.
“I compared him to Percy.”
“Ouch, Harry. That is low,” George replied, impressed.
“It was better than burning down the tower,” Ginny offered.
“She’s serious, George,” Fred noticed.
“That she is, brother mine, that she is.”
“So,” Fred continued, “now everyone knows except for Bill and Charlie? You said you talked about it with Dumbledore and McGonagall.”
“Yeah, they’re the only teachers who know. Hermione Granger figured it out on her own, and she’s been helping us cover it up around the other students.”
“You mean to say that Mini-McGonagall has actually been helping with this?” Fred asked. “Kill me now, George. I’ve heard everything.”
“You just don’t know her,” Ginny insisted. “She’s twice as smart as Percy, and once you get her to relax she’s a great friend. She likes the rules, but that’s because she wants to stay out of trouble, not because she wants to get other people into trouble. When things go crazy, she’s great to have around.”
George looked at his sister sharply. “Speaking of which, what really happened at Halloween? We never believed that rubbish about you two getting lost.”
She shook her head. “There are things you don’t want to tell us, and there are things we don’t want to tell you, okay? Hermione, Ron, Harry, and I found the troll. We fought it, and we won. Is that enough?”
The twins shared a concerned look, but they nodded. “Another time, maybe?” Fred hoped.
“Only if Ron and Hermione agree,” Ginny said.
“Fair enough.” George agreed. He lifted the punch bowl from the ground into his lap. “Do you want to help us with a little project? We’ve got to get this bowl back to the kitchens before the house elves miss it. They’d probably be happy to take it back to the kitchens for us, but what they don’t know about, they can’t talk about. If you two can see through each others’ eyes, you can help us keep an eye out for Filch while we’re down there.”
Ginny did not need to ask Harry if he was interested in seeing a new part of the castle. “Sure, we’ll do it,” she said.
The four students climbed back up the staircase and slid the portrait open slightly. Fred peered out to make sure the hallway was empty, and then they filed out into the passageway. When they reached the stairs, they quickly followed them all the way down to the first level of the dungeons. There, the twins led Harry and Ginny into a corridor they had never noticed before. The group stopped in front of a large painting of a bowl of fruit.
George reached up and tickled the pear on its round end. It giggled in a surprisingly deep voice and turned into a large green door handle. George pulled on it, and the painting swung open to reveal the entrance to the kitchen.
“Harry,” Fred whispered, “if you don’t mind, wait in that alcove across the hall and tell Ginny if you see or hear anything. Or if she hears or sees anything.” He shook his head. “However that works for you two.”
“I’ll stand watch so Harry can see the kitchens,” Ginny offered, knowing Harry was interested in the cavernous room beyond the painting. He would see it as she did, but somehow that never felt the same.
“We can show him the kitchens any time,” George answered, “but your hair stands out like a Gryffindor banner, Gin. If you stay out here, you’ll be much easier to see.”
Neither of them could argue with that, so Harry tucked his body into the alcove so that he could peer down the hall in both directions. Ginny, Fred, and George stepped through the doorway behind the painting, and it swung shut behind them.
The main room of the kitchen was an exact replica of the Great Hall one floor above it. Four long tables ran the length of the room, and a shorter table crossed them at one end. Along the walls of the room were an assortment of huge kettles, utensils, and pots and pans. Three enormous fireplaces occupied the end of the room where the main doors stood in the Great Hall above.
Plates and silverware were arranged in neat rows along both sides of each table. Each dish and utensil was perfectly clean and sparkled in the light of a few torches spaced around the huge room. The everyday plates were plain, off-white porcelain, unlike the golden plates used for feasts.
“In the morning,” Fred told Ginny, “all the plates are sent up to the tables in the Great Hall before breakfast starts. Then, when the doors open, the house elves put the platters of food along the middle of each table and send those up too. After each meal, everything is sent down here again, and then they clean up and set it all out for the next meal.”
George carried the punch bowl into an adjoining room as Ginny wandered down the twin of the Gryffindor table. Stopping at its head, she called back to Fred. “It’s odd without anyone sitting here, isn’t it?”
He nodded casually and peeked after George. A moment later, George reappeared and both twins turned to Ginny. She walked back towards them, but as she passed the end of the table again, she paused, staring at one of the place settings.
“This is where Percy always sits,” she commented. Her brothers nodded and looked confused.
Come in here, Harry, she requested. He had some idea of what she was planning, and he approved completely.
Rather than trying to reach the pear to open the painting, Harry transported himself to the other side of the table, facing Ginny.
“What the hell? Harry, how’d you get in here?” Fred demanded.
We keep forgetting that part, Ginny observed.
“Oh, right,” she said to her brothers. “We forgot to show you that. Watch.”
Harry and Ginny alternately disappeared and reappeared in various parts of the room. Ginny had more practice and was very good at landing gently, but Harry managed to move around easily. They ended up facing the twins from a few feet away. Ginny pushed her billowing hair behind her ears and faced them calmly.
“We don’t know how it works,” she explained in answer to their surprised looks, “but it lets one of us move to any place that the other can see or that we both remember really well. That’s how I got to Hogwarts in the first place. We have to be really careful to only go places we’re totally sure are empty. Otherwise, bad things happen,” she shuddered slightly.
“That’s brilliant!” George said. “Do you know the things you could do with that?”
“We’ll find out,” she grinned. “But Dumbledore and McGonagall know about it, too, so we can’t be too obvious.”
“You can come pranking with us, though, right?” Fred asked. “You’ve been given a wonderful gift, and it’s your bounden duty to use it for mayhem.”
“Funny you should mention that, Fred,” Ginny said. “I was just remembering that Harry promised me that we could get back at Percy for being a complete wanker.”
“I’d never break a promise I made to Ginny,” Harry said solemnly, but the corners of his mouth twitched upwards in a concealed grin.
“Music to my ears, dear sister,” George agreed. “Please, enlighten us.”
“These plates go upstairs before breakfast, right? And nobody puts anything on them until we serve ourselves?”
“Right you are, Gin.”
“And tomorrow’s Sunday, so everyone will eat at the same time, right?”
Sunday breakfast at Hogwarts was what McGonagall called a ‘school affair’. Breakfast was not served until nine o’clock, and all students were expected to attend and eat at the same time. Any students missing from the tables could expect a stern talking-to from their Head of House.
“Right again,” Fred answered her.
Ginny looked up at her brothers, grinning broadly. “Do you have any of that purple powder you were working on this summer?”
“That’s . . . that’s brilliant, Ginny!” Fred and George were practically dancing with joy.
“We had a problem with it, because we wanted to be able to throw it at something to use it,” George continued. “Instead, you have to tap it with your wand to activate it, and if you throw it after that, it just goes off all over your hand.”
Harry knew exactly what Ginny had in mind. “But if we put it on the plates first, then activate it, it won’t go off until someone puts something on the plates.”
”Plates? Plural?” Fred wondered. “I thought you wanted to prank Percy the Plonker?”
“We do,” Ginny confirmed, “but why stop there? We can also get Snape, Malfoy, and anyone else we want. The more people we prank, the less likely they are to pin it on us.”
George grinned at Harry. “You’re good for her, Harry my boy. She never got caught, but she never thought this broadly before you came along.”
Ginny smiled at Harry, and he felt her appreciation. “So, how much of that powder do you have? And will it hurt you if you eat it?” she asked.
“Everything we make is edible. We’ve got loads of the stuff you have to activate,” George replied. “We could probably put it on half the plates in here. I’ll have to go up and get it from my trunk, though.”
“Don’t be silly. I’ll get it.” Ginny concentrated, and a moment later she landed safely in Harry’s bed. She slipped out of the curtains and closed them behind her. Silently, she padded up to the third level of the tower.
“Where’d she go?” Fred asked.
“My room first. Now she’s on your landing. It’s in your trunk, right George?”
“Yeah. It’s in a blue bottle with a black lid, on the left.”
Ginny crept into the third year dormitory and quickly spotted her brother’s trunk.
Only the usual traps on the trunk? she wondered.
Harry relayed her question, and George looked at him intently. Then he chuckled to himself, shook his head slightly, and replied, “Nothing new since the end of last term.”
That’s much too old. I had all summer to figure these out.
She easily bypassed the various protections on the trunk and retrieved the blue bottle. She paused to turn all of George’s boxers pink, and then she reappeared in the kitchens.
“That sure beats skulking around in the hallways,” Fred told his brother.
“Nothing is safe, Fred,” George said.
Ginny walked down the Gryffindor table to Percy’s usual seat at its head. “Okay, so we’ll do Percy, Snape, and we’ll try to get Malfoy. He usually sits in the same area. Any other requests?”
“There are a couple of snotty Ravenclaws whose breakfasts could use a little livening up,” Fred offered.
“Do you know where they sit?” Ginny asked.
“Not really,” he admitted.
“Let’s get Dumbledore,” Harry suggested.
Ginny grinned appreciatively, but Fred and George gaped at him. “You don’t do anything by halves, do you, Harry?”
“That’s Percy, Snape, Dumbledore, Malfoy, and a few Ravenclaws for good measure.” She thought for a moment, and Harry’s mind blended smoothly with hers to offer an elaboration.
They both grinned mischievously. “Am I thinking what you’re thinking, Ginny?” Harry asked aloud for the twins to hear.
“We think so, Harry, but where are we going to find a Fwooper and a Quick-Quotes Quill at this hour?” she quipped.
Harry laughed out loud and turned to the confused twins. “Here’s what we’ll do. We put your powder on the top end of the Gryffindor table, to get Percy and all of his neighbors, but miss the four of us since we sit at the other end of the table. We do the entire right side of the Ravenclaw table, and that should get at least one of your friends there. We’ll do alternate chairs on each side of the Slytherin table, which gives us a fifty-fifty chance of getting Malfoy and a guarantee of getting him or both of his sidekicks. Then we’ll do the entire head table, except for Professor Sprout. That way . . .” he trailed off suggestively.
Fred and George figured it out immediately. “That way,” George finished, “everyone will be looking to the Hufflepuffs, and even if they figure out that it wasn’t one of them, they won’t know which of the other houses to look in. That’s pure genius, Harry.”
“It was a collaborative effort,” Harry replied with a humble grin. Ginny stood next to Harry wearing the exact same grin.
“Fred, is it just me, or is Harry wearing Ginny-grin Number Six?” George wondered.
“It’s not you, brother mine. That’s definitely Number Six,” his twin agreed. “Has anyone told you two that you’re very creepy sometimes?”
“Nope,” Ginny answered cheerfully.
“You’re very creepy sometimes,” Fred said solemnly.
“Thanks. You are too.”
Ginny sprinkled a tiny bit of the twins’ powder across the center of Percy’s plate. The powder was an iridescent purple which stood out clearly against the pristine white porcelain.
“Give it a tap with your wand, and it’ll activate and turn invisible,” George advised.
Harry drew his wand and tapped the plate. As promised, the powder sparkled briefly and then faded from view.
“Now, if it touches anything other than the plate, it’ll go off,” Fred warned.
“Do you want to put it on the plates yourselves?” Ginny offered generously.
“Not at all, my dearest sister. We supply the product, and you do the work. That’s how we like it.”
Twenty minutes later, the plates had been sprinkled with activated powder as Ginny and Harry had planned. The four pranksters stood at one end of the hall and surveyed their handiwork happily. As they had hoped, the kitchens looked just as they had before the small group arrived.
“A fine night’s work,” Fred declared.
“And a right proper initiation for the new generation,” George added.
Ginny smiled at her brothers. “Thanks for not making this harder than it has to be.”
“Honestly, Ginny?” Fred replied. “It’s weird, and I think it’s going to get weirder. But you seem happy with it, and we’re absolutely sure that Mum will keep an eye on things, so we don’t see the need to make a fuss. You’re still our baby sister, and you proved that tonight, so we’re okay.”
“Besides,” George added, “If Harry ticks you off, you can make his life miserable with no help from us.” He turned to Harry. “I warn you, Harry. She may not be the most powerful witch around, but she makes up for it with sheer creativity.”
“Ah, yeah, about that . . .” Ginny blushed. Her brothers’ raised eyebrows spoke volumes.
“Gin doesn’t like to talk about it,” Harry explained, “but she seems to have had a bit of a shift in that regard, too.”
“Oh no,” breathed Fred.
“Do you remember Ron’s power test?” Harry asked.
“Yeah, the whole family watches them each time,” George said cautiously. “Bill says Ron's sphere is the largest of all of ours.”
“Well, Ginny’s is about twice the size of Ron’s. Maybe closer to three times.”
I won’t mention our sphere, Ginny.
Thanks for that, at least.
“I’m really getting too old for shocks like this, Harry,” Fred complained.
George looked alarmed. “Ginny, have you used your Bat-Bogey Hex since this happened?”
“Well . . . sort of,” she admitted. “Not on a person, though.”
George glanced at her shrewdly and then nodded to himself. “Be careful, Gin,” he cautioned. “That one was almost too much before, and I can’t imagine what it might do now.”
Really tick off a troll, that’s what it’ll do, she said with a trace of sadness.
“Let’s get back to the tower and get some sleep,” Fred suggested. “You two go ahead and teleport yourselves. It sounds like you’d get in a lot more trouble for being out than we would. We’ve walked back from here dozens of times.”
“Okay,” Ginny agreed. She hugged each of her brothers in turn. “We had a lot of fun tonight.”
“We did, too. After the silencing charm thing.”
“Sorry about that,” she said, lowering her eyes.
“It’s understandable,” Fred shrugged. “We just didn’t understand it at the time.”
Ginny smiled and disappeared.
Just as Harry was about to follow her back to his room, Fred put out a hand to stop him. “Harry . . .” the older boy began.
“She can still hear you, Fred,” Harry reminded him.
“Oh, right. That’s okay, I guess. At least this way I can pretend.” He paused and looked at Harry with his brows slightly furrowed. “She’s our baby sister, Harry. She doesn’t need us to take care of her much anymore, but we still want to. We’d rather you helped us, alright?”
Harry considered this for a moment. The twins deserved a real answer. “Do you take care of your own left eye, Fred?” he asked.
The twins both nodded their understanding. “Goodnight, Harry,” George said.
What, I’m not good enough to be your right eye? Ginny teased him, and he grinned with both affection and exasperation.
“Said something cheeky, didn’t she?” Fred nodded sagely.
“All the time,” Harry agreed.
“You’re a brave lad, Harry.”
He smiled again and willed himself to his bed, where Ginny was waiting for him and grinning.
I think they like you.
Makes a change, doesn't it? he agreed as he transfigured Ginny’s towel into Bun-bun.
Ron likes you, she protested as she smiled and pulled the bunny to her chest. He just had to think about everything for a while first.
He still looks at me oddly when I go to bed.
Well, he doesn't really understand, Ginny admitted. But he's been loads better since Halloween.
I hope we don't have to do anything like that to convince Bill and Charlie.
I suppose we'll find out over the Christmas holidays.
Do you think I might get any presents? Harry asked. He would never wonder such a thing out loud, but Ginny would know it was there whether he mentioned it or not.
I guarantee you’ll get at least one, she promised, and if there aren't more, I'll give you a very useful demonstration of proper hexing technique in a family environment.
What do you want for Christmas, Gin? he wondered. I can’t think of any way to surprise you, and I’ve never given a Christmas present before, so I hope it’s okay to ask.
It’s fine. We’ll think about it. I’m sure we can figure out what each of us would really like to have.
She sensed his tentative, wordless thought and examined it as they lay down to sleep. Yes, Harry, you can get presents for my family. We’ll give the gifts from both of us to help people get used to the idea. She paused, and then she sighed briefly. And yes, you can pay for them. But nothing expensive, okay?
That’s fine, Ginny, he agreed. I’d just rather we were able to give them presents that they’ll like, and I’m rubbish at making things.
We’ll look through some of those owl-order catalogues in the common room. I’m sure we can find everything we need there.
The next morning, Harry and Ginny had their usual weekend lie-in, but they made sure that they were awake in time to get to breakfast. They spotted Fred and George in the common room. The twins seemed to be up and about a few minutes earlier than usual, but they showed no other sign that something interesting might happen. Following their lead, the younger pranksters chatted casually with Ron, Hermione, and Neville on their way to breakfast.
The five students took seats in their usual area of the table. Closer to the entrance to the Great Hall, Fred and George sat with Angelina, Alicia, and Lee Jordan. At every table, gleaming white plates waited innocently for the meal to begin.
As usual on Sundays, Dumbledore was the last of the staff to enter the hall and take his place at the high table. He waited a few moments for the students to settle and then clapped his hands sharply. Platters of steaming food appeared all along the five tables, and everybody reached for their favorites.
Harry and Ginny’s planning paid off handsomely. Percy was among the first to serve himself. As he placed his bangers on his plate, they burst into bright orange flames and sent thick grey smoke billowing towards the enchanted ceiling. Percy leapt away from his plate and fell backwards off of the bench with his arms flailing wildly. Other panicking Gryffindors pushed their burning plates away from them, which caused the powder to fly onto the platters themselves, igniting the food in irregular patches.
At the Ravenclaw table, one entire side of the long table erupted into mayhem. The normally reserved Ravenclaws found themselves fighting each other to get off of their bench and away from their combusting breakfasts. Students on the other side of their table, unaware that their plates were perfectly safe, also attempted to evacuate, but for the most part they only succeeded in tangling themselves with the Slytherins seated behind them. An overly emotional second year girl picked up her tainted plate and flung it down the aisle in the middle of the hall. It crashed to the floor and shattered with no immediate effects, but a moment later a trail of fire appeared along the flagstones below its path.
The checkerboard pattern at the Slytherin table was devastating. Draco Malfoy squealed loudly as his plate erupted in flame. Crabbe and Goyle, on either side of him, pushed themselves away from the blonde boy and collided heavily with the students adjacent to them. A blonde girl with sharp features was pushed into her own powdered plate, and the arm of her robes brushed across its surface. Her sleeve immediately burst into flames, and she screamed as she waved it frantically. All along the table, similar reactions occurred, sending the invisible powder onto nearly everything. For a few moments, it appeared that the entire surface of the Slytherin table was burning.
The Hufflepuffs, of course, were totally unaffected. They sat amazed at their table between the Gryffindors and the Ravenclaws and watched as the rest of the student body panicked. Unfortunately, a Hufflepuff fourth year was the first to start laughing uncontrollably at the mob of confused students between the Ravenclaw and Slytherin tables.
Fred and George call it Invisible Combustion Powder, Ginny explained with awe in her voice. It’s invisible itself, and when it goes off, it creates an illusion of fire and smoke. Then it causes whatever it’s touching to disappear for a while.
Ginny glanced up at the head table in time to see a small blaze consume a fried egg on Snape’s plate. The sour-faced professor was trying very hard to cover his surprise with a derisive sneer, but he was failing miserably. McGonagall, Flitwick, and most of the other professors watched as their own food was apparently incinerated. Professor Sprout’s plate was conspicuous in that her breakfast was undisturbed.
Harry watched the Headmaster covertly. Dumbledore had not yet served himself, and he watched the chaos in the Great Hall as fires sprang to life and died out at three of the four tables. Narrowing his eyes slightly, he picked up his own plate by its edges and peered at its unmarked surface. He turned it slightly and tilted it towards him, apparently trying to catch the light. As one edge of the plate dipped, the powder slid off of its smooth surface and fell into Dumbledore’s long beard. Instantly, the white hair covering his chest caught fire. With a horrified look, he dropped the plate back onto the table and tried to beat out the flames with his hands, but they continued to burn without any disturbance. He pulled his hands away and examined them. They were completely uninjured.
The flames in Dumbledore’s beard died out, and a large portion of it appeared to be missing. The old wizard reached up again and patted the gap. Harry was sure he saw the Headmaster grin slightly as he moved his hands back to his lap.
Septima Vector, Harry noticed, was watching the Headmaster also. When he seemed to accept the loss of a portion of his beard, the Arithmancy professor looked curiously at her own empty plate. Without hesitation, she reached out and touched one fingertip to the surface of the porcelain. As her finger caught fire, she lifted it up and examined it calmly, turning it this way and that in front of her face. The fire went out quickly, leaving her staring at the lower half of her finger. She flexed her hand briefly, grinned, and then tapped a different finger onto her plate and watched the flames engulf it.
Ginny looked around at the house tables and saw that the students had also discovered that the fire did not burn them. Some were attempting to set themselves on fire in various ways. Fred had apparently given in to extreme temptation and found an empty plate on the pranked half of the Gryffindor table. Positioning himself carefully, he lowered his hair onto the plate. When it appeared to be burning merrily, he straightened and grinned at his housemates. A few moments later, he appeared to have only a few tufts of bright red hair. Otherwise, his scalp was bare.
Several of the Ravenclaws who had avoided the prank apparently decided that it was some sort of experiment. They picked up berries and small pieces of food and dropped them onto the affected plates, watching them burn. Eventually, after they had added enough food to a given plate to exhaust the powder, a blueberry or other food dropped onto the surface simply sat untouched an inch or two above the surface of the plate.
Movement at the head table caught Harry’s eye again, and he looked up to see Snape pulling a large vial from a pocket in his robe. Holding the vial in his left hand, the potions master gingerly lifted his plate and tipped it towards the mouth of the vial. Harry thought he was trying to capture some of the powder, and he succeeded. As soon as the unused powder touched the top of the vial, however, the vial itself caught on fire. As it burned, the front of Snape’s robes moved, and he recoiled from the unseen contact. The burning vial fell to the table, forgotten, alongside the professor’s plate.
By this time, most of the students in the hall were laughing uproariously at the various effects of the prank. Harry and Ginny were nearly sobbing with mirth, but even their extreme amusement did not seem out of place.
Eyes twinkling madly, Dumbledore stood up and raised his arms for silence. Gradually, the laughter in the hall faded, and the last of the fires went out as the last of the powder was consumed. Glancing around the Hall, Ginny and Harry saw an incredible variety of things missing. Nearly half of the food served had vanished. Plates, utensils, and goblets were either absent or only partially visible. In some cases, even parts of the tables had vanished. Dozens of students had holes in their robes or missing sleeves, and a few had lost portions of their hair in one way or another. A Gryffindor they did not know had somehow managed to get the powder on his nose with rather grotesque results. Professor Vector appeared to have only one whole finger, but she smiled brightly as she waggled the stubs of the others.
As the hall finally became still, the first things to have been ‘burned’ reappeared. Food materialized on Percy’s plate as he disentangled himself from the bench and regained his seat. Over the next minute, the hall seemed to shimmer as previously invisible food, items, clothing, and body parts reappeared. The Ravenclaws’ hovering berries were revealed to be perched atop a haphazard pile of mixed breakfast foods. To Ginny’s eternal delight, Snape had managed to drop his fried egg onto the front of his robes, and its remnants dripped slowly into his lap. When he noticed, the sour man cast a quick cleaning charm on himself, and the runny egg disappeared. The rest of the professors’ food reappeared, as did the missing portion of Dumbledore's beard.
When everything had reappeared, the scene was almost as bizarre as it had been a minute earlier. Food had fallen or been thrown onto almost every surface, including many students’ heads. The students themselves were disheveled and scattered around the hall in clumps and knots. The area between the Ravenclaw and Slytherin tables was an indistinguishable mass of food, dishes, and students in green-trimmed or blue-trimmed robes.
Gradually, the students from the other three houses turned to stare at the Hufflepuffs and Professor Sprout. A few of the yellow-clad students had gotten caught in the Gryffindors’ commotion at the head of their table, but most of them simply stared at the undisturbed food on their plates.
“I trust that we are all awake now,” Dumbledore said loudly. “Students, please return to your dormitories and make yourselves presentable. We will reconvene here at ten o’clock. I hope that we will be able to procure another breakfast by that time. The Heads of House and I will investigate the source of this . . . disturbance.”
Harry was certain he saw the corners of the Headmaster’s mouth twitch as he spoke the last word.
That was incredible, he congratulated Ginny.
It was, wasn’t it? I have to admit that I had no idea it would be so spectacular.
Do you think they’ll figure out who did it? he wondered.
I don’t see how they could. When they admit that they can’t prove anything, they’ll just assume it was Fred and George. That’s probably exactly what the twins want.
And it works for us because we don’t want the attention anyway, he agreed.
Everybody wins. And we get memories to treasure for years to come, she grinned.
The students filed out of the Great Hall, and Harry and Ginny spotted the twins slowly climbing the stairs ahead of them. When the younger pair caught up to them, Fred whispered, “Brilliant, Ginny. Absolutely brilliant. You too, Harry.”
“I’ll bet that that ends up in Hogwarts, A History,” George added. “The next time you two have an idea like that, come and see us, yeah?”
Ginny nodded slightly. “Thanks. Your part was perfect.” She knew better than to mention the Invisible Combustion Powder, even in whispers.
The second breakfast that morning was a cautious but happy affair. Once the students realized that their plates and utensils were safe, they began eating their breakfasts and boisterously discussing the morning’s events. Harry and Ginny sat with Ron and Hermione again, and they made sure to leave room for Neville, who joined them a moment later.
As she sat down, Hermione announced, “That was horrible. Someone could have been hurt.” She paused, and the corners of her mouth curled slightly in a rare grin. “Did you see Professor Snape?” she asked.
“Did you hear Malfoy squeal?” Ron returned as he nodded.
“What about Professor Vector?” Ginny added. “She burned all of her fingers on purpose!”
“Dumbledore was the best,” Harry offered. “The look on his face when his beard caught on fire . . . you’d have thought someone ate his puppy.”
Hermione recoiled. “That’s revolting! Why would you say something like that, Harry?”
“Err . . . sorry,” Harry muttered, reddening. He had not intended to offend his friend.
“He hasn’t exactly had good role models before this year, Hermione. His wretched cousin said that once,” Ginny whispered in her friend’s ear.
The older girl sighed and relaxed. “It’s alright. I was just startled, I suppose.”
“Dumbledore’s expression was pretty funny,” Neville said quietly.
The four heads of house were making their way down the long tables, questioning the students as they went. McGonagall approached, and the first-years stopped their conversation before they could be overheard.
“Do any of you know what caused the disturbance this morning?” the stern woman asked. She addressed them as a group, but Harry thought that the professor was looking primarily at him and Ginny.
“No, Professor,” Ginny answered for them all.
It’s the truth. We know it was the powder, but we have no idea what the powder was made of.
I don’t think that’s what she meant, Harry answered.
Let’s pretend that it is.
“Do you suppose some Hufflepuffs have decided to try to out-prank the twins?” Ron wondered as McGonagall moved further down the table.
“You never know, Ron,” Ginny replied, “but I agree that it wasn’t really Fred and George’s style.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “They’re plenty brave enough, but they’re usually not that . . . I dunno . . . indirect, I guess.”
Hermione glanced sharply at Ginny, then rolled her eyes and continued slicing her sausages into precise discs.
Harry and Ginny finished their breakfast, reveling in the conversations swirling around them. They were tired from missing sleep the previous night, but they agreed that the results were worth the loss.
A/N: Niether Harry nor Ginny has ever encountered American cartoons. That line is just a tribute to one of the great ones.
Chapter 13: A House of Holiday Cards
Author's Notes: Thanks, as always, to moshpit, Jonathan Avery, and regdc for making this chapter comprehensible. Without them, it might not even make sense to me.
On the third Saturday of November, Ginny and Harry were whispering to Hermione and Ron at a table in the common room. Neville had caught Professor Sprout’s attention, and he was spending many of his free hours in the greenhouses helping her to care for the more mundane plants grown there.
“What do you suppose Dumbledore’s hiding on the third floor?” Harry asked.
“And why does Snape want it badly enough to try to get past Fluffy?” Ginny added.
“It’s probably some kind of treasure,” Ron said. “Snape wants it so he won’t have to work for a living. I can’t imagine why else he’d be teaching here except that he gets a steady salary.”
Hermione opened her mouth to object, but then she stopped. “You know, you’re right. Why does he teach here? He is clearly very skilled in Potions, but he’s a horrible educator.”
“Dumbledore’s not guarding money,” Ginny said.
“That’s what Gringotts is for, right?” Harry asked.
Hermione nodded. “It must be something more valuable.”
“Whatever it is, Snape wants it, and that means it’s probably bad for us if he gets it,” Harry scowled.
Hermione thought for a moment. “We need to find out who Nicholas Flamel is or was. I know I’ve seen that name somewhere before, but I can’t remember where. It’s very frustrating.”
Over the next few weeks, the four students spent much of their spare time in the library. Hermione pushed them to search through books of magical history, lists of wizards both famous and infamous, and even registries of births and deaths. As a result, they had been able to determine that Nicholas Flamel had not been a Hogwarts professor or student within the last hundred years and that he had not held a senior position at the Ministry of Magic for at least the last fifty years.
After weeks of fruitless searching, their avenues of research finally ran out. Hermione was very frustrated that the library had failed her, but she was determined to continue the search somehow. Harry and Ginny were very interested in finding out about Flamel, but they could not imagine how they might learn more about him than the little they already had discovered.
As the Christmas holidays approached, Hedwig was kept busy delivering mail orders to shops in Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley. Harry and Ginny spent hours poring over catalogues, attempting to find modest and meaningful presents for each member of Ginny’s family. They also searched for gifts for Hermione and Neville, although they decided to give Neville two boxes of sweets instead of a combined present. Some of the items they wanted to buy were not available in magical stores, but luckily they had stumbled across the catalogue of a mail order business that served as a go-between for magical customers and muggle stores.
Instead of having the presents for the Weasleys sent to Hogwarts and then having to carry them to the Burrow, Harry and Ginny requested that most of their purchases be gathered at the Diagon Alley post office. Then, on Christmas Eve, a group of specialized cargo owls would deliver the entire batch to Ottery St. Catchpole.
Ginny’s letters to and from the Burrow continued, and Mrs. Weasley seemed pleased to hear that all four of Ginny’s youngest brothers knew of the situation already. Ginny’s mother continued to enquire about Harry indirectly, though she still refused to address her letters or questions to him. Mr. Weasley wrote more frequently, and though his notes were often shorter than the first two Harry and Ginny had received from him, they were just as friendly and always addressed Harry directly. Ginny was sure that her mother’s subtle interest in Harry and her father’s more frequent letters were closely related.
Other relationships were improving as well. After the first Quidditch match and what had been dubbed the ‘Burning Breakfast,’ the mood of the school lightened. In particular, the students’ views of Harry shifted somewhat. There were still whispers and pointed fingers in the corridors, but there were also smiles and approving gestures for the Seeker who had enabled Gryffindor to beat the feared Slytherin team.
Fred and George made it clear that Harry and Ginny were welcome to join the twins and their friends at any time. Ginny thought that getting Ron, Hermione, and Neville together had been enough of an accomplishment, and she was not sure that the twins would fit well into the existing group. So the five first-years continued to sit together at meals, but Ginny and Harry did occasionally seek out the twins in the common room when the others were busy. They were quite surprised to find that, in addition to Quidditch, the twins spent much of their free time with Angelina, Alicia, and Lee discussing potions.
Apparently, the five third years had decided that they were going to learn potions, regardless of Snape’s efforts to the contrary. Fred and George were clearly the leaders of the group in this regard. They helped the others with their potions homework and scoured their books for the answers and techniques which Snape never bothered to provide.
The second time Harry and Ginny found themselves listening to an in-depth discussion of third year potions, Ginny leaned over to whisper in George’s ear.
“Why do you lot get such low marks in potions?” she asked. “Even though Snape’s a git, you ought to be able to do as well as Harry and I do, at least.”
“That’s easy, Gin,” George grinned. “Messing up potions is loads of fun, so we only do as much as we have to in order to get through the class. Not only do we get to play with the ingredients, we also get to watch Snape have fits on a regular basis.”
“What are you going to do for your OWLs, then?”
“Just the same thing,” George said. “We have absolutely no interest in taking Snape’s NEWT class, so we’ll only do well enough to get an ‘A’. For the rest of the exam, we’ll see how much of a mess we can make. Personally, I hope Snape’s there to watch.”
Can we tell Hermione about that? Harry grinned at the thought of his friend’s reaction.
We’d better not, Ginny said with a sigh. It would be great fun to watch her go berserk, but it wouldn’t be a very nice thing to do.
Pity, he replied. We can enjoy the mental picture, anyway.
As the first-years’ end of term exams approached, Hermione became frantic about her revision. She spent all of her free time hunched over her textbooks, and she urged her class-mates to do the same. Ginny and Harry were happy to join her when they felt that they needed the revision she was doing, but they did not care to revise simply for revision’s sake. When they were not interested, they left Hermione to her books and sat nearby in case she wanted to take a break. Ron grudgingly revised only when all of the others did, but it was quite obvious that he did not really care to make the extra effort. Neville seemed to take his cues from Harry and Ginny. When they chose to revise, he revised. If they chose to relax, he relaxed. As a result, the evenings either found all five students working, or Hermione working while the others entertained themselves as quietly as each of them was able.
In the end, Ginny decided that all of Hermione’s extra work only resulted in raising the expectations that the professors had for her. The exams were general in nature, and they reminded Harry more of the basic aptitude tests in his school than any sort of comprehensive finals. As far as he and Ginny were concerned, they held their own and showed the professors that they understood the material covered in the first term of school. In Transfiguration, they thought they might even have showed some mastery of the subject thus far. Even Ron, from his comments, seemed to have found the exams more of an irritant than a real test. Of course, nothing stopped Hermione from dissecting each and every test question with them in obsessive detail, certain that she had missed some obscure point that would lower her grade to something less than perfection.
On the Monday before Christmas, the Hogwarts express took those students leaving for the holidays back to London to meet their families. That morning, Harry and Ginny sought out Neville and Hermione in the common room.
Hermione was not in the common room, so Ginny went up to the girls’ dormitory while Harry headed up to his room to look for Neville. She found Hermione reading on her bed. The older girl’s trunk was already packed, and the area around her bed was neat and clean. Looking around, Ginny found that Lavender and Parvati were not in the room.
“Hello, Hermione,” Ginny greeted her friend. “Harry and I wanted to give you your Christmas present before we all left for the train.”
“That’s a good idea,” Hermione agreed. “I have some gifts for you two, also.”
“Do you mind if Harry comes up here?” Ginny asked. “He can leave again if Lavender or Parvati comes back.”
Hermione looked around the room before nodding. “Alright.”
Neville was not in the dormitory, so Harry climbed into his bed and sealed the curtains, and then he transported himself to Ginny’s bed.
“Harry,” Hermione greeted him, “if you ever get caught coming up here, I will never forgive you.”
Harry could imagine how upset she would be if she were to be associated with the flouting of such a serious rule, and he blushed at the thought of being caught in the girls’ dormitory. “I won’t, I promise,” he said.
“Here you are, Hermione,” Ginny said, handing her roommate a package wrapped in elegant silver paper which was quite unlike wizarding wrapping paper.
Hermione looked surprised as she took the package. “How on earth did you get something from a muggle shop?”
“We found an advert for a shop that can order things from muggle suppliers and send them to magical folk,” Ginny explained.
“That makes sense, I suppose.” Hermione opened her trunk and retrieved two packages. “This is for you, Harry, and this one is yours, Ginny.” Harry’s box was medium-sized and flat, but Ginny’s was very small.
“You go first, Harry,” Hermione suggested.
Harry ripped the paper off of his present eagerly. Ginny, understanding his excitement, sighed and shook her head sadly.
“What’s wrong, Ginny?” her bushy-haired friend asked.
Harry’s head snapped up, and he stared at Ginny as he followed her thought. He felt her silent question and shrugged in acceptance.
“That’s the first Christmas present he’s ever had since his parents died, Hermione,” Ginny whispered.
Ginny, with Harry’s reluctant consent, had told their friend a few things about Harry’s childhood, so Hermione was not completely surprised. “Well,” she said carefully, “you have to start somewhere.”
Harry grinned at the thought of getting more presents and finished unwrapping Hermione’s gift. Inside, he found a box of twelve chocolate frogs.
“I thought it was only fair,” Hermione commented with a small smile.
Harry reddened slightly at the memory of the day when Ginny had given Hermione a chocolate frog on his behalf. “Thanks, Hermione. That’s very nice of you.”
“You next!” Ginny encouraged her roommate.
“Alright.” Hermione carefully pried up the tape on her package and then pulled the paper off in a solid sheet. She folded it into a small square and then turned to the box itself. After removing the lid, she pulled out a long, pale blue scarf.
“It’s lovely!” she smiled, rubbing the scarf against her cheek. “Is this cashmere?” she asked, incredulous. At Ginny’s nod, she looked down at the scarf and muttered, “It must have been very expensive.”
“It wasn’t too much in wizarding money,” Harry said.
“Harry’s idea of ‘too much’ is a bit different from mine,” Ginny observed. “I saw it and said that you’d like it before I saw how much it cost, and then Harry insisted that we get it for you anyway when we saw the price.”
Hermione gave them a broad smile. “Thank you, Ginny. You too, Harry. It’s really generous of you, but it is a bit much. Please don’t feel that you need to do anything like this in the future.”
“Alright, Hermione, if you insist,” Harry agreed.
Hermione looked up from her gift with a concerned expression. “You two didn’t spend this much on all the things you ordered, did you?”
Ginny shook her head. “No. Harry insisted on nice things for me and you, and I picked out something good for him, but I stopped him from spending as much on the rest of my family.”
“That’s good,” Hermione nodded. “Open yours, Ginny. It’s nothing like this scarf, but I really hope you’ll like it. I chose it especially for you.”
Ginny smiled reassuringly and tore into her small package. Opening the box inside, she found a large silver hair clip. Its design was quite simple, but classic, and elegant etchings covered its exterior surface.
“It’s so nice!” Ginny enthused. Dropping the box, she gathered her hair at the back of her head and clipped it into place. “Look at it, would you, Harry?” she asked.
Harry stood behind Ginny and watched as she turned her head from side to side, using his vision to admire the bright ornament. “Thank you ever so much, Hermione. I’ve never had anything this pretty before.”
“You’re welcome,” Hermione smiled. “I’m glad you like it. I was afraid it wouldn’t be large enough to hold your hair.”
“It’s just perfect, Hermione.” Ginny hugged her friend. Harry smiled broadly at Hermione over Ginny’s shoulder and mouthed the words ‘thank you’. He loved the feeling of his best friend’s exuberant happiness. Hermione seemed to get the message, and she nodded slightly in reply.
You can’t really keep me from noticing that, you know, Ginny remarked.
I know, but it seemed right to do it that way, anyway.
Ginny conceded the point, knowing that it was important for Harry and Hermione to develop a friendship on their own terms and not just through her. The three gifts they had exchanged, in their small ways, had helped with that.
Hermione stepped away from Ginny. “You’d better go back, Harry. Lavender and Parvati haven’t packed yet.” She paused, glancing at the riotous mess of her roommates’ beds. “At least, I hope they haven’t packed yet,” she corrected herself. “They could return at any time.”
“Okay,” Harry agreed. “See you on the train.”
Harry transported himself back to his dormitory and then went downstairs. As he entered the common room, he noticed someone crawling under one of the tables. Confused, he tried to see who it was as Ginny joined him from the girls’ staircase. “C’mon, Trevor. Where are you?” Neville’s frustrated voice was muffled by the table, but was still very audible.
Walking up to his side to avoid startling him, Ginny said, “Hi, Neville.”
The round-faced boy pulled his head out from under a table and stood up with a shy smile. “Hi, Ginny. Hi, Harry.”
“We wanted to give you your Christmas presents before we all got on the train.” They each held out a small box wrapped in red and gold. “Happy Christmas, Neville.”
“Happy Christmas,” he echoed. “Wait a moment, I’ve got presents for you upstairs. I was going to give them to you on the train, but now is just as good.” Neville disappeared up the boys’ staircase and reappeared a few moments later. Wordlessly, he held out two identical green bags tied with red ribbons, and the three students exchanged their gifts.
“It’s just nuts and dried fruit,” Neville apologized as Harry and Ginny untied their bags. “My gran sent me six of those to give to my friends. Would you like more? I’ve got one extra.”
“No, Neville, this is perfect,” Ginny smiled. “It looks really good. Thank you.”
“Yeah, thanks, Neville,” Harry added.
“You’re welcome.” Neville unwrapped his two packages to find a box of chocolate frogs and a small bar of Honeyduke’s best chocolate. “Wow, these are great. I’ll be sure to hide them from Gran until I’ve finished them,” he grinned. “Thank you both.”
“We’re glad you like them,” Ginny replied. “See you on the train, okay? We can share a compartment with Ron and Hermione.”
“Okay, great,” Neville nodded.
As planned, Harry, Ginny, Neville, Hermione, and Ron shared a compartment on the Hogwarts Express. The five students passed the train ride chatting about Quidditch, classes, and their holiday plans. The snacks sent by Neville’s grandmother provided a lunch for everyone, but Harry bought a small collection of sweets from the trolley anyway and shared them with his friends.
Not long after the trolley came by, Fred and George pulled open the door of the compartment and stuck their heads inside.
“Hello, titches,” Fred said.
“Anything terribly not-allowed going on in here?” George asked.
“Hey,” Ginny answered. “Ron and I were just saying how much we would regret having some of our older brothers around for Christmas.”
“It’s right sad,” Fred nodded. “Bill and Charlie always want to act all grown up, and the only fun they’ll allow themselves nowadays is Quidditch.”
“Yes, of course,” Ginny said with a raised eyebrow. “Bill and Charlie. Those are certainly the brothers we were talking about.”
George smiled. “We were sure they were.”
“Speaking of pointless deception, you two are going to play Quidditch with us this year, right?” Fred asked.
“Try stopping us,” Ginny grinned. “Though I’d say we’ll be playing Quidditch around you.”
“Ah, Ginny. Dear, dear Ginny,” George shook his head. “Try to remember that experience and cunning will beat youth and speed every time.”
“Oh? Mum’s going to be on our team, then?”
Fred turned to his twin. “Oi, I think we’ve been insulted, George.”
“We have, Fred. We have.”
“Well,” Fred huffed. “I see no reason to stand here and listen to this . . . this horribly devastating recitation of fact.”
George put his nose in the air. “I bid you good day, children.”
Adopting a similar pose, Fred marched away from the compartment behind his brother. Ginny and Harry applauded quietly as they left.
Curious, Ginny turned to Hermione. “What does your family do for the holidays, Hermione? I imagine there’s not a lot of Quidditch involved.”
“Absolutely correct, there’s very little Quidditch,” Hermione grinned. She wore the scarf that Harry and Ginny had given her, and she stroked it absently as she spoke. “My parents and I spend Christmas Eve with my mother’s parents, and then on Christmas Day we go to visit my father’s family. I enjoy seeing everyone, but we all eat too much turkey with two big dinners in a row. On Christmas Day we listen to the Queen’s speech, and then some of the men watch football on television while the rest of us stay as far away as we can.
“We stay at home for Boxing Day, playing games and spending time together without anyone else from the family. Then, the next day, we spend the day visiting all of our favourite bookshops.” Ron almost laughed, but he stopped himself when Ginny and Harry both glared at him, and he blushed as he realized what he had almost done. “My father buys lots of history books, my mother picks out new biographies, and I just get anything that catches my eye.” She paused thoughtfully. “This year, I think I will read about inventors and scientists. I suspect that if I look closely enough I will find that lots of them were wizards. Sir Isaac Newton, for example. I think he must have been a wizard.”
“Is that the bloke with the apple?” Ginny asked. At Hermione’s nod, she added, “He was a squib. Bit barmy, from what Bill told me. He put that apple in the tree himself, balanced on a limb, and sat underneath it. Apparently he was trying to will it to come to him, to prove that he was a wizard. A breeze came along, and the apple fell and hit him on the head. He spent the rest of his life trying to convince people that he could do magic without a wand. Not that he . . .”
A grunt or cough from the hallway interrupted Ginny. Everyone in the car glanced at the door, but Harry and Ginny could not see anyone.
“Well, that explains a lot,” Hermione concluded. “Anyway, we all go to a fancy party on New Year’s Eve. The dental society in the city all get together to pay for it. My mother buys me a new dress to wear each year, and I go along and try to be polite to people. Mum says it’s a chance for me to socialize, but I think she just likes to surprise the adults who talk to me. I spent the entire party last year talking about the Queen’s address and how important it was. I think they were all surprised that I could even understand it.”
At least we’re not the only ones she surprises, Harry observed.
“Why should it be so shocking that I understand what the Queen has to say?” Hermione asked rhetorically. “She speaks in plain English, although her accent is a little old-fashioned.”
“I had no problem with it,” Harry said.
Hermione looked at him speculatively. “Did you like the address last year, Harry?”
“Yeah, it was good,” he replied. “She talked about her family, and she talked about those army captives, you know, and how much she hoped they were okay. That was . . . really nice of her.”
She could have been talking about you just as easily as those soldiers, Ginny muttered.
I always liked listening to her. She seemed really nice, and I could imagine that she cared about me as much as she did the people she was talking about.
Draco Malfoy walked into the doorway with his two bookends in tow. He had, apparently, been listening outside the door. “Well, well. Isn’t this cozy? A collection of Muggle-lovers all reflecting on the bland, meaningless words of a Muggle usurper who has no right to the crown and who doesn’t know anything at all about the real world. No matter. Only a complete idiot would spend Christmas in a bookshop, anyway.”
Ron half-rose from his seat and reached for his wand, but Neville, who was sitting next to him, pulled the tall boy back down.
“And what do you do during the holidays, Malfoy?” Ginny asked, scowling. “Brew poison to give to all of the garden gnomes?”
“You wouldn’t recognize a real Christmas if you were paid to clean up after it, baby weasel,” he sneered. “My family spends the day on our estate, and all of our neighbours come by to pay their respects. Usually, the Minister stops by before noon. Last year, he gave me a solid gold stand for my wand.” He smiled smugly.
“How appropriate,” Hermione said. “Small, shallow gifts for small, shallow people.”
Malfoy reached for his wand, but as he drew it out of his pocket, Crabbe tapped him on the shoulder and pointed down the passageway. The blond boy shoved his wand back into his jacket. “Come on. We’ve wasted enough time on these . . . Gryffindors.”
The three Slytherins headed back towards the other end of the train, and a moment later Percy walked by on patrol with his nose in the air. He paused at the door to the first-years’ compartment. Seeing nothing amiss, he sniffed and continued on his way.
After a few tense minutes, the five friends managed to put their encounter with Malfoy behind them, and they passed the rest of the trip in friendly conversation.
The Hogwarts Express arrived at Platform 9 ¾ just before four o’clock in the afternoon. Ginny, dragging her makeshift trunk, led the way off the train and spotted her parents immediately. As Neville stepped off the train, he said, “There’s Gran. I’ll see you all next year.” He hurried across the platform towards his grandmother as the others chorused their goodbyes to his back.
Ginny turned to Hermione. “Do you see your parents, Hermione?” she asked.
“Yes, they’re over there.” Hermione pointed at a neatly dressed couple standing off to the side of the mass of witches and wizards on the platform. She waved at them, and the four students made their way over to Hermione’s parents.
Along the way, they passed Draco Malfoy as Crabbe and Goyle escorted him through the crowd. Malfoy was looking at the elder Grangers with his lip curled in disdain. When he spotted Hermione nearby, he raised his voice enough to be heard as he addressed Crabbe. “I see that the Ministry is behind on their pest control measures again. Disgusting, isn’t it?”
The four Gryffindors ignored Malfoy, and Hermione raised her head proudly as they approached her parents. Her mother and father both hugged her, and then they stepped back to look at Ginny, Harry, and Ron. “Who are your friends, Hermione?”
“Mother, Father, this is Ginny Weasley, Harry Potter, and Ron Weasley,” she said, indicating each of her friends in turn.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Granger,” Ginny said politely.
“We’re pleased to meet you as well, Ginny, and we’re glad to see that you like Hermione’s gift,” Mrs. Granger observed.
“I picked it out,” Hermione explained, “but Mother ordered it and sent it to Hogwarts for me.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Granger,” Ginny answered her friend’s mother, raising a hand to her hair clip. “It’s lovely.”
“Are you ready to go, Hermione?” Mr. Granger asked.
“Yes, I am. I’ll see you all in the new year,” she replied. Hermione and her parents walked along the edge of the crowd towards the entrance to Kings Cross.
Ginny, Harry, and Ron crossed the busy platform to join her mother, who had already gathered the twins and Percy together. Ginny’s father was no longer with them.
“There you are,” Mrs. Weasley chastised them. “What took you so long? I was starting to worry.”
“We met Hermione’s parents, Mum,” Ginny said. “They’re Muggles, remember?”
“Oh, yes, that’s nice, dear,” Mrs. Weasley answered, glancing around the station. “Come on now, all of you. Your dad went to bring the car around.” She turned abruptly to Harry. “Harry, we’re so glad you could join us for the holiday,” she said with an overly bright smile.
I’m not sure how glad she is, Harry commented.
Me neither, but at least she’s trying, Ginny pointed out.
Outside the station, they found Mr. Weasley waiting in the battered old Ford Anglia. Harry knew that the car was larger on the inside than it looked, but he still wondered how eight people and six trunks could fit inside.
Mr. Weasley got out and opened the boot, and then he lifted Ginny’s trunk into the car. It seemed to fill half of the available space, but as he pushed, the trunk appeared to slide smoothly into the back of the compartment until it disappeared. Harry and Ron’s trunks followed in the same way, and Fred, George, and Percy had no problems putting their trunks in the boot on their own.
“There we are, then,” Mr. Weasley announced. “Everyone jump in.”
Ginny reached for the door, but Mrs. Weasley gently grabbed her shoulder and held her back. “Harry and Ginny, you’re the smallest, so you can ride up front with us.”
Convenient excuse, isn’t it? Ginny commented. She probably wants to keep an eye on us.
Ron, Percy, and the twins all wedged themselves into the back seat of the two-door car, but somehow they had more than enough room once they all climbed in. Harry and Ginny slid over to the middle of the front seat, and Ginny’s parents climbed in on either side of them. Harry was quite close to Mr. Weasley as he drove, but he did not feel squashed.
As Mr. Weasley left the car park, Harry looked up at him. “Does it still fly, Mr. Weasley?” he wondered.
Mrs. Weasley sniffed loudly, and her husband shook his head sadly. “I’m afraid not, Harry. Such things are terribly unreliable, you see.” Mr. Weasley glanced over Harry and Ginny’s heads to make sure Mrs. Weasley wasn’t looking, then he smiled and winked at Harry. Harry grinned in return, but then he copied Mr. Weasley’s sad expression before anyone else could notice.
I bet it flies as well as ever, Ginny said. Dad may pick odd things to mess with, but when he figures out a charm, he casts it perfectly. I’ve never seen one of his charms wear off unless he wanted it to.
After several hours of casual conversation, staring out of windows, and a few brief naps, Mr. Weasley pulled into the driveway of the Burrow. The eight of them jumped out of the small car, and six trunks emerged safely from the boot. They all paraded inside, and Mrs. Weasley issued brisk instructions.
“Fred, George, Percy, Ron . . . take your trunks upstairs and then set the table. Ginny and Harry, stay here for a minute. Arthur, please take their trunks up for them,” she ordered.
Harry and Ginny sat on the sofa and waited for the Weasley men to leave the room.
This feels an awful lot like the last time we arrived here, Harry noticed.
“Now, Harry,” Mrs. Weasley addressed him with a tenuous smile, “we’ve set up a cot for you in Ron’s room.” Ginny straightened immediately, but her mother continued before she could object. “I know you need to . . . to share a room with Ginny at night, but you’ll keep your things in Ron’s room and use the cot if you want to have a nap. That way our guests won’t ask any difficult questions. You can both get dressed in the loo, and I don’t want you to spend one minute more than is absolutely necessary in Ginny’s room. Is that understood?”
They both nodded to Mrs. Weasley, who sent them upstairs. Arriving on the second landing, they found that Mr. Weasley had already placed Ginny’s trunk at the foot of her bed. Harry continued on his way upstairs as she entered her room to unpack before dinner. Only after she had opened her trunk did she realize that something was missing.
Where is my door?! she cried, outraged.
Harry paused on the steps and let himself see with Ginny as she stared at her empty doorway. Why don’t you have a door?
Clearly, if we have a door to close, we’ll waste no time getting into trouble on the other side, she said disgustedly.
Why do they keep doing this? We’ve done nothing wrong.
Why do you think? I don’t know why I expected things to be better at home. Ginny kicked her trunk and flopped down on her bed.
Standing on the stairs, Harry could feel her anger and disappointment, and he knew that she was trying very hard not to cry. Maybe we should go back to Hogwarts.
No! I am not going to let her win, Ginny said. We can do this, Harry. I know we can.
We just don’t have to like it? Harry suggested.
How much worse can it get? Ginny asked.
Harry shrugged and continued up the stairs to Ron’s room, where he found the cot as promised. Hedwig, who had flown from Hogwarts and arrived earlier, hooted in greeting from her perch on Ron’s wardrobe. Harry’s trunk was waiting for him also, and he pulled out a clean shirt to wear for dinner. Ginny brushed her hair and pulled out a few of her own things, and then the two met in the loo to wash their hands.
When they reached the kitchen, they found that the rest of the family had already arrived. Mrs. Weasley had produced platters of sandwiches from the refrigerator, and the family enjoyed a light meal.
All five Weasley children took turns telling their parents about their grades, their classes, and Quidditch in the twins’ case. When it was Ginny’s turn, she made sure to involve Harry in her stories. Mr. Weasley caught her hint and even asked Harry a few questions directly. Afterwards, Fred finally asked a question of his own. “Mum, why doesn’t Ginny have a door anymore?”
“To avoid questions,” his mother answered with a quelling look.
Rot, Ginny declared. Everyone knows the question and the answer, but she doesn’t want to admit it.
I don’t understand, Harry said. What’s the question everybody knows, and what’s the answer?
The question is how much we really share with each other, and I think everyone has realized that it’s a bit more than just beef-flavored pumpkin juice.
You mean she’s thinking about, err . . . showering and such?
Yes, exactly. I’ll bet a galleon that she checks on us when we each get ready tomorrow morning.
After dinner, Ginny, Harry, Ron, and the twins all went up to Ron’s room.
“See, Ginny?” George asked. “If you don’t have a door, you can’t ask questions. It’s really quite simple.”
She rolled her eyes in reply. “Oh, thank you for explaining that with such insight, George. I really had no idea.”
Ginny thought for a moment and then continued. “You know, I’m tempted to go back and sleep at Hogwarts each night, just to get a bit of privacy.”
“Understandable, Gin,” Fred said. “But do you really think it’s worth it?”
She turned to look out the window absently. “You know what, Fred? I’m not sure anymore.”
Fred sighed and shook his head. “Well, how about some Exploding Snap, then? With five of us, we could have quite the tournament.”
Harry and Ginny accepted the change of subject, and they spent an enjoyable evening trying to avoid singeing their eyebrows.
At bedtime, Harry and Ginny took turns in the loo to change into their pajamas. They settled into Ginny’s bed, but the light and noise from the hallway kept them from sleeping. After a few minutes, the twins came up the stairs on their way to their room and poked their heads through Ginny’s doorway.
Fred glanced over his shoulder to make sure they were alone as George whispered, “Sorry, you two. This is pretty stupid, if you ask us.”
Ginny twisted to look over her shoulder at the door. “Thanks, George,” she yawned. “We just want to sleep.”
“Yeah, that’s the point, right?” Fred pointed out.
Ron was the next to go up the stairs. He did not say anything as he passed, but he glanced at Harry and Ginny thoughtfully. Percy, when he went up to his room, completely ignored them, which was exactly what they wanted from him.
Mr. Weasley came up by himself to say goodnight. He sat down on the edge of the bed behind Ginny’s legs. “I hope this doesn’t bother you too much,” he sighed. “I know you don’t like it, and I don’t blame you, but we’re doing the best we can.”
“We didn’t do anything wrong, Dad,” Ginny reminded him, looking up at her father from her place on Harry’s chest.
“I know, Firefly,” he admitted, running his hand along her hair. “Let’s just take one day at a time, okay? We got you in the room together, and that’s a big step for your mother.” Arthur paused for a moment while stroking her hair. “And for me,” he admitted quietly.
Ginny sighed and nodded. “Okay, Dad.”
“Thank you,” he smiled. “You’re a good girl. Goodnight, Ginny. Goodnight, Harry.”
“’Night, Dad.”
“Goodnight, Mr. Weasley.”
Mum will be next, Ginny predicted. Let’s just pretend to be asleep. Maybe she won’t say anything if we’re doing what we’re supposed to be doing.
Harry agreed and closed his eyes. A few minutes later, they heard someone come up the stairs. Harry identified the sounds of Mrs. Weasley stepping into the room and shifting her weight a few times.
How did you learn to do that? Ginny asked. I could never guess what she was doing just by listening.
I spent a lot of time listening while I was in my cupboard. I got good at figuring out whether Uncle Vernon was going to open my door or just walk past.
She shook her head mentally. I wish you hadn’t had any reason to think about things like that, but I suppose it’s a useful skill sometimes.
After a few long moments, Mrs. Weasley sniffed loudly and went back down the stairs. When the sound of footsteps reached the ground floor, the candle in the hallway went out and left Ginny’s room dark.
Maybe now we can sleep, Harry hoped.
Until someone has to use the loo, she retorted. But let’s at least try.
The next day was Christmas Eve, and Harry and Ginny woke up as soon as Percy left his room to use the lavatory. It was much earlier than they normally woke up, even on weekdays, but they were unable to get back to sleep once the other occupants of the house started moving around. Instead, they decided to dress for the day and wait for the rest of the family downstairs. Harry went up to Ron’s room and found his friend still sleeping soundly. He gathered his clothes and then waited on the cot as Ginny showered.
Harry listened carefully, and he was not surprised when he heard Mrs. Weasley climbing the stairs. He opened the Transfiguration textbook he had pulled out of his trunk for the sake of appearances. When Ginny’s mother stopped in the doorway and peered inside, he looked up from the book.
“Oh, hello, Harry. I just wanted to see if Ron was awake yet,” she said.
Sure, Mum, if you say so, Ginny scoffed. If Ron were awake, he’d be at the breakfast table stuffing his face.
Mrs. Weasley went back down the stairs without another word. When Ginny was showered and dressed, Harry went and took his own shower.
As Ginny had predicted, her mother visited her room a few minutes after Harry started running the water. She made sure that she was obviously focused on braiding a lock of long hair next to her ear. This time, Mrs. Weasley did not even attempt to find an excuse for her visit. Instead, she looked carefully at Ginny and returned to the kitchen without a word.
Congratulations, Harry. We’ve passed today’s morality test.
After a large breakfast, Harry and the Weasleys spent over two hours cleaning the Burrow in preparation for decorating it that afternoon. At eleven o’clock, Harry and Ginny heard a voice call out from the front lawn. “Hello, Weasleys!”
Bill and Charlie! Ginny squealed. Come on! She abandoned her efforts to tidy her room and raced down the stairs. Harry, who had been trying to help Ron, turned and started down the stairs also, following Ron to the front of the house.
Ginny burst through the front door of the house and leapt into Bill’s arms. Harry thought Bill must be used to such a reception, because Ginny’s tallest brother dropped his bag and caught her without falling. Harry stopped in the front door beside Ron, watching the scene and reveling in Ginny’s love for her two eldest brothers. She hugged Bill with her arms around his neck and her legs around his ribcage, and then she dropped to the ground and ran to Charlie. Charlie was shorter and more muscular. He picked his sister up easily by her waist and spun her in circles. He grinned as she laughed, and when he put her down she hugged him fiercely.
Pulling back from Charlie, Ginny grabbed one of each of her brothers’ hands and steered them towards the Burrow. When she had them both facing in the right direction, she leapt lightly to the door and took Harry’s hand to pull him into the yard. Behind Ron, she saw the rest of her family emerging from other parts of the house.
“Charlie and Bill, this is my best friend, Harry Potter. Harry, this is Bill,” she gestured at the tall, long-haired man, “and Charlie,” she pointed at the shorter brother with cropped hair. The introductions were unnecessary for Harry, but Ginny did not want to startle her brothers when they had just arrived.
“Hello, Harry,” Bill said, stepping forward to shake Harry’s hand. Behind him, Charlie nodded with a friendly smile. “Mum’s written us about that little show you and Gin put on at the Sorting Ceremony. I’ve never heard of anything like it.”
“It was pretty unusual, I’m sure,” Harry agreed cautiously.
“No surprise to us,” Charlie commented. “Ginny’s been unusual since she was the size of a kneazle.”
“She’s still about the size of a kneazle, Charlie,” Bill corrected him.
“Hey!” Ginny yelled. “I’m tall enough to reach that ponytail and pull you down here,” she threatened.
“Sounds like a kneazle sometimes, too,” Harry offered in a stage whisper.
All three Weasleys stared at him in shock. After a moment, Bill and Charlie laughed loudly. Seeing them, Ginny smiled at Harry.
Not bad, Potter.
I learn from the best, he grinned.
Ha! Flattery will get you everywhere, she retorted.
Is that a threat?
Bill and Charlie recovered their composure as the rest of the Weasleys emerged from the Burrow to greet them.
After all of the Weasleys greeted each other, the group moved back inside. With no words exchanged, Charlie took Bill’s bag from him and carried it upstairs with his own. Bill and Charlie would be sleeping on cots in Percy’s and Ron’s rooms, respectively. The rest of the family settled into the living room, and a few minutes later Charlie returned.
“You weren’t here earlier this morning, were you, Bill?” Charlie asked, looking puzzled.
“What? No, I haven’t been back here since the summer,” his brother replied.
“Why’s Ginny’s door gone missing, then? I thought that was your sort of thing,” Charlie grinned.
Bill rolled his eyes. “That was twelve years ago, Charlie. Let it go.” His brow furrowed as he turned to his father. “Why is Ginny’s door missing?”
Arthur sighed. “That brings us right to the point, then.” He turned to look out a window in thought for a long moment, and then he nodded slightly and stood up. “Let’s go outside, shall we?”
He walked towards to the door, but no one else moved. He turned back to his family and spoke more forcefully. “Weasleys, let’s go outside. Now.”
Harry and Ginny were the first to stand and follow Mr. Weasley through the house, but the rest of the Weasleys lined up without protest. Harry thought it was odd that even Mrs. Weasley did not question the instruction.
We all know better than to ask questions when Dad talks like that. He’ll explain it to us soon enough.
At the back door, they all paused to put on their winter cloaks. Percy reached for his scarf and gloves, but Arthur stopped him. “This shouldn’t take long, son.”
Outside, Arthur walked through the yard and stopped. To the others, Ginny supposed that the location might seem random, but she knew better. Mr. Weasley had brought his family to the blackened circle of earth that was the only remaining evidence of Harry and Ginny’s temper from three months earlier.
“What the bloody hell happened to the yard?” Charlie wondered.
“Language, Charlie,” Mrs. Weasley whispered.
“It got very, very hot,” Mr. Weasley began. “What you see here is the result of harsh words and quick tempers. When we go back inside, we are going to have a calm, polite discussion.” He faced Harry squarely and continued in a soft, measured voice. “There will be no insults, and we will all do our very best not to yell. We will remember that we are a family, and we will keep in mind the many kinds of damage that can occur when we hurt each other. Is that clear?”
Ron, Fred, George, and Percy seemed to have figured out what was coming, and they each nodded silently. Molly sniffed, but she glanced at Harry and then nodded also. Bill and Charlie looked bewildered.
“William? Charles?” Mr. Weasley prompted.
Bill looked concerned, especially when he was addressed by his full name, but he did not ask any questions. “Okay, Dad.” Charlie nodded his agreement.
“Wonderful,” Arthur smiled. “Let’s get back inside, then, before we freeze while contemplating the effects of heat.”
Harry and the Weasleys filed back into the house and resumed their places in the living room, except for Mrs. Weasley who said that she needed to prepare lunch. Bill, Charlie, and Percy took the sofa, facing the fireplace. Bill scooted away from Charlie, leaving a small gap between them. The twins and Ron sat on the floor in front of them. Harry and Ginny deliberately wedged themselves into a single armchair to the right of the sofa, facing the middle of the room, which caused Bill to look at Ginny with a confused and slightly sad expression. Mr. Weasley took his customary chair at the other end of the sofa, facing his daughter and Harry.
“What’s going on, Dad?” Bill asked, pulling his gaze away from Ginny and Harry. “You’re really worrying us.”
Ginny took a deep breath and opened her mouth to speak, but her father raised a hand in her direction. “I’ll do it this time, Firefly.” Ginny smiled at him, grateful for his help.
Slowly and carefully, Arthur told the story of the day Harry and Ginny met. He told Bill and Charlie about the things the two children shared, their odd method of transportation, and the change in Ginny’s magical power.
When Mr. Weasley finished, Bill was silent for a full minute. Then he glanced at Charlie, who lifted his shoulders a fraction of an inch. Bill turned back to his father and said, “You’re serious?”
“Completely. I’ve seen everything I mentioned to you with my own eyes,” Mr. Weasley replied.
“I’m sorry, Dad.” Bill shook his head. “I know that you would never lie to me about something as important as this, but it’s unreal, I’d like to see it for myself before I say anything”
“What do you want to see first, Bill?” Ginny asked.
Bill looked startled, and Ginny thought that he had not actually expected to be offered a demonstration. “Well . . .” he paused. “Sharing thoughts and memories is the most ridiculous of those, I think. How can you prove that to me?”
“The same way we did for everyone else,” Ginny shrugged. “Ask Harry about something you think only I would know.”
Bill thought for a moment. “Ginny once gave me advice about my hair. What was it?”
“It wasn’t really about your hair,” Harry answered. “It was about a girl named Susan, who wanted you to cut it. Ginny asked you if you were growing your hair for yourself or for someone else. Ginny didn’t like Susan very much when they met, but she didn’t want to try to change your mind for you, so she hoped you would work it out on your own. She was glad when you started dating Elisabeth, even if she was a bit silly.”
“Silly? Elisabeth wasn’t silly.” Bill argued.
“Yes, she was,” Ginny insisted. “All she did was stare at you and giggle all the time. Every time someone asked her a question, she would answer it by going on about how wonderful and handsome you were. She was silly.”
“I remember her,” Charlie commented. “She was quite pretty, but not the fastest broom in the shed.”
“I found her to be rather vapid, myself,” Percy added.
“She wasn’t in your league, Bill,” Arthur concluded.
As his family voiced their opinions, Bill’s attention returned to Harry. “You remember that?” Harry nodded, and Bill snapped off another question. “What did Ginny call me when she used to ride around on my back?”
“Big Bill,” Harry grinned. “She wanted you to wear a wristwatch on your head, but you wouldn’t.”
“What’s my favorite kind of dragon?” Charlie asked.
“Once, you said it was the Swedish Short-Snout, but usually you just said ‘the kind with claws.’”
“What is the answer to life, the universe, and everything?” Bill asked quickly.
“Forty-two,” Harry replied. “You told Ginny about some Muggle book you got that from.” He cocked his head to the side and furrowed his brow. “That’s not really a good question, though. My relatives are Muggles, so I could have learned that on my own. I didn’t, but I could have.”
“Who’s the only person to beat me to the Snitch in a game here at the Burrow?” Charlie asked, smiling.
“You bring that up every chance you get,” Harry rolled his eyes. “No one has ever beaten you to the Snitch in a game over the paddock”
“Yet,” Ginny grinned.
Charlie started to question Ginny, but Bill held his hand up to prevent further discussion of Quidditch. “He really knows this stuff, Charlie.”
Bill looked intently at Ginny and then held out his arms to her. “Come here, Gin.”
Ginny rose from her chair with Harry and crossed to stand in front of Bill with her arms raised. Bill picked her up by her waist and set her sideways on his lap, with her feet on the sofa between him and Charlie.
“I’m getting a little big for this, Bill,” she said with a lopsided grin.
“It’s a special occasion,” he replied. Keeping his arms around her, he looked down into her eyes. “Are you okay, Ginny?”
She knew what he was asking, and she smiled up at him. “I’m wonderful, Bill. Harry is one of the nicest, bravest people you’ll ever meet, and we get along really well. I’m happier this way than I was before, most of the time. The rest of the time, well . . . I’m learning to be more careful about getting angry.”
Bill frowned. “Is that what happened to the back yard? Harry made you angry, and you did something to the grass?”
“No!” Ginny insisted, pushing herself away from her brother a few inches. “Someone said something mean to me, and that made Harry angry for me, and then we burned the grass together.”
“And the dinner table,” Fred snickered.
“Quiet, George,” Bill ordered. “Who said something mean about you, Ginny?”
Arthur prevented Ginny from answering, but not before her eyes had darted to the kitchen door. “That’s not important, Bill,” Mr. Weasley said.
“Oh. Alright,” Bill nodded. He reached out and slowly pulled a lock of Ginny’s hair through his fingers, focusing on the fiery strands as he thought. After a few moments, he looked up. “What about this transportation method of yours? How does that work?”
“Pretty well,” Ginny answered as she pulled her hair free of Bill’s fingers. A moment later, she was standing in front of Harry’s chair. She slid back into the seat next to Harry. “Nobody knows how we’re doing it. All we know is that wards can’t stop us, that we can only go one at a time, and that we shouldn’t go somewhere one of us can’t see or that we don’t remember really well.”
In the ensuing silence, Charlie asked, “So why doesn’t Ginny have a door?”
“That’s the part that is . . . awkward,” Mr. Weasley said. “For some reason, Ginny and Harry can’t sleep unless they’re touching each other. They either don’t fall asleep at all or they have horrible nightmares.”
Bill straightened abruptly. “And you allow that?” he half-shouted. “There’s no way that can be acceptable!”
Ginny loved her brother, but she was tired of that particular response. “You try watching Voldemort kill your mother for a few hours, Bill, and then you can tell me what’s acceptable.”
Her oldest brother flinched at the use of Voldemort’s name, but he reacted even more strongly to Ginny’s acidic tone. He seemed hesitant to respond.
“That’s why there’s no door on her room, William,” Arthur told him. “Harry’s sleeping in there while they’re here.”
“What about at Hogwarts?” Charlie wondered, scowling.
“They both sleep in the boys’ room at Hogwarts,” Mr. Weasley said. “Ginny transports herself there every night after the curtains are closed, and she transports herself back to her room each morning. Percy keeps an eye on them for us.”
“They have behaved as instructed,” Percy grudgingly confessed.
Bill glanced around at his four youngest brothers. “You all knew about this already?” The four other boys nodded, and he frowned for a moment before his expression cleared. “Oh well. I guess this isn’t the sort of thing you want to put in a letter.” After another minute of thought, Bill turned to the twins. “What do you think, George?”
Why does he always try to talk to George? Harry wondered.
I think he gave up on telling them apart, Ginny said, so he just calls them both George.
“We like Harry a lot,” George said. “If he were the sort who liked pranks, he’d be very welcome to work with us.”
Harry and Ginny carefully kept their laughter inside their heads. That was nice of him, Harry chuckled.
“As for Ginny . . .” Fred started and then looked over at her.
“Go ahead, Fred,” she encouraged him. “You can say whatever you want. I’ll hex you later if I need to,” she finished with a grin.
His eyes widened for a moment, but he spoke anyway. “Ginny’s not really the same as she was before, Bill, but that doesn’t mean she’s worse. She’s . . . more, or something, and I think in some ways she’s even smarter than she was before. Either way, she’s definitely still Ginny.”
“I’ll ride around on your back for a while if you need me to,” Ginny offered. She caught Harry’s fleeting thought and giggled. You should say it.
He grinned and looked up at Bill. “If you’d rather, I could ride around on your back instead.”
Bill looked at Harry, scowled slightly, and blinked a few times. “Ahh . . . no, thanks.”
“Do you play Quidditch, Harry?” Charlie asked.
“Yeah.”
“He’s our Seeker this year, Charlie,” George said.
“Seeker?” Charlie frowned. “I thought you said he was a first year?”
Ginny grinned. “We are.”
Charlie looked at Harry more closely and met his eyes for the first time. “Well, then. What do you do for a broom, Harry?”
“I use a house broom,” Harry admitted.
“A house broom?” Charlie scoffed. “You couldn’t catch a Flobberworm with one of those things.”
“Professor McGonagall got a Nimbus Two Thousand for the team and said it was to be used by the Seeker,” Ginny explained.
“That would do it,” her brother nodded. “Care for a fly later, Harry?”
Harry’s eyes lit up. “Sure! I left the Nimbus with Professor McGonagall, though. It’s not really mine, so it didn’t seem right to bring it along for the holidays.”
“That’s too bad,” Charlie said. “No matter, though. We’ve got lots of old brooms, and this way we’ll all be on an equal footing.”
Molly Weasley poked her head through the door. “Lunch is ready, everyone.”
Harry and the Weasleys spent lunchtime discussing the first match of the Hogwarts Quidditch season, and even Charlie seemed impressed by Harry’s capture of the snitch. Harry, Ginny, Ron, Fred, and George were all careful to make no mention of Harry’s difficulties with his broom, and it seemed that Percy had not attended the match at all.
After lunch, the entire family worked together to decorate the living room for Christmas the next day. A small fir tree was brought into the living room in a bucket, so that it could be replanted after the holiday. Fred and George were sent out to the woods near the house, and they returned with armloads of greenery for garlands, which they began stringing together.
Mrs. Weasley produced a basket full of red paper cut into strips. She gave Harry and Ginny each a very short wand which could only cast a weak sticking charm, and the two children set about making paper chains at the kitchen table. They found that, if they did not think about it too much, they could work together to produce paper loops at a truly impressive speed.
They sat facing each other at the table. Ginny held a sticking wand in her left hand, and Harry had a stack of paper strips to his right. Harry would pick up a strip with his right hand, pass it into his left hand, and hold it in front of him by one end. Next, Ginny curled the strip into a loop with her right hand as Harry held it steady and she tapped it with the sticking wand in her left hand. At the same time, Harry’s right hand would reach for another strip of paper. As Harry passed the new strip from his right hand to his left, Ginny tugged the new loop away from Harry’s left hand with her right, and they started the process all over again.
Why don’t we use our own wands? Harry wondered.
Tradition, I suppose. Ginny shrugged. We all learned to use these before we had wands, and now it’s just a habit.
Near the end of their task, Ginny noticed Bill watching them out of the corner of her eye. He paused in the doorway, carrying a box of ornaments down from the attic. After a few moments, her long-haired brother shook his head and continued on his way.
When Harry and Ginny finished the paper chains, they delivered them to the living room and went to find Mrs. Weasley to ask what else they could help with. As they looked for her, they heard a flutter of wings and an odd chorus of calls coming from the front yard. “Hoooot! Hoot! Hoooot! Hoot!”
Cargo owls! Ginny said. That must be our presents arriving.
They reversed their path and ran towards the front door. Opening it, they found four owls standing on the lawn, one at each corner of a small wooden crate. Harry recognized it as very similar to the box Ginny was using as a school trunk. Each of the four owls held a short length of rope in its talons, the other end of which was tied to one corner of the crate.
Ginny ran across the yard to the crate and stopped a few feet away. “Thank you,” she enunciated carefully as she placed four owl treats on the lid of the crate. As soon as she spoke, each owl released the rope it was holding, took an owl treat in its beak, and flew away. Harry and Ginny each grabbed one of the human-sized handles on the crate and carried it back into the Burrow between them.
They entered the living room and found that Mrs. Weasley had already placed a few gifts under the Christmas tree, even though it was undecorated. Taking this as permission, they set their crate in the middle of the floor and sat down to either side of it.
Fred and George were hanging their garlands around the room. “Mum!” George called. “There’s a package!”
Mrs. Weasley walked into the room, wiping her hands on her apron. “A package? I haven’t ordered anything.”
“It’s ours, Mum,” Ginny said. “It’s our Christmas presents for everyone.” Ginny pulled her wand from her pocket and tapped the lid of the crate. The lid popped away from the rest of the box, and Ginny reached out to lift it out of the way.
Inside the crate was a careful arrangement of seven wrapped packages. The largest of the packages took up almost a third of the small crate, but most of the rest were quite small. One of them was clearly a book, and all of them were wrapped in bright red, gold, or green wrapping paper.
“Where did you get all of this?” Molly demanded. “How could you pay for . . .” she trailed off and looked at Harry, and then she sighed. “Harry, you shouldn’t spend your money on fancy Christmas presents.”
“They’re not fancy, Mum. I wouldn’t let him spend too much, so mostly we got little things.”
Molly raised an eyebrow. “Mostly?”
“Well, I talked Harry into letting me pick out something a bit more expensive for him.” Ginny pointed. “That’s the large box.”
“Ginny! You should not be spending Harry’s money!” her mother yelled.
Harry was starting to get annoyed by Mrs. Weasley’s tendency to yell at any opportunity, but he and Ginny decided that the truth was as good a response as any. “Why not, Mrs. Weasley? She couldn’t surprise me with anything, so it’s really more like I bought something for myself, isn’t it?”
“But . . . you bought something for her, too, didn’t you?” Molly countered. Mr. Weasley stood in the doorway and watched as his wife talked to the two children.
Harry looked puzzled. “Of course I did. I got something for everyone. That’s what families do at Christmas, isn’t it?” He knew very well what happened at Christmas, but Ginny thought that her mother could use a reminder of Harry’s past.
Mrs. Weasley sighed. “So long as there’s nothing expensive in that crate, Ginny.”
“There’s not, Mum, I promise. It cost as much to have the box brought here as it did to buy any one thing inside, but we didn’t know how else to get it all here.”
“Next time, just let us know, Ginny,” Mr. Weasley suggested. “We could have come to Hogwarts and picked them up, or you could have had them sent here one at a time.”
“I will, Dad. We didn’t think of that,” Ginny admitted.
You mean we didn’t think your Mum would be very happy with all of this stuff arriving without us here to explain it, Harry said.
Yes, but I’m not going to tell them that, am I?
Mr. Weasley nodded, and he and his wife returned to the kitchen. Harry and Ginny pulled each gift out of the crate and placed it under the Christmas tree.
“You’ve brought us the lost treasure of Atlantis, haven’t you, Gin?” Fred asked in a low voice.
She shook her head. “No, but I think it might be in Harry’s vault.”
“Yeah, right,” George chuckled.
“I’m not kidding. I didn’t know you could have enough gold to actually fill a room with it.”
Harry decided that the twins, of all Ginny’s family, could withstand teasing on this subject. “Would you like some?” he asked casually.
“Ahh . . . no,” Fred stammered. “No, thank you. Wouldn’t know what to do with it, you see.”
Ginny giggled merrily, and the twins’ guarded expressions relaxed. “Blimey, you two. You had us going there,” Fred said. He looked at Ginny and Harry’s identical grins. “In fact . . . I’m still not sure if you’re having us on or not.”
Ginny shrugged and placed the last of their presents beneath the tree. We might as well bring the other two downstairs, she said.
I still don’t know how you persuaded me to make that thing for your mother, Harry replied.
Just wait, Harry. She’ll love it.
They went up to Ron’s room and dug out the last two presents from Harry’s trunk. One of them filled Harry’s arms completely, which left Ginny to carry the smaller parcel. They returned to the living room and added the last two packages to the growing pile beneath the tree.
By dinner-time, the house and tree were decorated and everyone was looking forward to Christmas Day. Each of the Weasley children had a stocking with their name on it, and they had hung them all from their bedposts. Mrs. Weasley provided Harry with a plain red stocking, which he happily hung next to Ginny’s in her room.
That night, as they tried to fall asleep, Bill was the first to pause in Ginny’s doorway. He stood upright in the doorway with his hands in his pockets for almost five minutes, by Harry’s best guess, and never said anything. He just stared at Ginny’s back and ignored Harry, who was watching him watch Ginny. Finally, the oldest Weasley sibling shook his head and crossed the hall to Percy’s room.
I thought you said he would at least hear us out? Harry asked. No offense, but he’s almost being rude. You’d think we were in a zoo or something.
Well, he did listen to us, but I did say he probably wouldn’t like it, Ginny reminded him. You’re right, though. The least he could do is look at you when you’re right in front of him.
Charlie was next, a few minutes later. He leaned up against the doorframe with his arms casually crossed and studied Harry and Ginny. When Harry looked up at him, Charlie raised one hand and nodded in silent acknowledgement. After less than a minute, Charlie said, “Goodnight, you two,” and left.
Later, just as they were finally falling asleep in spite of the light in the hallway, Mrs. Weasley climbed the stairs to check on them. She, too, stood in the doorway and stared at Ginny’s back, but she did offer Harry a tiny, distracted smile when he caught her eyes. When she went back downstairs a moment later, Ginny sat up and turned to face the doorway.
“Would anyone else like to come up and gawp at us?” she yelled at the hallway. “Let’s get it all out of the way at once!”
The twins’ laughter drifted up from below, but it stopped abruptly. Ginny lay back down next to Harry and renewed her grip on him and Bun-bun, who was once again wedged between their bodies. The light in the hallway went out abruptly, and then Harry and Ginny heard two sets of feet in the hallway.
“Look, Fred,” George whispered. “Ginny’s got red hair.”
“What do you know, George. You’re right. It’s quite long, too.”
“Undoubtedly. Let’s stare at it for a bit, shall we?”
“Oh yes, let’s,” Fred answered.
Harry opened his eyes and looked over to find the twins standing shoulder to shoulder in the doorway, each holding a small candle in front of their bodies. They hunched over slightly, letting their arms hang loosely in front of their bodies. Their eyes were wide and fixed on Ginny’s hair, and their jaws were hanging open. Harry laughed and Ginny giggled at the ridiculous sight they presented.
“That was fun, George,” Fred said as he straightened.
“Quite. We’ll have to do it again sometime.”
With that, Fred and George waved and went up to their room on the third floor. Ron and Percy passed a few minutes later. Ron nodded to Harry without stopping, but Percy entered his room without acknowledging Ginny and Harry in any way. Finally, they fell asleep, eager for the morning to arrive.
Chapter 14: The Price of Proper Presents
Author's Notes: Thanks, as always, to moshpit, Jonathan Avery, and regdc. Thanks also to Chreechree, who helped me with a final review of this chapter.
On Christmas morning, Harry and Ginny woke up to the sound of Ron barreling down the stairs and yelling, “Get up, presents!” at each door as he passed. Because Ron’s room was on the top floor of the Burrow and Ginny’s room was missing its door, Harry and Ginny heard Ron’s message at full volume each time he shouted.
Every year, he does the same thing, Ginny grumbled. Every year, I wonder if I’ll hex him.
Ginny hated waking up early, but she was always excited about Christmas. Harry’s eagerness for his first Christmas matched her enthusiasm, and they sat up together and looked to the foot of the bed, where their stockings were hanging. Ginny’s green stocking and Harry’s plain red stocking were both bulging with modest items. Ginny crawled to the foot of the bed and returned with both stockings. Harry accepted his eagerly, already pleased by the shiny red apple filling the top of the stocking and the bright red quill sticking out of it at a jaunty angle.
Ginny had the same sort of apple and a matching green quill. They’re Winesap apples. Mum buys them from a cider orchard each year, and we eat them all through the holidays.
They dived into their stockings in unison. Pulling out the quills and apples, they discovered packs of exploding snap cards, biscuits wrapped in brown paper, small bags of nuts, and a selection of sweets. At the bottom of each stocking was a small wooden figurine. Ginny’s was a hippogriff, and Harry had a rather good likeness of a sphinx. By unspoken consent, they traded figurines and set them on the small tables on either side of Ginny’s bed.
The stockings are Dad’s gift, really. Mum makes the biscuits, but Dad picks out the rest and puts it all together for us. I’ve always loved my stocking.
They opened one of the packets of biscuits and ate one apiece as they climbed out of bed.
I’ll go upstairs to change and meet you back here, Harry said.
Oh, don’t bother, Harry, Ginny said, dragging him by the hand toward the stairs. We do Christmas in our pajamas. Come on!
She led the way out of the room and down the stairs. In the living room, they found Ron sitting on the floor just out of arm’s reach of the pile of presents under the Christmas tree. He was staring at the staircase with his hands in his lap and the index finger of his right hand extended. When Ginny and Harry entered the room, Ron ignored them except to extend two more fingers.
Ginny sat next to her brother on the floor and pulled Harry down on her other side. We’re not allowed to touch the presents until everyone’s here and ready, Ginny explained. Mum usually makes us wait for her to make a pot of tea and serve scones before she’ll sit down and let us pass out the presents. Ron and I usually do that, and you can help.
Harry was certainly eager to open his presents, but he was happy to simply look at all the brightly wrapped packages. There were dozens of them, all of different shapes and sizes, and they were wrapped in red, green, or gold paper. He had reviewed almost everything Ginny could remember about past Christmases at the Burrow, but he was still enthralled by the actual sight of so many presents. He knew that at least one of them was for him because he and Ginny had brought it with them, and he thought he saw his name on another package whose gift tag was showing.
Ginny studied the presents also, but she had a specific mission. She scrutinized each present individually and tried to determine what might be inside. Harry knew from her memory that she did this every year, and he was more than happy to help.
First, you look for books, she instructed unnecessarily. They have a pretty distinctive shape, and they’re not usually on top of other things because they’re heavy. Sometimes you can see the shape of the spine in the wrapping paper, because it’s rounded instead of square.
Harry and Ginny had brought books with them for other people in her family, and based on those packages he could guess which of the others might also be books.
Then you can try to spot the clothes, Ginny continued. Most of the clothes will be in flat boxes that look like the books, but they’re bigger. Some clothes are wrapped without a box, like our gift for Ron, and then the paper is usually wrinkled because the clothes bend.
That leaves the things that are really interesting. Some of the rest, like Mum’s present, are shaped just like what’s inside, so you can guess about them. See the lumpy one there? Mum’s made a fruitcake for Dad. She does it every year.
What’s in that basket? Harry asked, looking at a large wicker basket on one side of the tree.
Ginny’s memory gave him the answer as she spoke. The jumpers. Mum brought the basket in from their room last night, just before she went to bed. The jumpers are all wrapped separately, but the paper is all the same, and they’re not marked. Mum loves handing them out one by one, and she’s the only one who can tell which one is which. We’ve never figured out how she does it. One year, Fred and George snuck downstairs early and rearranged them in the basket, but Mum passed them out properly anyway. I’m not sure she even noticed that they’d been moved around.
While they examined the presents, the rest of the family trickled into the room. Bill came downstairs and went directly to the kitchen. A moment later, he emerged with a steaming mug of coffee and sat in the chair Harry and Ginny had shared the previous day. Charlie stumbled down the stairs, yawning and rubbing his eyes, and dropped heavily onto one end of the sofa. Right behind him was Percy, who looked pristine as usual and who sat at the other end of the sofa. Thunderous footfalls on the stairs announced the arrival of the twins, who leapt over the back of the sofa and landed neatly in the gap between their two older brothers. Ron now held up eight fingers.
Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were the last to arrive, several minutes later. They came in from the kitchen directly, and to Ginny and then Harry’s relief, Mrs. Weasley already had her cup of tea. They sat down in their chairs, opposite Bill, and Mr. Weasley stretched slowly and theatrically as Mrs. Weasley sipped her tea.
“Well, then,” Mr. Weasley announced at last. “I suppose we can . . .”
“Arthur, wait!” his wife interrupted. “We’ve forgotten the scones.”
“Oh, dear,” he answered with wide eyes. “We must have the scones.”
They do this every year about something, Ginny complained, though she enjoyed the tradition in some ways. The scones are on a tray in the kitchen, just waiting for Mum to walk in there as slowly as she can and bring them back in here.
So go get them yourself, Harry suggested with a grin.
Ginny’s face lit up, and she was gone. The rest of the Weasleys started or gasped when she disappeared, but before they could ask any questions, she reappeared in the middle of the floor carrying the tray of scones. She placed it gingerly on the table in front of the couch and sat back down next to Harry, grinning from ear to ear. The entire operation took less than ten seconds.
Mr. and Mrs. Weasley looked surprised at the sudden reversal of their game. Ron looked at Ginny reverently, while Bill and Charlie chuckled behind their hands. Percy only sniffed.
The twins were far less reserved. “Good show, Ginny!” they chorused, giving her four thumbs up.
Mr. Weasley recovered and smiled ruefully. “Well, I suppose we really can get started, then.”
Ron leapt from his seated position like a bullet. He grabbed the nearest present, turned it over to examine the tag, and then trotted a few steps to hand it to Bill. He crossed back to the tree and picked up another present to repeat the process, moving faster than Harry had ever seen him move before.
We’re supposed to help, Ginny commented, but I’ve never managed to do it half as fast as Ron does.
Ginny reached under the tree for a package and then delivered it to her mother. Hesitantly, Harry picked out their present for Ron and added it to the small pile Ron had already created for himself in the middle of the floor. Next, Harry delivered their gift to Fred and George, which they had combined in one package. By mutual consent, Ginny chose packages from other people, and Harry only moved those that he and Ginny had brought with them.
As Harry delivered their gift to Mr. Weasley, he paused in front of the older man’s chair. “Thank you for the stockings, Mr. Weasley.”
The other Weasleys hurriedly chorused their thanks, and Mr. Weasley smiled at Harry. “You’re welcome, Harry.”
As he returned to the Christmas tree, Harry realized that Ron and Ginny had already handed out all the other presents. He looked down at the small pile Ginny and Ron had made for him. He had four presents, including the one he and Ginny had picked out. Look, Ginny! I got four! He looked more closely at the labels. One of them is for both of us, from the twins.
Glancing over at Ginny’s five presents, he realized that she had deliberately put the twins’ present in his pile. It doesn’t matter which of us opens it, does it? I like to watch everyone else with their presents, so I take forever with mine anyway.
Harry wondered if he should be embarrassed, but he decided that he was too excited to bother. Even three presents was more than he had ever received. Eagerly, he tore into his present from Ron, and Ginny followed his lead with her own present. Inside, Harry found a package of licorice wands, and Ginny had a similar bundle of sugar quills. They looked over at Ron, and Ginny said, “Thanks a lot, Ron.”
“Knew that you liked Sugar Quills, and I figured everybody likes licorice wands,” Ron answered, never moving his gaze from the present he was unwrapping.
“Yeah, they’re great,” Ginny said. “You should try them together sometime.”
At this, Ron actually paused. He looked up at Ginny and cocked his head in thought. “You know, that’s not a bad idea,” he said. Then he turned back to his gift and appeared to forget Harry and Ginny.
Harry reached for his present from Ginny, and she glanced around the room at the rest of her family, looking for anyone who might have opened the gifts Ginny and Harry had chosen so carefully. Charlie was just opening his present, and he looked up at Ginny and smiled when he saw the tag. He opened the small box and pulled out what appeared to be a large ring.
Harry had found it in a broom catalogue. The ring was a compass that could be mounted on the handle of a broomstick. It had three hands of different colors, and each hand could be set to point at a different location of the user’s choosing. Charlie read the brief instructions included with the compass and then grinned. He pulled out his wand and tapped one side of the round dial, then tipped the compass towards Ginny. She could see that the green hand was spinning slowly, indicating that Charlie had set it to point to the Burrow.
“Thanks, Ginny,” Charlie smiled.
“Harry picked it out,” she replied.
“Thanks to Harry too, then.”
Harry looked up at Charlie and nodded, then returned his attention to the box in his lap. He knew what was inside, but he had taken great pleasure in carefully unwrapping it anyway. He lifted the lid to find his new pair of white trainers, and he ran a finger across the smooth, bright leather.
“Shoes, Harry?” Mr. Weasley asked. “Who got you a pair of shoes?”
“I did,” Ginny said. “Or, really, we did. He’s never had trainers that fit him before.”
Mrs. Weasley looked up and frowned, and Mr. Weasley blinked before smiling gently. “Well, that’s a good choice then, Ginny.”
Thanks, Gin.
Don’t be silly, Harry. But you’re welcome anyway.
The twins had discovered Harry and Ginny’s single gift to them, and they looked up at Ginny in confusion when they picked it up and realized it was a book. Ginny grinned mischievously in return, and Harry watched as they opened the rectangular package.
They had been very pleased with what they finally found for the twins. One of the catalogues they had found was for a bookshop which carried Muggle books as curiosities. Mixed in among children’s books and Muggle fiction, they found a set of books covering Muggle secondary school subjects. For the twins, they’d picked out beginners’ guides to chemistry and physics.
Knowing that the twins would prefer to keep the source of their knowledge secret and not wanting to reveal their role in any pranks at Hogwarts, Harry and Ginny also ordered a pair of large joke books from the same shop. When all four books had arrived at Hogwarts, they had carefully exchanged the covers.
George held up one of the books so that Ginny could see the cover, which boldly declared the book to be 1001 Knock-knock Jokes. George seemed pleased, but also slightly confused. Ginny rolled her eyes at him, and mouthed, “Open it.” George turned the book back around and opened the cover, and Ginny watched as his eyes lit up. He flipped to a page early in the book at random, and then he looked up at Harry and Ginny and smiled broadly in gratitude. She nodded and then brought her finger to her lips. George leaned over to Fred and whispered in his ear, and Fred looked up and waggled his eyebrows at Harry. Harry grinned and then turned his attention back to his presents.
Taking the twins’ reaction as a cue, he pulled their gift from his pile. It was small and rectangular, and it rattled suspiciously. Harry pulled off the paper and opened the box and found two large buttons. One was green and said ‘Hinny Weasley’ in bright red letters. The other was red and said ‘Garry Potter’ in green letters. As he held them in his hands and Ginny looked over to watch, they each blinked and changed to ‘Hinny Potter’ and ‘Garry Weasley’.
I bag the green one, Ginny said, laughing brightly.
She took the ‘Hinny’ button from Harry and pinned it carefully to her pajamas as Harry did the same with his ‘Garry’ button. They looked at each other, laughed, and glanced up to find the twins grinning at them. Their laughter attracted the attention of the rest of the family, who stared at the buttons in a mixture of amusement, exasperation, and what looked like concern.
“Give it a tap, Gin,” Fred instructed.
Ginny reached up and tapped her button, which still read ‘Hinny Potter’. She did not notice any change herself, but they both watched through Harry’s eyes as Ginny’s long red hair turned jet black. Ginny was concerned for a moment, but she tapped her button again, and her hair went back to its normal colour. Laughing, she let the button make her hair black again.
Harry gleefully touched his own button and watched with Ginny as his hair became a bright Weasley red. Giggling, Ginny faced him and studied herself through his eyes. The deep black hair contrasted sharply with her fair skin, and her brown eyes appeared much darker than usual.
You look like one of those teenagers I used to see at the park in Little Whinging, Harry commented.
I don’t think I look that bad, she said. Who would want to wear black lipstick, anyway?
“There we are!” Fred announced, grinning at Harry. “Now we’ve got ourselves a spare Weasley.”
“Fred, those are terrible,” Mrs. Weasley objected. “Where did you get them?”
“They’re not permanent, Mum,” George said. “They’re just a bit of a gag. We got someone at school to help us charm them.”
I bet they didn’t need any help at all, Ginny guessed.
You’re probably right about that.
Almost simultaneously, their hair returned to its natural colors.
“See? It doesn’t last long, and the charm is only good for so many taps.” As Fred spoke, George looked at Harry and surreptitiously pointed at the box the buttons had come from.
Harry looked down and found a short note on a scrap of parchment at the bottom of the box.
G&H,He looked up at George and nodded as Ginny watched her family.
We’ll re-charm them when they run out.
G&F
Mrs. Weasley tutted in disapproval, but Mr. Weasley was hiding a small smile. Bill scowled slightly, and Charlie was chuckling. The twins, of course, were very pleased with themselves, while Ron just rolled his eyes and turned back to his presents. Percy ignored the entire scene.
Leaving the buttons on their pajamas, still randomly switching between ‘Potter’ and ‘Weasley’, Harry and Ginny returned to their other gifts. They opened their presents from Percy at the same time and discovered matching second and third year Herbology textbooks.
That’s Percy for you, Ginny said.
I guess that excuse backfired on us. I can’t imagine what we’ll do with these before next year.
That’s easy, Harry. We’ll let Neville borrow them. He’ll be thrilled.
“Thanks for the books, Percy,” Harry said. Percy said nothing, but he nodded slightly.
Harry had finished opening his small pile of presents, and he was very pleased. He had been looking forward to having new trainers, and the twins’ gift more than made up for Percy’s. He and Ginny would certainly enjoy the sweets from Ron, too.
Ginny left her last three presents unopened for the moment, and the two of them watched the rest of her family. Bill was wearing the silver ring they had found for him. Inscribed on the outer surface were ancient runes that translated to ‘long life’ and ‘prosperity’. Bill caught Ginny’s eye as he looked up and nodded his thanks.
Ron’s cry of “Thanks, Ginny and Harry!” from Ginny’s side caught their attention, and they turned to find him examining their gift to him. It was a bright orange Chudley Cannons scarf. A set of goalposts was embroidered at either end of the material, and three Chasers in Cannons uniforms zoomed back and forth all along its length. When they got to an end, they tried to score against a Cannons Keeper, who managed to block about half of the shots. Ron draped the scarf across his lap and watched for a minute. He cheered when the Keeper blocked a particularly good throw from one of the Chasers.
“You’re very welcome, Ron,” Ginny smiled.
Harry noticed Mr. Weasley unwrapping their gift, and Ginny looked over to watch with him. When her father removed the wrapping paper, he found a brightly coloured Muggle box. On it were pictures of toy people riding in oddly-textured propeller planes.
“What’s this, then, Ginny? Harry?”
“They’re called Lego, Mr. Weasley,” Harry explained. “Inside the box are a bunch of tiny pieces, and if you put them together using the instructions, you can build that airplane you see on the outside. The propeller will really turn, too.”
“How wonderful! I’ve always wondered how they stay up.”
“Well, it doesn’t fly, Mr. Weasley. Sorry,” Harry said. Then he added, “But it’s just as much fun to figure out what else you can build with the same pieces. We used to play with those at school.”
Ginny had known that her father would enjoy the Muggle toy, but she was amazed at his joyful expression. Mr. Weasley looked like he had been given the keys to Gringotts bank. He pried open the cardboard box and pulled out the bag of pieces inside. He started to pull it open but stopped as Harry concluded his recollection.
“Lego really are loads of fun — until you step on them. They always seem to wind up on the floor, and the pieces are just tiny.”
Mr. Weasley cupped the package in his hands as though to prevent the tiny pieces from falling out of the sealed bag. Then he put the entire bag back in the box and set it on the table next to his chair. “Well, we’ll just have to look at that later, then,” he said. “Maybe you can help me with them, Harry?” Harry nodded, glad that the gift was so well received.
“Open yours, Mum,” Ginny suggested. “It’s the round one.”
Mrs. Weasley picked up the cylinder from next to her feet and placed it in her lap. Pulling the paper off, she found a large kitchen canister. Harry and Ginny had bought a plain white canister from a catalogue and had it sent to Hogwarts. There, Ginny had persuaded Harry to paint a picture onto the canister using a sketch she had made as a guide.
All the way around the canister was a rather crude drawing of Hogwarts castle, including the Quidditch pitch, the greenhouses, the lake, and the Forbidden Forest. Standing on the front steps of the castle were stick figures representing Percy, Fred, George, Ron, Harry, and Ginny. Harry was recognizable by his black hair and glasses, and Ginny’s long hair and short stature were equally clear. The rest of the boys were shown wearing Weasley jumpers to distinguish them, and all six children were smiling.
“This . . . this is wonderful,” Mrs. Weasley said, running her fingertips lightly over the painted surface. “Look, Arthur, there’s the pitch, and the lake, and that willow tree they planted after we graduated. And look at all the children lined up like that. What nice artwork, Ginny.”
“Harry did the painting,” Ginny pointed out. “I drew the design on parchment and he painted it onto the canister. It’s for flour. You can use it with all the baking you do.”
“Well, you did a good job, both of you,” Molly replied. Harry smiled at the compliment, even though he knew his stick figures were not very good. Ginny watched her mother, and she thought that Mrs. Weasley looked pleased, but also slightly regretful.
I guess she’d rather I hadn’t drawn myself on there, Harry said.
I don’t know, maybe. She seems to like it, though, aside from whatever she’s worried about.
Percy had picked up his gift from Harry and Ginny and unwrapped it meticulously. Inside, he found a copy of Minister Unto Thee: A Young Professional’s Guide to Interviewing with the Magical Government. Percy looked up at Ginny and nodded graciously. “Thank you, Ginevra. This will be quite useful, I am sure.”
For Percy, that’s practically a banquet in your honour, Harry said.
At least we were right about what he’d actually like.
Open our present for you, Gin. I want to see how big it really is.
Ginny picked up a tiny package they had received in the owl post the day before. Unwrapping it, she found a small box, only a few inches in each dimension, with a hinged lid and a miniscule latch. With the box in hand, she rose and crossed to the open space on the floor in front of Mr. Weasley. She placed the box in the middle of the empty area and took a step back.
She pulled her wand out of her pocket and cast Finite Incantatem on the tiny rectangle, which expanded to full size. It grew into a wooden school trunk made from dark mahogany and decorated with carved scrollwork. Ginny unlatched the lid and opened it, revealing an interior lined with a soft, dark blue cloth.
Without a word, Ginny stepped carefully into the trunk and sat down facing Harry.
See? she said. I told you this one was big enough that I could fit inside it. That one you wanted to get me was just ridiculous.
I just wanted to make sure you had room for everything.
This is perfect, Harry, she assured him, and then she grinned. If it were any bigger, you’d have an awfully hard time carrying it for me.
“Ginny, what on earth . . .” Mrs. Weasley began. Ginny stood up and stepped out of the trunk, and then closed and latched the lid.
“Harry wanted to get me a trunk for Christmas, and this is the one we picked out. Isn’t it great?” Ginny asked.
“It looks very nice, dear, but wasn’t it awfully expensive?” Mrs. Weasley asked sternly.
“Harry wouldn’t let me pick out anything else, Mum,” Ginny explained. “The one he wanted to get me was much bigger.”
“And what about these other things?” her mother wondered. “You didn’t spend too much, did you?”
Ginny shook her head. “No, Mum, we didn’t. The first ring we found for Bill was platinum, and Harry wanted to get it, but I found a silver one instead. Everything else was pretty inexpensive, except for Harry’s trainers, and I wouldn’t let him get himself cheap shoes.”
Molly nodded reluctantly, and Ginny returned to the last of her presents. From Charlie, she got a small glass figurine of a dragon. “It’s a bit more grown up than the last dragon I got you,” he said fondly.
“Thanks, Charlie. It’s really pretty,” she replied.
Next, Ginny opened a tiny box from Bill. Inside, she found an oddly shaped blue pendant on a thin silver chain. “It’s beautiful, Bill. Is it a rune?” she asked.
“It’s an ankh, Gin,” Bill said. “There’s some debate about what it stood for in ancient Egypt, but it’s basically the symbol for ‘life.’ That one in particular is actually a Muggle reproduction of one I dug up from a tomb. The Egyptians made it with tiny carved bits of lapis lazuli fitted together with wire, but yours is a solid piece with the wires wrapped around it. I’m not sure how the Muggles did that, but it looks just like the one I found. I think the original is in a museum somewhere.”
“Thanks, Bill. It’s even better because you found the original one,” she smiled.
Ginny unclasped the chain and held her hair away from her neck with her right hand. She held one end of the chain in her left hand, and Harry took the other end in his right hand. They brought the ends together behind her neck and clasped the chain together easily.
“Look, it almost matches my pajamas,” Ginny noticed happily.
Bill smiled at Ginny’s obvious delight, but Charlie furrowed his brow as he glanced at Harry. Charlie got up and walked behind the sofa to stand behind Bill and whisper in his ear. Bill nodded slowly and stood, and the two oldest brothers started climbing the stairs. “We’ll be right back,” Bill said. “Don’t finish without us.”
Ginny and Harry watched and listened as the rest of the Weasleys finished opening their gifts. Compliments, gratitude, and smiles were exchanged over and over in the crowded room. Ron had finished opening his presents and was now sitting with his Cannons scarf curved around him on the floor, watching the players on the scarf and eating the chocolate frogs Fred had given him.
Several minutes later, Bill and Charlie came back down the stairs. They each carried a package wrapped crudely in gold paper. Bill’s package fit easily in the palm of his hand, but Charlie’s bundle was almost as big as Harry’s shoebox.
The two brothers sat on the floor in front of the sofa and held their packages out to Harry. “Here you are, Harry,” Charlie said. “We didn’t know you were going to be here, or we’d have brought something for you with us. We had a box of our old things upstairs, and we dug through it a bit. These aren’t much, but hopefully they won’t be too awful for you.”
Ginny beamed at her brothers, and Harry could feel how much she appreciated their gesture. He smiled in response to them and to Ginny’s feelings as he picked up the smaller package. Pulling the paper apart, he found a miniature dragon’s fang hanging from a thin leather strap. The leather of the necklace was worn smooth with age, but it was in good condition.
“I wore that before I got my ear pierced,” Bill explained. “I figured that . . . well, you two might as well match, right?”
“Thanks, Bill,” Harry said. He dropped the strap over his head and let it fall against his chest. He picked up the fang in his hand and studied it, rubbing the smooth surface with his thumb.
Ginny grinned and crawled over to Bill. She leaned up and whispered in his ear, “It’s his favourite present.”
Harry blushed, but he could not deny what she had said. To cover his embarrassment, he reached for Charlie’s gift. The gold paper fell off as he picked it up, and a pair of worn leather gloves was revealed. They looked like the gloves from his Quidditch uniform, but these gloves were missing the fingers.
“Seeker’s gloves,” Charlie explained. “The standard gloves make it harder to catch the Snitch, but these protect your hand while letting you use your fingers freely. The professionals all use these instead of the standard gloves. I got a new pair when I outgrew those, but I figured you would probably be able to wear them.”
Harry pulled the gloves on. They were quite large around his palm, but the straps on the wrists kept them in place, and he could tell that his fingers would be more mobile than he was used to. “Thanks, Charlie. I’ll definitely wear these instead of the regular ones,” he said.
“You’re welcome, Harry,” the older Seeker replied. “Someone should get some use out of those things.”
Harry pulled the gloves off and set them next to his trainers. Because of the delay while Bill and Charlie went upstairs, Harry was the last one to finish opening his presents. When he looked around the room, he found Mrs. Weasley opening the wicker basket next to the Christmas tree.
“Time for the important things, then,” she announced.
She lifted three identical packages from the basket and gave them to Fred, Percy, and Mr. Weasley. The next three went to Ron, Bill, and Charlie. She reached into the basket a third time and brought out three more jumpers.
Nine, Harry! That’s nine jumpers! Ginny exulted.
Of course it’s nine. There are nine of you, right? He immediately realised his mistake. Oh, she never makes one for herself, does she?
One of them must be for you!
In all of his time imagining his first ‘real’ Christmas, Harry had never dared to hope that he might get a Weasley jumper. He looked up at Mrs. Weasley with wide, wonder-filled eyes and a slowly growing smile as she held out the last two parcels to him and Ginny. He wondered if he had been too critical of the woman. She was clearly accepting him into her family in spite of the unusual circumstances.
Harry accepted the package reverently, unable to take his eyes off of the festive red paper. Next to him, Ginny took her own package, but she was immediately curious about an oddity in her mother’s standard gift.
Why is it so heavy?
Harry did not answer. He just stared at the gift now resting in his lap. Mrs. Weasley had been difficult and less than accepting of him, and the current situation was far from perfect. Still, he was starting to think that she was trying to understand, and that was why Ginny would forgive her mum for anything in the end.
Ginny opened her present and found, as expected, an emerald-green jumper with a golden ‘G’ on the front. Unfolding the jumper, she discovered a book tucked inside. Lifting it out, she felt her stomach drop. The book was A Young Witch's Guide to Decorum and Propriety in the New Century by Christina Pasteur. The date at the bottom of the cover was 1905.
She looked over at Harry’s gift and then up at her mother. “You didn’t,” she whispered in horror. “Please, tell me you didn’t do this.”
Ginny dropped the book and yanked Harry’s gift out of his lap. She tore it open, ignoring his mental cry of protest. Both of them barely noticed the green jumper marked with an ‘H’ as she flung it open to find the book inside - Presentation and Deportment of the Well Heeled Wizard, by Sir Thomas Vander. Harry saw the title and crumpled, physically and emotionally. Hurt and embarrassed, he hung his head and began toying with the hem of his pajama shirt, trying to block out the room around him.
“You did,” Ginny said softly, outrage creeping onto her face.
Harry had caught up with Ginny’s thoughts, and her pain and anger pulsed alongside his own misery as she raised her eyes to her mother.
“It will never be enough, will it?” she asked. Her words were quiet, but they seemed to echo in the silent living room. “These pajamas are bad enough, and now this? Don’t you trust me at all? That’s what the pajamas are about, right? Keeping me from doing what you assume I want to do? I am not some sort of tart who has to be forced to behave with decorum and propriety. But you think I am.”
Mrs. Weasley leaned back in her chair, her face draining of colour. Mr. Weasley had placed his hands over his face, shaking his head slightly from side to side.
“I’m not stupid, Mother. I know what you’re so worried about, and so does Harry. But you know what? We’re not the slightest bit interested. Even if we were, did it ever occur to you that we might know what we should and should not do?”
Ginny’s voice rose as her anger finally overcame her sorrow. “And Harry. Do you have any idea what you just did to him? You knew how he would feel about that jumper. You knew he’d want it, and then . . . then you put this with it.” She picked up Harry’s book. “Is that your price, Mother? If he follows your rules about presentation and deportment, will you allow him to feel like part of a family?”
“Now, Ginny . . .” Mrs. Weasley began, sweat forming on her brow as she rose from her chair.
Ginny leapt to her feet and looked up at her mother furiously. “No! You let him think that he would finally be welcome in this house! Then you put a new price on it. I wear these pretty blue shackles you sent me. Percy has to approve before we can go to sleep every night at school. Here, we sleep without a bloody door. And now these?” She picked up her own book and held both of them towards her mother.
“Are you telling me you don’t want to receive any more gifts, young lady?” Molly demanded in a loud voice.
“These are not gifts.” Ginny fired back. “Gifts are given out of love to make someone happy. To show that you care and think about what they like. We spent hours looking for the perfect thing for you, Mother. Harry would have spent every galleon he has if that would make you all happy. But this? This is you trying to force us, to shame us into doing what makes you happy.”
Ginny’s increasing anger pulled Harry out of the stupor he had fallen into after seeing the book Mrs. Weasley had given him. He realised that his life would continue and that Ginny would still be part of it no matter what. He could feel Ginny’s certainty of that vital fact. It was enough for him, he decided, and his own temper began to build as he understood how thoroughly Ginny’s mother was hurting her.
Harry raised his head to look around the room. Mr. Weasley sat in his chair, his hands clenching the arms, and Harry thought that the man looked almost ashamed. Fred, George, and Ron wore identical expressions of shock. Percy looked offended by something, while Bill and Charlie were frowning at their sister. None of the Weasley males would meet Harry’s eyes, though he was sure that at least the twins knew he was looking at them.
Harry watched as Mrs. Weasley’s face faded from red to white. “Now see here, Ginevra Molly Weasley! You will listen to me!”
“No more, Mother,” Ginny whispered icily, taking two slow, menacing steps toward Mrs. Weasley, whose complexion was already reddening again. “You will obviously never let us just exist. So no more.” She threw the two books into the fireplace, where they caught and blazed brightly. “We’re done. If you won’t let us be part of your family, we can bloody well be our own.”
Ginny scooped up Harry’s trainers and shook them at her mother. “At least he received one sincere gift today!” Ginny glanced at her father and spoke more softly. “I’m sorry, Daddy.” With that, Ginny vanished and reappeared in Harry’s bed at Hogwarts.
After casting one last smouldering look around the room, Harry followed her.
Ginny promptly threw open the curtains and flung Harry’s trainers to the floor of the deserted dormitory as fat tears slowly rolled down her face. As soon as Harry arrived, he jumped off of the bed and pulled Ginny with him. They knew Mrs. Weasley would not tolerate Ginny’s sudden departure.
We have to find someplace to hide, he urged her. At least until we can figure out where to go or what to do next.
Harry held Ginny’s hand and started down the stairs to the common room. We’ll go to the kitchens. They have no idea that we know how to get in there. We don’t remember the room well enough to transport, though, so we’ll have to run. Hurry!
They raced across the common room and yanked open the portrait. As they crossed the hall to the stairs, they heard the Fat Lady call after them. “Hey now! Where are you going? How did you get in there? Come back here!”
Ignoring the irate portrait, they descended towards the kitchens as quickly as they could, but the distance was enough that they knew it would take precious minutes to make their getaway.
As they descended the last staircase to the Entrance Hall, they spotted Mrs. Weasley. She was carrying one of the Weasley’s brooms in one hand, and her face was completely red as she approached the bottom of the stairs.
“Ginevra Molly Weasley!” she bellowed. “You get down here this instant and come back home where you belong!”
“I won’t go!” Ginny shouted. “You can’t make me!”
“Yes, I can,” Molly threatened, starting up the stairs towards Harry and Ginny. “You have no right to ruin Christmas for your family, and you will apologize.”
Ginny backed up to the previous landing, and Harry stayed with her. “You have no right to ruin life for Harry and me! You should apologize for that!”
“You can’t speak to me like that, young lady!”
“I can, and I will if I have to,” Ginny retorted.
Mrs. Weasley leaned her broom against one wall of the stairwell and whipped out her wand. “Accio Ginny!” she shouted.
Against her will, Ginny was pulled down the stairs towards her mother. Harry tried to catch her, but the unknown spell was faster than he was. Ginny thought she was falling, but the spell kept her feet off the ground as she sailed through the air. Molly caught her, wrapped one arm around her waist, and tucked Ginny beneath her arm to hold her still. Ginny struggled, but with no leverage, she was unable to break free of her mother’s grasp. With her free hand, Mrs. Weasley stowed her wand and reclaimed her broom. Keeping Ginny pinned against her side, Mrs. Weasley mounted her broom and flew back down the stairs to the Entrance Hall without even a glance back at Harry.
Harry chased them down the stairs and emerged into the entrance hall in time to see Mrs. Weasley sail out of the main doors of the castle. He burst out onto the front steps, but Ginny and her mother were already well on their way to the castle’s gates. Harry could hear through Ginny’s ears that Mrs. Weasley was lecturing her daughter at high volume. “After we apparate back to the Burrow,” her mother threatened, “you’ll be cleaning until you’re 50 if you don’t learn proper decorum!”
Harry was desperate to help Ginny escape, but he had no idea how to do that without taking the chance of hurting her.
Harry! Ginny called frantically. Remember what Hermione said at the Quidditch game? If we move me to just above the ground, right when I first start to fall, I won’t get hurt! Get ready . . . focus on the ground next to you.
Harry struggled to calm himself enough to focus on moving Ginny, and he could only hope that it would be enough. As Mrs. Weasley gained altitude to fly over the main gates, Ginny planted her hands against the larger woman’s ribcage and shoved herself away with all of her strength. Surprised, her mother lost her grip, and Ginny began to fall towards the ground below.
Fear fueled Harry’s focus, and he and Ginny willed her to be next to him in front of the main doors. Only a second after she began to fall, Ginny appeared a foot above the flagstones next to him. He reached out to break her fall, and they both collapsed onto the stones together.
Picking himself up, Harry looked towards the gates and saw Mrs. Weasley mounting her broom on the far side, snow falling from her clothing. Apparently, Ginny’s manoeuvre had startled her enough that she had fallen off of her broom, but the woman seemed undeterred as she sped back towards the castle.
Come on! Harry cried. Heedless of his destination, he took Ginny’s hand and ran across the castle grounds, hoping to get away. There was a whoosh of air behind them, and Ginny looked back in time to see her mother slow slightly and then throw herself bodily off of her broom and towards the children.
They were too surprised to react, and Mrs. Weasley tackled them both to the ground. Harry rapped his jaw sharply on the frozen ground as he fell, and the weight of the adult on his back forced the air out of his lungs. Gasping for breath, he rolled out from under Mrs. Weasley and reached for Ginny reflexively, seeking to both offer and obtain aid.
Molly scrambled to her feet before he could grasp Ginny’s hand. The taller, stronger woman grabbed Harry under his arms and threw him away from Ginny. Harry landed badly, and he and Ginny both cried out as his ankle twisted beneath his uncontrolled weight. He rolled onto his back and levered himself onto his feet. As he put his weight on his ankle, it crumpled under him, and he collapsed with a cry of pain. With tears in his eyes, he turned toward Ginny. He had no idea what else to do.
Ignoring Harry and even her daughter’s distress, Mrs. Weasley grasped Ginny’s shoulders painfully and prepared to pick her up off the ground again.
Enraged, Ginny whipped out her wand and aimed it at her mother’s face from only a few inches away. She had been manhandled, screamed at, and attacked in the space of a few moments. Worse, Harry had been injured twice and discarded like an inconsequential insect. Pushed beyond reason, she fought back in the only way she could.
“Vespertilius Mucilagus!” she shouted, channeling all of her pain and outrage into the only spell she really knew how to use in a fight.
Yellow light leapt out of her wand and crossed the space between them in the blink of an eye. It struck Mrs. Weasley squarely in her face, and the woman’s eyes widened in the split second before the spell took effect.
Molly Weasley’s nose ruptured and blood sprayed out from her face as enormous bats burst out of her nostrils. They flew around her head, diving and clawing at her face and shoulders, but she ignored them as she screamed, let go of Ginny, and raised her hands towards her face. The lower half of her nose was a bloody mass of tattered flesh, and the cartilage showed clearly among the ruins of her nostrils. Blood gushed between her fingers as she fell to her knees in the dirty slush of melted snow.
She pulled her hands away from her nose and looked down at the blood spreading down towards her elbows, the red-black liquid dripping onto her robes and shoes. She gasped, her face pale, and toppled over sideways in a dead faint.
Horrified, but undaunted in her fury, Ginny ran to Harry and fell to her knees next to him. He sat up with her help and, looking past her, saw the Headmaster and Mr. Weasley running through the snow towards them. Mr. Weasley veered off and headed for his wife, but Dumbledore rushed towards them with his wand drawn.
Ginny spun in place and aimed her wand at the Headmaster. “You can’t have him! ” she screamed, mentally and vocally. She barely acknowledged the identity of the Headmaster and had no idea what he intended, but she did not care. No one, no one, was coming near Harry again today.
Dumbledore slowed and reached towards her with his empty hand. “Give me your wand, Miss Weasley.”
“No!” Ginny shouted, aiming her wand at the Headmaster. “You can’t have him!” She would protect Harry.
Dumbledore sighed and raised his wand. “Expelliarmus.” Red light shot towards Ginny, but she dropped Harry and dove to her right. The spell sailed harmlessly through the spot she and Harry had occupied moments before. Without rising from the ground, she pointed her wand again and shouted, “Vespertilius Mucilagus! ”
Before she had finished the incantation, Dumbledore’s wand snapped towards her. “StupefyProtego.” A bolt of red light shot out from his wand, followed almost instantly by a shimmering barrier that appeared in front of him, and Ginny’s spell was absorbed with no effects. Unprepared, Ginny was not fast enough to dodge the red spell, and it struck her squarely in the chest.
Harry screamed in anguish as all of Ginny’s senses immediately stopped functioning. She was still there, sharing his senses with him, but the near-constant background input from her body was gone. He tried to determine whether or not she had ever heard of the spell Dumbledore had used, but he discovered that he had no idea. He could remember almost everything she had already shown him of her life and all of the things they had experienced together, but all the rest of her memories were gone. He felt more alone than he had for months, even though her voice was still with him. The feeling was far, far worse than spending a cold night alone in the cupboard under the stairs at Privet Drive.
Harry vaguely heard the Headmaster say, “Oh, my dear child,” but he was far beyond caring. Ginny had been hurt, and he had not been able to protect her. Now, even her presence in his mind felt like a shadow of her usual bright personality, painfully reminding him of his sudden loss. He felt as though his constant companion had been reduced to a hollow shell of herself, and he mentally clung to what was left of her.
Ginny!
She did not answer as Dumbledore bent over her with his wand pointed at her chest, and Harry reacted without thought. From beside and slightly behind the Headmaster, he lifted his wand. “Vespertilius Mucilagus! ” he shouted at top of his lungs.
The older wizard spun towards Harry, but it was too late. The yellow spell hit him in the shoulder, and as he completed his turn, the spell began its work. Harry was even more frightened and angry than Ginny had been mere moments before, and his spell was correspondingly more powerful. He watched as the Headmaster’s entire nose exploded from the pressure of the gigantic bats trying to escape his nostrils, and a cone of flesh and blood flew out from his face in a grisly arc. Dumbledore was knocked instantly unconscious, and the momentum of his turn carried him into the mud pit around Harry and Ginny, which was in turn surrounded by a field of pristine snow.
Ginny! he shouted desperately. Where are you?
Now, he was fully aware of what he was missing. He no longer felt her capacity to love and to view the world as a happy person, and he did not want to consider the possibility of losing those things permanently. Ginny made everything better in some indefinable way that he knew he would never be able to explain.
I’m . . . I’m here, Harry. I feel . . . empty.
Suddenly releasing the breath he had not realised he was holding, Harry scrambled to his knees and scanned for another target. His eyes and his wand locked on Mr. Weasley, who was standing next to his wife and looking at the tableau of Harry, Ginny, and Dumbledore with an expression of pure horror.
“Don’t move!” Harry screamed.
Keeping his wand trained on Arthur, Harry half-crawled and half-slid through the mud to Ginny. Sitting next to her, he lowered his eyes long enough to pull her head and shoulders gently into his lap, and then he focused entirely on Mr. Weasley.
Slowly and deliberately, Arthur put his wand in his pocket. Then he raised his open hands into the air on either side of his shoulders. “Harry, please,” he began.
“No!” Harry shouted. “Why can’t you just leave us alone? Why can’t you understand?” He sobbed once, but his wand never wavered. “What have you done to Ginny?”
“I’m sorry, Harry,” Mr. Weasley said. “I am so terribly, terribly sorry. We all want to help you, but we have a very hard time understanding this for . . . for a lot of reasons. You and Ginny are so young, Harry, and you’ve been pushed into very mature situations. You’re handling it wonderfully, but we . . .”
Arthur paused and looked down for a moment before returning his gaze to Harry. “We’ve been set in our ways for far too long, Harry. This is so new. We can’t even imagine what you and Ginny must experience and feel every day, and it scares us. It scares us, Harry, because we don’t understand it, and we know that we may never understand it. But we truly are trying to help.”
Arthur closed his eyes and seemed to take several deep breaths. “Ginny is okay, Harry. She’s my daughter, and I love her desperately. If she was hurt, I would do just the same thing you’re doing, but she’s okay. The Headmaster used a spell that puts her to sleep, that’s all.”
Tears flowed down Harry’s face. “She’s not asleep! I know how it feels when she’s asleep. But now . . . she’s not there. The spell hit her, and now she’s gone.”
Mr. Weasley’s eyes widened as Harry gasped in terror, the boy’s wand shaking and emitting a few sparks. “Harry, please. What do you mean it's not like when she's asleep?"
Harry struggled for words. “When she’s asleep, I still feel something from her. Almost like dreaming, but less. Just . . . something. And I can remember everything she remembers even if she’s asleep. But that’s not working now! I don’t remember anything!”
“Is she still talking to you?” Mr. Weasley's voice was laced with concern.
“Yes,” Harry whispered, his voice shaking with fear. “But she’s so far away.”
Mr. Weasley paled. "I know the spell that should wake her up. Please, Harry. She’s my daughter. Please let me cast that spell."
“Show me the spell,” Harry ordered.
“I’d be glad to, but it’s not a spell you should try without practicing it first. It can be very dangerous if you don’t do it properly. You don’t want to take a chance of hurting Ginny, do you?”
Harry shook his head and pulled Ginny’s torso closer to his chest. Arthur began walking towards Harry, one careful step at a time.
“Let me cast the spell, Harry,” Arthur pleaded. “Ginny will wake up, and then I can take care of Molly and Albus. I promise you that I will not hurt you or Ginny, and I won’t let anyone else hurt you. I won’t let anyone take Ginny away from you, and I won’t let anyone take you from her. I promise you. Just let me wake her up.”
Harry shook his head slowly as Arthur paused. His emotions flew across his face as his wand shook even harder. “Get their wands?” Harry clearly intended it as a demand, but it became more of a question as Mr. Weasley’s calm voice and obvious honesty soothed his temper.
Arthur nodded. “Okay, Harry.” He walked rapidly but carefully to Mrs. Weasley and Dumbledore, collecting their wands but never pointing them near Harry or Ginny. “Is it alright if I keep these in my pocket, or would you rather hold them?”
Harry refused to relinquish his hold on Ginny, and he would not lower his wand. “Err . . . you keep them.”
Mr. Weasley pushed the two wands into another pocket of his coat, and slowly pulled his own wand back out. “Can I wake her up now, Harry? I’d really like to hear Ginny tell me she’s okay.”
I want to be me again, Harry, Ginny said faintly. Her voice was not quieter than usual, but it felt strange to him, as though it were a recording he was hearing over the wireless.
Still maintaining his aim at Mr. Weasley, Harry nodded.
“The spell is reenervate, Harry. It makes a pale orange light. Ready?”
Harry nodded again.
“Reenervate.”
Ginny’s presence and senses flooded back into Harry’s mind, and they both gasped in relief as her eyes fluttered open.
Are you okay? Harry asked as he frantically examined the sensations coming from her body, looking for injuries. His free hand kept running through her hair, alternately assuring them that she was still there and making sure that she was unharmed.
I . . . I’m alright, I think. Nothing hurts. I just feel . . . strange.
Ginny sat up slowly and wrapped her arms around Harry’s neck, burying her face in his shoulder as she sobbed. Oh, Harry, that was awful.
Harry finally stopped aiming his wand at Mr. Weasley so that he could wrap both of his arms around her, but he kept his eyes open and watched Mr. Weasley in spite of his own tears.
Ginny saw her father’s concerned look and responded in spite of Harry’s lingering distrust. “I’m okay, Daddy.”
Mr. Weasley sighed and closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. “I’m so glad to hear that, Firefly. You heard what I told Harry?” She nodded against Harry’s chest. “I’m sorry, Ginny. I truly am.”
Ginny nodded again and raised her head. Twisting around in Harry’s lap, she looked over at her father. “It shouldn’t have been like that. It was all so wrong,” she said through her tears.
“I know that now, sweetheart.”
Harry and Ginny looked past her father and spotted Mrs. Weasley and Dumbledore lying in the snow. Ginny’s mother lay on her side, motionless, with blood staining her arms and still flowing down her damaged face. The Headmaster lay face down with his head turned to one side, and his nose appeared to be missing. Where it had once been was only an indistinguishable mass of blood and tissue. Suddenly, Harry and Ginny realized the enormity of what they had done, and Ginny cried out briefly as she buried her face back into Harry’s shoulder. Harry, unwilling to see what lay before him in the mud, squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his face into his friend’s matted hair.
“I didn’t mean to,” Ginny’s muffled voice repeated over and over as she cried into his shoulder.
They’ll throw us in jail, Harry predicted. We’ll never get to go back to school. We’ll never get to see Hermione and Ron and Neville again. We’ll never . . .
His litany was cut off by Mr. Weasley’s voice. “They’ll be alright. I promise you that, but I need to get them taken care of as soon as possible. Would the two of you like me to cast a calming charm on you? It might help you feel better.”
Harry was very reluctant to have any more spells cast on him, much less on Ginny, but Ginny nodded.
“Harry, the incantation I’m going to use is serenitus. This one doesn’t have any light. Here it comes.” Mr. Weasley cast the spell, and Harry and Ginny both felt her body relax. The tension in her muscles faded slightly, and her near-delirious panic subsided. She was still very distressed, but she felt more able to think despite her lingering sense of horror.
Harry looked up at her father and steeled himself. “Me too, please.” Arthur repeated the spell, and Harry felt the same release of tension in his own body and mind. With more capacity to think clearly, he realized how carefully Mr. Weasley had treated him and how much he truly was concerned for Ginny’s well-being.
Still avoiding looking at his surroundings, Harry muttered, “Please, help them . . . please.”
Mr. Weasley nodded as soon as Harry spoke and rushed to his wife’s side. With a flick of his wand, he conjured two lengths of bandage material in long, thick rolls. He pressed one bandage, still rolled, onto Molly’s face, and he used the other to tie the first in place. Stepping over to Dumbledore, he repeated the process.
“Can you two walk on your own?” Mr. Weasley asked quickly.
“We’ll make it,” Ginny said. “Harry sprained his ankle when Mum threw him, but I can help him.”
“Good,” her father nodded. “We need to get them and you to the Hospital Wing, and then we need to get you both cleaned up and warm.”
Ginny looked down at herself and at Harry. Her once-pristine pajamas were splattered and caked with slushy mud and traces of her mother’s blood, and her hair was a filthy tangle. Her bare feet were completely covered in mud up to her ankles, and the mud on her skin was steaming slightly. Seeing her mother’s blood on her clothes was almost enough to make her panic again, but the calming charm kept her from losing control as she had before.
Harry’s baggy pajamas were in even worse shape, and his entire front was layered in mud and soaked through with filthy slush. On both of their chests, the twins’ buttons flashed through the grime, still happily proclaiming their mixed names. Ginny could not believe that she had cheerfully pinned that button onto her clean pajamas less than half an hour ago.
Neither of them had felt the cold since they left the castle, but suddenly they were aware of the frigid water soaking through their clothes. Ginny’s teeth began to chatter, and Harry shivered as he sat in the cooling mud.
Mr. Weasley cast mobilicorpus on Mrs. Weasley and the Headmaster, and then used his wand to steer them both towards the castle doors.
Ginny got to her feet and helped Harry to stand. His ankle would not support him, so Ginny slipped her shoulders under his right arm and held up his weight with her body. Moving slowly to avoid stressing Harry’s ankle, they shambled into the castle after Mr. Weasley.
I’m glad the Hospital Wing is on the ground floor, Harry said.
When Mr. Weasley was within a few yards of the door to the Hospital Wing, Madam Pomfrey emerged from the next door down the hall.
“Albus?” she said, spotting the Headmaster’s floating body. “Arthur Weasley, what on earth is going on here?”
“There’s no time, Poppy. They’ve lost quite a bit of blood.”
The matron’s attitude changed immediately. “Get them in here, then. Don’t dawdle.” She looked past Arthur and sighed as she spotted Harry and Ginny. “You two also. Sit down and stay out of the way.”
When the two children hobbled into the ward, dripping filthy water with every step, they found that Mrs. Weasley and Dumbledore had already been placed on separate beds. They sat in a pair of chairs near the door, and Ginny leaned across the arms of the chairs to remain tucked into the circle of Harry’s arm.
Madam Pomfrey approached Dumbledore first and carefully removed the makeshift bandage from his face. “Good heavens,” she gasped. “What did this to them? I must know if I am to treat them properly.”
Mr. Weasley sighed. “Small objects grew rapidly into large, moving objects inside their noses.”
“I’ve never heard of a curse like that,” Pomfrey muttered as she bent towards the Headmaster.
In a flash of fire, Fawkes appeared at the foot of the Headmaster’s bed. He flew briefly to land on the rail above Dumbledore’s head, and he looked down into the old man’s bloodied face. Raising his head to the ceiling, the beautiful phoenix trilled mournfully. Singing a quiet dirge, the majestic bird bent over the Headmaster and released a few thick, pearly white, sparkling tears into the ruin of the wizard’s face.
Harry and Ginny watched, horrified and fascinated, as Dumbledore’s nose, cheeks, and upper lip repaired themselves. Cartilage emerged from the ruin first, followed by muscle and raw, red skin. Next, a layer of normal, healthy skin grew from the edges of the wound towards the middle, until his face was whole again. Finally, even the old man’s beard grew back. When Fawkes ceased crying and raised his head, Dumbledore’s face looked no different than it had half an hour earlier, except that his neck and beard were caked with dried blood.
“Thank you, Fawkes,” Madam Pomfrey whispered. She cast a series of brief cleansing charms on Dumbledore’s face and beard, and then she woke him with the Reenervate spell.
The Headmaster sat up abruptly and looked around. When his eyes found Harry and Ginny, he sighed visibly. Then, he reached into his pocket, and his head flew up in surprise when he found it empty.
“I have your wand, Albus,” Mr. Weasley said from where he stood next to Molly’s bed. “If you don’t mind, I’ll keep it for just a few more minutes.”
Dumbledore nodded reluctantly. “Very well, Arthur.” He reached up and stroked Fawkes’ head, and the phoenix trilled happily in return, causing everyone in the room to brighten for a moment. Then Fawkes flew over to the head of Mrs. Weasley’s bed and looked down at her. He cocked his head to the side for a long moment, apparently studying the unconscious woman. Then he launched himself into the air and disappeared in a burst of flame.
“Oh, Molly,” Mr. Weasley whispered, a single tear slowly rolling down his cheek.
“Excuse me, Arthur,” Madame Pomfrey said briskly. He stepped to the side, and the Matron removed Mrs. Weasley’s bandages and began working. “Headmaster,” she said over her shoulder, “you’ll need to take a blood replenishing potion and wait several minutes for it to work. If you try to move around too much before that, you’ll only faint.” Dumbledore nodded and slowly crossed to a shelf of potions. Selecting one, he drank it in a single swallow and sat down in a nearby chair.
Mr. Weasley walked to the other side of the hospital bed and took his wife’s hand gently in his own. “Albus,” he said softly, “could you ask Minerva to please take Ginny and Harry to get warmed up someplace?”
Dumbledore nodded. “Certainly, Arthur. I should have thought of that myself.” He got up from his chair and slowly walked into the Matron’s office. Two minutes later, he emerged with Professor McGonagall in tow.
The Transfiguration professor wasted no time remarking on the situation. “Mr. Potter, Miss Weasley. Please come along to my quarters. We’ll get you cleaned up and warm.”
“Harry’s sprained his ankle, Professor,” Ginny said.
“Heal it, Minerva,” Madam Pomfrey called across the ward.
Harry tensed slightly when McGonagall drew her wand. She’s just going to fix your ankle, Harry, Ginny assured him. She’s treated us really well all along.
McGonagall tapped Harry’s ankle with her wand, and the pain faded instantly. “Thank you, Professor,” he whispered.
“You’re welcome, Mr. Potter. Come along, now.”
Harry and Ginny stood, maintaining their half-embrace, and Ginny looked across the room at her father. “Daddy?”
“Go with Professor McGonagall, sweetheart,” Mr. Weasley said. “She’ll get you sorted out.” He looked up from his wife and met Harry’s eyes. “Will you go back to the Burrow for now, please? We can talk about this later, and I promise that nobody will try to separate you.”
Harry was reluctant to go back, but Ginny convinced him. Can we go back, Harry? All of our things are there, and . . . she sniffed, and her voice broke into a brief sob in his head. I want to go home, Harry. He nodded slowly to Mr. Weasley.
“Thank you, Harry. Minerva, will you see that they get back to the Burrow safely? I left Bill and Charlie in charge there.” McGonagall nodded, and Arthur turned back to Ginny. “Your mother will be fine, Firefly, and we’ll be along shortly. Alright?”
“Alright,” Ginny said.
Dumbledore cleared his throat to get Harry and Ginny’s attention. “When you return to the castle after the holidays, Mr. Potter and Miss Weasley, I should like to see you both in my office. You are not in trouble, but we do need to talk. Shall we say after the start of term feast?” After the students agreed, the Headmaster nodded to McGonagall.
Harry and Ginny let Professor McGonagall lead them out of the hospital wing and up the stairs to a section of the fifth floor that they had not seen before. Opening one of the unmarked doors in a long hallway, McGonagall ushered them into the sitting room of her quarters.
“Stand still for a moment, please,” she instructed. She flicked her wand at them each repeatedly, removing the worst of the mud from their clothes. Ginny’s hair was still a mess, and their pajamas were stained and rumpled, but they no longer spread dirt wherever they went. “Please, sit down,” McGonagall said, gesturing towards a small sofa.
Harry and Ginny sat down together and released their embrace, but they clasped their hands tightly together. Glancing around the room, they noticed a well-used armchair, bookshelves packed with scrolls and bound volumes, and a large sheet of blank canvas on one wall. Before they could question the purpose of the odd decoration, McGonagall reclaimed their attention.
“Here you are,” she said, conjuring two mugs of hot chocolate on the small table in front of the sofa. “Drink up, now.”
They each took a mug and sipped eagerly, heedless of the chance of burning their tongues. They sighed as the hot liquid trickled down their throats.
Their Head of House waited until they had drained half their cups and their shivering had subsided. “Would you be willing to tell me what happened?” she asked in a gentle and encouraging voice.
Briefly and haltingly, Ginny told the Professor what had happened, starting with the horrible books they had found inside their Christmas jumpers. As the professor asked a few simple questions, Ginny also mentioned a few of the things she had said to her mother, and then she detailed their flight to Hogwarts and the unwanted running battle on the grounds.
When she finished, McGonagall sat and looked off into space for a long minute. “Ginny, you used your hex on your mother after she injured Harry?” she asked at last. Ginny nodded. “And Harry, you used the same hex on the Headmaster after he stunned Ginny?” Harry also nodded. “And all of this started, in your opinion, because your mother refused to trust either of you?”
“And because she wouldn’t treat Harry like he deserves to be treated,” Ginny added.
“Very well, that also.” McGonagall nodded, and then she sighed. “It is not my place to say who is right and who is wrong in a situation like this. Instead, I can only offer you advice for the future.
“The first and most important thing you must remember is that everyone has their own opinion about things, and most of the time, everyone’s opinion is valid. Your parents, Miss Weasley, see things from their own point of view, and they do their best based on what they see. They are not trying to make things harder for you, and they certainly don’t want to hurt you. They may do those things, but it’s very important to remember that their goal is always to take care of you.”
Professor McGonagall paused and looked at Ginny expectantly. Even after the day’s events, Ginny found it difficult to imagine her mother wanting to hurt her, so she nodded. Apparently satisfied that Ginny was listening and thinking about it, McGonagall moved on.
“Next, you should always seek to avoid a fight if at all possible. You should avoid getting into situations where you think such a conflict might arise, and if you do find yourself in such a situation, you should ask for a break. Take a few minutes to clear your head and cool your temper, and then approach the situation as a discussion rather than a conflict. If your encounter is with another student, seek out a Professor or any adult to help you resolve the situation without fighting.”
Again the older woman paused to be sure the two students were paying attention. This time she proceeded after Harry nodded at her.
“If all else fails and you find that you are in a fight, try to set your emotions aside and use your brain instead. Defend yourself, but do not escalate the level of violence unless your life is threatened. That may mean that you have to take decisive action to prevent harm to yourself or your loved ones, but try to think carefully about that before acting on your instincts.”
As she finished her speech, McGonagall stood and crossed the room to a small table, which had a miniature Christmas tree on it. On the surface of the table, beneath the branches of the tree, were two tiny cloth bags with red and gold ribbons holding them closed. The Professor retrieved the gifts and handed them to Harry and Ginny.
“These are for you,” she said. “I had intended to give them to you when you returned, but I think that now is a good time for you to have them.”
Somewhat hesitantly, they untied the ribbons and opened the bags. Inside, they found identical pendants on black leather strings. The pendants were simple discs divided by a sinuous line. One half of the pattern was black with a smaller white circle inset, while the other half was white with a black circle inset.
“I have charmed these pendants especially for you, given the troubles you have encountered thus far at Hogwarts. Given the events of this morning in particular, I should hope that next time you will use them before things escalate so quickly,” she said. “If you hold one of them in your hand and concentrate on me, I will be able to hear what you say and what is happening around you. Use these whenever you need help, and I will do my very best to assist you.”
Harry and Ginny dropped the pendants around their necks, where they joined Bill’s gifts. Harry thought that the pendant on the longer strap and the fang on the shorter one went quite well together, but Ginny thought her delicate ankh looked a bit odd with the round pendant just below it.
“If you would prefer a bracelet, Miss Weasley, there is a shorter strap in the bag,” McGonagall pointed out. Ginny dug out the bracelet string and transferred the pendant to her right wrist.
“Thank you very much, Professor,” she said, and Harry nodded his agreement.
McGonagall gave them a rare smile. “Please do remember to use them.”
“Now,” she continued, “I think it is time we returned you to the Burrow. We will need to get outside the castle’s wards, and then I can apparate you there.”
She crossed to a small closet near the door and opened the door. “I, for one, do not care to walk when a more efficient option is available. Would you agree, Mr. Potter?” she asked. She turned back towards them with two broomsticks in her hands. Harry and Ginny instantly recognized the Nimbus Two Thousand, and McGonagall’s personal broom appeared to be a very well-maintained Cleansweep Seven.
Harry grinned for what felt like the first time in hours as he took the Nimbus from his Professor’s hands. McGonagall led them back to the Entrance Hall and out onto the front steps. Harry and Ginny resolutely avoided looking at the scene of their battle as they both climbed onto the broomstick.
With high quality brooms beneath them, the three flyers reached the gates very quickly and landed just beyond them. They avoided very high speeds, though, because the air was cold enough without any extra chill from the wind.
“Take the broom along with you, Mr. Potter,” McGonagall ordered. “I would not want our Seeker getting rusty during the holidays.”
“Thanks, Professor,” he said.
“You’re quite welcome. Now, I suggest that I apparate with you, Mr. Potter. Miss Weasley, you may follow using your own method. Is that acceptable?”
They nodded, and McGonagall reached out to place her hand on Harry’s shoulder. After a brief moment of feeling stretched, Harry was standing in the front yard of the Burrow. Before he could fully catch his balance, Ginny was standing next to him and clutching his hand in hers.
“Come along, then,” McGonagall said. “I’m sure your family is quite concerned for you.”
She led them up to the door and into the living room of the Burrow. The room was almost exactly as they had left it, with gifts and wrapping paper scattered randomly about. Ginny noticed what had once been a chocolate frog melted into the carpet, though it was much too far from the fire to have been heated in that way. Two green jumpers lay crumpled and forgotten near the Christmas tree, which had turned from a pleasing green to a decidedly dark brown.
As the front door closed behind them, Harry leaned the Nimbus against the wall, and Bill appeared in the doorway from the kitchen. “What the hell happened?” he demanded. “Where are Mum and Dad?”
“It is good to see you again, Mr. Weasley. I trust that you are well,” McGonagall greeted him. “Your parents are at Hogwarts, concluding some business with the Headmaster. They asked me to escort Ginny and Harry back here, and I expect you to care for them until your parents return.”
“Yes, of course, Professor,” Bill answered automatically.
“Thank you,” McGonagall nodded. “I must return to Hogwarts and see what I can do to expedite their return. If you will excuse me?” With a short nod of her head, she walked back out into the yard and disappeared with a crack.
“You look like you must be freezing, Ginny,” Bill observed. “Come on into the kitchen. We’ve just made hot cocoa.”
Ignoring Harry, Bill put a hand on Ginny’s shoulder and gently guided her into the kitchen. She refused to release Harry’s hand, and the three of them formed an awkward procession as they walked.
The rest of the Weasley brothers were waiting around the kitchen table. Fred and George leaned against the wall behind their customary chairs, while Ron, Percy, and Charlie sat on the opposite side of the table. All had steaming mugs of cocoa that made Ginny and Harry long for their warmth again after their most recent jaunt through the winter air in their pajamas.
“Charlie, get some cocoa for these two,” Bill instructed. Seeing the condition his sister and her friend were in, Charlie jumped up and prepared two more mugs. Bill steered Harry and Ginny to the foot of the table and sat them down, and then Charlie placed cocoa in front of each of them.
“Ginny, what happened?” Bill asked as he sat at the other end of the table. “After you vanished, Mum made a Floo call, and then she grabbed a broom and apparated away. Dad apparated after her, and the next thing we know, you two come back by yourselves and looking like you got dipped in a mud puddle.”
Ginny and Harry had no desire to tell her brothers what had happened, but they knew that the Weasley boys would not let them get away without answering, and they had no idea how long it might be until Ginny’s parents returned.
“We . . . we went to Harry’s dorm room at Hogwarts,” she began. “We were going to hide in the kitchens, but Mum caught us in the Entrance Hall. She grabbed me and tried to fly back to the gates, but I got away. She flew back and . . . and tackled us both. She threw Harry across the lawn, and he sprained his ankle. Then I . . .”
“You what, Gin?” Charlie asked.
“I . . . I hexed Mum,” she whispered.
“You what?” Bill exclaimed. “You hexed your own mother? Our mother?”
“She hurt Harry!” Ginny countered. Without waiting for a response, she continued the story. “The Headmaster came up and tried to disarm me, but he missed. I suppose I went a bit crazy, because I tried to hex him, too. He used some sort of spell that blocked my hex and sent a stunning spell back at me at the same time.
“It was . . . it was awful. I could still see and hear everything Harry did, but I wasn’t really there myself. Harry could tell that, and he… well, he kind of hexed Dumbledore.”
“Nothing by halves,” George muttered.
“Dad showed up and got us all sorted out,” Ginny said. “We took Mum and Dumbledore up to the Hospital Wing, and Madam Pomfrey was healing Mum when Professor McGonagall came for us and brought us back here.”
Fred leaned forward with a concerned look. “The Hospital Wing? What spell did you use, Ginny?”
“My Bat-Bogey Hex,” she admitted quietly.
“Bloody hell,” Fred and George said.
“What’s so bad about that?” Charlie wondered. “She’s done it to all of us a time or two, and it doesn’t require a trip to the Hospital Wing.”
George shook his head. “The power, Charlie. Remember Dad told us how much power she has now? With enough power, that hex . . .” He looked sharply up at Ginny. “Is Mum going to be okay?”
“Dad said that Madam Pomfrey could fix her,” Ginny said desperately.
“Fix her? What was wrong with her?” Ron demanded.
“Er, well, her nose . . . it sort of . . . blew up,” she stammered. “Part of it was a bit . . . shredded. Dumbledore’s was just . . . just gone.”
“You destroyed Mum’s nose?” Bill shouted incredulously. “Bloody buggering hell! You see, Ginny? You see what this connection of yours is doing? You attacked your own mother and sent her to the hospital!”
“It’s not my fault!” Ginny wailed. “She attacked us! She hurt Harry!”
“So what?” he countered. “Mum knows how to take care of you, and that’s what she was doing. This thing that’s inside you is making you crazy, Ginny.” He paused, and a look of determination came over his face. “I don’t know what it is, but I’m going to find out, and I’m going to stop it.”
He shoved his chair back and strode around the table to stand behind them, drawing his wand as he went. “There must be some magical effect on you, and it can’t be any worse than some of the stuff I’ve found on tombs.” He reached down and yanked their hands apart, and then he sliced his wand through the resulting gap between them.
“Stop it, Bill! You can’t do that!” Ginny yelled. She did not know if Bill could actually break the connection between her and Harry, and neither one of them wanted to take that chance.
“Like hell I can’t,” he snarled.
Ginny stood up and turned to face her brother. “Please, Bill, no! You don’t know what could happen. You don’t know what it feels like. Please, please stop,” she begged.
“No, Ginny. This has messed up our family too much already,” Bill said grimly.
Faced with the prospect of losing Ginny and sharing her fear and outrage at the idea, Harry snapped. He sprang up from his chair, drawing his wand with his right hand while he reclaimed Ginny’s hand with his left. The moment they touched, a wave of heat flowed away from them and across the room. Feeling the full potential power of their union, Harry raised his wand until the tip hovered between Bill’s eyes.
“She. Said. No.”
The room erupted into motion. Bill backed up a step and raised his wand to point at Harry’s chest, while Harry’s wand kept its aim at Bill’s forehead. Charlie, Percy, and Ron all leapt up from their chairs and drew their own wands, pointing them threateningly at Harry’s back. On the other side of the table, Fred and George straightened and pulled out their wands, but they seemed uncertain about where to point them.
The kitchen was deadly silent as the six Weasley brothers surrounded Harry. He kept his blazing green gaze locked on Bill’s eyes, recognizing him as the main threat to Ginny. Next to him, Ginny began crying silently and, with her left hand, pulled her wand out of her pocket for the second time that morning.
Tears pouring down her cheeks, Ginny turned to press her back against Harry’s, giving them a nearly complete view of the room around them. As she turned, Harry slid his hand up to encircle her right wrist. Slowly, she raised her left hand to point her wand at Charlie. If they had to, they would fight all of her brothers at once.
A/N: Special thanks to moshpit, who helped me to sort out the movements in the middle of this chapter. A nod, also, to the author alluded to earlier in the chapter. His work influenced me in several ways, long before I started this story.
Also, I moved the Hospital Wing from canon. I should have mentioned that in chapter 11. Since JKR moved it herself between books 2 and 5, I don't feel so bad about moving it for my own purposes.
Chapter 15: Questions, Quotations, and Quidditch
Author's Notes: Thanks to moshpit, Jonathan Avery, regdc, and Chreechree for their invaluable assistance on this chapter.
The kitchen was silent as Harry and Ginny faced off against her brothers. Sweat dripped from all six boys’ faces, and their eyes flicked nervously between each other and the young pair in the centre of their circle. After a long moment, George turned to his twin and broke the silence.
“Fred?”
“Yeah, George?”
“Whose side are we on?”
“Right,” Fred said as both twins put their wands away. “We’ll have no part of this.”
Harry tightened his hand around Ginny’s wrist, feeling her pendant pressing into his palm. Keeping their eyes and wands on the two oldest brothers, Ginny concentrated on Professor McGonagall while Harry kept all of his attention on Bill. After a few seconds, the metal disc grew slightly warm where it was pressed between his hand and her wrist.
“Help us, Professor,” Ginny whispered. “We don’t want to hurt them.”
“Hurt us?” Bill scoffed. “You may have managed to surprise Mum and the Headmaster, but I can cast a shield much faster than either of you can say the incantation for that hex of yours, Ginny.”
“There are other spells,” Harry said in a tight voice.
“You’re a first year. What are you going to do? Try to fight me with Wingardium Leviosa?” Bill asked.
Ginny saw Ron suddenly go pale, his freckles standing out sharply against his stark white skin. He hastily stuffed his wand into his pocket and sat back down in his chair. The tall boy stared at his hands, which seemed to have developed a slight tremor as they rested on the table in front of him.
As Ron sat down, Ginny turned to Charlie, who had been staring at the back of Harry’s head before Ginny turned around. As she met his gaze, Charlie’s eyes widened in shock, and he glanced back and forth from his wand to her face. His arm faltered for a moment, but he maintained his aim. Glancing aside towards Ron, as if he were seeking some support, Charlie’s expression shifted from surprise to puzzlement when he saw that his youngest brother was sitting down. Wiping the sweat from his brow with his free hand, Charlie flicked his eyes to Percy and then over Harry’s head to Bill. Slowly, his shoulders relaxed, and he bent his elbow to let his wand point harmlessly at the ceiling.
“Bill, I . . .”
At that moment, Harry heard a sound from the living room, and he started to cast a spell before he realised that Bill had not moved. Bill tensed and pushed his wand an inch closer to Harry when he thought the small boy was going to attack. On the other side, Ginny stiffened, fearing the confrontation at her back, but she kept her wand on Charlie.
The first noise was followed by three others in rapid succession, and this time Harry and Ginny recognised the sound of the Floo. Multiple footsteps crossed the living room at a run. Professor McGonagall burst into the kitchen first, followed closely by Arthur, Molly, and Dumbledore.
“Put those down!” Mr. Weasley’s voice thundered in the small kitchen. Rushing around the table to stand between Charlie and Percy, he snatched the wands away from them and tucked them into his pocket. Placing a hand on each of their shoulders, he forced them back down into their seats. He continued his circuit of the table, and Fred and George offered their wands to their father without any prompting or protest. Ron, sitting at the table, pulled his wand out of his pocket and set it on the table in front of him for Arthur to pick up.
Completing his walk around the table, Mr. Weasley came to stand beside Bill and Harry, who still had their wands trained on each other.
From the doorway, Dumbledore spoke in a calm, measured voice before Arthur could say anything. “Mr. Weasley, I have recently learned what it feels like to have my face abruptly modified, and I cannot say that I recommend it. Think very carefully about what you are about to do.”
McGonagall stalked over and placed herself bodily between Bill and Harry, confronting the eldest Weasley brother. She did not draw her wand but stood straight and proud with Bill’s wand a few inches from her collarbone. Harry sighed heavily in relief and let his own wand fall to his side.
Behind McGonagall’s back, Harry listened as she spoke quietly but sharply to Bill. “Mr. Weasley, are you a Gryffindor, or are you a Slytherin?”
While Bill gaped at McGonagall, Mr. Weasley reached out and pulled his son’s wand from his hand even as the long-haired young man started to lower it. Ginny and Harry, seeing that the threat was thankfully over, held their wands out for her father to collect.
“Keep them,” Arthur said in a voice sharp with anger. “Of all the people who have drawn their wands today, you are the only ones who had good reason.” He turned and walked back to the doorway, where Dumbledore and Molly still stood.
Ginny turned around to look at her mother. The older woman had her back pressed to the wall next to the door, and her eyes darted around the room without meeting anyone’s gaze. Looking more closely, Ginny could see a web of fine, white lines across her mother’s nose, but otherwise Mrs. Weasley looked unharmed.
“Albus, Minerva,” Mr. Weasley said, facing the Headmaster. “I would greatly appreciate it if you would stay with us for a short while, but I will require your wands. If you would prefer to return to Hogwarts, please feel free to do so.”
Both professors handed their wands to Arthur without any hesitation, and he turned to his wife. Without a word or even a glance at anyone else, Mrs. Weasley produced her wand, and Arthur took it from her. Turning back to Harry and Ginny, Mr. Weasley pulled the entire bundle of wands from his pocket and held it in one hand. With the other, he reached into his robes and produced his own wand, which he added to the collection.
Arthur crossed to Ginny and placed all ten wands into her tiny hand. “Hold these for us, please.” Without hesitation, Harry added his wand to the group.
“But Dad . . .” Bill began.
Arthur spun to look up at his oldest son with an expression of cold fury. “William, I have only one question for you. Do you trust your sister?” When Bill did not answer immediately, Mr. Weasley continued, pronouncing each word as a separate accusation. “It’s very simple, William. Do you trust your sister? ”
Bill looked back at Mr. Weasley defiantly. “I was just going to break that ruddy connection! Of course I-”
“You what?! ” Arthur roared at his son, causing Bill to take an involuntary step back. Then he leaned forward and continued in an icy tone. “You were going to try to break their union?”
After a tense moment, Bill nodded tightly. Mr. Weasley shook his head in sad resignation, beseeching the heavens for patience.
“Sit down, all of you, and listen for once in your lives,” Arthur instructed.
Bill sank into one of the chairs Harry and Ginny had previously occupied. Harry sat in the other chair, and Ginny settled herself across his lap, still clasping his hand firmly in her own. Molly quietly sank into the empty chair at the end of the table, next to George. McGonagall crossed the room and sat next to Dumbledore on a bench near the doorway to the living room.
Arthur mopped his brow and crossed the kitchen. He opened the back door to the winter morning and then sat at his usual place at the head of the table. Harry and Ginny knew that cold air was rushing into the room, but for the moment they still felt uncomfortably warm.
When everyone was seated and silent, Mr. Weasley spoke. His voice was soft, but his expression remained utterly enraged as he locked eyes with his oldest son. “When I asked Ginny and Harry to come back here, to come home, I told them that no one would try to hurt them, and no one would try to separate them. I promised them that because I was absolutely sure that I could trust my own sons to take care of their sister and her best friend.
“I cannot believe you betrayed my trust so easily.”
Bill opened his mouth to reply, but Mr. Weasley cut him off with a curt chop of his hand. “Did you even think about what you were doing? Did you think you were helping Ginny?”
Arthur paused to stare at all of his sons. “Did any of you stop to consider that what you call help might be the worst thing that you could do to her?” Turning back to Bill almost involuntarily, his voice rose to a shout. “You attacked your own sister, William Weasley!”
Pausing to calm his breathing, Arthur continued to glare at his eldest child. “You may not think that’s what you were doing, but I know it was. I saw Harry when Ginny was unconscious, and I saw Ginny when she finally woke up again.”
Taking a deep breath, Arthur turned to his daughter and spoke very gently. “Ginny, can you tell me what it felt like when you were stunned?”
She trembled in Harry’s lap and whispered without looking up. “It felt like . . . like I wasn’t really a person anymore. I was more like a . . . a shadow, or an echo of a person.” She paused, trying to find words to describe what she had experienced. “Everything was dark and . . . and cold and just . . . nothing.” Her shaking voice dropped even further, so that it was barely audible even in the silent room. “I felt . . . so empty.”
Over her shoulder, Harry could see her parents and brothers looking at her tiny, quaking body. Each of them was clearly horrified by the effect that merely recalling the experience had on their daughter and sister. Harry pulled Ginny tightly to his chest and let the pressure of his arms soothe her.
“You see, Bill?” Mr. Weasley asked. “That is what happened when they were only partially separated. Harry said that Ginny was still there, but she didn’t seem like herself. Can you imagine what might have happened had you succeeded in separating them completely? Can you possibly live with the idea of doing that to your sister permanently?”
Bill blanched, but Arthur continued his diatribe mercilessly. “And what arrogance possessed you to think that you could do anything about it anyway? Do you honestly think that we have not thought about blocking or removing their connection? The Headmaster himself has examined them as closely as anyone could, and he has come to the conclusion that there is nothing there to remove. ”
Harry and Ginny stiffened when they heard that Dumbledore had examined them so thoroughly, and Mr. Weasley turned to them, working hard to regain control of his usual even temper. “I’m very sorry for not telling you about that before. He did examine you without your knowledge, but he did not try to change anything. When we realised that we couldn’t remove your connection, we stopped trying to think of ways to do it. We didn’t want to do anything that would hurt either of you. I hope you’ll be able to forgive us for that.”
Ginny looked up to meet her father’s solemn, earnest gaze. Seeing the compassion and concern there, she was more than willing to forgive him. Harry, almost to his own surprise, agreed with her. They both nodded silently.
“Thank you,” Mr. Weasley said.
“Albus, how could you do something like that?” Professor McGonagall demanded. “Why didn’t you tell me? They are my students.”
"I found myself in a rather difficult position, Minerva,” the Headmaster said. “This union has many properties the world has never seen before, and I have been trying to study them and determine their implications. When Molly and Arthur asked about such a thing, I felt compelled to answer as well as I could."
McGonagall sniffed indignantly.
Ignoring the byplay, Arthur turned to sweep his gaze across his family and the two professors. “It is time for all of us to be perfectly honest with ourselves and with each other. Albus, do you know the approximate balance of Harry’s vault at Gringotts?”
Dumbledore coughed into his hand. “As of the beginning of the school year, it was approximately half a million galleons.”
“And does Harry have access to the full amount?”
The Headmaster nodded. “Yes, he does.”
“And have you yet thought of any way to prevent Harry and Ginny from transporting themselves at will?”
“No, I have not. I remain ignorant of the principles involved, let alone how one might prevent it from happening.”
Arthur nodded in acceptance before turning slowly and meeting the eyes of each of his sons. “Haven’t you figured it out yet, boys? Harry and Ginny have the means to live completely independently. They can go anywhere they please, and they can pay for anything they may need for the rest of their lives. They don’t need us.”
Looking one last time at Bill, this time without rancour, Arthur willed his son to see reason. “We cannot stop them. If they had really wanted to get away from all of us today, we would never have found them. So we have a choice. Either we can accept them both as they are, to the very best of our ability, or we can drive them both away from our family. What will you choose?”
Arthur paused to look at Ginny fondly, before turning to Harry and carefully meeting the boy’s gaze. “For myself, I will see them welcomed with open arms as long as we are all a family in more than name.”
Harry nodded at Mr. Weasley, accepting the implicit invitation. For Ginny, Harry would try his best to get along with everyone.
Mr. Weasley turned to the twins. “Fred? George?”
Fred spoke for both of them. “We’ve got no problems at all with them. If you lot treat them like Filch, it’s your own lookout.”
Arthur nodded. “Good lads. Ron?”
“I’ll stand up with them,” Ron muttered. He looked up, and Harry was surprised that Ron managed to convey both apology and promise in one expression. “Every bloody time, alright?” Mrs. Weasley clucked softly at his language, but she did not speak or look up at her son.
Ginny smiled slightly and nodded. Mr. Weasley gave Ron a quizzical look before turning to his third son. “Percy?”
The studious boy was quiet for a moment, and then he spoke in a strained voice. “I would not wish to alienate my sister.”
“Good enough,” Mr. Weasley said. “Charlie?”
“I’m not sure it’s as simple as all that,” he said, “but I’ll be damned if I’ll hurt Ginny. Harry seems alright, anyway.”
“Bill?”
The whole room seemed to hold its breath as Ginny’s oldest brother stared down at the table in front of him. “It’s not about you, Harry.” Bill raised his head and met Harry’s eyes. “You’re a good lad, as far as I can tell, and I can hardly say that you won’t take care of Ginny when she needs it. But for this… for this to be happening… and to Ginny, our Ginny, my Ginny . . . it’s pretty hard to accept.” He sighed deeply. “And yet . . . if this is the way things are going to be . . . and it’s not going to change any time soon, then the best I can do is work on accepting it.”
Bill shifted his gaze to his sister. “I love you, Ginny. I hope you and Harry can both forgive me for what I tried to do today. And yesterday, too, for that matter. I’m very sorry.”
Ginny raised her chin and faced Bill squarely from Harry’s lap. “I will, but only if Harry will.”
Harry knew how much Ginny wanted to be reconciled with her favourite brother, but she was also committed to making sure that Harry was treated properly by her family. He thought that, perhaps, he could find common ground with Bill, and he knew he had to try sooner or later.
“I’d do anything for Ginny, Bill,” he said.
The young man smiled slightly and nodded. “Anything for Ginny.” He reached a hand across the space between their chairs, and Harry shook it tentatively. Ginny felt Harry’s tension begin to fade, and she placed the bundle of wands on the table in front of her. Then she leaned across the gap to hug Bill’s arm and rest her head briefly on the point of his shoulder. Bill twisted to put his other hand on her back, and he kissed the crown of her head.
Bill, Ginny, and Harry all resumed their positions and looked back at Mr. Weasley. He smiled at them, and then looked to his left at his wife.
“Molly?” he asked softly.
Without looking up, she whispered, “I will not lose my daughter.”
“Mum?” Ginny asked in a small voice. At last, Molly looked up and met Ginny’s eyes. The web of curved scar tissue stood out sharply against her flushed nose. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine, dear,” her mother said, looking at the floor again.
“I’m sorry, Mum.”
Mrs. Weasley nodded. Her voice was barely above a whisper. “So am I.” She took a deep breath and then looked up. Her gaze locked several inches above Harry’s head. “Harry, I’m sorry for . . . for treating you as I have. I can’t be . . . happy about this, but it’s not your fault. As long as Ginny wishes it, you will be . . . welcome . . . in my house.”
Harry heard the forced and unnatural tone of the woman’s voice, but he had to admit to himself that Mrs. Weasley would probably do as she promised. “Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs. Weasley. I won’t ask you for anything more than Ginny needs.”
Ginny was less than pleased with the distance still remaining between Harry and her mother, but she knew that it was the best they could manage for the moment. A space had also grown between herself and her mother, and she was upset by that and by the obvious distress it caused her father and brothers.
Harry looked up at Arthur. “Mr. Weasley, I would be more than happy to buy my own food, if you’ll show me where there’s a grocer.”
Harry! You don’t have to . . . she trailed off and then sighed sadly at the current state of her family. Maybe we should, at that.
Harry was sad that Ginny was reaching the same conclusion he was. “Or I could just pay rent, if that’s easier for you.”
The older man closed his eyes and shook his head. “No, Harry. We Weasleys take care of our own, and in one way or another, you’re one of ours now.” The corners of his mouth twitched upwards a fraction of an inch. “I doubt Ginny would let us take your money, anyway.”
“Not for the wrong reasons, I wouldn’t,” Ginny said flatly.
Mr. Weasley looked deeply into her eyes, and Ginny looked back at him without blinking. “You never cease to surprise me, Firefly.” He sighed. “Let’s all hope that you never do.”
“I would ask you to do your . . . to do us a favour, Ginny,” he continued. “We’d like you to keep wearing your pajamas at night, once we get them cleaned up a bit. I’m sure that they’re not necessary. Really, I am. But they help us older people feel better about the way we see things. Can you understand that?”
Ginny remembered her father’s conversation with Harry in the snow outside Hogwarts. “I understand, Dad,” she said. “But . . .” she trailed off, staring down at a lock of hair she was twirling in her fingers. She raised her head and met her father’s eyes again. “I’ll wear them for now,” she said finally. “But I want my door back, and I don’t want to have Percy checking up on us at Hogwarts anymore.”
Ginny looked around at her brothers, her gaze lingering on Charlie and Bill. “And no more staring. If you have something to say to Harry or to me, just say it. If you have a question, we’ll try to answer it. If you don’t like what we are, we can . . . we can live with that. But you can’t just stare at us. It’s . . . it’s inhumane.”
To their credit, all six of her brothers nodded. Ginny was not at all sure that they would all stop looking at her and Harry oddly, but she thought that at least they would be more aware of it when they did.
“Alright, Ginny,” Mr. Weasley nodded. “We’ll put your door back. Percy, I think that Ginny and Harry can get themselves to sleep without you. Thank you for helping us these last few months.”
The fifth year nodded solemnly, and Arthur turned his attention to the professors seated by the door. “There will be no problems at Hogwarts?”
The Headmaster opened his mouth to speak, but Professor McGonagall was faster. “None that we can prevent, Arthur, I assure you.”
“Thank you, Minerva,” Mr. Weasley replied. Then he spoke more loudly, his voice sounding deliberately cheerful. “Now then! If I have not lost track of too much time, I reckon that it is still Christmas morning. There are things we do on Christmas, aren’t there?” He rose from his chair and closed the back door as the room finally reached a somewhat comfortable temperature.
Molly straightened suddenly and looked across the kitchen at her cooking range. “Yes, there are,” she said in strained voice. “I must get started on dinner. Albus, Minerva, I do hope that you will able to join us.”
“Thank you for your kind offer, Molly,” Dumbledore said with sudden cheer. “However, as difficult as it may be for the students here to believe, we have our own traditions at Hogwarts, and we are quite looking forward to them.”
“Yes, of course you are,” Mrs. Weasley said, crossing to her counter. “You’re always welcome here, you know. Always welcome.”
“You are most generous, Molly.” McGonagall smiled. She rose from her stool and walked over to stand behind Harry and Ginny, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. She leaned down and whispered, “You handled the situation very well. If you need me again, you know how to reach me.”
Harry smiled tremulously at their Head of House. “Thanks a lot, Professor.”
Minerva nodded. Standing straight again, she spoke in a clear voice. “Happy Christmas, Mr. Potter, Miss Weasley.”
Ginny picked up the bundle of wands from the table and held it out to McGonagall. The Professor picked out two wands, pocketed her own, and passed the Headmaster’s on to him.
The two professors started across the living room, but Dumbledore turned back to look into the kitchen. “Ah, and Mr. Potter?” Harry looked up, vaguely afraid of the Headmaster’s reaction to him. The old man smiled, his eyes twinkling. “Well cast,” he said. “Well cast, indeed.”
Dumbledore and McGonagall let themselves out the front door, and a moment later two soft cracks came from the lawn as they returned to Hogwarts.
“Just us Weasleys, then,” Arthur said, winking at Harry. “Now, your mother needs room to cook one of her delicious Christmas dinners, and there is plenty for us to do without getting in her way. Harry, Ginny, why don’t you go upstairs and get cleaned up. Boys, let’s all straighten up the living room, shall we?”
“Harry and I need to go flying, Dad,” Ginny said quietly.
“There will be plenty of time for that tomorrow, Firefly,” he answered. “I think you’d be better off getting clean now.”
“Dad, why do you go out to the shed to tinker with Muggle things?” Her father’s face tightened in recognition. “Harry and I need to go flying. Please.”
Mr. Weasley nodded. “Alright. Put on some warmer clothes first, then.”
Harry picked up his own wand and then went back to the front door to retrieve the Nimbus. With the broom in hand, he and Ginny went to the back door and donned their heavy cloaks, hats, and gloves.
As they prepared to walk out into the garden, Charlie emerged from the living room. “You might want to have these on out there, Harry,” he said, holding out the Seeker’s gloves he had given Harry earlier in the morning. Harry nodded and pulled the oversized gloves on over his woolen ones.
They walked out to the paddock together and looked up into the crisp blue sky.
You first, Ginny said. She sat on the garden bench and wrapped herself in her cloak, closing her eyes to let herself soar along with Harry.
Harry mounted the broom and took off into the cold winter air. He quickly abandoned his usual high speed due to the freezing wind it generated. Instead, he settled into a large, sweeping figure-eight pattern, which he could follow without conscious thought.
I’m sorry, Ginny, he said. I know you don’t think it’s my fault, and maybe you’re right, but I’m sorry anyway. I know what your family was like before you met me, and this . . . this isn’t it.
I wouldn’t trade back, Harry. Not for anything.
I know. Neither would I, but I have a lot less to miss.
Ginny’s voice was hopeful. I really think they’ll get used to it, Harry. Ron and the twins seem to be okay with it, and Charlie is trying, at least. Percy is, well . . . he’s Percy, and that’s about all we can hope for. He made the right decision today when it mattered, didn’t he?
Maybe, Harry said cautiously. But what about Bill? And your mum?
Bill’s coming around, she insisted. He really is pretty easy to get along with most of the time. He doesn’t dislike anyone without a good reason, but he’s had a hard time looking at you the way he looks at everyone else.
Ginny sighed heavily, pulling her knees up to her chest and resting her chin on her forearms. Mum is . . . well, she’s my mother, Harry. As long as she’s trying even a little bit, I can’t help but believe she’ll get there in the end, even if it takes ages.
I don’t reckon she’s very happy with me, even now.
No, she isn’t, Ginny agreed. And I know you don’t like her very much either right now. But you’re doing the best you can, and I have to believe that she is too. I’ll always love my mum, Harry, but that doesn’t mean I have to like her all the time.
Harry shook his head as he flew. I can’t promise to do any more right now, Ginny. She just . . .
Let you down too hard, she finished.
Yeah.
I understand, Harry. How could I not? I know you’ll keep trying.
Finally feeling some of his tension ebb away, Harry pushed the Nimbus into a climb. When he reached the height he knew he should not pass at the Burrow, he tipped the handle of the broom down and dived straight for the ground. He shot through the air, ignoring the biting cold on his cheeks and spiraling tightly as he descended. Sooner than he normally would, he pulled out of the dive in mid-spiral when he was ten feet from the earth. He felt his cloak billow out beneath him before he completed his spin and flew upright, parallel to the ground.
Harry slowed the broom and skimmed the grass on his way to the bench where Ginny sat. Your turn.
They traded positions, and Ginny launched herself into the air. Rather than talking, they just absorbed the sensations of flight, feeling the curve of every turn and the lift of every loop Ginny made.
Harry turned at the sound of footfalls and saw Mr. Weasley approaching the bench. The older man sat next to him, pulled his cloak more tightly around him, and looked up at Ginny as she streaked across the sky.
“She’s a wonderful flier, isn’t she?” Arthur asked.
“You should know,” Harry replied.
“Yes, I should. I’ve never tired of watching her fly.” Without moving his gaze, Arthur spoke more softly. “Harry, did you know that Ginny’s mother once wanted to keep her from flying?”
Harry nodded.
“The first time Ginny tried to fly a broom, she fell off and broke her wrist. Her mother was terrified. Ginny loved to fly, even then, but her mother wouldn’t let her because she was afraid.
“Eventually, of course, she came around. She saw how happy flying made Ginny, and we showed her how good Ginny was at it. Molly used to play Quidditch herself, of course, so she couldn’t deny knowing how wonderful it feels to fly. It took some time, and she spent hours and hours watching Ginny in the air, but Molly finally got used to the idea of her daughter riding a broom at high speeds and taking the chance of getting hurt. Now, she helps Ginny with new moves and techniques from her Quidditch days, and she wouldn’t let anyone stop our daughter from flying.”
Harry and Ginny could see the parallel, even if they did not like the implications of it.
“Please be patient,” Mr. Weasley said. “She does love you, and she does want you to be happy, but she needs to see for herself that you’re okay. We just haven’t had time for that yet, with you away at Hogwarts all the time. I really hope that the rest of the holidays can help us all get a little bit closer to accepting things the way they are.”
“Would you come down here, Ginny?” he asked in a quiet voice. Ginny abandoned her loops and dropped to the ground next to the bench. She set the broom on the ground in front of her and walked up to stand in front of her father. Mr. Weasley lifted her into his lap so that she faced Harry and wrapped his left arm around her narrow shoulders. With his right arm, he pulled Harry into his side, and he hugged both children tightly.
“I’m very sorry all of this happened today,” he whispered. “You certainly didn’t deserve it. I want you both to know that you’ve behaved wonderfully and handled yourselves far better than any of us had a right to expect. We should have had a lot more faith in you.”
Ginny put her right arm around her father’s neck and laid her head down on his shoulder. She reached out with her left hand, and Harry caught it with both of his own, completing the strange embrace. As her father released them, Ginny glanced over his shoulder and saw her mother watching from the kitchen window with a remorseful and resigned expression.
Mr. Weasley cleared his throat. “Now, it really is too cold out here for you to fly for very long when you’re not properly dressed. Why don’t you go inside and get cleaned up? The boys and I put all of your gifts into your trunk and took it to Ginny’s room. Dinner should be ready by the time you’re finished.”
“Please consider wearing your jumpers, alright?” he asked quietly. “Your mum really did make them for the right reasons. It would mean a lot to her if you’re both wearing them today, no matter what else may have happened. It would mean quite a bit to me as well. I’d like to see the family today, instead of a group of people sharing a building.”
Ginny nodded and climbed out of her father’s lap, but Harry just rose to his feet, looking at Mr. Weasley uncertainly.
“You always have a choice, Harry,” Arthur said. “You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to.”
Ginny met Harry’s eyes from a few feet away, and her expression was as clear as her feelings. I think you’d look very nice in it, Harry, but it’s up to you. I just . . . I want to try.
He knew he would never truly deny her anything he could give her, so he nodded. I suppose it never hurts to try.
Mr. Weasley must have guessed something of their exchange. “Harry, you said just the right thing to Bill this morning. I think you may have made a friend.”
Someday, I’d like to make a friend without having one of these ‘adventures’ first.
Ginny grinned. Someday, maybe you will.
Arthur led them back to the house, and Harry and Ginny went straight upstairs. You shower first, Harry. It’ll take forever to get my hair clean, and there’s no need for you to be dirty while you wait.
Harry went to Ron’s room to get his clothes. A few minutes later, he stood under the hot spray, watching dirty water spiral down the drain. Once he was clean, the beginnings of bruises were visible on his skin, and he was glad that they would be covered by his clothes. He had far too much experience with bruises, and he hated the looks he got when others could see them.
Damn it, Harry, you shouldn't have to think things like that! No one should have to think things like that.
It’s all in the past now, Ginny. Don’t think about it too much.
But she’s my mum! She knows better! You shouldn’t look like you spent your holiday with those . . . those people!
Harry let Ginny fume in the back of his head while he finished scrubbing and rinsing himself clean. As he dressed in his baggy jeans and one of the shirts from his Hogwarts uniform, Harry felt Ginny’s own anxiety and frustration growing as she prepared for her own shower. Crossing the hall quickly, he found her sitting on her bed, wearing one of her old nightgowns and wrapped in a flannel robe. In her lap, she held her once-pristine pajamas, and she was staring at the tiny spots of red-brown scattered across the cheerful blue fabric.
I didn’t mean to, she said, her eyes glistening. I was so angry and scared, but I never meant to hurt her.
Harry sat on the bed next to her and put his hand over one of hers. Everyone knows that, Ginny.
How could I do that to my own mother? How could she do that to you?
We all got a bit . . . carried away today. But everyone’s okay now, he said.
You’re not okay! You’ve got bruises bigger than my hand!
He rubbed her back gently. Don’t worry, Ginny. They’ll go away in a few days, and they don’t bother me.
Don’t lie to me, Harry, she said, but there was no real rancour in her voice. It doesn’t work.
Okay, they’re a bit tender. But they will go away in a day or two.
I wish it could all have been different, Ginny said sadly. I wish you’d never got those bruises at all. Her emotions shifted, frustration layering atop her sadness. I wish they’d never done those things to us!
Harry lifted his hand to stroke her matted hair. They all know that they shouldn’t have, Ginny. You saw them in the kitchen. They all seem really sincere about treating us differently.
I know they are. I just . . . she sighed. I can’t change the past, can I?
Trying to lighten the mood, Harry said, If you can, I have a nice long list for you to work on.
She smiled tiredly. If I could, you’d be the first person I’d help.
Take your shower, Ginevra, he suggested gently. You’ll feel better.
She nodded and stood up. She pushed her stained pajamas deep into her laundry basket and then picked up a pile of clean clothes she had set out earlier. With a tremulous smile at Harry, she crossed the hall to the lavatory.
As Ginny had predicted, it took nearly half an hour for her to clean her long hair. Harry retrieved the flashing button from his pajamas and found Ginny’s on the table next to her bed. Carefully, he cleaned them both with a corner of his pajama shirt. When Ginny emerged from the lavatory, dressed for the day, Harry had set the buttons aside, put his filthy pajamas in her laundry basket, and got her hairbrush out of her bag. Ginny took the time to brush her hair properly while Harry tried vainly to get his unruly black mop to cooperate with his comb. At last, Ginny put her hair back with the clip Hermione had given her, and Harry gave up his futile efforts.
Opening Ginny’s new trunk, they found their Christmas jumpers folded neatly inside. Next to them, Harry’s new trainers gleamed in the light. Harry reached for his jumper but stopped when Ginny did not move.
It’s weird, isn’t it? she mused. These silly jumpers started the mess this morning, and here they are, just as nice and pretty and clean as they were to begin with. But we’re not. Not now.
Harry shrugged. They’re really just jumpers, Gin.
Yeah, I suppose they are.
He reached for his jumper again and winced as he raised his arms to pull it over his head.
This is ridiculous, Harry. Don’t go anywhere.
Without waiting for a response, she went downstairs. Harry sat on the bed, content to wait for her return, though he was not sure how he felt about her plan.
Ginny heard her mother in the kitchen, but her father and brothers were all waiting in the living room.
“Dad,” she said. “Could you come and help me with my trunk? It’s not in the right spot, and it’s awfully heavy.”
Mr. Weasley looked at her quizzically, but he rose from his chair and followed her up the stairs. Bill got to his feet also. “Don’t trouble yourself, Bill. I’ll do it.”
He followed Ginny into her room, where Harry was still waiting on the bed. “What do you really need, Firefly?”
Ginny smiled. Never underestimate Dad.
“You know how to heal bruises, right?” she asked him. “I’ve seen you do it for the boys after Quidditch games.”
“Yes, I know how. Did you hurt yourself?”
“No.” She turned to face Harry. “Take off your shirt.”
Harry was embarrassed to have Mr. Weasley see his injuries, and he did not want to break the fragile truce that the family had reached that morning.
“Err, that’s okay,” he muttered.
Take off your bloody shirt!
Ginny’s intensity surprised him, and he started visibly. Without further protest, he unbuttoned his uniform shirt and set it on the bed next to him.
“Oh, Harry,” Mr. Weasley sighed. “You should have said something.”
“It’s not that bad,” Harry argued.
Arthur pointed at the large red area on Harry’s right shoulder. “Anytime you get a bruise that large, it needs attention sooner than later. Now hold still.”
Mr. Weasley pulled out his wand and tapped Harry’s flesh lightly. In a moment, the yellow colour faded, leaving normal skin. Arthur stood Harry up and walked around him, healing the other, smaller bruises he had.
“What about your legs, Harry?” he asked.
“They’re okay.”
The older man narrowed his eyes and looked to his daughter. “Ginny?”
“He’s telling the truth this time, Dad. Professor McGonagall healed his ankle, and that was all he had on his legs.”
“Good,” Mr. Weasley nodded. “Harry, there’s no shame in asking for help when you’re injured. It’s no trouble to heal something like a bruise, and they can get very painful if you don’t treat them.”
“He knows, Dad,” Ginny said sadly. “Believe me, he knows.”
Arthur looked sad for a moment and then sighed. “Well then, do something about it next time, okay?” he asked, and Harry nodded reluctantly. The shrewd look returned to Mr. Weasley’s face. “Harry, I know better than to ask Ginny this, so let’s try something new. Would you please tell me, does Ginny have any bruises or anything?”
Harry could not help grinning. Never underestimate your dad. Ginny rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out at him.
He shook his head and spoke aloud. “No, Mr. Weasley.” He glanced at Ginny. “I don’t think I would have let her leave the Hospital Wing if she had.”
“Fair’s fair then, eh Harry?” Arthur asked with a smile. “Now, are you two ready to go downstairs?”
Harry put his shirt back on, and then they both pulled their jumpers on over their heads and pinned the twins’ buttons to the fronts. Harry leaned down and tied his new trainers tightly as Ginny watched. Examining each other, they decided that they looked presentable enough for Christmas dinner and nothing at all like they had when they walked into the Hospital Wing.
“We’re ready,” Ginny announced, and they all went down to the kitchen together.
Christmas dinner in the dining room was a very subdued affair. Molly’s turkey was superb, and Harry made sure to say as much. The twins, to Harry and Ginny’s eternal gratitude, kept the long meal from succumbing to awkward silences.
“Who’s up for Quidditch tomorrow?” Fred asked after everyone was finished. Except for Percy and Arthur, everyone wanted to play, though Molly had to be prodded into agreeing.
“Four on four, then.” George said. “Ron and Bill, you’ll Keep?” The oldest and youngest brothers nodded. “Fred and I will Beat ourselves to death, as usual. Mum’s Chasing . . . you want to Chase too, Gin?”
“Yeah, of course,” Ginny said. She was eager to use the skills her mother had taught her, though she was less than enthusiastic about playing against her mother after the events of the day.
“Err . . . no offense, Ginny, but is that fair?” Bill asked. “You’ve never played before.”
The twins’ grins were absolutely feral, and Harry was sure that his was quite similar, as Fred commented, “You just wait, Bill. Unless we’ve completely lost our senses, you’ll have to wear that goal if you want to guard it.”
“That implies that you had any senses to begin with,” Charlie added.
“True, O Mighty Seeker,” George nodded. “Shall we release the Snitch for this bout of ours, or will you and Harry Chase, too?”
“Well, it’s a lot more fun if there is more than one Chaser on each team,” Charlie said. “What do you say, Harry? Mind flying down with the vulgar herd for a match?”
Harry nodded. “Yeah, alright.”
“You just don’t want him to beat you to the Snitch,” Ginny said.
“Have some faith in your big brother, Ginny,” Charlie said, feigning offense. “Harry and I can play Chaser for the game, and then we’ll have a bit of a Seekers’ duel.”
“A Seekers’ duel?” Fred asked. “I’ve never heard of that one.”
Predictably, Ron had. “The starting and reserve professional Seekers do it together for practice. Two seekers, two Snitches. The first to catch and keep both Snitches at the same time wins.”
“What if each Seeker gets one Snitch?” Ginny wondered.
“Well, that’s the hard part, see,” Ron said. “If you don’t catch the second Snitch within five minutes of catching the first, you have to let the first one go again.”
“Did you bring a second Snitch, Charlie?” George asked.
“As it so happens, I did,” he said leaning back in his chair. “And not a battered old thing like we have here. I picked up a new one a few months ago.” Charlie looked at Harry again. “Well, Harry?”
It sounds like great fun, Ginny offered.
“Yeah, we can do that,” Harry agreed.
“Excellent,” Fred declared. “So we’ll play Mum, Bill, Charlie, and me against George, Ron, Ginny, and Harry. Then we’ll all watch Charlie and Harry try to embarrass each other. Any objections?”
“Yeah,” Charlie said with a smirk. “I don’t think it’s polite to humiliate you kids that badly.”
“Charlie, you disappoint me,” George said, shaking his head sadly. “Don’t you know that youth and speed will beat age and experience every time?”
Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Fred all laughed at George’s adaptability, but the rest of the family seemed to think that their amusement was more than his statement really called for.
A few minutes before three o’clock, after a remarkably casual hour of conversation once pudding had been served and consumed, Arthur stood up from the table and led the family into the living room. He turned on the wireless, and they each resumed their seats from that morning.
“Mr. Weasley, do you think the Queen knows anything about us?” Harry asked. “Wizards and witches, I mean.”
“No one I know can say for sure, one way or the other, but I rather think that she does,” he answered. “Either way, she’s still our Queen, so I think it’s important to hear what she has to say.”
As the Weasleys and Harry sat in silence, the Queen’s voice began to emerge from the battered wireless.
“In 1952, when I first broadcast to you at Christmas, the world was a very different place to the one we live in today.”
Most of the speech concerned people, places, and events that Harry had heard of in passing but had no real knowledge about. A few passages, however, caught Ginny’s attention, and she began watching her family to see their reactions.
“One by one, these liberated peoples have taken the first hesitant, and sometimes painful, steps towards open and democratic societies.”
Harry lowered his eyes, grateful that none of the Weasleys were staring at him.
“There are all sorts of elements to a free society, but I believe that among the most important is the willingness of ordinary men and women to play a part in the life of their community, rather than confining themselves to their own narrow interests.”
Ron seemed disinterested, which did not surprise Ginny in the least. The twins were clearly listening, and Fred smiled slightly when Ginny looked his way. Percy was sitting ramrod straight at his end of the sofa, staring at the wireless, and Ginny thought she might be able to see him straining his ears to listen. Unfortunately, he did not react at all to what he was hearing.
“All the selfless voluntary work in the world can be wasted if it disregards the views and aspirations of others. There are any number of reasons to find fault with each other, with our Governments, and with other countries.
But let us not take ourselves too seriously. None of us has a monopoly of wisdom, and we must always be ready to listen and respect other points of view.”
At this, Bill blushed slightly, and Charlie actually winked at Harry. Mrs. Weasley clutched the arms of her chair, and Ginny could see the tension in her jaw and the unshed tears in her eyes. Next to her, Mr. Weasley had reached a hand between their chairs to rest on his wife’s rigid forearm, and he looked over at her with an expression of concern. When he saw Ginny watching him, Arthur shifted his gaze to her and inclined his head a fraction of an inch.
“They met in peace, they talked freely, they listened, they found much on which to agree, and they set a new direction for the Commonwealth. I am sure that each derived strength and reassurance in the process.”
The Queen finished her address by wishing her Commonwealth a happy Christmas, and Mr. Weasley stood up and turned off the wireless in complete silence.
“Think she knows about magical folk, Ginny?” he asked as he sat back down.
Ginny thought for a moment before answering. “I hope she does. It doesn’t matter, though, does it? What she said works for anyone if you just change a few of the words. That’s the idea, right?”
Mr. Weasley smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a familiar pattern, and nodded. “That’s the idea, Firefly.”
Mrs. Weasley rose from her chair suddenly and spoke to the room without facing anyone. “Time to clean up the kitchen. Fred, George, Ron . . . come along, you can help this year.”
“I can help too, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry offered tentatively.
Again, she would not meet his eyes. “Thank you, Harry, that’s very generous of you. But the boys have all done it before, so there’s no need for you to trouble yourself.”
“Harry’s been cleaning up after Christmas dinners since he was four, Mum,” Ginny said. “He’s just never been allowed to eat one before today.”
Bill’s head snapped up, and he stared at his sister with a furrowed brow. “What? Never eaten a Christmas dinner? What does that mean?”
Charlie and Percy also looked confused and concerned. The twins appeared surprised and almost angry, and Ron shook his head sadly.
“Damn those Muggles,” Mr. Weasley muttered.
Harry realized that Ginny knew what to say and when to say it, so he made no effort to keep her from speaking despite his increasing discomfort.
“You all know that Harry grew up with his Muggle relatives, right?” The brothers all nodded. “Well, they’re just awful, nasty people. They’ve never let him eat Christmas dinner before, but they’ve always made him clean up after they’ve stuffed their faces and binned what’s left in the rubbish. He hadn’t even had a Christmas present until the other day when Hermione gave him some chocolate frogs.”
She continued to face her brothers, but her eyes shifted over to her parents. “They treated him like some sort of unwelcome insect, and they did their level best to make sure he never thought he was worth anything at all.”
Bill gaped at her. “And nobody ever knew? The entire wizarding world . . . and nobody ever knew?” Next to him, Charlie was visibly shocked, and even Percy blinked in confusion.
“Ginny wondered, at least,” Mrs. Weasley whispered.
“That she did,” Bill nodded. “Maybe we should all listen to her a little more closely.” He turned to Harry. “I wish you hadn’t had to go through that, Harry. Everybody deserves a Christmas dinner.”
Harry shrugged and continued to stare at the pristine white material of his trainers. “I can’t change the past, can I?” He asked, and then he paused for a moment. “I had a really good Christmas dinner today, though.”
“All the more reason you shouldn’t have to clean up after it, Harry,” Mrs. Weasley said after an awkward moment, still looking at the floor. “You and Ginny can have a turn next year.” She led the three boys into the kitchen, and soon the sounds of enthusiastic, and probably inefficient, cleaning came through the doorway.
Arthur broke the remaining tension by sighing loudly and good-naturedly. “Why is it that it’s always easy to find the twins, except when they’re getting into trouble?”
“Probably because they’re smarter than they look,” Ginny said with a small smile, and then she yawned. “Dad, can we take a nap?” She lowered her voice carefully. “It’s been a . . . long day, so far, and we haven’t had a lot of sleep the last two nights.”
“Of course you can. I should have thought of that myself,” Mr. Weasley replied. He turned to Bill. “Ginny’s door is out in the shed, Bill. Go get it and put it back up for them. I’m sure you remember how.”
Bill rolled his eyes and nodded. As he left the room to go to the back door, Harry heard him mutter something that sounded suspiciously like “twelve years!”
Harry and Ginny went upstairs and changed into t-shirts, and Ginny traded her skirt for Ron’s old pajama trousers. By the time they were done, Bill had replaced their door, and they settled into bed gratefully.
I never would have thought about missing my door before someone went and took it, Ginny said.
Harry and Ginny slept soundly until dinnertime, and they woke up feeling much calmer than they had before their sleep. They rejoined the Weasleys for a light meal of leftover turkey and cold potatoes from Christmas dinner. The family spent the evening singing Christmas carols, listening to the wireless, and relaxing together as best they could. At their usual bedtime, the two children were more than happy to go back to bed, and they went to sleep grateful that this time there was no one staring at them from the hallway.
Boxing Day dawned mostly sunny and relatively warm for the season. At breakfast, the day was universally dubbed as perfect for Quidditch, and challenges and promises flew back and forth between the two impromptu teams. Mrs. Weasley was still noticeably subdued, but she recovered a bit when discussing the familiar topic of backyard Quidditch.
All ten residents of the Burrow donned their winter cloaks, and Harry made sure to wear his new gloves again. Charlie came downstairs wearing a similar, but newer pair of gloves and carrying a small box which contained his Snitch. Percy brought the book Harry and Ginny had given him, and Mr. Weasley carried a mug of hot tea. The rest pulled their brooms from the shed and faced off in the middle of the field.
“Alright,” Mr. Weasley called from the garden bench. “Everyone knows the rules. There’s only one goal on each end, two Beaters, one Bludger. Two Chasers per team. Since there’s no Snitch, the game goes until noon. If there’s a tie at noon, the next goal wins the game. If any of you fouls one of the others, you all know I won’t be nearly as nice about it as Madam Hooch. We’ll call today’s teams the Titches and the Codgers. If you can’t tell which is which, you’re on the wrong team.”
“Ha!” Fred cried. “Told you I was older, George.”
“You merely paved the way for my greatness, old bean,” George shouted back.
Harry mounted the Nimbus, which Ginny had insisted he use, while she rose into the air on one of the Weasley’s old Comets. Charlie had a Cleansweep Six, which was clearly the next best broom on the field, so no one complained about Harry’s broom. He rose up into the air and hovered next to Ginny, waiting for Percy to toss up the Quaffle.
You go for it first, Ginny. You’ve done this loads more than I have.
Okay. We’ll have a hard time getting around Mum and Charlie, but I think we can do it.
Percy, still holding his book in one hand, launched the Quaffle straight up into the air. Charlie and Ginny rushed towards it, while Harry paralleled Ginny, and Mrs. Weasley flew over the others to get closer to the Titches’ goal. Charlie used his speed advantage to snatch the Quaffle out of Ginny’s reach, and he passed it ahead to his mother. Ginny and Harry executed a quick turn, pulling their brooms up and looping to fly upside-down before they righted themselves and flew towards their own goal.
You go left, and I’ll go right, Ginny instructed. We’ll try to get around in front of them at the same time, and I’ll see if I can get the Quaffle away from Charlie.
Harry put on a burst of speed and swept far out to his left. Ginny took a shorter path to her right and managed to close the distance to the opposing Chasers. As she pulled alongside Charlie, Harry turned his broom sharply to get between Ron and the Codgers.
The next thing they knew, Harry and Ginny were struggling to remain aloft. Both of them slowed their brooms and pulled up to avoid falling, but they could not seem to fly in a straight line as their vision swirled and they began to get dizzy.
Stop, Harry. I can’t tell where I’m going and where you’re going.
They both stopped in midair, and then Harry flew over to Ginny while she focused on staying still. Together, they tipped their brooms and flew slowly to the ground.
Mr. Weasley trotted over as the rest of the family landed nearby. “Everything alright, you two?”
“Well . . . I’m not sure,” Ginny said, dropping to sit on the unmoving ground. “We’ve never flown at the same time before. As long as we did the same things, flying forward in a mostly straight line together, we were okay. As soon as we tried manoeuvring separately, though, we couldn’t tell which of us was doing what.”
“You can walk around just fine,” Fred said.
“Yeah, but that took some practice. Ron, you remember we told you how Harry fell on the steps while I was racing on the lawn?”
Ron nodded. “Yeah. You said he got confused, or something.”
“I suppose that doing different things made it harder to separate ourselves enough to fly,” Ginny said.
“You mean you have to think about doing things separately all the time?” Bill asked with a confused frown.
She shrugged. “More or less. If we’re not paying attention, we both see . . . well, we see everything at once, and we end up doing the same things.”
“Can we help somehow?” George asked.
Ginny shook her head. “Not really. We just have to practice, but we can’t both play Quidditch right now.”
Well, that’s easy, Harry said.
“You play, Gin,” he continued aloud. “I’ll get to fly with Charlie this afternoon, anyway.”
“Sounds good to me,” the older boy agreed. “I’ll sit out, too. We’re not really Chasers anyway, eh Harry? Much too clumsy, tossing a ball around like that.”
Thanks, Harry, Ginny said with a warm, broad smile.
Harry passed the Nimbus to Ginny, and Charlie exchanged brooms with his mother.
“You’re in trouble now,” George said with a triumphant grin. “Ginny’s at least as fast on that thing as Harry is.”
Ginny laughed and, without mounting the broom, directed it to fly straight up. As it rocketed towards the sky, she wrapped her legs around it and steered it back down to normal playing height. “C’mon, slowcoaches!” she shouted. “I want to win by at least a hundred.” The other members of the two teams returned to the field in her wake.
Harry saw Charlie tracking his sister’s progress as she shot into the air. “Bloody hell,” he muttered. Turning to Harry, he said, “Sometimes, I wish I was the size of you or Ginny again.”
“Why’s that?” Harry asked.
“The less you weigh, the faster your broom can accelerate. Even if we all had Nimbus Two Thousands, you and Ginny could beat us all in a straight race. Ginny could probably beat you, too, because she’s even smaller than you are.”
See, Potter? You couldn’t catch me if you tried.
He grinned. We’ll find out someday when we have two brooms and can tell each other apart.
“Mum’s doomed,” Charlie declared.
Percy tossed the Quaffle up again, and Ginny caught it before her mother was within a broom’s length of the red ball. The racing broom allowed Ginny to sweep out around the older woman without coming close enough to have the Quaffle stolen. Ginny flew straight towards Bill, who was hovering in front of the Codgers’ goal hoop.
When she was only a few feet away from Bill, Ginny steered off to her left. Bill adjusted his position to block her, but she did not attempt to score. Instead, she pulled up sharply and shot over her brother’s head, parallel to the goal. As she passed above it, she leaned down and tossed it lightly through the top of the hoop, missing her brother’s head by a few inches.
“Titches 10, Codgers 0!” Mr. Weasley called happily.
Harry glanced over at Charlie, who was shaking his head. “I’ve never seen anyone but Mum do that.” He turned to Harry. “She’s been flying for years without telling us, hasn’t she?”
“Since she was six,” Harry nodded. “Mrs. Weasley started teaching her tricks when she was eight.”
The rest of the game was largely the same. Mrs. Weasley played well, but she could not match her daughter’s speed, and Ron was as good a Keeper as Bill was. Ginny rejoiced in never making two goals with the same kind of shot. She threw the Quaffle straight at the hoop from every possible direction. She scored while diving past Bill’s shoulder, and she scored again while performing a barrel roll around her beleaguered brother. He did manage to stop many of her shots, but she kept the Quaffle in her possession enough that the score rose in the Titches’ favour anyway.
As the game progressed, Mrs. Weasley learned to hold the Quaffle tightly against her body to keep Ginny from darting in to steal it from her. In this way, she could get into scoring range, and Ginny was not allowed to interfere with a shot on goal. Mrs. Weasley, riding a slower broom, was not as quick to make the same manoeuvres Ginny did, and Ron seemed to have been paying attention to Bill’s efforts at the other end of the pitch. When his mother tried to slip the Quaffle through the hoop above his head, Ron held the broom between his knees and raised both arms to catch the red sphere. Based on that, Molly adjusted her style and went for more high-speed, direct shots, which caused Ron more problems.
At noon, the Titches won with a score of 250 to 180. Ginny was ecstatic, and she landed next to the garden bench practically bouncing with excitement. She leapt to Harry and hugged him tightly, bouncing all the while. He grinned, completely delighted by her joy, and hugged her back.
Molly landed behind Ginny, and the tiny girl spun to hug her mother without thought. “That was wonderful, Mum. Thanks so much for teaching me.”
“You’re welcome, dear,” Mrs. Weasley said. She was smiling, Harry noticed, an honest and genuine smile for the first time since they had arrived at the Burrow. “You made your Mum proud.”
Ginny caught Harry’s thoughts and pulled back to look up at her mother. “See, Mum? Flying was great once I got to practice a bit.”
Mrs. Weasley’s smile faded a bit, but she still seemed happier than she had in days. “I see, Ginny.”
Next, Ginny turned to Bill and smiled up at him. “No hard feelings, Big Bill?”
“Nah,” he said. “Quidditch has never been one of the things I get defensive about. That’s Charlie’s department.”
“Youth and speed scored a mighty blow today, Fred,” George said.
“Indeed, George. It’s a good lesson for age and experience, though.”
“Perhaps they will learn that lesson more quickly next time.”
“Stranger things have happened,” Fred said. “Mostly to our baby sister.”
Ginny spun to face the twins. “Hey! I resemble that remark!”
“She’s stealing our lines, Fred.”
“They’re just really good lines, George.”
Mr. Weasley appeared to be almost bursting with pride and happiness. Putting one arm around his wife and another around his daughter and Harry, he led the family back inside the Burrow. “Come on inside. We’ll get warm and fed, and then we’ll watch Charlie and Harry make us all feel vaguely inferior.”
“Now he’s stealing our lines,” Fred stage whispered.
“I think we stole that one from him,” George whispered back.
Lunch consisted of a selection of sandwiches, and none of the Weasleys were interested in dawdling over their food, not even Percy. Half an hour after the morning game ended, nine Weasleys plus Harry were back in the yard, Harry and Charlie having reclaimed their brooms.
When they were ready, Charlie released his Snitch, and it zoomed away into the bright sky. Fred dug the Weasleys’ old Snitch out of the shed, and it fluttered somewhat haphazardly away from the ground.
“Keep time for us, Percy?” Charlie asked. “Yell at us five minutes after one Snitch is caught.”
The solemn boy nodded and took his watch off of his wrist to hold it in his hand.
“Ready, Harry?” Charlie grinned. “Even at this late stage, you can still back out and avoid total humiliation.”
“Why would I want to avoid your humiliation?” Harry asked. “Ginny and I are looking forward to it.”
“That’s why we’re here, too,” Fred agreed.
“Oi! It’s a conspiracy, that’s what it is,” Charlie protested. “Alright, then. Let’s find out whether or not I’m getting old.”
Percy counted to three, and the two Seekers launched themselves into the air. Harry spotted the slow Snitch hovering several yards above the far end of the paddock, and he zoomed towards it. Charlie was right behind him, but the older boy’s prediction about their speeds was correct. Harry reached the Snitch first and caught it cleanly, stuffing it in the pocket of his robes for safekeeping.
Harry swept higher into the air and began scanning the area for the fast Snitch. Charlie had apparently given up chasing the slow Snitch when Harry approached him, and the older boy was already searching on the other side of the paddock.
How far can the Snitch go, Ginny? There’s no real pitch here for it to stay inside.
Ginny turned and asked the rest of the Weasleys the same question.
“The charms on the Snitch know how big a regulation pitch is,” Ron explained. “So, from the point where they were released, they can go 250 feet to the left and right of the person who releases them, and 90 feet in front of and behind the person. Here at the Burrow, they can only go up 100 feet. That’s part of the wards, right Dad?”
“That’s it exactly,” Mr. Weasley agreed. “Otherwise we’d never be able to find a Snitch without tipping off the Muggles.”
Charlie and Percy both had their backs to the house, Ginny said, so that probably covers the front yard, the Burrow, the garden, and most of the paddock one way, and almost to the edge of the woods to either side.
So I have to worry about it hiding around the house, but not in the trees. That’s something right.
Harry adjusted his path to cover more of the house and less of the paddock and extended his search to either side. He realised, belatedly, that he was now flying a pattern very similar to Charlie’s and that he could have simply observed what territory the more experienced Seeker was covering and scanned the same area.
Both fliers covered the area thoroughly, but neither made any move to dive towards the fast Snitch. When five minutes had passed, Percy yelled, and Harry released the slow Snitch from his pocket. It flew away immediately, and Harry was sure that he was not allowed to simply chase it down from where he had started. Instead, he continued hunting for the fast Snitch and let the slower one wander off.
A minute later, Ginny said, Charlie’s about to get the slow one, Harry. Behind you and to your right.
Harry glanced over his shoulder in time to see Charlie casually sweep the Snitch out of the air and into his pocket. Now, he knew, he had to be sure to catch the fast Snitch first, or he would lose the game. He knew he needed to narrow his search, so he swept closer to the Burrow. If the fast Snitch were in the open area, he thought he probably would have seen it by now, so it was more likely to be hiding near the house.
As he made his second loop around the house and yard, he spotted the fast Snitch hovering in the angle between the sloped roof and the chimney. Without hesitating, Harry dived across the length of the house to reach it. Charlie had been circling over the garden, but Harry was closer and his broom was faster. He carefully aimed his dive to pass through the crevice where the Snitch was hiding without colliding with the Burrow.
When he was twenty feet from the Snitch, it leapt into motion and whipped around to the far side of the chimney. Harry slowed his dive carefully, passed through the crevice, and made the tightest turn he could around the chimney. The Snitch tried to circle around the chimney again to evade him, but his momentum was too great, and he caught it before it slunk out of sight.
Harry had the fast Snitch, but Charlie had the slow one. Harry thought that less than a minute had passed between the two catches. That meant that, if he wanted to win immediately, Harry would have to catch the slow Snitch less than a minute after Charlie was forced to release it. Otherwise, he would have to let the fast Snitch go, and the field would be even again.
To give himself the best chance of catching the slow Snitch quickly, Harry veered over towards Charlie. When the older boy released his Snitch, Harry thought it would be okay to follow it and catch it once it had left the immediate area where it was released. Charlie, apparently, had heard of this tactic, because he sped away when he saw Harry approaching.
For the next three minutes, the game turned into a one-sided version of tag. Charlie used his greater experience to evade Harry, while Harry took advantage of his quicker acceleration and higher top speed to keep up with the older Seeker. When Charlie darted into the edge of the woods and weaved in and out of the trees, Harry flew above him and waited for an opening to dive down through the canopy if he released his Snitch.
Charlie abandoned the woods and streaked out across the grass of the paddock, flying only a few feet above the ground. Harry dived to the same level and gave chase, quickly catching up with the slower broom and its heavier rider. When Harry was close enough that he could have almost reached out and grabbed Charlie’s cloak, the red-haired young man pulled up forcefully on his broom, slowing drastically and climbing at the same time. Harry shot beneath him at full throttle, and he was halfway across the paddock before he could turn around to approach Charlie again.
As Harry completed his turn, he spotted Charlie still in the center of the field, holding the slow Snitch in his right hand.
He’s going to throw it when Percy calls time, Harry! Ron says it’s okay to do that in these things.
He didn’t tell me that. He thought for a moment. How much time do I have?
Seven seconds! There’s no way to tell which way he’ll throw it.
Then I won’t let him throw it at all.
Harry flattened himself on the handle of the Nimbus and urged it to top speed, flying straight towards Charlie, who was almost motionless. Charlie noticed him only two seconds before the two fliers would collide, but he did not have a chance to do more than widen his eyes in the time available. At precisely that moment, Harry shifted his path slightly to the left and skimmed past Charlie at a distance of no more than six inches. At the same time, he braked and climbed, inverting himself in a loop over Charlie’s head.
Just after Harry passed Charlie and before the older boy could recover, Percy yelled, and Charlie was forced to release the Snitch without throwing it. Harry reached the apex of his loop and righted his broom in time to see the slow Snitch zipping away towards the Burrow. He dived towards it without regard for Charlie, the approaching ground, or the Weasleys standing between him and the house.
Charlie tried to catch up with him, but Harry had the advantage of momentum, and Ginny’s brother could only watch as Harry plunged towards the ground. The other Weasleys scrambled away from his path, but Ginny simply smiled and stood directly in front of the speeding Seeker.
Harry flew a foot above the grass, laying flat on his broom, with his right arm extended. As the Snitch tried to dip even closer to the ground, Harry put on a short burst of speed and caught it with his hand and the handle of his broom only four inches above the soil. Without taking the time to stow the Snitch in his pocket, Harry pulled up on the handle of his broom, decelerating as quickly as he possibly could before colliding with Ginny. When he had slowed enough to avoid injury, he unhooked his heels from the handle of the broom and dug them into the thick turf, further slowing his approach as he pulled the broomstick fully vertical.
Two feet from Ginny, he came to a stop, and he used the last of his momentum to stand up from his braced crouch. With his broom in his left hand, he held the slow Snitch out to Ginny with his right.
“Here you are, Gin.”
She giggled and took it from him, and he reached into his pocket to retrieve the fast Snitch. “And here’s the other one.” He handed it to her, and she took it with her other hand, now struggling to control her laughter.
Ginny glanced down. “You got dirt on my shoes, Potter,” she accused.
“Sorry, Miss Weasley,” he said. He took his broom in both hands and gingerly swept the soil off of her winter boots. When he straightened again, she could resist no longer, and she burst out laughing. It was a loud, joyful sound, and Harry thought that he had not heard it and felt it for far too long.
With a Snitch in each hand, Ginny wrapped her arms around Harry’s neck and kissed his cheek. His dives and turns had been just as much fun for her as they had been for him, and she felt as though she had been given a late Christmas present.
Ginny saw Charlie land behind Harry as the rest of her family walked back towards the young pair. “Brilliant, Harry! Bloody brilliant!” the older Seeker exulted.
“How does it feel, Charlie?” Fred asked. “Toppled from your throne by an eleven-year-old pretender?”
“I’m glad to be beaten by someone who flies like that.”
Ginny handed Charlie’s Snitch back to him with a smile. “Good thing Harry caught this for you, Charlie. We might have been out here all day.”
“Ouch, Ginny,” George said. “That was just cruel.”
“Well done, little sister,” Fred nodded.
Harry, that was incredible! I don’t know if I want to fly myself or ride along when you fly.
How about we learn to fly at the same time and try that? he asked.
Yes, we absolutely have to do that.
“Share with the rest of us, Ginny,” Mr. Weasley said with a smile.
“It was amazing, Dad!” she said, beaming up at her father. “I didn’t even notice the cold, and I just knew we weren’t going to hit the chimney, and then our robes were flapping and actually touching the ground, and it was unbelievable!”
He laughed and put a hand on her shoulder, steering her towards the Burrow. Harry, still holding her hand on the other side, was pulled along.
“How did you manage to time that last move, Harry?” Charlie asked. “I’ve got a watch on, but I didn’t think you did.”
“I don’t,” Harry said. “But Ginny could see Percy’s watch.”
“I thought it was only fair since you didn’t tell him it was okay to throw the Snitch,” Ginny said, lifting her chin defiantly as they all approached the house. “He just let it go when his time was up.”
“Sorry about that, Harry,” Charlie said, grinning ruefully. “I really did just forget that part.”
“It’s okay, Charlie,” Harry said easily. “Ron knew about it and told Ginny before you did it, so I knew by the time it was important.”
Bill opened the back door for them all. “Handy trick, that.”
Ginny shrugged. “We don’t do it for games at Hogwarts, unless Harry’s going to get hit by a Bludger or something. He chases the Snitch, and I watch the Chasers.”
“That’s very sporting of you,” Arthur noted as they all sat at the kitchen table.
“Well, it wouldn’t be much fun to win the other way, would it?”
Mrs. Weasley brought them all mugs of hot cocoa and joined them at the table. “That was excellent flying, Harry.” She still did not meet his eyes, but her voice was lighter than it had been the previous evening.
She won’t look at me, Harry said. She still doesn’t like me at all, does she?
I don’t know for sure. Maybe she’s just embarrassed.
“Thanks, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry said aloud. “You’re a great Chaser. I bet you could teach the Gryffindor Chasers a thing or two.”
“Here, now,” Fred protested. “There’s no need to badmouth Angelina and the girls.”
“I think they’re great, Fred,” Harry said. “But I’ve never seen them even try some of the things Ginny and your mum were doing.”
“Perhaps Ginny can teach them then,” Mrs. Weasley suggested.
“Well, yeah, I suppose she could. Would you, Gin?”
“I’m sure they can do it, Fred,” she countered. “They just don’t do things like that because they have teammates, and there’s a lot more effective stuff you can do with two other Chasers.”
“I bet they’d like to see it anyway,” George said.
Ginny shrugged. “Ask them, then. If they want to see those things, I’ll show them.”
The group dissolved into scattered discussions of teams, players, and prospects, and Harry knew that this was a normal occurrence on Boxing Day at the Burrow.
This is what it’s supposed to be like, Harry.
This is . . . nice, I think.
Nice?
Okay, it’s bloody brilliant, Harry admitted. Are you happy now?
Thrilled, Harry. Absolutely thrilled.
A/N: The passages from the Queen’s speech are quotations from her actual speech on December 25, 1991. You can find the full text on the Monarchy’s website. Obviously, I do not claim credit for her words, even if they do fit the situation in my story beautifully.
Also, future chapters may not be published as quickly as they have been thus far. RL is catching up with me and my beta team. I will still publish chapters on a regular basis . . . perhaps around 1.5-2 weeks apart. Obviously, if the chapters are ready sooner than that, I'll post them.
Chapter 16: Resolutions
Author's Notes: Thanks to moshpit, Jonathan Avery, regdc, and Chreechree for their invaluable help on this chapter. Thanks especially to moshpit, who had quite a lot of other things going on and still managed to help me make sense of this.
In the days following Boxing Day, Ginny and Harry spent as much time as they could in the paddock, struggling to learn how to fly at the same time. They could do almost any manoeuvres they wanted if they did them at the same time. The problem arose whenever they separated their paths for more than a moment, because their vision swam and their stomachs would sometimes churn. Then they were forced to descend to the ground to catch their balance.
Snow fell overnight shortly after Christmas, but the days were fairly mild and quite suitable for flying. Sometimes, Ron brought his broom out to join them, and they took turns shooting with the Quaffle while he attempted to block them. At the end of the first afternoon of practise, Ginny’s brother put away his broom and headed for the Burrow, but she put her hand on his arm to stop him.
“You okay, Ron?” she asked, letting go once he was looking at her.
He looked puzzled. “Yeah, shouldn’t I be?”
“After . . . you know . . . Christmas morning . . .”
“Oh. Yeah, that.” He scowled for a moment and then shrugged. “I’m alright, really,” he repeated. “Look . . . err, about that thing in the kitchen. I meant what I said, right? Every bloody time.”
“We know.” Ginny smiled at Ron. “Us too.”
Ron shrugged slightly and looked at the ground for a long moment. Glancing around to make sure no one was near, he scuffed his shoes in the dead grass before shifting his gaze to Harry. “Didn’t know you had that much money, Harry,” he said quietly.
“I didn’t either,” Harry admitted.
“Well, just don’t . . . you know, don’t be like Malfoy or anything, right?”
Ginny rolled her eyes as Harry snorted. “Honestly, Ron, can you imagine me acting like Malfoy?” he asked. “I’d rather butter my broomstick with Snape’s hair grease and eat it whole.”
“Ugh, that’s gross! Don’t ruin my dinner,” Ron said. He paused for a moment and then nodded. “Yeah, alright, I can’t really picture you being that much of a plonker, but I can’t picture half a million galleons, either.” Ron shook his head for a moment, then stood up and turned towards the house. “I’m going to get a sandwich or something. You coming?”
So much for ruining his dinner, Ginny said.
Harry answered for them both. “No thanks,” he said. “We’re going to stay out a bit longer while it’s not so cold.”
“Suit yourself,” Ron said. “Oh, and Harry?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t leave, okay? Hermione would drive me barmy without you around.”
Harry grinned at his friend. “Alright.”
“Hey, what about me?” Ginny demanded in mock outrage.
“You?” Ron shrugged and grinned. “It’d make an even trade, I suppose.”
As Ron turned to walk away, Ginny scooped up a handful of snow and threw it right into the middle of his back. Her brother spun back towards her with a startled oath and then bent down to pack his own snowball. This led to a three-sided snowball fight that lasted half an hour. Ginny and Harry found it almost impossible to hit each other with snowballs, since they always knew when and how to dodge, but all three of them emerged from the battle covered in snow and sure that they had been victorious.
After that day, Ron spent hours in the paddock with them, but he never talked about the events of Christmas Day. Harry and Ginny were happy to just fly and play with him without constant reminders of the situation with the rest of her family.
On Monday morning, they were still doggedly working to learn to fly together. A few minutes after they started, they were once again forced to land and get their bearings. As they sat in the grass, frustrated, Harry spotted Charlie crossing the garden towards them.
“Morning, Ginny, Harry.”
“Hi, Charlie,” Ginny replied with a small smile. Since Boxing Day, Harry and Ginny had felt more at ease with her athletic older brother and more comfortable in his presence than they had around Bill or Mrs. Weasley.
Charlie stopped a few feet away and stood with his hands pushed deep into the pockets of his winter cloak. For once, Ginny was as confused as Harry about why her brother was standing there and apparently counting blades of grass. When Charlie finally raised his head to look at the pair, he offered them a wry smile. “Look, I just wanted to . . . well, I’m sorry about before, alright?” He looked down at Ginny hopefully.
She nodded slowly, understanding that Charlie had a hard time admitting failure and that his unusually quiet demeanour and slouched posture spoke more than any words he might use. She smiled a little more widely at her dragon-wrestling brother. “Alright, Charlie.”
What? Harry asked.
It’s his way, Harry. Charlie would rather do something than say something, you know?
“I mean, I don’t . . .” Charlie trailed off, staring off into the trees. He took a deep breath and then exhaled sharply. “You two seem to be having a few problems staying in the air. Would you mind telling me what’s wrong?”
Ginny sighed in vague frustration at the abrupt change of subject. See? He wants to do something. He’s always been like that.
For Harry’s benefit, she remembered another odd interaction from several years before. Charlie had laughingly said that Ginny might never be big enough to ride a full-sized broomstick. He had not known how much that would hurt Ginny’s feelings, so he had been surprised and dismayed when she burst into tears. He had tried awkwardly to apologise, but he had given up quickly. Instead, he had lifted her to sit on his shoulders and then carried her around the house and garden for the rest of the day, telling everyone that she was the tallest of them all.
Accepting that Charlie would always approach things in his own way, Ginny answered the question he had asked. “It’s just the same as it was when we started the game. We can do just about anything if we do it at the same time and in the same direction. We’ve even done some of Harry’s dives. But as soon as we start doing anything separately, we get dizzy. Then we have to land, wait a few minutes, and start all over again.”
Charlie scratched his head. “So you need a way to practise without worrying about falling off of your brooms, is that it?”
“Aside from running into things, yeah, more or less,” Harry said.
“Maybe I can help, then,” Charlie said while watching the clouds. “What if I ride along with Ginny and let her fly. Then, when you get dizzy, I can take over while you two sort out . . . whatever it is you need to sort out.”
“That might work!” Ginny said, “Harry can fly just fine if I close my eyes for a minute, and once we get ourselves straightened out, we can try again without having to land and start over.” She beamed at her brother. “That’d be great, Charlie.”
Grinning sheepishly, Charlie said, “Yeah, well, let’s see if it works first, alright? We might all end up eating snow in a minute or two.”
Ginny and Harry got back on their brooms, and Charlie climbed on behind his sister. “Err, okay, Harry. I have to hold on to Ginny unless I’m steering, so let’s keep it simple for now while we all get comfortable. Let’s see . . . maybe you can just try to fly in the same direction at different speeds.”
Harry nodded, and they lined up the two brooms side by side. They started across the paddock at the same sluggish pace.
Okay, Harry. You speed up a little, and I’ll try to stay upright.
Harry pulled ahead, still flying in a straight line, and they felt the odd disorientation of moving at different speeds. They were able to stand it for longer than they had the first time, but after a minute, Ginny closed her eyes and whispered, “Charlie.”
Her brother removed his large hands from their light grip on her waist and reached around her to hold the handle of the broomstick. As soon as she felt him take control, Ginny focused her mind entirely on Harry’s flying to ensure that he was safe, just as she would when they flew individually.
Once Harry and Ginny were sure that he had recovered, she carefully concentrated on separating Harry’s senses from hers. She gripped Charlie’s muscular forearms in her hands for balance, trusting her brother to keep the broom moving.
When she felt focused enough, Ginny returned her hands to the broomstick and opened her eyes as Charlie let her reclaim control. Again she was able to fly for about a minute before closing her eyes to regain her focus.
After several slow trips up and down the length of the paddock, and several more slightly faster trips for Harry, they were able to fly for almost two minutes before becoming dizzy.
“Getting better, eh?” Charlie called, loudly enough for them both to hear without shifting their concentration.
“Yeah, definitely,” Harry said.
“Can we keep going?” Ginny asked as she opened her eyes again.
“Sure thing, Gin,” Charlie said. “I’ve got all day.”
By eleven thirty, Ginny was able to fly the full length of the paddock while Harry crossed it and returned to the middle, although they were both moving as slowly as the brooms were able. When they had done that for the fourth time in a row, they flew back to the garden bench at a leisurely pace and landed.
As soon as Charlie dismounted, Ginny dropped the broom to the ground and spun to hug her brother. “Thank you so much, Charlie. It was a lot easier with you helping.”
Harry saw the older Weasley smile broadly, and he had no problem seeing how much affection Charlie had for his sister.
“You’re welcome, Ginny. You too, Harry. I’ll help you anytime I can.”
Ginny stepped back from her embrace and looked up at him with a hopeful smile. “Tomorrow morning?”
Charlie chuckled and nodded. “Tomorrow morning.”
“We’re going to go tell Dad about this, and, oh, maybe lunch will be ready,” Ginny announced, suddenly aware of both her hunger and Harry’s empty stomach.
“Go ahead, then,” Charlie said. “I’ll put the brooms away for you.”
Harry smiled. “Thanks again, Charlie.”
“Don’t thank me,” he said, holding his hands out in denial. “If you think you can keep up with Ginny, then I should be thanking you.”
“Ha!” Ginny barked. Then, without warning, she sprinted away towards the Burrow.
Hey! Harry said as he launched after her in pursuit.
They heard Charlie call out from behind them as they neared the Burrow. “See?”
Ginny beat Harry to the back door of the Burrow, and she giggled as they went inside the house and hung up their cloaks.
Dad’s probably in the living room, Ginny said. C’mon!
They crossed the kitchen towards the door to the other room, but as they approached, they heard voices from the other side.
“ . . . but they’re just children, Molly.” Mr. Weasley’s voice said. “They want the same things the boys always wanted. The only real difference is that they’re always together.”
“There’s a lot more to it than that, Arthur, and you know it,” Mrs. Weasley said.
“I know it.” There was a long pause. “But . . . that’s all we can really worry about for now. Let them be together. They’ve shown us that they need it. Not just want it, but really need it.”
“Later on, though . . .”
“Yes, love,” Arthur sighed. “But later is later. Later, there will be new challenges for all of us. But Molly . . .,” they heard the sound of a chair scraping across the floor before Arthur continued. “If we don’t do our best now, there may not be a later for us to worry about. At least, not one that we’ll ever see.”
Mrs. Weasley sniffed. “You’ve said that a dozen times now.”
“It’s been true every time.”
Let’s go, Harry. Maybe Dad can get through to her, but I don’t think he needs our help.
They climbed the stairs to the first landing and went into Ginny’s room, where she propped the door open with a one of the textbooks Percy had given them. They flopped onto the floor on their bellies with their heads together. Outwardly, they pretended to be flipping through their Transfiguration book, but they were really only waiting for Mr. and Mrs. Weasley to finish their talk.
Do you really think your Mum will ever really accept us? Harry asked as Ginny turned a page at random.
Her long silence was more than enough answer, but Harry could feel her half formed thoughts tickling the back of his mind. Sooner or later, Harry, I hope she will. With any luck, it’ll be sooner.
I really hope so, Harry replied, and then he followed Ginny’s gaze as she turned to another chapter of the book. In spite of their silent discussion, they found themselves reading bits of the textbook they had already learned.
What do you suppose we’ll do next? Ginny asked idly.
I dunno. Transform quills into spoons, or something.
They turned a few more pages, half-reading and half-discussing the material, before they heard footsteps on the stairs. A moment later, Mr. Weasley stood in the doorway and looked down on them with a gentle smile.
“I thought I heard you two go up the stairs,” he said. “Do you know that you always walk up those stairs with exactly the same pace? If the sound didn’t come from more than one stair at a time, I’d think it was Percy or Bill.”
“Where is Percy, Dad?” Ginny asked. “I feel like we haven’t seen him in days.”
Arthur raised his eyebrows ruefully. “Well, you know Percy. His OWLs are coming up, so he’s been burning the midnight oil studying. Speaking of which, what are you looking at there?”
Ginny sat up and held the book towards her father. “Transfiguration. It’s really a lot of fun.”
“And you’ve been reading your Transfiguration book ever since you came in from the paddock, have you?” Mr. Weasley asked slyly.
They both averted their eyes, and Arthur chuckled. “You heard your mum and me talking, didn’t you?”
It’s awfully hard to put one past him sometimes, Ginny said.
I see what you mean.
“Just for a minute,” Ginny admitted. “We didn’t intend to, I promise.”
“I know you didn’t, Firefly. We should know better than to talk in the living room if we don’t want one of you lot to hear us.” Mr. Weasley stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. “Did you learn anything today?”
“Yes!” Ginny said, excited and smiling as she remembered their original purpose. “Charlie helped us today, and we managed to fly all the way across the paddock with Harry going faster than I was. I think that if we keep practising, we could play Quidditch together someday.”
Her father laughed quietly. “Woe to the Weasley boys when that day comes.” He paused for a moment. “That’s great, Ginny. Really great. You too, Harry. But what I was asking was whether you learned anything from what you heard in the living room.”
“Oh.” They thought for a moment. “I don’t think so,” Ginny said. “You didn’t say anything you haven’t said before.”
Arthur nodded. “Yes, that’s right. But did you learn anything about your mum?”
They cocked their heads to one side, eliciting an unexpected chuckle from the older man. Ginny glanced up at him, but her father just shook his head and waited for their answer. “I suppose . . . I suppose that maybe she’s getting used to it a bit or, at least, trying to understand better,” Ginny offered hesitantly.
Mr. Weasley sat cross-legged on the floor facing them and was quiet for a few moments. “I put together that Lego you got me, Harry. Did I tell you that?”
Confused by the change in subject, Harry shook his head.
“Well, I did. It was great fun, and I can’t wait to do it all over again. As you said, there are lots of tiny pieces, and they have to go together just right to make the airplane.
“Do you know what the trick is, Harry? What makes building that airplane easiest?” Harry shook his head again, and Arthur continued. “You just have to do it one piece at a time. At first, it doesn’t look anything like the airplane, but if you keep adding those tiny pieces, one by one, you end up with an airplane.”
Mr. Weasley’s voice softened. “Ginny’s mum is like that. She’s taking it one little step at a time, and she has to do it in the right order for herself.” He looked down at them and shook his head slightly. “We’re all like that, really. Some of us just take bigger steps than others. It may take a long time, but I really think that, eventually, your mum will have an airplane for you.”
“I’d be happy with just a raft, Mr. Weasley,” Harry said.
The older man’s lips curled in the slightest of smiles. “I know you would, Harry, but my wife doesn’t build rafts. She builds airplanes with lots of comfortable seats and a real kitchen in the back. It’s all she knows how to do.”
They sat in silence for a moment as Harry and Ginny thought about what Mr. Weasley had said.
“Daddy,” Ginny began finally, “can we ask you a question?”
“You can ask me anything, Firefly. You know that. You know the rule, too.”
“You don’t have to answer if you have a good reason not to,” she supplied.
“That’s right.”
“We were just wondering . . .” She trailed off, studying the rug they were sitting on, and then she raised her eyes to her father. “You and Mum are so different, Daddy. How do you get along so well?”
"You mean how can we love each other so much?"
Ginny nodded. Mr. Weasley took a deep breath and released it slowly. Then he scooted back towards the door and leaned against the doorjamb as he stared at the ceiling and furrowed his brow in thought for a while.
"I don't know how well I can answer that one, Firefly, but I'll give it a try." He thought for a moment longer and then looked back at Ginny and Harry. "There are lots of reasons you might like someone. Some of them are better than others. You might like the way someone looks, as that Elisabeth girl did with Bill. Or you can like the fact that they're smart, or funny, or charming, or even that they've got a lot of money." He scowled slightly, and Ginny and Harry wondered if he might be thinking of the same family they were.
"But that's not enough, not by a long shot," Arthur continued quietly. "All of those things can be . . . helpful, or fun, or pleasant, but even if you have them all, you won't necessarily be happy. You don't really need any of them to be happy."
He leaned forward, tapping the floor in absent emphasis. "The key, the real key, is understanding what's important. It doesn't matter if you're rich, or beautiful, or powerful, or anything else. You just have to . . . to care about each other better than anyone else ever can." He looked down at the floor and furrowed his brow in thought. "You have to know all the good things and bad things about the other person, and just . . . accept them and want them to be exactly the way they are, imperfections and all."
Mr. Weasley shrugged. "That's what love is, in some ways, and . . . you have to know, deep down inside, in here," he stressed, thumping his palm in the middle of his chest. "You have to know that you couldn't love anyone else in the world more than you love that person. And if you do it right, you'll know that that person loves you just as much."
"When you have that," he said, smiling faintly in recollection, "everything else becomes almost . . . unimportant. Meaningless, even. You can ignore the little things that might bother you. We all change as we go through life, sometimes in good ways, sometimes not. And when big things come along, you can just . . . talk through them. Some of them hurt . . . they might even hurt a lot, but you can get through it. No matter what happens, it's worth it because you know, without any doubt at all, that the person you love will still be there when it's all over."
Arthur settled back against the wall with a sigh. "That's the way it is with your mother and me. There are times, like now, when she does things that . . . well, that I don't really agree with, or even like. Goodness knows there are times I do things that she doesn't appreciate." He grinned with boyish charm. "Like that car, Harry. It flies as well as it ever did, you know."
"We guessed as much," Harry said.
"Yes, well, Molly knows it too. And she hates the thing. Absolutely hates it. But she tolerates it and a few other quirks of mine, and I accept a few things she does . . . because we can't imagine being as happy with anyone else as we are together. Even when times are rough, we still have that. We know each other, we really understand each other . . . well enough that all of those other things are details to be worked out."
Arthur smiled dreamily, and Ginny thought she could see the light dancing in his eyes. "Your mother is a wonderful woman, Ginny. No one is perfect, but she's awfully close. Much closer than I am, I think. Everything she does . . . she does because she loves you so very much. That doesn't always make her right, but she does love you, and I know that someday she'll be happy for you both because she loves you so much."
Ginny squirmed slightly, and Harry fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. "I'm sorry, Daddy," she said. "We didn't mean to imply that . . ."
"I know you didn't, Firefly. I know you'd never think something like that, and I don't think Harry would either."
Harry shook his head quickly.
"Does that answer your question at all, Ginny?" Mr. Weasley asked after a moment.
"I think so, Dad," she said slowly. "You mean that . . . that it doesn't really matter how you or Mum look at things, or do things, because you understand and accept each other, and you make each other happy. You love each other enough that it's . . . bigger, somehow, than anything else."
He smiled broadly and nodded. "You've got it, Ginny.” Arthur reached out and patted her cheek and then ruffled Harry’s hair before standing up. “Enough for now, anyway. Now let's go get some lunch. And remember what I said, alright? One little piece at a time."
Harry and Ginny nodded and followed Mr. Weasley down to the kitchen for a sumptuous lunch of beef, potatoes, and vegetables from the garden.
As the family and Harry finished their meal, Ron looked down the table. “Fancy a game of chess, Harry and Ginny?”
They quickly decided that the warmth of Ron’s room would make a pleasant change from the cold outdoors, so Harry nodded. All three children excused themselves from the table and climbed the stairs to Ron’s room, where he set up the chess board in the middle of the floor.
“It's not like I haven't been playing you both all along, eh?” Ron asked as he arranged his pawns.
“Err . . . yeah, mostly,” Harry admitted.
The red-haired boy looked up in curiosity. “Mostly? When haven’t I, then?” Ginny started to answer, but Ron raised his hand to stop her. “Wait, don’t tell me. Back in September, wasn’t it? Around the second week of classes.”
Harry nodded. “Yeah, that was it. Ginny was upstairs talking to Hermione, and I was trying to play on my own.”
“Bloody awful games that day, you know,” Ron said. “I had a good time and all that, but the play was horrible. At least when Ginny’s playing, too, there’s a bit of sport to it.”
He went back to his pieces, lining them up carefully and ensuring that the pieces were paying attention properly.
I think you could probably play chess as well alone as we do together, Harry. You were awfully, err. . . distracted that day.
Distracted by trying to distract myself, you mean.
Yeah, that.
Ginny and Harry spent the afternoon playing chess and, inevitably, discussing Quidditch. Ron was in his element, and Ginny was pleased to see him continuing to behave normally in their presence. They lost every game they played, but it was fun anyway.
Around three o’clock, Ron stood up from his latest victory and stretched. “Going for a bite to eat. You want anything?”
Harry and Ginny were not hungry, so Ginny shook her head. “No thanks, Ron.”
Shrugging, Ron left the room, and they heard his heavy footfalls as he thundered down the stairs to the kitchen.
Ginny got up and went downstairs to the loo while Harry waited in Ron’s room. As she climbed back up towards the fourth floor, Bill emerged from the twins’ room. Her oldest brother was chuckling softly. When he spotted Ginny on the stairs, he smiled at her, and his chuckle became hearty laughter. Without a word, he descended the steps, leaving her standing on the landing.
Scowling, Ginny crossed to the open doorway to her brothers’ room and found the twins sprawled across their beds, grinning as though they had done something especially clever.
“What was that all about?” she demanded.
George looked up at her, his grin staying firmly in place. “We were just telling Bill about our little adventure last month. Biggest prank Hogwarts has seen in years, I bet.”
“Did you tell him we helped?” Ginny asked. She was not sure how she felt about Bill knowing of their involvement.
“’Course we did,” Fred said. “That’s why we told him in the first place.”
Ginny blinked twice in rapid succession. Come down, would you, Harry? Looking at the twins, she made her intentions clear. “What for?”
Harry stood up, and they transported him to the twins’ room next to Ginny. Both boys leapt up from their beds as he appeared.
“Blimey, Harry,” Fred said, exhaling sharply. “Don’t do that to a bloke. Not without warning, anyway.”
“Sorry,” Harry apologized hastily. “Why’d you tell Bill about the prank?”
George sighed, and both twins sat together on Fred’s bed. “Step into our office, Potsleys, and we’ll tell you.”
Ginny and Harry crossed to sit on George’s bed. “Getting a lot of mileage out of that joke, aren’t you?” she asked.
Fred nodded. “Well, yeah. What good is teasing if you don’t keep it up?” In a flash that Ginny and Harry had grown accustomed to, her brothers’ expressions became serious.
“Bill came up after lunch and asked us about you,” George said. “Seems like he’s been talking to Percy and Ron, too, and I know he’s spent hours with Mum and Dad after the rest of us go to bed at night.”
Ginny sighed. “I told you lot to talk to us, not to everyone else in the bloody house. Why’s he going around behind our back?”
Fred shook his head. “I don’t think it’s like that, Gin. He didn’t really tell us what he thought or what he thought we ought to think. He just asked us what we thought, and he wanted our thoughts about the things that made us think that way. I think.” George just nodded once in agreement.
Ginny grinned in spite of her concern. “What thoughts did you tell him you thought about when you thought, then?”
George looked her in the eye. “Nothing but the truth, honestly. You two, together, came up with something absolutely brilliant. We’d never have thought of it ourselves. We’re pretty sure that you, Ginny, would never have come up with it on your own before this year, and . . .” he shifted his gaze to Harry, “no offense or anything, Harry, but from what I’ve heard, I don’t think you’d have come up with it on your own either.”
Harry shrugged. “No, you’re right.”
“So we told him about the idea, and how you decided where to put the powder,” Fred continued. “Then we got to talking about what happened the next morning, and it took us nearly an hour just to describe everything. Bill was laughing his arse off by the time we were done.”
“He wasn’t upset or anything?” Ginny asked cautiously.
“Nah,” George said, waving his hand airily. “He thought it was brilliant, too.”
She nodded. “That’s good, then, I suppose.” A stray thought floated through their minds, and Ginny cocked her head at the twins. “How did you find us that night, anyway? You had no reason to be in Harry’s room.”
Fred grinned and looked insufferably superior. “Sorry, dear sister. Trade secret. You’ll find out when you’re older.”
Ginny rolled her eyes theatrically. “You have no idea how often we hear that these days.”
“Ah, but there’s a difference when we say it,” George said waggling his eyebrows. “In this case, it’s absolutely true and, at the same time, completely pointless.”
She sighed melodramatically and then grinned. “Let’s go, Harry. When they get cryptic, there’s no reason to talk to them. They just start wallowing in their own cleverness and ignoring their betters.”
In unison, Fred and George flopped onto their backs and rolled from side to side on Fred’s duvet. “Wallow! Wallow, wallow, wallow!” they chanted in ecstatic voices.
Ginny snatched up George’s pillow and flung it at them, and then they got up to return to Ron’s room, leaving the twins doing their best imitation of pigs in mud.
As they approached the door, Fred called them back. “Oi, bookends!”
Harry and Ginny spun around to find the twins upright again. “Bookends? That’s a bit of the pot and the cauldron, isn’t it?” Harry asked for Ginny.
The two brothers turned to each other with false looks of shock. “What do you know, Fred,” George said. “We do look a bit alike.”
“I suppose I can see the resemblance,” Fred agreed. “But those two don’t look alike at all.”
“No, they don’t look alike. They be alike. Bit of a distinction.”
“And quite distinctive, too.”
“I think they’d make nicer bookends than we would,” George said with a fake expression of deep thought. “They’d fit much more easily on a shelf, and they’ve already admitted that they’re better than us. That must be what they meant.”
“Does this nonsense have a point sometime soon, or is it just for your own personal amusement?” Ginny asked.
George shook his head. “Children these days. No patience at all.”
Fred leaned forward. “Look, third years and up can go to Hogsmeade on weekends now and then. You know that, right?” Ginny and Harry nodded. “Well, that’s us now. If you need anything from the village, let us know. Sweets, quills, knick-knacks, or, you know . . . clothes or something. Just say the word. We’ll probably even bring back the change.”
“And if your requests should happen to include Zonko’s products, intended for some nefarious scheme, we would never notice such a thing,” George added. “Right, Fred?”
“Right, George. We’re really thick about things like that . . . provided we get in on the plan.”
Harry chuckled as Ginny rolled her eyes again. “We’ll be sure to let you know if we need something,” Harry said. “Thanks, Tweedledum and Tweedledee.”
With puzzled expressions, Fred and George froze in mid-grin. “What?”
“Err . . . they’re characters from a Muggle story,” Ginny explained, reviewing Harry’s memory of a film he had seen in primary school. “Quite appropriate, really.”
“I’m not sure I like it when you two know something I don’t,” George said.
“Yes, well, trade secret, wasn’t it? Now we’re even.” Ginny flipped her hair over her shoulder, raised her chin proudly, and marched out of the room. Harry turned to follow her, but he looked back over his shoulder to grin at the twins, who waved merrily.
Are you sure those two are really related to the rest of you? Harry joked.
I’ve been saying for years that they must be from another planet, but nobody’s believed me.
Well, I do.
That night, as Harry and Ginny were drifting to sleep, there was a quiet knock at her door.
Ginny sighed in irritation. “Come in.”
The door opened, and Bill poked his head into the room. “Sorry, Gin. I’m sure you two are tired. Do you mind if I come in for just a minute?”
“No, that’s alright,” Ginny said. She sat up and turned to face the door, shifting Bun-bun into her lap, while Harry pushed himself upright behind her.
Her eldest brother stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. “I just wanted to say that . . . well, I’m glad you’re safe, Ginny. I can understand how this must be just as strange for you two sometimes as it is for the rest of us, but we don’t see that because you’re so . . . I don’t know, content with the whole thing.”
“It’s not wrong for us to be content, Bill,” Ginny said.
He shook his head. “No, of course not. I personally don’t think I’d like to be in your situation, but I can’t very well say it has to be bad for you. I’ve been talking to the others . . .”
“Yeah, we heard,” Ginny said.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Bill said, his eyes imploring them to understand. “I’ve only been around you two for a few days, and you’ve spent most of your time outside. I can’t blame you for that - it’s been rather tense here in the house for you. But in any case, I haven’t had a chance to see what you’re really like now. And I wanted . . . I needed to know.”
“You could have just asked us, Bill.”
He nodded. “I know I could have, but I wanted to hear what everyone else had to say. How could you explain it to me in a way I’d understand? To you, it’s just the way things are, right? You’d be the least able to explain the differences.”
Ginny nodded slowly. “I suppose that’s true somehow. What did you learn, then?” she asked, remembering her father’s question from earlier in the day.
“Percy was completely useless.” Bill snorted, leaning back against the closed door. “He told me that you always went to bed on time and that you looked quite ‘accepting’ with each other.” He rolled his eyes. “Whatever that means.”
“Fred and George told me all about that prank you lot pulled,” Bill said with a grin. “That was brilliant. I wish I’d been there to see it.” He turned his head to stare at the blank wall next to the door, and his grin faded. “They said that before, they had a little sister who was a pretty good sport. Now, they have two friends who are a lot of fun, and one of them just happens to be their sister, too.”
Bill smiled faintly and turned back to Harry. “I think you impressed them, Harry.”
Harry grinned and nodded, happy to have someone else confirm his fleeting impression of the twins’ reactions.
It’s a shame we’ll never be able to tease them for saying all that, Ginny said.
Wouldn’t be right, he agreed.
“Anyway,” Bill continued, “then I talked to Dad. Mum was there, too, but . . . well, she didn’t say much. Dad told me what happened the first time you both visited here, and he explained why you two need to share a bed at night.” He paused and then muttered, “It was bloody hard to argue about that once I’d heard the whole story.”
“Ron . . .” he stopped himself, furrowing his brow. “What did you do to Ron?”
Harry and Ginny shifted nervously. “What do you mean?”
“He wouldn’t tell me a damn thing. Not a word. He said he liked you, Harry, and that you were a great flyer. That was it. He told me that if I wanted to know anything else, I’d have to find someone else to ask. What happened to him?”
Ginny paused. “Did you ask the twins?”
“Yeah, I asked them,” Bill nodded. “They said they didn’t know, not really. But from what they did know, they didn’t expect any less of Ron. How helpful is that?”
What do you think, Harry?
The same thing you do, he said. We might be able to tell him as much as we told the twins, but anything beyond that isn’t really ours to tell. And if he tells others, well . . .
“Bill,” Ginny began, “I have to ask you this, and you have to be as honest as you can be. Alright?” Her brother nodded slowly. “If we tell you something, will you tell Mum and Dad?”
The long-haired man thought for a long moment. “Will any of you get hurt if I don’t tell them?”
“No, it’s all over now.”
“Will you ever tell them?”
They considered the idea as they both fiddled with the blankets. “Someday, maybe,” Ginny said at last. “It’s not entirely our story to tell, and we’ll keep other people’s secrets until they decide to say something themselves.”
Bill nodded, but his voice was hesitant as he answered. “Alright, then. Since no one will be hurt and it’s in the past, I won’t tell Mum and Dad. But if I think you should, I hope that you’ll reconsider.”
“Alright,” Ginny agreed. “On Halloween, during the feast, there was a troll in the dungeons. Our friend Hermione didn’t know about it, and she was down in the dungeons too. Ron, Harry, and I went to get her, but the troll found us before we could get back to the common room. We . . . we fought it, and we won. Ron . . . well, Ron helped a lot.”
“You fought a troll?” Bill asked, wide-eyed, and they nodded. “Four first years took on a troll and won?”
“Yeah . . . we won.”
“How the hell does a first-year fight a troll?”
Ginny raised her chin in pride for her youngest brother. “With a first-year spell.”
Bill narrowed his eyes at her. “There’s a lot more to this story, isn’t there?”
She met his gaze without flinching. “You already know that.”
He matched her stare intently for a few long moments and then sighed. “You’re all okay? You didn’t get hurt?”
“A few scratches and such,” Ginny said. After a moment of silence, she focused entirely on holding her brother’s gaze. “This Christmas hurt a lot more.”
Bill winced. “Damn, Ginny. I’m very sorry about all that. I feel like . . . like I could have . . . I don’t know, helped out or something, rather than hurting you, if only I’d paid more attention.”
Ginny shrugged. “It’s over, now.”
“That part of it, anyway,” he muttered. Bill started looking around as though avoiding something, and his eyes dropped to the stuffed rabbit in Ginny’s lap. He looked confused as he changed the subject. “Where’d you get a pink bunny, Gin? I can’t imagine you wanting anything that colour.”
“Harry made it for me.”
“Made it? With Muggle sewing or something?”
“Nope,” Ginny said with a grin and a wink. “Watch.”
Harry picked up his wand from the bedside table and cast finite incantatem on the bunny, turning it back into a white Hogwarts towel. Then he said, “brunesempra,” and the towel became Bun-bun again.
“Where’d you learn that, Harry?” Bill asked.
“I didn’t. I was messing around one day, and this just happened.” He avoided saying what he had been doing and why.
The long-haired man whistled appreciatively. “How long does it last?”
“About twelve hours, we think,” Harry said.
“That’s ruddy impressive,” Bill said. “The Egyptians used traps that did things like that, but they set them to cast on people. They’d transfigure someone into a rock or a pane of glass or some silly thing, usually for three or four hours. The people it happens to are never quite the same. Glad it’s never happened to me.”
Ginny looked her brother straight in the eye. “It almost happened to you on Christmas Day, Bill.”
The blood drained from her brother’s face, and he opened and closed his mouth a few times before he recovered. He bent his knees and sat heavily on the floor by the door. “Bloody hell, Harry, thanks for not doing that.”
Harry refused to meet Bill’s gaze and just dropped his head. “I didn’t really want to, but I couldn’t think of anything else. Ginny’s hex takes too long to say.”
Bill sighed. “You’ll learn jinxes and such a bit later on. In the meantime, has Professor McGonagall warned you about using transfiguration on people?”
“She told us not to do it, but she didn’t say why,” Ginny said.
“Well, here’s why. You need to know if you’re going to use spells like that one.
“When you transfigure a person into an inanimate object,” Bill continued, “you’re taking away all of their senses. They can’t see, hear, taste, feel, or smell anything at all. They’re still alive, but they have no way to interact with their bodies or the world around them. The Muggles call it ‘sensory deprivation,’ and they use it for torture. Well, except for a few weirdoes who enjoy it as a hobby. Anyway, the difference is that what the Muggles do isn’t nearly as complete as what we can do with transfiguration.”
Ginny whimpered and turned to put her face in Harry’s shoulder. He put his arms around her back and stroked her hair gently.
“What’s wrong, Gin?” Bill asked. His concern was clearly written on his face.
“That’s what happened that morning when Dumbledore stunned her,” Harry whispered. “She was alive and awake, but she couldn’t feel anything from her body at all. All she could do was share everything through me, but she couldn't really make sense of anything. She was too busy trying to find herself, and she . . . well, she didn’t really know where to look."
“Oh, damn, Ginny. I had no idea. I mean, Dad said . . . but I didn’t really understand.”
Ginny spoke without moving her head. “I think that if . . . if I didn’t have Harry, if he wasn’t here, then I would be like those people you work with. Or sort of like that. Maybe forever.”
Bill closed his eyes and shook his head. “You’re a damned fool, William Weasley,” he whispered. Then he took a deep breath and opened his eyes. “Well,” he said soothingly, “we’ll just have to make sure nothing happens to Harry. Right, Gin?”
She lifted her head a little bit and nodded, while Harry felt her summoning the bravest face she could. Her voice was barely a loud whisper. “That’s right.”
Bill got to his feet and looked down at the two children huddled together on the bed. “Look, I’m sorry, again, about everything.” Pausing to run his hand through his hair and pace a bit, Bill turned back to them. “I didn’t understand, and I know you have to understand something before trying to change it.” He sighed. “Or deciding to just leave it well enough alone.”
He stuffed his hands into his pockets before looking out of the window. After a moment, he turned back and tried to get his expression under control, but discomfort was still evident on his face. “Look, if you two need . . . well, help, or you have questions, or … or anything, you let me know, okay? I admit, it will take time to accept all this, but I’ll do my very best to help you, even so. It’s the least I can do.”
Ginny nodded slowly from within Harry’s arms. “Thanks, Bill,” Harry said quietly. He could feel Ginny’s fervent hope that Bill would be as good as his word. She wanted to have her favourite brother back again someday.
“You two get some sleep. You’ve earned it.” He turned to leave and then paused with the door half-open. “Uh, Ginny?” He paused until she turned her head to meet his eyes. “I’ll try to write to you a bit, at Hogwarts, alright?”
Surprise coursed through the young pair on the bed. “That’d be great, Bill,” Ginny said as her hope blossomed a little more.
Her brother nodded and left, closing the door softly behind him after one last glance at Harry and Ginny.
Ginny climbed slowly out of Harry’s lap and settled onto the bed next to him as they found their sleeping position again. That’s more like my Bill. That person from Christmas isn’t really him at all.
Harry thought carefully for a moment. I think . . . I think I can see where he was coming from that day, though. If I thought someone were hurting you, or . . . or using you to hurt someone else, I might react like he did. I mean, that is what I did, right? The only difference was that I knew for sure what would and wouldn’t hurt you, and he was just guessing.
Ginny smiled affectionately. You’re getting awfully good at figuring these things out, Harry.
I think you help me, even if you don’t know it.
We help each other, then, she insisted, wriggling into a more comfortable position and letting both of their minds finally drift towards a restful oblivion.
The morning of New Year’s Eve found Harry, Ginny, and Charlie in the paddock again. Harry and Ginny were happy to make progress according to Charlie’s suggestions, though they were not always sure why he wanted them to do things in a particular order.
“This time, let’s try doing laps around the edges,” Charlie suggested. “That way, there’ll be times when one of you is flying straight while the other is turning. You can go the same speed, just start at different times. Does that sound alright?”
“Sure,” Ginny said. “Would you mind riding with Harry today? If we switch back and forth, we can both learn to do it both ways.”
He nodded. “Fine with me. Alright with you, Harry?” Before Harry could answer, Charlie shook his head. “Never mind. She wouldn’t have said anything if it wasn’t alright with you. Come on, then.”
They mounted the two brooms, and Ginny took off a few seconds before Charlie and Harry. They flew in long, slow laps around the paddock, with Charlie flying for Harry whenever the students were forced to focus only on Ginny’s senses to keep her aloft.
After over an hour, they had reached a point where Harry could stay in control of the broom most of the time. Charlie still took over regularly, but those periods were now shorter and further apart. After one such period, when Harry had just taken over again and their senses were as distinct as they would ever be, Ginny glanced up to find her mother standing motionless at the kitchen window, watching the three fliers.
From that time until around eleven o’clock, Mrs. Weasley was visible at the window, and Ginny watched her whenever she was flying towards the house. Her mother’s expression was unreadable at first, but as the morning progressed, her face became sadder and sadder. By ten thirty, Ginny thought her mother might be crying.
I guess we knew they’d keep staring, Harry said as Charlie steered the broom.
It’s got a bit better, at least. And . . . well, staring is a lot better than some of the things Mum’s done.
Your Dad said she just needs time. So we should just let her stare?
I suppose so. Ginny’s mental sigh was enough for the both of them.
At noon, Charlie put away the brooms and led the small group back into the Burrow. Mrs. Weasley had spent the last hour making a hearty lunch of roasted chicken and vegetables. She was very quiet during the meal, but Ginny thought that her mother was paying attention as the rest of the family, including Percy, talked comfortably about the upcoming year of school or work. In spite of the casual conversation, Harry could not help but notice that Percy never talked to them or even glanced in their direction.
When everyone had finished eating, Molly rose from the table. “Time to clean up. Ginny and Harry, would you please help me with the dishes in the kitchen?”
They were surprised by the request, but they nodded their agreement and gathered the plates from the table. As they carried them across the kitchen, Mr. Weasley stood up and spoke merrily. “Come on out to the shed, boys. I want to show you the airplane that I built.” A few of the Weasley brothers looked confused, but they all put on their cloaks and followed their father out of the house without question after glancing back towards the kitchen.
Mrs. Weasley started the cleaning charm on the sink, causing the dishes to hover one by one over half of the sink to be scrubbed and then to move to the other side to be rinsed. Finally, they set themselves on a wooden rack, where a periodic drying charm left them ready to be put away.
Harry and Ginny’s job was to stack the dirty dishes at one end of the sink for the charm to pick up and then to put the clean dishes where they belonged in the cabinets. The entire process did not take very long, even with ten people’s dishes to wash and dry, but the time dragged in the awkward silence of the kitchen.
When the last plate was properly put away, Mrs. Weasley cancelled the cleaning charm. As the children turned to leave the kitchen, Ginny’s mother spoke softly.
“Would you stay for a moment?” she asked. They nodded uncertainly, and Mrs. Weasley sat in one of the chairs at the kitchen table. “Sit down, please.”
Harry and Ginny took their usual seats on the other side of the table, facing Molly directly, but out of arm’s reach.
“I wanted to talk to . . . to the two of you, so that I could . . . apologise,” she said, keeping her eyes fixed on her hands as she wrung them together on the table in front of her. “It’s unacceptable to hurt a child,” she whispered. “If I heard of anyone else . . . doing that, I would call them all sorts of horrible names.”
She paused to absently trace the grain of the table with one finger. “But it wasn’t anyone else. It was me.” She folded her hands back into her lap. “I hurt a child.”
She dragged her eyes up to look at Harry, but she could not hold his gaze, and every few seconds her eyes darted away before returning to his. “Arthur told me you . . . sprained your ankle, Harry, and had some . . . some bruises. You got those when you hit . . .” she trailed off and took a deep breath. “I did that to you, didn’t I?”
Harry nodded slightly, unsure of what else he could say.
“I am so sorry, Harry. So terribly, terribly sorry. What I did to you is . . . unforgivable. I won’t ask you to say it’s okay, because I’m not sure it ever will be. But . . . but I hope you can believe me when I say that . . . that I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have hurt you.”
Mrs. Weasley finally met Harry’s gaze and held it. Tears rolled silently down her cheeks, and Harry could not help noticing that her eyes were the same bright, warm brown as Ginny’s. “I promise you this, Harry,” she said. “I will never, ever do anything to deliberately hurt you again. I can’t say that I am … that I will be happy about . . . everything, but I won’t hurt you. I swear that I will do everything I can to make sure that you will always be safe in my care.”
Harry looked at her for a long moment and then nodded once. “Alright.”
“Alright,” Mrs. Weasley echoed, nodding her head jerkily.
“Mum,” Ginny said hesitantly, “I’m sorry I . . .”
“I know, dear,” Molly interrupted. “But you’ve nothing to be sorry about. You were trying to protect someone you . . . someone you really care about.” She reached up to brush the scars on her nose with one calloused finger. “You did a good job of it, too.”
Heaving a great sigh, Molly looked at her daughter and managed to hold her gaze steadily. “I can hardly object to your doing that, Ginny. Not if I want to sleep at night. So, let’s just . . . let’s try to make sure you never have to do it again, alright? You won’t have to protect Harry from me anymore. I promise you that.”
“I hope the scars go away, Mum,” Ginny whispered, her own tears falling into her lap.
Molly shook her head. “Madame Pomfrey says they’ll fade, and eventually maybe we won’t notice them. But they’ll always be there in some way. I think . . . I think perhaps it’s better like that.” She summoned a weak, watery smile. “They don’t bother me.”
Ginny knew her mother was lying, either to them or to herself, but she nodded anyway.
Molly turned back towards Harry, and Ginny thought that her mother was gathering her courage as she straightened in her chair. “If there’s anything I can do, Harry . . . any way I can make it up to you, please just tell me. I know that nothing I can do can really make it better, but I’ll do what I can.”
Harry did not need time to think about his answer, and he spoke before Ginny could follow his thoughts completely. “I want you to hug Ginny,” he said in an authoritative voice as he leaned forward. “I want you to hug her the way you used to, and I want you to mean it the way you used to.”
Mrs. Weasley sobbed, and fresh tears poured from her eyes as she blinked rapidly. “I can do that, Harry. I can do that, if Ginny wants me to.”
Ginny’s gratitude and sheer emotion flooded him as she leapt from her chair and rounded the table. Before Mrs. Weasley could stand, Ginny flung herself into her mother’s lap. She wrapped her arms around Molly’s neck and buried her face in the older woman’s dress, even as Mrs. Weasley’s arms came up and cradled Ginny tightly to her body.
“Oh, Ginny,” she whispered over both of their tears. “I just wanted you to be safe. I want you to always be safe and happy and healthy. I couldn’t bear it if you weren’t. I just couldn’t.”
She means it, Harry, Ginny’s voice soared through his mind. She really means it.
Harry smiled at her, though she could not actually see him. Quietly, he crossed to the stairs and climbed up to Ginny’s room, leaving her with her mother.
You don’t have to go.
I know, he said. But . . . maybe it’ll be good for you both, just for a few minutes.
I’d rather have both of you.
We’ll try, Ginny, for your sake. But it’s just not that way right now.
Mrs. Weasley pulled away from Ginny and noticed Harry’s absence. “Where did he go?” she asked nervously.
“He’s upstairs, Mum.”
“Does he . . . does he know how sorry I am?”
Ginny nodded. “Yes, Mum.”
“That’s good, then. Tell him . . .” Molly trailed off, her expression searching. At last, she sighed. “Tell him I said thank you.”
Ginny spoke as Harry thought the same words. “He says ‘you’re welcome, Mrs. Weasley.’ ”
Mrs. Weasley picked Ginny up out of her lap and set her back on her feet. After brushing Ginny’s tears away with a gentle thumb, Molly smiled weakly at her daughter. “You two run along back outside. You were getting much better at flying this morning.”
“Okay, Mum.”
“Don’t wear yourselves out too much, though,” her mother cautioned. “It’s New Year’s Eve, so we’ll all be staying up late tonight.”
“We won’t,” Ginny promised, and then she ran to the back door and picked up her cloak. As she swung it over her shoulders, Harry transported himself to her left and put on his own cloak.
Well? Ginny asked as they opened the door and walked outside.
Harry nodded. Yes, you’re right. She’s trying. I think your dad was right about those little steps.
It’s better than no steps at all.
Harry sighed as he closed the door behind them. I know it is, even if I wish the steps were bigger. I suppose we all have to take steps, or else we can’t go anywhere. I’ll give her another chance, alright?
You’re already doing that, Harry, and you know how much it means to me. I know you’ll keep doing your very best, and I really think it will work out eventually.
Together, they went back into the garden for a few more hours of practise.
After dinner, the entire family gathered in the living room. Bill and Charlie would be leaving on New Year’s Day so that they could return to work the following day. Everyone knew that this night would be the last time they all got to spend time together for quite a while.
Mrs. Weasley turned on the wireless, and Celestina Warbeck’s voice drifted across the room. The Weasleys talked amiably, conversations starting and shifting between everyone in the room. For the most part, Harry and Ginny sat on the floor and let the boisterous family’s chatter flow around them. Ginny loved this part of New Year’s Eve, and Harry had to admit that it was pleasant, sitting in front of the fire and listening to a room full of happy people.
There were plates of biscuits on the table, and Mr. Weasley had brought in several large bottles of pumpkin juice from the shed. Harry and Ginny started to doze in the warmth near the hearth, lying on their sides, facing each other, and holding hands on the floor between them. The conversations around them faded to a buzz in the background.
Thoughts of the last week swirled through their mind in their comfort, accompanied by select images and sounds that stood out in their memory. As they remembered their conversation with Mr. Weasley from the previous day, their focus on his explanations gradually sharpened. New thoughts formed without words, connecting things they had said and heard.
Finally, Ginny spoke in a soft voice. Harry, you know I can’t imagine caring about anyone more than I care about you. I don’t . . . I don’t think it would work. I mean, how could I? No one will ever understand me better than you do.
Yes, I understand that too, he said.
And you feel . . .
You know I do, Ginny. You’re . . . I think you’re everything anyone could ever be for me.
Do you think anyone could ever make us happier than we are with each other? she asked.
Never. If everyone would just let us be, I think we’d be as happy as anyone could be.
Ginny thought for a moment, and eddies of her musings spilled into Harry’s relaxed mind. We love each other, then, don’t we?
Harry opened his eyes lazily and looked at her with some consternation. You figured that out for us months ago, Ginny.
I know, but . . . it’s . . . different somehow. I think . . . Ginny hesitated, but then she realised the futility of hiding anything from him. She opened her eyes to let them both share seeing one another. I think that someday we’ll get married, Harry. Like Mum and Dad.
Harry was silent as they considered the new idea of being together in that way. Well, we don’t have to do anything about it right now, do we?
No, she agreed. That’s all years and years in the future.
It’ll happen when it happens, then. Harry closed his eyes and went back to drifting peacefully in the warmth of the fire.
When the wireless announced midnight, Ginny watched as her mother and father embraced and kissed each other affectionately for a long moment. Before the chimes of the hall clock faded, she leaned over and kissed Harry softly on the cheek. He smiled shyly and then, for the first time, turned his head to kiss her cheek in return, never bothering to open his eyes.
As they turned back to face each other and bask in the fire’s heat, Ginny closed her eyes to avoid the looks she was sure that her family would be giving them. For the first few seconds of the New Year, the Weasley family was completely silent.
Harry vaguely recalled an earlier conversation, and it nagged at his consciousness for a moment, preventing him from finding sleep.
Ginevra?
Yes, Harry?
Where am I going to get a white horse?
Chapter 17: Reflections
Author's Notes: Thanks, as always, to moshpit, Jonathan Avery, regdc, and Chreechree. It's so great to know that I have a whole superteam of betas to make sure I don't mess anything up.
Harry and Ginny paused as they approached the entrance to Platform 9 ¾ at Kings Cross Station, and her father looked at them questioningly. Percy, Ron with his mother, and the twins had already passed through the barrier with their trunks. After a moment’s hesitation, the two first-years each took one hand off of their trolleys and touched their palms together. Nothing happened, and they sighed in relief.
“Everything alright?” Mr. Weasley asked.
Ginny grinned. “Yeah. We just had to make sure.”
“Move along, then,” he said with a gentle smile. “We don’t have long before the train leaves.”
The platform was packed with people. Even though most of the students had already boarded the Hogwarts Express, parents were milling about talking to acquaintances and waiting for the train to depart. Ginny spotted Percy walking purposefully towards the prefects’ carriage near the engine while the twins boarded a carriage at the opposite end of the train. Ron and Mrs. Weasley were waiting on the other side of the barrier.
Mrs. Weasley hugged Ron and shooed him off towards the train. Ron shrugged at Ginny and pushed his trolley across the platform to the nearest carriage. Ginny’s mother turned and hugged her daughter fiercely, keeping her grip a bit longer than was usual.
“Have a good term, Ginny, and . . .” She paused and glanced at Mr. Weasley. “Well, just . . . stay out of trouble,” she finished awkwardly. Molly released Ginny and turned to Harry. Instead of hugging him, she reached out and laid her hand lightly on his shoulder. “Harry, it was nice to see you again,” she said politely.
“Thank you for having me, Mrs. Weasley,” he replied. “The turkey at Christmas was really wonderful.”
She smiled somewhat stiffly. “That’s very kind of you to say.”
Especially since we accidentally helped to cook it, Ginny added ruefully as Mr. Weasley approached them.
Mr. Weasley dropped to one knee and pulled both children closer to him by their hands. “Remember, you’re back among people who don’t . . . err, don’t really know you. You’ve had quite enough adventure for one year, so try not to cause people to ask questions, alright?” They nodded, and he pulled them to his shoulders in a firm joint hug.
“You’re a good girl,” he said into Ginny’s ear. “I’m so proud of you.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Harry, you’re a fine lad. Remember, take small steps to get all the little pieces together.”
“Thank you, Daddy,” Ginny replied just as softly and kissed her father’s cheek in thanks.
Arthur cleared his throat as he released them and stood up. “Best get on the train now. Have a good term, and don’t forget to write to us.”
They agreed and then waved as they pushed their trolleys towards the train. The twins intercepted them as they reached the door to the carriage Ron had entered. Without a word, Fred and George smiled and lifted Ginny’s new trunk from the trolley. Harry and Ginny managed to get his smaller trunk onto the train by themselves as they followed the twins to the compartment Ron had claimed. Inside, the twins put both trunks into the overhead racks, saluted Ginny smartly, and marched away down the corridor.
Hermione and Ron were sitting on one side of the compartment, and Harry and Ginny claimed the opposite bench. They sighed together as the compartment door closed, and the noise of the platform was reduced to a background murmur.
I never thought it would be a relief to get away from my parents, Ginny mused.
The last few days of the holiday had been relatively quiet, but somewhat tense. With Bill and Charlie gone and Percy isolating himself with his textbooks, Harry and Ginny had spent most of their time during the day flying or playing games with Ron. They had often spent the evenings, however, in the living room with Ron, the twins, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Ginny’s mother watched them constantly, but she had not said anything more than pleasantries to them when they were together since New Year’s Eve. She would talk to Ginny when Harry was elsewhere, but only about trivial things. On the whole, the last three days had been confusing and exhausting.
“Are you two alright?” Hermione asked with a concerned expression.
Ginny nodded. “Yeah. Just tired, really.”
“How was your holiday?” the older girl asked tentatively.
Harry sighed. “Long. It was too long.”
“What happened?”
“Do you mind if we tell you later, Hermione?” Ginny asked. “It’s not that we don’t want you to know. We just don’t want to go through it all again yet.”
Harry thought he could actually see his friend reining in her curiosity, which rather surprised him, but she nodded immediately. “Of course. Maybe Ron could tell me later, so you don’t have to worry about it at all.”
“Is that alright, Ron?” Harry asked.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “Probably won’t be able to tell her everything she wants to know, though.”
“We can talk about it later if you want to,” Ginny said. “Just . . . not now.”
The four friends lapsed into silence as the train slowly pulled out of Kings Cross, the speed and rocking motion gradually increasing. Harry sat against the wall by the window, and Ginny leaned against him as they both stared out at the countryside. After a few minutes, Ginny shifted her position and lay across the seat with her head in Harry’s lap, facing the other side of the compartment. She sighed in contentment as she closed her eyes. Harry placed one hand in the small hairs at the base of her neck, stroking them absently. Soon, she fell into a deep sleep.
The door to the compartment slid open, and Neville poked his head inside. He spotted Ginny immediately and stopped himself from speaking even as Hermione raised a finger to her lips in warning. The round-faced boy glanced around at the other occupants of the room before looking at Ginny again, and then he whispered, “I’ll come back later.” Without waiting for a response, he left and closed the door carefully behind him.
You should have asked him to stay, Ginny said.
I was thinking about it, but he left so quickly, and I didn’t want to wake you up by shouting.
He felt her smile. Thanks for that.
Before long, Harry drifted off also, his head lolling slightly from side to side against the back of the seat. They dreamed of flying, with moments from the Boxing Day Quidditch match mixed with their efforts to fly together. Harry soared high above the paddock, while Ginny deftly threw the Quaffle past Ron and into the goal hoop.
“They didn’t!”
Harry’s head snapped upright, and he saw Hermione gaping at Ron with a look of horror. “Whoever it was, whatever it was, they probably did,” he muttered. Ginny was still sleeping, and their dream continued to play across his mind even as he tried to focus on his two friends.
“I’m sorry, Harry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” Hermione said. “But . . . did you really hex the Headmaster? And Ginny’s mother?”
We should’ve known she’d start asking questions sooner rather than later, Ginny said, even as she watched herself make a goal that was physically impossible.
Harry sighed. “Yeah, we did.”
“But . . .” Hermione cut herself off abruptly. “Never mind. We can talk about it another time if you want to. Go back to sleep, Harry. You look like you need it.”
He nodded and leaned further over to rest his head against the wall of the compartment as he closed his eyes. A minute later, he felt a gentle hand lifting his head, and he looked up to see Hermione sliding a neatly folded jumper between his head and the wall. She smiled at him and spoke in a whisper. “Does Ginny need one, too?”
“She’s fine. Thanks, Hermione,” he murmured. Before he knew it, he was back in the air with Ginny, playing Quidditch against faceless and formless opponents who had no hope of winning.
They slept through most of the trip to Hogwarts, waking occasionally to find their friends reading or talking quietly. When the trolley came around, they roused themselves enough to eat. Neville joined them at lunch, but the brown-haired boy seemed to sense the mood of the compartment as he sat next to Ron, and he kept his voice low during their brief conversations. A few minutes later, Harry and Ginny dozed off again.
Hermione woke them in time to drape their robes over their clothes as the train entered Hogsmeade station, and Ginny smiled at her friend as she returned the rumpled jumper Harry had used as a pillow. The five students picked one of the horseless carriages to share on the way up to the castle. Along the way, Neville finally asked the question they had all expected.
“Ginny, Harry, are you two alright?”
“We’re fine, Neville,” Ginny said. “Just really tired. We spent the last week playing Quidditch almost non-stop.”
Neville glanced at Ron with a confused expression, but he nodded and seemed to accept her explanation.
The start-of-term feast was uneventful, allowing Harry and Ginny to regain some of their energy as they basked in the riotous atmosphere of a Hogwarts feast. It was almost a relief to them when they noticed Malfoy sneering at everyone in sight, and Dumbledore’s behaviour throughout the meal was perfectly normal. They worried about the conversation they knew was coming once the other students returned to their dormitories, but the Headmaster’s casual demeanour was reassuring.
All too soon, from their point of view, the feast was over. As the Great Hall emptied, Ginny and Harry hung back near the doors. Hermione and Neville looked questioningly at them while Ron looked uncomfortable. Ginny turned her eyes towards the high table, where Dumbledore and McGonagall were still talking quietly in their chairs. Hermione nodded as she got the message, and then she loudly asked Neville about his holiday as she steered the two boys back towards Gryffindor Tower, pulling each of them along by the arm.
The two professors walked down the length of the hall as the last of the other students left. Dumbledore smiled at them and led them all up to his office. Instead of sitting behind his desk, however, he crossed to the fireplace and claimed one of the squashy armchairs there. McGonagall perched on the edge of another, and Harry and Ginny chose to share one of the remaining two. They had become accustomed to sitting in the same chair, and Ginny settled herself on Harry’s lap with her back against his shoulder so that he could see.
“Thank you for coming, Mr. Potter, Miss Weasley,” Dumbledore said with a gentle smile, breaking the somewhat stilted silence since the end of the feast. “I hope that you were able to find more enjoyment in the latter portion of your holiday.”
Uncertain of where the Headmaster was going with the conversation, Ginny replied only to his pleasantries. “We were, Headmaster. Thank you for asking.”
“Rather ridiculous, isn’t it?” Dumbledore asked, stroking his beard as his eyes twinkled. “Here we sit, all knowing we have something important to say, and yet social convention dictates that we begin with words that are essentially meaningless.”
The two students had no idea how to respond to that, so they sat quietly. McGonagall’s mouth tightened, and she leaned her head forward slightly. “Albus.”
“Ah, yes, sorry” the old man said, blinking and shaking his head. “It is also not useful to speculate on matters of social custom as a delaying tactic.” He sighed and folded his hands in his lap. “First of all, I must apologize to you, Miss Weasley. I reacted . . . very poorly to the situation on Christmas Day. I should not have stunned you. Nor, I think, should I have given you any reason to attempt to defend yourself from me. I most sincerely apologize for that.”
Ginny blinked. She appreciated the Headmaster’s apology, but she had not expected to hear it in light of the other events of that day. “Err . . . thank you, Headmaster. Maybe we could just, umm, call it even?”
“Yes, that would be most agreeable,” Dumbledore said with a slight smile. “If that is quite alright with you, Mr. Potter?”
Harry lowered his eyes. “Yes, please. I’m . . . I’m really . . . sorry for . . . for what I did. I didn’t mean to . . .”
“Ah, but you did,” the Headmaster interrupted him. “You had every intention of preventing someone from harming Miss Weasley. And you did that quite effectively. What you did not intend was for the results to be so dramatic, correct?”
Harry nodded, refusing to meet the Headmaster’s eyes.
Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers under his chin. “The pair of you must understand that you are both very, very powerful. As it is with all young people, that power is closely linked to your emotions. When you are agitated, even everyday spells can have unpredictable and possibly dangerous results.” He turned to Ginny. “Miss Weasley, your father told me that you created that marvelous hex you used. The Bat Bogey Hex, I believe you call it?”
“Yes, Headmaster,” Ginny muttered. She was slightly embarrassed by the name she had chosen years ago.
Dumbledore rubbed his nose thoughtfully. “Very apt. I have always appreciated names that were descriptive without taking themselves too seriously. You’ve used that spell many times before, haven’t you?” She nodded. “And what were the effects before you met Harry?”
“Err . . . well, my brothers said it hurt a little, but it was mostly annoying because the bats wouldn’t go away, and their claws were like pinpricks. They couldn’t get rid of it with a counterspell, which always bothered Bill a bit.”
“Really?” the Headmaster asked, leaning forward in fascination. “The bats can’t be dispelled?”
Ginny shook her head, her loose hair drifting across Harry’s cheek. “No. You just have to wait for them to vanish. They don’t last long, though.”
“Remarkable!” The old man’s enthusiasm suddenly reminded Harry and Ginny of Mr. Weasley. “It is most unfortunate that testing the spell is impractical.” He settled back into his chair. “In any case, you can see that the sudden shift in your power has had a drastic effect on a spell you’ve cast many times. Similarly, it has apparently become commonplace for the air around you to heat when you are angry, sometimes with extravagant results.”
Dumbledore sighed. “I am afraid that you must both learn to remain calm if you wish to prevent such things from happening. It is very unfair for you to have to suppress your feelings in any way, but I hope you agree that the potential results are rather frightening if you don’t.” He peered at them both over the rim of his glasses.
Ginny shook her head sadly. “We really don’t want to hurt anyone.”
“I never thought that you did, Miss Weasley,” he agreed quietly.
“How do we stop doing these things, then?” Harry asked.
“There are many methods people use to remain calm in stressful situations,” Dumbledore said. “Some are very simple, and some are quite outlandish. What the best of them have in common, however, is the opportunity to understand your feelings and release them in a harmless way.”
Pausing to glance at McGonagall, Dumbledore regarded the two young students fondly. “So, with your permission, that is where we shall begin. I would like both of you to meet with Professor McGonagall for an hour or so each week. You will not be tested or forced to say anything you don’t wish to, but I hope you will take advantage of the opportunity to talk about whatever may concern you. Even if you talk about homework or gobstones or your Quidditch team’s prospects, I think it will serve a purpose. Would that be acceptable to you?”
How could that help? Harry wondered.
I don’t know, exactly, but he seems to think it’s important. They thought for a moment. It can’t hurt, can it?
“It’s alright with us,” Ginny said, “if Professor McGonagall doesn’t mind.”
“Not at all, Miss Weasley,” her Head of House replied. “I have been known to enjoy a casual conversation on rare occasions myself.”
Did McGonagall just make a joke? Harry asked incredulously.
There’s a first time for everything, right? Ginny replied as they grinned slightly at their professor.
“Well, then,” Dumbledore said, rising from his chair and rubbing his hands together, “if you will all kindly excuse me, I believe I will go and visit the kitchens. The treacle tart this evening was rather good, and the house elves get so few visitors.” He swept his gaze across the two students, his eyes twinkling madly, and left his office with a slight bounce of anticipation in his step.
After he had left the room and the door was swinging shut, he leaned back through the doorway. “Oh, and Mr. Potter, Miss Weasley . . . do try to get some sleep tonight. Classes resume tomorrow morning.” His eyes continued dancing as he turned back to the stairwell and the door fell closed.
McGonagall sighed, tutted disapprovingly, and turned back to the students. “I am sure that you can surmise that the Headmaster would like us to spend some time together this evening. If you do not object, I thought that perhaps I would tell you a few things to get us started.”
Harry and Ginny nodded, and McGonagall leaned against the back of her chair. After a moment, she spoke in a gentle voice. “Miss Weasley, do you know why the Headmaster really stunned you?”
Ginny flushed and looked down at her lap. “Because I was going to hex him.”
“That is partially true, but it is such a small part as to be inconsequential,” the older woman said. “You were attempting to hex him, and more importantly, he thought that you were going to succeed. That is indeed why he took action. But do you know why he stunned you, rather than attempting to disarm you again?”
Ginny shook her head.
“What do you know about Albus Dumbledore, Miss Weasley?”
“Well,” she scowled slightly at the unexpected question, but they rapidly thought of everything they knew about the Headmaster. “He’s been the Headmaster for a very long time. At least since Mum and Dad were here. Everyone says he’s the most powerful wizard in the world.”
McGonagall nodded. “Do you know anything about his past?”
“Err . . . just what it says on his Chocolate Frog card, really. He defeated someone named Grind-e-something a long time ago, didn’t he?”
“Grindelwald. Yes, he did. It took him seven years to do it,” the professor said. “Decades later, You-Know-Who began terrorizing magical folk and Muggles alike, and the Headmaster became involved in the fight against him as well. That war lasted eleven years, and, of course, you both know exactly what ended it so abruptly.”
Unconsciously, Harry raised his hand to his forehead and pressed his fingers against his scar.
“Yes, Mr. Potter. But there is no need for us to speak of that. What I would like you both to realize is something that no one ever thinks of. Albus Dumbledore spent no less than eighteen years fighting against self-styled dark lords. He participated in countless duels and defended himself from countless attacks. Over all of that time, his already impressive abilities became reflexive skills which helped him to survive in very dangerous situations fighting against deadly opponents.”
“That is what happened last week, Miss Weasley,” McGonagall said gravely. “He saw that a very powerful witch was casting a spell against him, and he reacted instinctively, the way he was trained to react. I doubt that he even realised he had stunned you until he had done it, just as you would pull your hand away from a hot surface before consciously deciding to do so. I am absolutely certain that, if there had been any time for him to think about it, he would never have reacted in that way. Can you understand that?”
“I . . . suppose so,” Ginny said, frowning in concentration. “It was really like a reflex, then?”
“Yes, Miss Weasley. That’s precisely what it was.” McGonagall leaned forward. “I hope you will believe me when I say that Albus Dumbledore is not a man who attacks anyone, least of all his students, casually. He was very disturbed by his actions that day, and I suspect that he will be far more careful in the future, just as we are asking the two of you to be.”
Harry and Ginny nodded, and their professor stood up. “Well, I think that is enough for tonight. I would like to meet you in my office one week from today, at two o’clock. In the meantime, if you ever have questions or problems, you know how to contact me directly.”
“Thank you, Professor,” Ginny said. They rose and followed McGonagall to the door. The professor escorted them back to Gryffindor Tower in silence, but for the first time in over a week, the silence was without strain or awkwardness.
I suppose there’s a lot more to it than what’s written on a Chocolate Frog card, Ginny said eventually.
Yeah, Harry agreed. The card makes it sound like it was easy. He defeated a dark wizard, studied dragon’s blood, and worked on alchemy. As if they were all the same sort of thing.
Ginny’s footsteps faltered for a moment as she made a connection. Harry, that’s it! Dumbledore worked on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel! That’s where we’ve seen that name before!
How could we have missed that? We got two Dumbledores from that batch of Frogs that Hermione gave me before the holidays!
Wait until Ron and Hermione hear about this, Ginny said, grinning.
A minute later, McGonagall stopped in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady. She looked puzzled by the cheerful expressions on the students’ faces, but she smiled and bid them good night.
Harry and Ginny leapt through the portrait hole, looking around the common room for their friends. Hermione had claimed a table for herself and her books, and Ron was lounging in a nearby armchair flipping through a Quidditch catalogue. Neville was not in the room, but his absence suited them at the moment.
They walked to Hermione’s table, and as they passed Ron, Ginny leaned over the back of his chair. “C’mon, Ron.” Her brother looked up, ready to protest, but when he saw his sister and friend taking chairs next to Hermione, he shrugged and joined them.
As soon as they were all seated, Hermione leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. “What did Dumbledore want?”
“Nothing much,” Ginny said. “We’ll tell you later. But guess what? We know who Nicolas Flamel is!”
“You do?” Hermione asked. “How did you find him?”
“Well, you helped, in a way. Two of those Chocolate Frogs you gave Harry had Dumbledore’s card in them, and the card says that the Headmaster is known for his work on alchemy with his partner . . .”
“Nicolas Flamel!” Ron finished. “I must’ve seen that a hundred times.”
“Alchemy?” Hermione echoed. She stared intently at the table in front of her, then leapt up from her chair and dashed towards the portrait hole.
“Hermione!” Ginny called after her. “The library’s shut.” The bushy-haired girl slid to an abrupt halt, then turned and walked calmly back to the table.
Reclaiming her seat with just a hint of pink in her cheeks, Hermione picked up her quill and bent back over the parchment she had been using to take notes from the textbook in front of her.
Harry and Ginny shared a grin with Ron, and then the three students left Hermione to her devices. They claimed a sofa nearby and spent the rest of the evening looking through Quidditch catalogues and picking out all the gear they knew they would need to play on the Gryffindor team together.
When Hermione packed up her work and said goodnight, Harry, Ginny, and Ron all headed for their dormitories also. Harry and Ginny got ready for bed, and then Harry climbed into his four-poster, pulled the curtains closed, and sealed them with the sticking charm. As he moved to sit near the pillows, leaving Ginny room at the foot of the bed where the blankets had not been disturbed, his hand fell on something that crackled slightly beneath the thick duvet.
Ginny appeared at the same instant, and they quickly pulled back the covers to find a package wrapped in plain brown paper. Taped to the outside was a tiny card.
Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well.
A Very Happy Belated Christmas to you.
Harry stared at the note wonderingly. My dad? He tore into the package, and as he ripped the paper apart, something smooth and shimmering slid out and pooled on the surface of the bed.
An Invisibility Cloak! Ginny said. She reached out and stroked the silvery fabric. It has to be. I’ve never actually seen one before.
It’ll make me invisible? Harry asked.
Try it.
Harry picked up the material and unfolded it carefully. As the outline became more apparent, he could see that it was indeed an oversized cloak. He straightened it and then threw it around his shoulders. They gasped as they watched his body disappear, leaving his head floating above the bed. Ginny reached over and found the material whose weight was resting against Harry’s back. Lifting it, she pulled the hood of the cloak over his head, and he vanished completely.
Wicked, she said.
Looking out at her through the drooping hood, Harry found that he could see quite clearly, though the colours of Ginny’s hair and pajamas seemed muted.
This is awesome! he said. Here, have a go.
Ginny could see and feel what the cloak felt like from the inside, but she was still excited to wear it herself. Harry opened it and held it out for her, and she moved forward to pull it around herself. She ignored the hood and let the voluminous fabric fall around her like a small tent.
It’s warm, but the air isn’t stuffy at all, she observed. It must have some sort of charms on it to make it comfortable.
Harry grinned. Tired, Gin? He already knew the answer.
Not in the least. But we’d better wait until everyone’s asleep.
They sat on Harry’s bed, careful to make no noise, for a full half hour. When Harry’s watch ticked over to ten forty-two, he turned to Ginny with a grin. Let’s go!
Keeping the cloak wrapped around herself, Ginny hopped off the bed. Harry slid his curtains open slowly, and then they walked quietly towards the door. Harry eased it open, letting Ginny go ahead of him into the stairwell.
Halfway down the stairs, Ginny began giggling. You know, for all the time I’ve spent in your room, this is only the second time I’ve actually walked down these stairs.
Just before they entered the common room, Ginny composed herself and held the cloak open, and Harry slipped underneath it beside her. Fortunately, the common room was empty, and they ignored the confused queries of the Fat Lady as they exited Gryffindor Tower.
Where to? Harry wondered.
Somewhere we haven’t been before, Ginny said. What about the fifth floor? We’ve only been there that one time with Fred and George.
Lacking any better ideas, and really only interested in exploring, they set off down the stairs to the fifth floor. Unfortunately, that entire floor of the castle was a disappointment. There were several interesting statues and paintings, but most of the doors along the corridor were locked. The few that opened revealed nothing more interesting than dusty, unused classrooms and, once, a large closet full of bottled soap and other toiletries.
Well, now we know where to come if we want to smell like, Ginny looked at the nearest bottle of bath soap, persimmon.
What’s persimmon?
Dunno. Want to try it?
Err . . . no, thanks, he said. Eating Every-Flavour Beans is random enough for me. Both of them shuddered. Ron had dared them to eat some Every-Flavour Beans at the same time over the holidays, and liver flavoured curdled milk was the foulest thing they had ever tasted.
Undaunted by the rather uninteresting fifth floor, they continued down to the fourth floor. The library was at one end, so they crept down the hallway in the opposite direction. To their dismay, the fourth floor was just as dull as the fifth floor, without even a storage closet to provide variety.
This cloak is great, Ginny said as they crept down the hallway. This whole time, it’s been nice and warm, even when I can tell there’s a draft in the corridor. Our regular cloaks always leave my hands and toes cold. Too bad I can’t wear this one all the time.
As they turned to walk back towards the stairwell, Harry spotted a narrow hallway that had been concealed by shadows when they approached from the other direction. They followed it eagerly, sure that such an out-of-the-way corridor must lead somewhere interesting. Instead, at the end of the short hallway, they emerged into yet another unused classroom. This one was smaller than the others, and rather than rows of dusty desks, it contained a collection of dusty trunks, cabinets, and crates pushed up against the walls.
Maybe there’s something interesting in one of the cabinets or something, Ginny offered.
Harry shrugged. It’s worth a look. You check this side, and I’ll check the other. He ducked out from under the cloak and crossed the room, peering past the half-open lid of a packing crate. Who keeps an entire box full of used spell-o-tape?
Maybe someone thinks it’s art, Ginny said with a quiet laugh.
He moved further down the wall and glanced up to see Ginny smiling at him from between the crate of spell-o-tape and a battered wardrobe. He blinked at her, trying to determine why her appearance there seemed out-of-place.
Ginny, what’d you do with the cloak? he asked.
I’ve got it right here, she said, gesturing with the arm over which she had draped the silky material.
But you . . . he trailed off, realising suddenly what was wrong. Not only was Ginny not wearing the Invisibility Cloak, she was also dressed in her school uniform rather than her blue pajamas, and she had never moved her arm at all. He stared at her, noticing the immaculate arrangement of her clothes and the silver sparkle of her favorite hair clip. He was absolutely certain she had come to his room with her hair down around her face.
It’s still loose, Ginny said, confused. Why?
She relaxed her concentration to see why Harry was so concerned with her hair. As she did, Harry saw that she was studying a locked trunk that rattled slightly, while she looked out of his eyes to find herself in her school uniform, smiling broadly at him. They each pressed their eyes closed for a moment, shutting out the confusing images.
What’s going on, Ginny?
I don’t know, but I’m definitely not wearing my uniform.
Harry cracked an eye open and turned to see Ginny, in her pajamas and unbound hair, facing away from him. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw her facing him in her school uniform with her hair held back by the silver clip. As he watched, she blinked and brushed an invisible spot of lint from her grey skirt.
Fascinated, Ginny opened her eyes and swiveled to look at herself. She walked up behind Harry, but the grey-clad Ginny continued to smile broadly at him from the other side.
Harry . . . she began, confused. I don’t see anything but our reflections. There’s a frame, see? It’s a mirror.
Looking where she indicated, Harry saw that it was indeed a mirror. It was as high as the ceiling of the classroom, and the frame was heavily inlaid with gold. Strange words were engraved across the top of the frame. The letters were all familiar, but they fit together in bizarre combinations, and the resulting words meant nothing.
I don’t see myself at all, Harry said, pulling his gaze back to the image in front of him. Just you in your school clothes.
Ginny stepped around him for a closer look, but as soon as she stood in front of him, they both stopped and stared at the mirror. Ginny now saw Harry, dressed in his green Weasley jumper, grey uniform trousers, and pristine white trainers. The image looked straight at her and smiled affectionately.
Harry, however, looked in the mirror over her shoulder and saw only the reflection of them both in their pajamas. They blinked as their minds tried to sort out the oddity of seeing two different things in the same place at the same time.
Startled by the multiple reflections, Ginny took a half-step backwards and reached behind herself for Harry’s hand. The moment their fingers entwined, the image in front of them shifted again.
Now they both saw themselves as they were - wearing their pajamas, with Harry standing beside and slightly behind Ginny and their hands clasped tightly. Behind them, however, was a crowd of people. Ginny’s parents stood behind her, and her brothers were arrayed beside them. Further back, other red-haired people peered around the Weasley family. Behind Harry, a bespectacled man with rumpled black hair had his arm around the shoulders of a woman with dark red hair and striking green eyes. Behind them, in turn, were other people who all looked similar, in one way or another, to the couple closest to Harry.
Look at Mum. Ginny’s voice was less than a whisper in Harry’s mind, and he turned his attention to the image of Molly Weasley. She was smiling broadly from where she stood next to the auburn-haired woman, and as they watched, Mrs. Weasley reached out and rumpled Harry’s hair fondly.
She looks so happy, Harry said wistfully.
That’s the way she always looks in portraits with the rest of us. That’s the way Mum is supposed to look.
Ginny, do you suppose that if those are your parents, then these . . . he looked longingly at the happy couple standing behind his reflection.
I think so, Harry, Ginny said, squeezing his hand tightly. That’s your Mum and Dad.
Harry stepped towards the image slowly, utterly enraptured by the sight of two people he had given up on ever seeing. But there could be no mistaking Harry’s green eyes in the woman’s face or his unruly mop of black hair atop the man’s head. He reached out to his mother, and his fingers encountered smooth glass as they touched those of his reflection. Ginny, what . . . ?
I’ve never heard of a mirror like this.
In the reflection, Lily Potter reached out and put both of her slender hands on Harry’s shoulders, and he thought he could almost feel their gentle, loving pressure. He raised his hand so that, in the mirror, his fingers rested atop his mother’s, and she smiled even more broadly at him.
Your mum is so pretty, Harry.
Lily shifted her gaze to Ginny’s reflection and reached over to stroke the back of her fingers down the small girl’s cheek.
She thinks you’re pretty, too, Harry said with a smile.
His mother pulled her hand back from Ginny’s face and leaned over to whisper something in Mrs. Weasley’s ear. Molly laughed and nodded in response. From his wife’s other side, James Potter leaned over and kissed Lily’s cheek, causing her to turn her head and give him a different, warmer smile. James grinned and turned his head to wink at Harry.
That’s your grin, Ginny said, and then she watched as the same expression blossomed on Harry’s face.
Yeah, he said. I got it from my dad.
Somewhere in the dark room, a clock chimed, reminding them that they were out of their dormitories long after their curfew. Reluctantly, Harry and Ginny backed away from the mirror.
“We’ll be back,” Harry whispered.
All four of their parents nodded and waved, and the gesture was copied by everyone in the reflection. Ginny released Harry’s hand, and a moment later they arrived, one after the other, back inside the curtains of his bed.
Ginny carefully folded the Invisibility Cloak as Harry produced Bun-bun for her. She stroked the soft material once more before reaching to tuck the cloak underneath Harry’s pillow where it would not be found. He could tell that she already missed its warmth.
You could sleep in it if you want, Gin.
Harry, that’d be silly . . . wouldn’t it? He could hear the vague note of longing in her mental voice.
Not really. If you were wrapped up in that, then anyone who found us in the middle of the night, like the twins did, might not see you.
They’d just see a huge lump in our blankets with nothing to hold it up, she said wryly. That’s much less suspicious.
Well, that’s true, he said. But being invisible might give you a second or two to get back to your room before anyone recognizes you. It would be hard for me to explain the invisible lump, but it would be a lot better than explaining you. He grinned at her across the bed. And besides, if you have that keeping you so warm, maybe I’ll get more of the blankets.
She scowled playfully at him, but they both knew that she loved being wrapped up in the bedclothes, which often left Harry out in the cold even though she was tucked up against his side. He was not as fond of warmth as she was, but he did not care to freeze, either.
You wouldn’t mind? she asked, though she knew the answer already. It was your father’s, after all.
He and Mum clearly liked you. He’d probably want you to use it, too. You know you’ve always wished you had a blanket that could cover your ears somehow.
Ginny smiled in gratitude and unfolded the cloak. As Harry watched, she pulled it over her shoulders and tugged the hood up, rendering her completely invisible. A disembodied hand emerged from nowhere, picked up Bun-bun, and pulled the bunny back into nothingness where it disappeared also. Harry grinned at the sight and lay back. He watched through Ginny’s eyes as she crawled into bed next to him, curling up against his torso as usual, though he could not see her at all.
It’s weird not to be able to see myself when I can tell that you’re looking right at me, she said.
No weirder than feeling you right there and not seeing you at all.
She reached up and pushed the hood of the cloak back just enough to reveal her face. Smiling, she said, That’s better. Cover us, Potter.
Obediently, Harry pulled the blankets across both of them, and they settled down to sleep.
After the temporary distraction of the cloak, their minds returned to the strange mirror they had encountered.
What do you suppose it does? Harry asked.
I’m not sure. It showed you me, and me you, but then when we were together it showed us with both of our families. I don’t see how all of those match.
Maybe it shows opposites in some way, he offered. The opposite of one of us is the other, and the opposite of us alone would be us with our families around.
But you’re not my opposite, Ginny argued. My opposite would be someone like Malfoy, I think.
That’s true. I’m glad we didn’t see him in that mirror.
Me, too, Ginny said. They thought for another moment. Maybe it just shows us people who are important to us.
Makes sense. I don’t really care, though. I never thought I’d get to see my parents.
They looked like really nice people.
I thought so, Harry agreed. Not at all like my aunt and uncle. It’s hard to imagine that Aunt Petunia is my mum’s sister.
They look alike in some ways, Ginny said. They’re both rather thin, and they have the same sort of face. Your mum looks a lot nicer than your aunt, but it’s her hair that really makes her stand out.
Harry smiled. You would know, wouldn’t you?
He felt the rush of air along his chest as she snorted. Yeah, I’ve never had any problem finding my family in a crowd.
We should take Ron and Hermione along tomorrow night, Ginny. She can show us the rest of her family, and Ron can help us figure out who the rest of those Weasleys are.
Hermione doesn’t have any brothers or sisters, remember? Ginny said. But I’m sure she’d like to see a magical mirror like that.
Their classes on Monday passed in a blur as Harry tried to remember every detail he could about his parents. By the end of the day, Harry was unbearably excited at the idea of seeing his parents again, while Ginny was curious to see their families all together again.
When they arrived in the Great Hall for dinner, Ron was engaged in yet another debate about football with Dean and Seamus. Rather than listen to that particular argument again, they chose to sit a few seats down the table. A few minutes later, as they ate in apparent silence, Neville joined them and began serving himself.
“Hi Ginny. ‘Lo, Harry. Where’s Hermione?” he asked.
“Dunno,” Harry said. “Haven’t seen her since classes ended.”
“She’s probably in the library,” Ginny said. Finding out who Nicolas Flamel is.
We almost forgot about that, didn’t we?
“I like the library well enough, I suppose,” Neville said, “but I can’t imagine spending so much time there.”
“Err, Neville . . .” Ginny said with a grin, “you spend even more time in the greenhouses than Hermione does in the library.”
Their round-faced friend shrugged. “Yeah, that’s true, I suppose.”
“What do you do out there, anyway?” Harry asked.
“Help take care of the plants, mostly. Winter is pretty rough on them, even with the warming charms on the greenhouses. I give them extra blankets, but the potted plants always seem to push them off, so I have to keep fixing them again.”
“It, err, sounds a bit repetitive,” Ginny said.
“Well, yeah, but it’s not bad,” Neville argued. “I only work in one greenhouse. Professor Sprout’s got some second-year taking care of another, and we’re not allowed in the rest. So I get to know my plants, and sometimes Professor Sprout comes by and tells me more about them.”
Hermione dropped into the seat next to Neville, and her book bag fell to the floor with a heavy thump. “Hello everyone,” she said, reaching for a carafe of pumpkin juice.
“Hi, Hermione,” Ginny said. “Find anything good in the library?”
Hermione gave her a significant look. “Yes, I did. It will be very useful for my project.”
“What are you working on?” Neville asked.
“Oh, just a little extra research for potions. Professor Snape will never give me credit for it, but it’s good to know anyway.”
Neville shrugged. “If you say so.” He turned back to his meal, but after a moment he looked up again. “Say, Hermione, Harry. You were raised by Muggles, right? Did you know that what Muggles call ivy is actually a magical plant?”
“Ivy?” Harry echoed. “No, I didn’t know that.”
“I didn’t either,” Hermione said. “How did you find that out, Neville?”
“Professor Sprout mentioned it. How could the Muggles think a plant that grows that aggressively is normal? Sure, it’s pretty, but all it really wants to do is break rocks. Why on earth would you plant it next to a building you wanted to keep?”
“I’d think that if it was that dangerous, even Muggles would have figured it out by now,” Ginny said.
“That’s the interesting part,” Neville said, brightening. “If they fed it properly, it would tear down all their buildings. But Muggles don’t have anything like Hippogriff dung, and what they use instead actually limits the ivy’s growth and dulls its appetite.”
Let’s never tell the twins that, Ginny said. They’d go around to Muggle buildings dumping Hippogriff dung on the ivy.
After dinner, Neville returned to his greenhouses, and Harry, Ginny, and Hermione went back to the common room. Ron came in a moment later, and the four students found a table in a secluded corner.
“What’d you find, Hermione?” Harry asked.
She pulled a large book out of her bag and opened it to a marked page. Leaning across the table, she spoke in an excited whisper. “Nicolas Flamel is the only known creator of the Philosopher’s Stone. Listen.”
She bent to the book and read aloud. “The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Philosopher's Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers. The stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal.
There have been many reports of the Philosopher's Stone over the centuries, but the only Stone currently in existence belongs to Mr. Nicolas Flamel, the noted alchemist and opera lover. Mr. Flamel, who celebrated his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year, enjoys a quiet life in Devon with his wife, Perenelle (six hundred and fifty-eight).”
Devon? Ginny asked. Maybe the old stories about hermits in the forest are true.
“I think that’s what Fluffy is guarding,” Hermione concluded.
“And of course Snape would want it,” Harry said. “Who wouldn’t?”
Ron began speculating on what he would do if he could make his own gold, but Ginny cut him off with a wave of her hand. “We couldn’t sleep last night, so we did a bit of exploring,” she said.
“You did?” Ron asked, looking offended. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Harry thought quickly and then shrugged at his friend. “You were asleep, weren’t you?”
“Well, yeah, but I’d’ve woken up for that.”
Harry felt vaguely guilty for not wanting Ron to come along, but Ginny reassured him. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to do it by ourselves the first time, Harry. It’s your father’s cloak, so it was all sort of . . . special.
“The point is, we found something really interesting in a spare classroom,” Ginny said aloud. “Do you want to come along tonight and see for yourselves?”
Ron did not need any encouragement. “Yeah, I’m in.”
“What did you find?” Hermione asked cautiously.
“A mirror, Hermione,” Ginny whispered excitedly. “A magical mirror.”
The older girl’s eyes rolled slightly. “Please tell me it doesn’t talk to you and tell you whatever you want to hear.”
“What?” Ginny asked, confused. “No, nothing like that. I’ve seen a few talking mirrors, but mostly they just make smart remarks about your hair or something.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” Hermione muttered.
“Anyway, this mirror we found shows you people. We think it’s people who are important to you. Harry and I saw our families . . . even his parents.”
Hermione’s eyes widened. “You saw the Potters? But how is that . . .” she trailed off, and then she shook her head slightly. “It doesn’t matter, I suppose.”
“Do they talk or anything?” Ron asked.
Ginny shook her head. “No, they don’t talk. But they smile and wave, and they seem to respond to what you say. We saw my mum whisper something to Harry’s mum, but we couldn’t hear anything.”
“Did you see all of us?” Ron asked.
“Yeah. Mum, Dad, you, all five of our brothers, and both sets of grandparents, I think, even though I don’t remember Granddad Prewett.”
He nodded. “When do we go?”
“Wait!” Hermione interrupted. “Won’t someone see us?”
Harry grinned. “Don’t worry, we’ll take care of that part.”
At midnight, after the common room had emptied, Ginny slipped under the invisibility cloak and crept down the stairs. Once she had left the dormitory, Harry crossed to Ron’s bed. “C’mon, Ron,” he whispered.
The curtains slid back immediately, and Ron stepped out in his pajamas. “Where’s Ginny?”
“Downstairs already.”
The two boys tiptoed across the room and down the stairs to the apparently-empty common room. Harry and Ginny watched in amusement as Ron peered around the room. “Thought you said she was down here?”
“Here I am!” Ginny called softly, pulling the hood of the cloak down and leaving her head floating in midair.
Ron yelped and leapt backwards, falling over an ottoman and tumbling to the ground with his arms and legs flying above him. Harry chuckled, and Ginny clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter as she pulled the cloak off of her shoulders. Her brother scrambled up to his feet and glared at her angrily.
“Bloody buggering hell, Ginny. Why’d you go and do that?”
“Sorry, Ron,” she said. “I just couldn’t resist. It’s payback for the time you jumped out of my wardrobe with that wooden sword you’d made.”
The red-haired boy collapsed into a chair. “Yeah, well, that was different,” he mumbled. Ginny raised an eyebrow at him. “And anyway, you hexed me for it.”
“You can try to hex me, if you like.”
Ron rolled his eyes. “No, thanks.” His eyes turned to the cloak draped across Ginny’s arm, and his expression brightened immediately. “Is that an Invisibility Cloak?”
“Yup,” Ginny said. “Someone left it for Harry as a Christmas present. The note said it belonged to his father. That’s how we’re getting through the halls tonight.”
“Wicked,” her brother breathed.
A noise on the stairs caused Harry and Ginny to spin around, already concocting a story in case Percy had found them. Instead, they saw Hermione standing uncertainly on the last step, wearing a thick blue dressing gown over her nightclothes. “I’m still not sure we should do this, Invisibility Cloak or no,” she said.
“C’mon, Hermione,” Ginny wheedled. “Don’t you want to see the mirror? There’s no way we could get into that classroom during the day without someone noticing.”
“Well, yes, I do,” Hermione admitted, “but . . . well, we’re not all going to fit under that cloak, are we?”
“No, I suppose not,” Ginny said. “But you and Ron and I can fit, and then Harry can meet us there the other way.” Harry nodded his agreement.
“Oh, alright,” her friend relented. “But we shouldn’t be out for very long.”
Ron and the two girls huddled together as Harry helped to arrange the Invisibility Cloak to cover them all. When he was satisfied that they were invisible, they slowly crept out of the common room and down to the stairs. Harry sat on a sofa and waited as Ginny led them, carefully and quietly, to the abandoned classroom they had found the night before. Once Ginny entered the room and Harry could see it, they transported him to the open space in the middle of the floor.
Ginny pulled the cloak off of the three of them and folded it over an empty chair. Then she and Harry crossed to the mirror and stood facing it. Unconsciously, they clasped their hands as they gazed into the silvery surface. At first, they saw only their reflection, but soon the images of their families faded into view around them. The Potters and Weasleys stood just as they had the night before, smiling at the young pair and each other.
“I don’t think you can see what we see,” Ginny said softly, “but they’re all there. Our family’s all wearing the Christmas jumpers from this year.”
“My parents are there, too,” Harry said, gesturing at the couple standing behind his reflection. “I never knew what they looked like.”
“I did,” Hermione whispered. Harry turned quickly to look over his shoulder at her, and she blushed as her gaze dropped to the floor. “They’re in books, you know. With pictures from when they were Head Girl and Boy. I never . . . I never realised you hadn’t seen some of their pictures too, Harry. I’m sorry.”
He sighed. “It’s alright, Hermione. You couldn’t have known, could you?” He turned back to the mirror and looked at all the faces smiling back at him. As James Potter shifted his weight, Harry spotted a much shorter person standing behind him. Harry’s father seemed to sense his request, and he moved aside to stand behind Lily and wrap his arms around her waist. When he moved, Harry was able to see Hermione in the reflection, standing behind Harry as she was in the dusty room, but dressed in her pristine Hogwarts uniform. His brown-haired friend stood out in the group of red- and black-haired people, but she smiled in spite of the slight blush on her cheeks. James pulled one arm from his wife’s waist and laid it across Hermione’s shoulders with an affectionate grin.
“You’re here too, Hermione,” Ginny said, pointing at the new image in the mirror, though she knew her friend could not see it.
“Why would . . . Oh,” Hermione said. “Oh. Well . . . I hope my hair doesn’t look awful or anything.”
Harry grinned. “It’s still just hair.”
“Want to try the mirror?” Ginny offered.
“I do,” Ron said quickly. Ginny, Harry, and Hermione stepped to the side and let Ron walk closer to the mirror. He stared into it for a long moment, and then he smiled.
“Who do you see, Ron?” Harry asked.
“Just me,” he replied. “But I’m older. I’m Head Boy, and I’m holding the Quidditch Cup. I think I’m Quidditch Captain, too.”
Ginny was confused. “You don’t see our family at all?”
“Nope, just me,” Ron said, still staring at himself.
Harry, Ginny, and Hermione crept around behind Ron to see the image in the mirror, but as they expected, they only saw the reflection of an eleven year old in faded orange pajamas.
“D’you s’pose this mirror can show the future?” Ron asked wistfully.
Ginny shook her head. “Not if it’s got Harry’s parents in it,” she whispered.
“Oh, yeah,” her brother replied. “Still . . . I look alright, don’t I?”
“I’m sure you look great, Ron,” Ginny said with a smile.
He stared at his reflection for a few more minutes as the other three students watched in silence. Finally, Hermione spoke in a whisper. “May I look, Ron?”
The tall boy started and tore his gaze away from the mirror. “What? Oh. Yeah. Of course.” Ron, Harry, and Ginny all stepped back to the side of the mirror to allow Hermione to move forward.
Ginny and Harry saw their friend’s expression soften, her eyes wide and wondering. Slowly, as though she did not realise she was moving, Hermione raised her right hand towards the image and brushed her fingers gently down the glass. She blinked abruptly and smiled at whatever it was she saw.
“Hermione?” Ginny asked hesitantly. “Do you see your family?”
“No,” her friend said in a hushed tone.
Ginny could see that the older girl was as enraptured by the image as Harry had been the first time he saw his parents. “Do you want to tell us about it?” she asked.
Hermione nodded. “I don’t mind. I see myself, like Ron did. But I’m older, too . . . perhaps twenty-five or so. I’m standing in front of a new exhibit at the International Museum of Magic in Rome.”
“What kind of exhibit?” Harry asked.
The brunette shook her head. “I don’t know. It’s under construction, and none of the pieces are recognizable yet. But . . . it’s my exhibit, you see. I’m making it for the museum, and it’s . . . good. It’s interesting, and it’s important. People will come to see it.”
Harry and Ginny were thrilled to see Hermione so excited about something. “Make sure to get us tickets ahead of time, then, yeah?” he asked.
Hermione spun to face them with bright eyes and a wide smile. “I will,” she promised. Then she turned back towards the mirror, and Harry watched as his friend’s gaze focused on a particular point in the image. Hermione blushed slightly and shifted her gaze to the floor, but she was still smiling.
“What’s the mirror do, then?” Ron asked. “What Harry and Ginny saw isn’t anything like what Hermione and I saw.”
The other three students all looked to Hermione, whose brow furrowed as she considered the question. “I think . . . I think it just shows us what we want,” she said at last. “I want to be there,” she waved at the image in the mirror, “you want to be Head Boy and Quidditch Captain, and Harry and Ginny just want . . .”
Ginny and Harry suddenly averted their eyes in understanding, and Ron shifted his feet nervously. “Oh, right,” Ron said. “Yeah, that could be it.”
The four friends stood in awkward silence for another minute as Hermione studied her reflection. Finally, she sighed and turned resolutely away from the mirror so that she could not see it at all. “We should get back to the common room,” she said. “We’ve been out for a while, and we have classes tomorrow.”
“Could I look again, just for a few minutes?” Ron asked.
“It’s not real, Ron,” Ginny replied. “Not unless you make it real.”
“Yeah,” her brother said distantly. “Yeah, you’re right.”
I know it’s not real, Harry began, but . . .
We’ll come back tomorrow night by ourselves.
Ginny held up the Invisibility Cloak, and Ron and Hermione wedged themselves beneath it again. They crept down the hidden hallway, and as soon as they were out of sight, Harry went back to his four-poster to wait for Ginny and Ron to return. He followed along as his friends navigated the hallways, until finally Ginny whispered the password to a confused Fat Lady, and they climbed back into the common room.
Hermione said goodnight distractedly and padded up the girls’ staircase. Ron looked down at his sister and said, “You walking or what?”
Ginny shook her head and hugged him quickly. “Goodnight, Ron. Sleep well.” A moment later she landed on the end of Harry’s bed, and a minute later they heard Ron slip into the room and climb into his own bed.
I’ll be right back, Ginny said, though Harry already knew she wanted to satisfy their curiosity.
She transported back to her own dormitory, removed the sticking charm on her curtains, and peeked out into the darkened room. None of the other first-year girls were making any noise, but Ginny was certain that Hermione was not yet asleep. She padded over to her friend’s bed.
“Hermione,” she whispered, scratching softly at the heavy curtains. The fabric parted slightly, and Hermione looked out at her.
“Ginny? What are you doing?” The older girl’s voice was equally quiet as she glanced quickly around the room.
“I wanted to talk to you,” Ginny said. “Can I come in?”
“Yes, of course.” Hermione pulled the curtains apart and slid back up to the head of her bed. Ginny slipped inside and perched at the side of the bed near the footboard.
“Is everything alright?” Hermione asked.
“Oh yeah, everything’s great,” Ginny paused for a moment. “Look, can I ask you a question about what you saw in the mirror?”
“I suppose so.”
“You don’t have to answer, but . . . what did you see that made you blush?” Ginny asked.
Hermione stared down at her hands where they rested in her lap. After a long moment, she looked up. “Who wants to know?”
Ginny shrugged, understanding the question. “We both do, but we won’t be offended if you’d rather not say.”
“I guess I don’t mind, but you have to promise me you won’t tell anyone. Both of you.”
What could she want to keep so secret from a vision of what she wants? Harry wondered.
I don’t know, but it’s really important to her.
“We promise, Hermione. We won’t tell anyone at all.”
Her friend nodded. “Alright.” She took a deep breath. “The woman in the picture, the older me, was wearing a diamond engagement ring and a matching wedding band. She noticed that I saw them, and then she turned to look at someone off to the side. I . . . she smiled, and I could tell she was looking at her husband. She looked so incredibly happy to see him.”
“Who was he?” Ginny giggled quietly.
Hermione shrugged, smiling shyly. “I don’t know. He wasn’t actually in the image. All I could see was her reaction to him.”
Ginny and Harry digested this information for a few moments. “Well,” Ginny said at last, “that’s good, right?”
“The mirror doesn’t show the future, Ginny,” Hermione sighed, looking pensive. “It just shows us what we want. That doesn’t mean we can or will get it.”
“Of course it doesn’t.” Ginny nudged Hermione’s knee playfully. “But wasn’t it exciting to see how happy you could be if you did get it?”
Hermione’s smile was slow and almost distracted. “Yes. It was very . . .” She paused. “Inspiring.”
“So now you can be ready. When you get that life, with the man and the perfect career, and when you find yourself blissfully happy, you’ll know you’ve got what you always wanted.”
“I suppose so,” Hermione murmured. “I don’t see how it could be that simple, but . . . maybe you’re right. I hope you’re right.”
Harry grinned in the darkness of his dormitory, and Ginny smirked slightly. “Harry says that I’m usually right, so you shouldn’t worry about it too much.”
“I won’t,” Hermione agreed. “It’s much too early to fret about that, anyway.”
Too early for her, maybe, Harry said.
Were you planning to fret about it? Ginny teased.
Well, no, I suppose not.
There you are, then.
Ginny turned back to her friend. “I’m glad you saw something so wonderful, Hermione. I’m sure you’ll get all of it someday.”
“Thanks, Ginny. I hope . . . I hope you and Harry get what you want, too.”
“Me, too,” Ginny said, her voice even softer than it had been during the rest of their whispered conversation. “Night, Hermione.”
“Goodnight, Ginny. Goodnight, Harry.”
Ginny smiled, waved, and transported herself back to the foot of Harry’s bed. She retrieved the Invisibility Cloak and wrapped it around herself before settling in next to Harry.
Why does she worry that she might not get that? Harry wondered.
They thought for a moment. I suppose it’s because she sees how happy she could be, Ginny said. That makes her realize how unhappy she might be if she didn’t achieve that part of her dream.
It doesn’t seem very hard to get that, though.
Not for us, maybe. But do you think it will be easy for us to get what we see in the mirror?
Harry could not help snorting silently. No. Definitely not easy.
Well, that’s how she sees her own vision, right? Ginny asked. It seems just as hard for her as ours does for us.
Let’s hope neither of them is too hard, then.
I think it will all work out, Harry. And you said yourself that I’m usually right, so you don’t get to worry about it either.
He smiled in the dark. Alright, I won’t. Goodnight, Gin.
Goodnight, Harry.
The next evening, Hermione was late to dinner again. When she sat down across from Harry, she pulled a neatly folded bit of parchment from her pocket and pushed it across the table to him.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“Everything I could find about your parents,” Hermione said. “I’d no way to copy the pictures, though.”
Quite suddenly, the innocuous piece of parchment in his hand was precious to Harry. He unfolded it carefully and smoothed out the creases. In Hermione’s neat hand were two paragraphs, one for each of his parents, and he read them hungrily.
James Potter had been a Chaser in school, just as Ron had said, and Head Boy. He was an excellent student and got particularly good grades in Transfiguration. He had been an only child, but there was mention of a few unnamed close friends in one book.
Harry’s mother’s maiden name was Evans. Lily Evans. She had been a Gryffindor, too, and Head Girl. At school, she received distinctions in both Potions and Charms. There was a brief mention that she had a sister and that she was Muggleborn, but that was not interesting to Harry.
James and Lily had married shortly after graduating, and together they had fought fiercely against Voldemort until he killed them both.
“It’s not much,” Hermione apologized when Harry looked up. “Almost everything else written about them was just wild speculation.”
“This is wonderful, Hermione,” Harry said, touched by her thoughtfulness. “Thank you so much.”
She smiled gently. “You’re welcome, Harry.”
Late that night, Ginny and Harry sat on the floor in front of the mysterious mirror, holding hands and gazing up at their families. Their parents were all gazing at them fondly, but the twins were darting around the image, tormenting Hermione, Ron, and Percy. Percy seemed to scold them, but the smile on his face was clear. Bill and Charlie stood together off to one side and appeared to be talking to each other, but every now and then one of them would look over at Harry and Ginny with a smile or a wink.
That’s the important part, Ginny said with a smile. They’re happy. They all get along with each other, and they all love us just the way we are.
The two children sat in silence for a while, enraptured by the sheer affection of the scene in front of them. Finally, they heard a small noise behind them, and they spun around to find the Headmaster sitting calmly on one of the old crates.
“Good evening to you both,” he said calmly. “The Mirror of Erised is really quite enchanting, is it not?”
“We’re sorry, Headmaster,” Ginny said. “We know we’re not supposed to . . .”
Dumbledore waved his hand airily, dismissing her apology. “I find myself quite unconcerned about the hour, Miss Weasley. I hope you will not make a habit of these explorations, but we will consider tonight to be an exception.” He grinned, his eyes shining even in the darkness of the abandoned classroom. “Perhaps the last two nights, as well.”
“How did . . .”
“I am an old man, Mr. Potter, and I have learned many things in my lifetime.” He stood up and crossed the room to crouch next to them on the floor. “Have you determined what this exceptional mirror does?”
“It shows us what we want,” Ginny said.
“Ah, yes. Miss Granger really is quite clever, isn’t she?” Before they could respond to the startling implications of his statement, the Headmaster continued. “But that is not quite the whole truth.
“The happiest man in the world would stand in front of the Mirror of Erised and see only himself. You see, the mirror shows us nothing more or less than the deepest desires of our hearts. Mr. Weasley saw himself as Head Boy, among other things. Miss Granger saw herself achieving something remarkable and important, a real contribution to both academia and society. She does not yet understand, however, that her vision is well beneath her true potential.”
Dumbledore smiled fondly and then continued his explanation. “However, these are more than just scenes. They are expressions of ultimate desire and ambition. I believe that Ronald wants to stand out from his brothers and, perhaps, from the pair of you also. Miss Granger . . . well, her desires are much harder to explain, but they are far beyond just a room in a museum, no matter how impressive that may be.”
“We just see our families,” Harry said. “Nothing about the future.”
“Indeed, Mr. Potter, and that is the most telling example of them all.” Dumbledore shook his head sadly. “The actual image you see is, regrettably, impossible to recreate in life. Let me hazard a guess, though. The people you see are all happy, are they not, and quite warm towards you both?”
Harry nodded, still absently watching his mother try vainly to straighten his father’s hair.
“That is what you truly desire,” the Headmaster said quietly. “That feeling of acceptance. I sincerely hope that you someday find it in your families and friends, without the use of an enchanted mirror.”
“And what do you see, Headmaster?” Ginny asked.
“Socks,” he replied brightly. “Highly entertaining, socks, don’t you think?”
Why am I not surprised? Harry asked.
Experience?
“Look at me, please, children,” Dumbledore said more seriously. Harry and Ginny tore their gazes from the mirror and focused on the Headmaster’s kindly face. “The Mirror of Erised is far more dangerous than it may seem to you. You have already spent quite some time here tonight, and I daresay that you have no idea how long you have been looking into the mirror. Men and women have attempted to spend their entire lives in front of this mirror. They have been so enraptured that they have forgotten to eat and drink, and they’ve died watching something that is not real.”
“We know it’s not real, Headmaster,” Ginny said. “But . . . it’s an awfully nice picture to see.”
“You are, as always, most wise, Miss Weasley. It is very good that you know it is not real, and I think that what you told your brother is quite accurate. The images in the Mirror of Erised can only become real if you make them come true through your own actions.”
Dumbledore paused with a look of deep thought, and then he smiled brightly. “That’s the key, isn’t it? In order for the scene in the mirror to become reality, you must realise the proper way to make it real.”
What’s he on about now? Harry wondered.
I don’t know. He’s lost me, too.
The Headmaster returned his attention to the two students. “The mirror will have a new home after tonight. It is far too unique to be left in a dusty room for another century or so. I ask you to please not seek it out again, because even knowing its nature may not keep you from falling under its spell.”
“Alright,” Ginny said. “We just liked being able to see everyone happy. Especially Harry’s mum and dad.”
Dumbledore nodded. “Yes, I understand that. They were always quite a joy to watch when they were together.” He rose to his feet and brushed the dust from his robes. “Be off to your dormitory now, please. It is, once again, quite late.”
Ginny and Harry rose to their feet. On a sudden hunch, Harry smiled up at the Headmaster. “Thank you for the cloak.”
Dumbledore’s beard shifted as he grinned, and the light in his eyes was brighter than ever. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mr. Potter,” he said with a wink. “Goodnight to you both.”
“Goodnight, Headmaster,” they replied. They transported themselves back to Harry’s dorm in rapid succession, leaving a still-grinning Dumbledore in a dusty room with a blank mirror.
You got a really good look at my parents, right Ginny?
Yes, Harry, she said gently. I won’t forget what they look like.
Good. Your memory is still much better than mine.
It’ll be there whenever you want to see it, Ginny promised.
Just because they could, they remembered the image from the mirror. Harry thought that he could almost feel the sense of warmth he had felt when he looked into the mirror and saw his parents for the first time. Together, Harry and Ginny fell asleep under the loving gazes of their family.
A/N: The book’s entry about Nicholas Flamel and the Philosopher’s Stone is taken verbatim from canon.
Also, a few plugs. Moshpit’s story, Echoes of Power, is back on track after a well-justified hiatus. If you’ve been hoping for the next chapter, check it out. Second, Chreechree has posted an absolutely amazing one-shot entitled Willpower; I highly recommend it. Finally, and shamelessly, I took part in the October challenge and submitted a one-shot entitled A Dream Deferred. I’d love to hear from any MoO readers about what they think of that story.
Chapter 18: Illusions
Author's Notes: Thanks, as always, to moshpit, Jonathan Avery, regdc, and Chreechree.
The first six weeks of the new term passed relatively uneventfully for Harry, Ginny, and their friends. They now felt sure that they knew what Fluffy was guarding, but that knowledge did not point them in any particular direction. Occasionally, Harry and Ginny would put their ears to the door on the third floor to make sure that Fluffy was alive and well, but other than that they could do nothing but wonder what would happen next.
Near the end of January, Bill wrote them his first letter. While it was addressed to Ginny, Bill made several comments to Harry in the body of the letter, and they knew that her brother was making a deliberate effort to include him. Bill told them about his team’s progress in opening the tomb to which they had been assigned, and he enclosed a photograph of the pyramid built above the burial chamber. Bill asked how they were doing and what the rest of Ginny’s brothers were up to, and he encouraged them to write back as soon as they had some free time. Ginny was very pleased that her favourite brother was working on accepting them, and she wrote back and thanked Bill for the stories and photo and assured him that all was more-or-less well at Hogwarts.
In a postscript to that letter, Ginny asked Bill if he had ever encountered any enchanted mirrors, curious to find out what he might know about how they worked. Bill’s answer arrived on a Sunday during the school breakfast. Rather than reading his long explanation at the table, they waited until after the meal and took it back to their favourite sofa in the common room.
Bill said that mirrors were sometimes used in the most sophisticated tombs and that they were invariably hard to get past. Apparently mirrors always reflected something, and the trick was to find out what they really reflected. Once a wizard knew that, Bill wrote, he would know how to approach the mirror to make it reflect what he wanted it to. Unfortunately, the proper approach for most mirrors was impossible to determine. If a mirror was merely an obstacle, a skilled and powerful team could usually find a way to destroy the mirror and move past it, but if the mirror were guarding something directly, that item had to be considered lost unless the secret of the mirror could be discovered.
Isn’t that rather like what Dumbledore said? Harry asked. Something about the proper way to make the image real?
It does sound the same, Ginny said. But it still doesn’t make very much sense.
Bill makes it sound like you have to walk up to the mirror with your fingers crossed or carrying a rooster or something.
Can’t you just picture it? she giggled. A whole team of curse breakers hopping on one foot and waving their arms in the air in front of some old mirror?
Harry glanced at his watch. Time to go, Gin.
Ginny bounced up from the sofa and dashed upstairs to put the letter in her trunk. A minute later she was back, and the two of them left the common room and started down the stairs.
Every Sunday afternoon, they had tea with Professor McGonagall in her office. For the first few weeks, they just talked about their classes, and their Head of House answered questions about their coursework or told them interesting stories about the history of the castle. As they grew more comfortable talking, however, they spoke a bit more about all of the things that had happened over the Christmas holidays. McGonagall encouraged them to talk to her about whatever they wished and likewise to keep to themselves anything they did not want to discuss. She always made a point to remind them that whatever they did discuss with her would remain in the strictest confidence unless they gave her permission to speak of it.
As the middle of February approached, Harry and Ginny finally felt confident enough to talk about their frustrations at Hogwarts. They told the professor about Malfoy’s taunts, Filch’s malevolent looks, Binns’ soporific droning, and even Snape’s continuing favouritism towards his Slytherin students. McGonagall expressed her sympathy regarding Filch and Binns, and she sniffed disapprovingly when she heard of Malfoy’s behaviour, but she seemed somewhat hesitant to accept their stories about Professor Snape.
“You are not the first students to tell me such things,” McGonagall said. “I have heard similar stories over the course of his entire tenure at Hogwarts. I have investigated some of these incidents in various ways, but I have never been able to find evidence that he has done anything wrong. I certainly do not approve of his teaching methods, nor do I care for him personally. He is strict and prefers to employ the harshest punishments available to him, but I have never seen him being actively hostile towards students of any particular house.”
That doesn’t mean he’s not doing it, Harry said with a touch of sourness in his voice. It just means he hasn’t got caught yet.
Oh well, Ginny said. At least she heard us out.
Regardless of the topic of conversation, though, Ginny and Harry had to admit that they enjoyed their visits and felt a bit calmer after having a casual, equitable discussion with their professor. They came to realise that, no matter what they had to endure at Hogwarts, they could talk to Professor McGonagall at the end of the week and be confident that she, at least, would listen to them and not ridicule them. That knowledge calmed them a bit, and that calm allowed them to endure Malfoy’s insults and Snape’s bias.
At the end of their meeting on the second Sunday of February, McGonagall stopped them on their way out of her office.
“By the way, I thought you might like to know that Professor Snape will be refereeing the upcoming Quidditch match against Hufflepuff,” she said. “After the . . . disturbance at the last match, he volunteered to help prevent any more incidents.”
Stunned, Harry and Ginny could only nod. They wanted to tell her that Snape had caused the problems at the last match, but they knew that they could not convince McGonagall of that without revealing Hermione’s part in the day’s events. They were quite certain that McGonagall would disapprove of setting a professor’s robes on fire, regardless of Hermione’s intentions or her stellar academic record
I’m doomed, Harry said as they walked back to Gryffindor Tower. If he doesn’t hex me himself, the sod’ll just make it impossible for us to win.
And if you don’t play, then everyone will think you’re afraid of Snape, Ginny added.
Never mind the rest of the team wanting to kill me themselves.
I bet they won’t like Snape refereeing any more than you do. I know the twins will be outraged.
When they reached the common room, they saw Oliver with the other five members of the Gryffindor team at a large table in a corner. Wood waved Harry over, and they approached the table as the Captain finished telling his team about the change in officials for the upcoming game. Wood, as usual, did his best to keep a positive attitude, but everyone clearly felt that they now had no chance of actually winning.
“What do you reckon, George?” Fred asked. “Should we finally try playing a match sitting backwards on our broomsticks? We always said we would, and this may be the only game where it couldn’t possibly change the outcome.”
“I’d rather not,” George said. “Why waste a perfectly good gag on a perfectly ghastly game? Save it for a time when it might be appreciated.”
Word spread quickly, and by lunchtime the next day the whole school knew that Snape would be refereeing the Gryffindor/Hufflepuff game. Malfoy, predictably, became completely insufferable. In the corridors and at mealtimes he could be heard loudly proclaiming that, since the school had finally found a competent referee, even the duffers of Hufflepuff would be able to beat the over-confident and lucky Gryffindors.
Two weeks later, on the day of the Gryffindor/Hufflepuff match, the morning was cold and grey, and everyone predicted that it would start to rain at any moment. Ginny, Hermione, Ron, and Neville found seats in the Gryffindor section of the stands while Harry trudged into the locker room. He thought that he could almost hear the bells tolling his doom in the distance.
Don’t be so morose, Harry, Ginny said, rolling her eyes. At least you get to fly, right?
Between the weather and the lack of privacy, they had found it difficult to find time to practice flying together since returning to Hogwarts. They had managed it once or twice, using one of the twins’ brooms, but for the most part, Ginny had only been able to fly alone on the Nimbus for a few minutes after each Quidditch practice. It was fortunate that she enjoyed flying along with Harry nearly as much as she did flying herself.
That’s true, he answered her, brightening a bit. Snape can’t very well tell me I can’t fly at a Quidditch match, can he?
We can hope not, Ginny replied.
Wood skipped the rousing pep-talk he might have given on another occasion. “Go out there and do the best that you can. Don’t give Snape any excuses to favour Hufflepuff. Just fly cleanly and keep your heads down.”
A few minutes later, Harry was soaring above the pitch, hunting for the Snitch and trying to keep up with the game below. It did not take long for Snape to begin persecuting the Gryffindor team. Less than a minute into the match, Fred sent a Bludger across the pitch at one of Hufflepuff’s Chasers. On its way, the Bludger passed two yards above Snape’s head, and the professor smugly awarded a penalty shot to Hufflepuff, saying that Gryffindor’s Beater had deliberately aimed a Bludger at the referee.
Three minutes later, Gryffindor somehow committed another foul. Neither Harry nor Ginny were quite sure how, because they had not seen any of their housemates come in contact with the Hufflepuff team or even gain possession of the Quaffle. Fortunately, Wood was performing his job superbly, and the score remained tied at zero.
This is horrible, Ginny said. She had hoped to watch the Chasers, as she usually did at practices, but thus far they had done nothing except watch their opponents take penalty shots. She still kept her attention on the Gryffindor girls, resolutely not hunting for the Snitch, but her attention was far from focused.
At this rate we’ll end up with the worst rout in Hogwarts history, Harry thought.
Find that silly Snitch, Harry.
He grinned in midair. What a strange idea. Perhaps I could try that.
Harry circled the pitch a few more times, searching even more carefully and ignoring the rest of the game. As he passed above the beleaguered Gryffindor Keeper again, he finally had an inspiration.
Gin, do you remember how Charlie’s Snitch was hiding by the chimney of the Burrow?
Yeah, but there’s not much of a place to hide here.
What about that little overhang where the stands stick out from the wall of the pitch? he asked.
She shrugged. It’s worth a try.
Harry dropped down to the seam between the reinforced wall and the front of the stands above. There was an overhang there, perhaps six inches deep, which ran all the way around the field. He leveled off so that he could see into that space and flew along the wall, searching every inch of the slight crevice.
As he passed under the Gryffindor section, he heard with both his ears and Ginny’s as Ron shouted, “What the hell are you doing, Harry?”
Ginny spun and smacked the back of her hand into her brother’s chest. “Shut up, Ron, he’s had an idea.”
Harry crossed to the Ravenclaw section, and as he straightened out his turn on the long side of the pitch, he spotted the Snitch hovering in the shadowed groove he was following. He bent over his broom, arrowing straight towards the fluttering golden sphere.
The Snitch seemed to sense his approach, and it shot straight out of its hiding place towards the centre of the pitch. Elated, Harry turned to follow it, cutting the corner of the Snitch’s path and catching up with it rapidly. He reached out his hand and looked ahead to make sure his path was clear, but when he raised his eyes he saw Snape stopped in the middle of the field, directly in the path of the Snitch. The Potions professor scowled at Harry and narrowed his eyes, but he did not move.
Quick, Ginny, what’s that rule say? The one about the ref and the Snitch?
Ginny turned to Ron and grabbed his shoulder to pull his head down. “Ron, what’s that rule about the referee getting in the way of the Snitch?” she whispered in his ear.
Ron knew what she was asking and responded in a rush. “If the referee’s in the path of the Snitch whilst a Seeker is in pursuit, it’s the referee’s responsibility to get out of the way, because no one on the field can control where the Snitch goes.”
Harry grinned. Good enough.
Apparently, Snape had also read the rules of Quidditch at some point. When it became clear that the Snitch was buzzing straight towards the black-robed professor, Snape released a frustrated snarl and dived away out of its path. Harry maintained his course, and just as he passed through the space Snape had occupied a moment before, the Golden Snitch smacked firmly into his palm. He pulled his broom to a halt and raised the fluttering ball over his head in triumph.
Lee Jordan’s voice rang across the pitch. “Harry Potter catches the Golden Snitch, and Gryffindor wins 150-10! And . . . just a moment please . . .” Harry looked over at the teachers’ box to see Jordan whispering excitedly to McGonagall. “Yes, ladies and gentlemen, it’s confirmed! At less than eight minutes, that was the shortest Quidditch game in Hogwarts history!”
The Gryffindor section of the stands exploded with noise. Ginny and Hermione jumped up and down in their places, clapping wildly, while Ron pumped his arms in the air and shouted himself hoarse. Neville clapped and smiled at his friends’ enthusiasm, even though it was obvious he was a bit less of a fan of the game than the others.
Ginny and Harry’s elation washed over them, but he was distracted as the rest of the Gryffindor team collided with him in midair. All three Chasers hugged him fiercely, screaming all the while. Fred, George, and Oliver clapped him on the back hard enough that he would have fallen if the girls had not been holding him up. In a confused mass of brooms and robes, the Gryffindor team floated to the ground, where they all regained their feet.
“Bloody brilliant, Harry!” Fred shouted over the noise.
“Only could have been better if you’d run over the slimy bastard!” George added.
Harry glanced around as best he could to make sure that Snape had not heard, but the dour professor was already walking through one of the doors in the side of the pitch.
Up in the stands, Ron finally stopped whooping and grinned at Ginny and Hermione. “A Quidditch win in time for lunch! What could be better?”
“Could have been for the cup, I suppose,” Neville said from Ron’s other side.
“Don’t say that, Neville,” Hermione joked. “He might expire from excitement.”
“Not when there’s food ready. He’d wait until afterwards,” Ginny said.
“Too right,” Ron agreed. “Let’s go eat.” He started down the stands with the other students in tow.
Want to fly for a bit while everyone’s at lunch? Harry asked.
That’d be brill! Ginny said. I’m too excited to eat, unlike some people.
Harry turned until he found the twins in the cluster of red uniforms drifting towards the locker room. Squeezing between them, he asked, “Could one of you leave your broom out for Ginny?”
“Sure thing,” Fred said, handing Harry his broom. “You skipping lunch?”
Harry nodded. “Yeah. Not really hungry yet anyway.”
“That’ll make Ron happy,” George said from Harry’s other side. “More food for him. See you later, then, Harry.”
Fred leaned over and whispered in Harry’s ear. “Ginny, be nice to my broom.”
“Right,” Harry whispered back, grinning. Fred rolled his eyes, nodded, and waved as he disappeared into the locker room.
As Ginny and the others reached the ground, she stopped. “You lot go on without me. I’m going to go and meet Harry, and we’ll catch you up in the Great Hall.”
Ron and Hermione nodded, but Neville looked confused. Then he shrugged and followed the other two students up towards the castle. Ginny walked around the outside of the pitch until she reached one of the doors. She followed the tunnel out onto the pitch itself, where Harry was waiting with his and Fred’s brooms. They flew up into the stands and sat watching the stream of students returning to the castle, waiting for the teams to finish showering and leave the pitch to the two first-years.
Why do you suppose they let Snape referee the match? It should be obvious he’s completely biased against us.
I don’t know, Harry. McGonagall doesn’t really listen to us about Snape at all.
Pointless to tell her, then, isn’t it?
They sat for a short while, reliving the match and counting the Quidditch players as they emerged from the locker rooms and walked up to the castle. When, at last, Gryffindor’s Chasers emerged as a group and then disappeared into the main doors, Harry and Ginny mounted their brooms and took off across the pitch.
As a starting point, they flew in staggered laps around the inside of the pitch, so that Harry was rounding the end of the pitch as Ginny flew along the relatively straight long side. After a few careful circuits, they pulled to a stop.
I think we could do that as long as we wanted to, Ginny said.
Yeah. It’s like . . . like we figured out how to keep one of us going in a straight line while the other does something else.
Let’s add something to it, then, she suggested. I’ll keep flying laps down here, and you do the same, only fly up and down as you go.
Alright. Then we can switch and try it the other way.
Ginny continued her easy laps, while Harry flew up above her and performed a series of shallow dives and climbs as he circled the pitch. This combination required much more effort on their part, and every few minutes they stopped to regain their balance and switch roles.
As Ginny flew up above the stands for her second turn doing climbs and dives, she spotted someone in a black cloak walking from the back of the pitch towards the Forbidden Forest. She knew from the broom race against Malfoy that the dark-cloaked man was walking a path to ensure that he was out of sight of the castle.
That’s Snape, Harry said as they both stopped. No one else wears a cloak that makes them look like they’re a member of Vampires Anonymous.
What’s he doing sneaking into the Forbidden Forest while everyone’s at lunch? Ginny asked.
Nothing good, to be sure.
Harry flew up next to her, and by silent consent they dipped their brooms to glide down towards the forest behind the rushing professor. They lost sight of Snape when he stepped into the thick trees, but when they reached the edge of the forest, they flew as straight as possible and listened closely for any noise. As they wove carefully in and out of the branches of the trees, they heard voices in the distance. The sound was too low for them to understand any words, but they veered to fly towards the speakers.
They rounded the trunk of a large tree and saw a small clearing several yards ahead. Snape was standing in the clearing talking to Professor Quirrell.
". . . d-don't know why you wanted t-t-to meet here of all p-places, Severus . . ." Quirrel stuttered.
"Oh, I thought we'd keep this private," Snape said, his voice icy. "Students aren't supposed to know about the Philosopher's Stone, after all."
Quirrell mumbled something in response, but Snape interrupted him. "Have you found out how to get past that beast of Hagrid's yet?"
"B-b-but Severus, I . . ."
"You don't want me as your enemy, Quirrell," Snape said, taking a step towards him.
"I-I don't know what you . . .”
"You know perfectly well what I mean," the taller man snapped.
Harry and Ginny flinched slightly at the venom in their professor’s voice and wobbled on their brooms. They steadied themselves in time to hear Snape say, “ . . .your little bit of hocus-pocus. I'm waiting."
"B-but I d-d-don't . . ."
"Very well," Snape interrupted him again. "We'll have another little chat soon, when you've had time to think things over and decide where your loyalties lie."
The Potions Master spun on his heel, and Harry and Ginny felt that he was looking directly at them. He must not have actually seen them, because he did not react, but they turned quickly and flew away from the clearing as Snape stalked back through the woods.
They dipped closer to the ground to avoid a thick tangle of branches, but when they leveled out a few feet above the soil, Ginny was flying straight at a tree trunk. Instinctively, she turned sharply to avoid the trunk, but in his hurry Harry reacted and turned also. Ginny missed the tree trunk while Harry flew through the top of a small bush. The leaves whipping around his legs distracted him, and they both fell the last few feet to the forest floor.
Ginny! Harry called, scrambling up and rounding the bush towards her. Are you alright?
Yeah, I’m fine, just mussed a bit, she said, appearing from the other side of the tree and brushing dirt from her robes. You?
I’m fine.
The noise of their confusion and abrupt landings must have attracted Snape’s attention. “Who’s there?” he called sharply.
Ginny looked towards his voice and saw the lighted tip of a wand approaching them through the trees.
Quick, back to the tower! Harry said. You first.
Ginny nodded even as she disappeared and reappeared in Harry’s bed, still holding Fred’s broom. She dropped the broom to the floor inside the curtains and scrambled to the foot of the bed. As soon as she was out of the way, they transported Harry to the head of the bed.
That was way too close, Ginny said, catching her breath.
Yeah. I don’t think he saw me, though.
What are we going to do with the brooms? she asked. People will wonder why you brought two brooms up here.
Err . . . hold on.
Harry flung the curtains open and dashed to the window. If he leaned out far enough, he could see the edge of the broom shed near the Quidditch pitch. Ginny picked up both brooms, and a moment later she was standing beside the shed, looking around to make sure no one was in sight. She crept around the corner of the building, opened the door, and quickly put the two brooms in their usual places. She pushed the door closed behind her, and when she looked up from the latch she saw Snape striding quickly towards the main entrance.
Damn! Harry said. If he gets to the Great Hall and we’re not there, he might figure out that we were in the forest.
Ginny transported back up to Harry’s dorm as he quickly shed his Quidditch uniform and stuffed it under his bed. He pulled his robes on over his Muggle clothes, and then they darted down the stairs to the common room. The Fat Lady squawked indignantly as they shoved the portrait open. They dashed down the stairs as fast as they could.
We’re never going to make it, Ginny panted. There’s too many bloody stairs.
The landings!
They stumbled to a halt on the landing between the sixth and seventh floors. Ginny peered down at the next landing, and suddenly Harry was standing on it. He turned to look down another flight of stairs, and Ginny transported from the landing above him to the landing below him. In this way, they descended the stairs in seconds and crossed to the great hall in a few moments more. Just before they entered the room full of students, they took a moment to pull the leaves out of Ginny’s hair and brush the rest of the dirt off of her robes.
Taking a deep breath and trying to look unhurried, they pulled open one of the doors and strolled to their places at the Gryffindor table. Dropping into their seats, they quickly served themselves.
Harry leaned forward and whispered, “Everything’s normal, we’ve been here for a few minutes, don’t look up.”
As if on cue, both doors to the Great Hall slammed open, and Professor Snape strode down the length of the hall, scowling menacingly in his trademark style. He walked behind them, but Harry thought he could feel the man’s burning gaze resting on his back. To help cover their arrival, Ginny picked up in the middle of an imaginary conversation.
“. . . so, anyway, Fred and George said that they’d pick things up from Hogsmeade for us. You know, quills and sweets and stuff. If you need anything, just ask. We’ll make sure they don’t slip any nasty Zonko’s products into your things.”
Hermione was the first to catch on. Bless her, Ginny said.
“Oh, that’s wonderful,” she said. “Do you suppose they’d buy a few books for me? I’m sure that it wouldn’t take too much time to find a book if I gave them the author and title.”
I think she’s serious, Harry said.
Poor Fred and George. They’ll be hunchbacked soon.
“Sure, Hermione, I don’t see why not. Not a lot of books, mind you, but maybe a couple at a time.”
Snape had finally left earshot and was taking his seat at the high table.
“What the bloody hell was that about?” Ron asked, scowling.
Ginny lowered her voice to a confidential whisper. “We were out flying after the match, and we saw Snape go into the forest. We followed him and heard him threatening Quirrell about something. On our way back to the castle we got tangled up in a bush, and he must have heard us. We just barely got back to the castle before he did.”
“What did Snape want with Quirrell?” Neville wondered.
“I’m not sure,” Harry said, glancing at Hermione. “He wouldn’t really let Quirrell talk at all. He just asked if Quirrell knew about some kind of beast.”
“Maybe he was talking about that giant dog we found,” Neville said. “But why would he be interested in that?”
“That’s a good question, Neville,” Hermione said as the other three students averted their eyes.
Ron broke the moment of awkward silence by rising from the table. He stretched briefly and announced that he was going to make use of the facilities before pudding.
When Ron had left the hall, Neville turned back to Ginny. “His birthday is next week, right?”
“Yeah, a week from tomorrow.” Harry and Ginny had ordered Ron’s birthday present by owl, and they knew that Hermione’s parents had sent something she requested as a gift.
“Gran won’t let me use owl-order catalogues,” Neville said with a frown. “D’you think Fred and George would pick up some sweets for me to give to Ron? It’s a Hogsmeade weekend next weekend, I saw.”
Ginny peered down the table. “Hey, bookends!” she called.
Six seats away, Fred and George looked up with identical expressions of outrage.
“There they go again! No respect for their elders,” Fred said loudly.
“We simply must go and reprimand them,” George responded sternly.
The twins stalked down to the first-years’ area and wedged themselves into the seat Ron had vacated. Hermione rolled her eyes as she shifted to make room for them, but she did not seem to mind the intrusion.
“What can we do for you, O Most Favoured Sister?” Fred asked.
Ginny cocked her head to the side. “What, you have another sister you haven’t told me about?”
George grinned. “Just because it was an easy contest doesn’t mean you didn’t win.”
“Whatever. Look, Neville wasn’t able to get anything for Ron’s birthday. Could you pick up some sweets on Saturday if he gives you a few Sickles?”
“Yeah, no problem,” Fred said. “Licorice wands, maybe? They come in boxes of twelve, and Ron can’t get enough of them.”
“That’d be fine,” Neville said hesitantly.
“And Ron’s birthday presents are off-limits, right?” Ginny asked with a raised eyebrow.
George grinned at her. “Just this once.”
“Anyone else want anything?” Fred offered.
“Hermione?” Ginny asked.
“Oh. Err . . .” she turned to look at Fred, who was sitting next to her. “Do you suppose you could buy a book for me?”
The twins looked dubious. “A book? I dunno . . . never been to a bookshop before. Bit of a reputation to maintain, don’t you know?”
Hermione huffed and looked down at the table. “Well, never mind then. I can get it by owl.”
“Oi!” George said. “Hermione, you’ve been spending way too much time around Ron. Can’t take a joke at all. Write down the book you want, and we’ll bring it if they’ve got it. The price of delivery is our joking around about it. See?”
The brunette’s face brightened immediately. “Oh. Well, thank you.” She grinned slightly. “Shall I draw a picture of the cover for you? That would keep you from having to actually read anything.”
The twins laughed out loud. “That’s the stuff!” Fred crowed. “The offer stands, Miss Granger. If you want a book or something, skip the midgets,” he waved across the table at Harry and Ginny, “and just let us know.”
“Ginny, which is worse?” Harry asked as Hermione nodded. “Titches or midgets?”
She tapped her finger against her chin thoughtfully. “Midgets, I think. It offends us, but it also offends actual midgets. And the goblins. And maybe female midges, too, for all we know.”
“Ah, good then,” Harry said. “I want to keep our list in the proper order, you see, so that we can plan our revenge accordingly.”
“And that’s our cue!” George said as both twins rose from their shared seat. “We’ll deliver on Saturday. A pleasure doing business with you, miss!” They returned to their section of the table, and Ron returned a minute later, ignorant of all that had transpired in his absence.
As the students filed out of the Great Hall after lunch, Harry ran forward and fell in step with the twins.
George looked around to make sure no one was too close, and then whispered, “Hello, Hanny.”
“Hi, Gred,” he said. “Quick . . . when Hermione buys a book, it’s always on sale, right?”
George chuckled. “Sure thing, Harry. Should’ve guessed you’d say something like that.”
“Thanks. Come up with a story she’ll believe, if that’s possible. And let me know the difference so we can keep square,” Harry said.
“That’s right decent of you, Harry. If we could cover the difference for a book or two ourselves, we would. Seems like she’s a good friend to all three of you,” Fred said seriously.
He nodded. “Absolutely. We’ll call it a joint effort, okay? Err . . .” Ginny’s memory provided the words he wanted, “procurement and delivery.”
“Alright,” George said. “Next weekend, then.”
You didn’t have to do that, Harry.
I know, but why shouldn’t I?
She might not appreciate it when she figures it out. And eventually, she will figure it out.
Yeah, but the way I see it, the less she spends on books, the more books she can get. And the more books she can get, the happier she is. So I’ll have that on my side, and when she catches on I’ll just say that I’m making sure she can help us with our homework.
Ginny giggled, careful not to let Hermione notice her expression. Oh, she’ll just love that.
On Saturday evening, Fred distracted Ron while George delivered their purchases.
“Here you are, Hermione,” he said. “One copy of, err . . . something completely uninteresting, and three Sickles change.”
“Change?” she asked. “I gave you just the right amount.”
George grinned roguishly. “Ah, well, you see . . . the girl who works the counter at the bookshop on weekends thinks we’re rather dashing, so she gives us a bit of a break. We could hardly refuse, seeing as how she’s a nice-looking sort of girl. So we pass our good fortune on to you. Harbingers of good fortune, we are.”
“Err, right,” Hermione said, accepting her change. “Thank you very much.”
“Glad to be of service. And for you, Neville, one box of licorice wands, gift-wrapped for your convenience. Sorry, no change there. Mean old codger at the counter of Honeydukes.”
“Thanks, ahh . . .”
“Fred,” George said.
“George,” Harry and Ginny chorused.
“George,” Neville concluded, giving Harry and Ginny an odd look.
George thrust his fist across his chest dramatically. “Curses, foiled again!”
A few minutes later, he and Fred rounded the sofa where Harry and Ginny sat as the troublesome duo made their way up to the dormitories. When the twins passed behind Ginny, she reached over and caught George’s sleeve. "What did the girl at the bookshop really say?"
"Her word was 'cute,'" Fred said sourly, leaning down to whisper to them.
"She even ruffled Fred's hair," George added with a grin.
"Still, 'cute' is better than 'downright repulsive,' right?"
"Too right," George agreed. "And besides, you can't expect a nice looking girl like that to always use the right word. If we just explained to her the difference between cute and dashing . . ."
"She's probably say you're cute and ruffle your hair again," Harry finished.
"Oh well," Fred said. "Her loss, eh?" The twins went up the stairs and left Harry and Ginny grinning on their sofa.
Their birthday is one month from tomorrow, right? Harry asked.
Yep. We’ll have to think of something . . . special.
That night, Ginny snuck into the third-year boys’ dormitory and slipped one silver Sickle into the pocket of each of George’s three sets of robes.
After lunch on Sunday, once Ron was comfortably ensconced in an armchair, Harry gave a nod to Hermione and Neville, and the three of them went up to their dormitories to get Ron’s gifts. Ginny went to warn the twins, and they produced an elaborately decorated chocolate cupcake from a box they had kept hidden beneath the table they shared with Lee. On top of the table was the cage containing their pet rat, and Ginny was very thankful that the twins had not got the two containers mixed up.
As a group, the six students converged on Ron’s chair. Fred lit a candle on the cupcake and set it on the table in front of his brother, while the rest piled their gifts around the confection.
“Happy birthday, Ron!” Ginny said, followed closely by the others.
“Brilliant!” Ron said, picking up the first package eagerly.
Harry noticed that Ron had not even noticed the cupcake and its merrily burning candle. I guess if there’s anything that can get his attention away from food . . .
. . . it’s presents, Ginny finished, smiling and laughing silently. I’m sure he’ll remember the cupcake as soon as he’s done with the presents.
Ginny and Harry had bought Ron a one-year subscription to Which Broomstick, so all he got to unwrap was a letter telling him when the first issue would arrive. He thanked Neville for the licorice wands and stuck one in the corner of his mouth even as he opened his other presents. Fred and George, aside from the cupcake, had picked up a fresh box of Chocolate Frogs. They said that Ron always liked to have a few on hand in case of food emergencies.
Hermione’s gift was, by far, the most unusual. Ron ripped open the wrapping paper to find a Muggle book entitled Lessons in Chess, by someone named Garry Kasparov.
“Err . . . thanks, Hermione,” he said, confused, as he finished his licorice wand. “But I don’t need lessons, do I? I already know how to play.”
“That’s not really what it means, Ron,” she explained. “Muggles take chess much more seriously than witches and wizards do, as far as I can tell. Kasparov has been World Chess Champion since 1985. The book is about strategy, not how to play. There’s a whole chapter on using your king, I think.”
Ron’s face lit up with interest. “World Chess Champion? Really?” When Hermione nodded firmly, Ron muttered, “I wonder if he’s as good as Knightley.” He looked up at his friends and family even as he opened the book. “Thanks everyone. Really good stuff.”
“You’re welcome, Ron,” Harry said. The other students wished Ron a happy birthday again and dispersed. Harry and Ginny returned to the sofa where they had been reading ahead in their Transfiguration book. Ginny sat first, and as Harry sank into the cushion next to her and reached for the book, she held out a hand to stop him.
Wait for it . . .
Harry caught her thought and looked up to find Ron engrossed in the chess book.
Wait for it . . .
Without looking up, Ron reached out and picked up the cupcake. He brought it towards his mouth and positioned it to take a bite out of the icing.
Yes!
Only when he had opened his mouth did Ron realize that the slow-burning candle was still lit and burning merrily an inch away from his nose. With a startled oath, he jerked his head back from the flame, almost dropping the cupcake onto the pages of his book. Wide-eyed and pale, Ron blew out the candle, chucked it onto the table in front of him, and turned back to his book as he successfully took a bite of the cupcake.
That’s the great thing about Ron, Ginny said. Sometimes, he pranks himself.
Simultaneously, Harry and Ginny glanced over at the twins’ table to find them chortling softly in Ron’s direction. They looked up at the younger pair, struggling to contain their smiles, and all four students burst into laughter. They clapped their hands over their mouths to keep Ron from noticing, but the red-haired boy’s attention never once wandered from the book in his lap.
A while later, the noise from the twins’ table grew louder, and Ginny looked over to find them both, along with Lee, flicking their wands sharply at the caged rat on the table. Whatever they were trying was apparently not working, as the rat merely huddled in a corner.
Hermione stood up from the table she had claimed and perched on the arm of the sofa next to Ginny. “What on earth are they doing to that poor rat?” she asked.
“Experimenting,” Ginny said. “Probably trying to make it grow elephant ears or something. They got it to turn yellow last summer. And pink, of course.” Sighing heavily, Ginny shook her head. “They can turn anything pink.”
“That’s awful!” Hermione cried. “It doesn’t deserve to be treated that way.”
Harry was not sure the rat really cared. From what he understood from Ginny’s memories, it had once belonged to Charlie, who had named it Scabbers. Later it had been passed to Percy, and when Percy got an owl as a reward for being made prefect, he had passed the rat on to the twins. They had refused it, at first, but Percy had insisted that Scabbers should go to the next oldest siblings. It was, as he said, “the proper order of things.” Once the twins realized that they had a test subject who could not complain very much, however, they had been eager to keep Scabbers in their room.
Ginny and Harry were startled out of her memories by Hermione standing up and walking purposefully across the room to the twins’ table.
Uh oh, Harry said. Cautiously, they got up to follow their friend.
“What are you doing to that poor, defenseless animal?” she demanded.
“Nothing much,” Fred said casually. “We’re trying to make him turn orange, but we haven’t figured it out quite yet.”
“Orange?” Hermione asked incredulously. “Has it occurred to you that he might not want to be orange?”
“Well, yeah, that’s possible. But he didn’t mind being pink, yellow, or blue, so why should he be bothered by orange? Though, come to think of it, he didn’t seem too chuffed with that weird blue with the funny dots.”
“That rat is supposed to be brown,” Hermione insisted. “It’s brown for a reason, and if you change it into some other colour, you have no idea what you might be messing up!”
“We turned your hair red, but it doesn’t seem to be bothering you,” George said.
“What?!” she screeched, lifting a hand to pull her hair in front of her shoulder. It was still quite brown.
Hermione made a very uncharacteristic noise of frustration and tossed her hair behind her once more. “Fur or hair colour is determined by a chemical reaction in the hair follicles. If you change the fur colour, it could change the follicle, and you have no idea what awful things that might do to the rat. It could cause a rash, or hair loss, or even cancer!”
“If you say so,” Fred said.
“Don’t they teach you anything in Muggle studies?” Hermione threw her hands up in the air. “There’s stuff in the skin that makes the fur brown,” she explained slowly. “If you make its fur another colour, you might be changing whatever it is that normally makes it brown. And that might change something else, and so forth. And that rat has no way of telling you if any of those changes hurt!”
“He’d squeal or something if it hurt him, I bet,” Lee offered.
Ginny snorted. “Scabbers hasn’t made a sound in at least three years. Not even when Fred accidentally stepped on his tail.”
“See?” Hermione said. “You’ve probably messed him up so thoroughly that he can’t make noise anymore.”
Ron had walked up, unnoticed, to stand behind the other first years. “Maybe she’s right, George,” he said. “You don’t really know what it’s like to be an orange rat, do you?”
The twins looked at each other for a few moments, their eyebrows and lips twitching in some kind of silent language. Finally, they shrugged.
“Alright,” George said. He pushed Scabbers’ cage across the table towards them. “Happy birthday, Ron. We can practice most things on a quill or something anyway.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful,” Hermione said. “You’ll take good care of it, won’t you, Ron?”
The tall boy looked surprised by the sudden change. “Err . . . well, yeah. Alright,” he said at last.
Hermione hugged Ron quickly. “Thank you, Ron. I knew you’d do the right thing.”
Ron blushed faintly and muttered, “You’re welcome.” He picked the cage up by its handle and carried it over to the table with the rest of his birthday presents. Flopping back into his chair, he studied Scabbers for a moment. Then he shrugged and picked up his chess book again, letting the rat stare at him through the bars of the cage.
Hermione watched him with an ecstatic look on her face, and then she turned back to the third years. “I’m sorry to have made you lose your . . . err . . . subject. But I just don’t think it’s right to test unknown spells like that on a living creature.”
“McGonagall had us turning animals into water goblets last year,” George pointed out.
“Well, yes, I read that on the syllabus, but I’m sure that Professor McGonagall knows exactly what that spell does and how it affects the animal in question. When you’re experimenting with a new spell outside of class, though, you can’t be sure what it really does.”
Fred grinned at her. “As it happens, the base colour-changing spell we use only affects the exterior surface of the object upon which it is cast.”
“It functions essentially like an infinitely thin layer of paint which is both malleable and permeable,” Lee continued. “It’s no different from a girl’s makeup, except that it doesn’t have any chemical properties of its own, and therefore it cannot possibly have any toxic effects.”
Hermione’s jaw fell open as Fred started his explanation, and as Lee finished it she blushed furiously. “I . . . I’m . . .” She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”
“No worries, Hermione,” George answered. “Frankly, Scabbers is a boring old rat, and we felt bad because we hadn’t found anything better for Ron’s birthday. It’s a win-win situation for us all, yeah?”
“I suppose so,” Hermione said, a tiny smile creeping onto her face. “Thank you.”
“Anytime,” Fred said. “By the way, the bookshop had several other books about the history of Arithmancy, so if you want another one, just tell us.”
Hermione’s shocked look seemed to have become fixed rather firmly in place, and Ginny and Harry had to hide their smiles. “Oh. Yes. Well, uh, thank you both again.”
The twins waved, Lee nodded, and Hermione walked stiffly back to her table.
Will wonders never cease? Ginny said as she and Harry resumed their seats.
I suppose we should have guessed that if anyone could put one over on Hermione, it would be the twins.
You know what that means, don’t you? she asked, grinning devilishly.
Oh yes, Harry said. We have to put one over on them.
Wonderful idea, Mr. Potter.
It’s the company I keep, Miss Weasley.
She giggled. We’d better pack up, Harry. We wouldn’t want to be late for McGonagall.
They gathered their books and took them upstairs to their rooms, and then they walked through the castle to McGonagall’s office. A few minutes later, they were seated together on a small sofa and sipping hot tea.
“Well, Mr. Potter and Miss Weasley, what is on your mind today?” the professor asked. She asked exactly the same question every week.
“Err, Professor,” Harry said hesitantly.
“Yes, Mr. Potter?”
“Well, would you mind calling us just Harry and Ginny?” he asked. “Maybe only when we’re here on Sundays? It’s just that it gets awfully old hearing ‘Mr. Potter and Miss Weasley’ each time you’re talking to both of us.”
“I suppose I can understand that,” McGonagall admitted. “Very well, Harry. But only in this office, and only on Sundays.” She paused, looking out of her window with an uncomfortable expression. “You may call me . . .”
“I think Professor is just fine, Professor,” Ginny offered.
Their Head of House smiled. “Yes, thank you. We’ll all suit our actions to our audiences. Now, is there anything you’d like to talk about? Has anything interesting happened this week?”
“Oh, it’s Ron’s birthday,” Ginny said. “We gave him presents and a cupcake in the common room just after lunch.”
“Please wish him a happy birthday from me, then,” McGonagall said.
“We will,” Ginny promised. They thought for a moment about the conversation between Hermione and the twins. It was not something they wanted to share with their professor because of Hermione’s embarrassment, but it did stick in their thoughts for some reason. At last, they made the connection.
“Professor,” Harry said, “we do have a question about transfiguration, but it’s second-year material, we think.”
“I certainly do not object to answering any question beyond your year level, Harry. I’m very happy that you have an interest in the subject.”
“Oh, yeah, it’s brilliant,” he said. “We found out that second years transform animals into water goblets.”
McGonagall nodded. “Yes, that’s correct. It is rather difficult when first attempted, but most students master it by the end of the term. I would not recommend that you try it until I present it to you next year.”
“No, Professor, we weren’t thinking of that,” Ginny said. “But at the beginning of this year you told us that we should never practice transfiguration on a person. Then, over the holidays, Bill told us why.” She took a deep breath and continued. “He said it takes away all of your senses, so it’s really horrible for the person who gets transfigured.”
“That’s also correct,” their professor said. “And you are wondering why I encourage students to transfigure animals into objects, given that doing the same thing to a person is forbidden?”
“Yes, Professor.”
“An excellent question, Ginny. Its answer is one of the mysteries of Transfiguration.” She put her cup on the table in front of her and folded her hands in her lap. “Over the years, thousands of different kinds of animals have been transfigured into objects like water goblets. The vast majority of common animals showed no ill effects at all. Many magical creatures, and a few mundane ones, seem to suffer from the same problems we have observed when humans are transfigured into objects for any length of time.
“No one really knows what the difference is. We have observed that more intelligent animals, such as dolphins, some species of canine, and hippogriffs, are more prone to mental instability after being transfigured. What we cannot truly determine is what sets these animals apart from those who are immune to the phenomenon. It is not the size or configuration of their brains, nor is it their social structure.
“All we can really say is that this sort of animal can be transfigured without side effects, while this other cannot. Rats are one of the former, as are the other animals I use in my second-year class. When you reach that point, you will notice that we do not use anyone’s pet owl or cat. Magical owls suffer greatly from transfiguration, as do all varieties of cats.”
“So it’s definitely okay to transfigure a rat?” Ginny asked.
“Yes, Ginny. I assume you’re thinking of that battered creature that two of your brothers have already brought to my class?”
She nodded. “Ron has him now. Scabbers seems a bit off these days, so I wondered.”
“That rat is remarkably old,” McGonagall observed. “I daresay that is why he is not as lively as he used to be. He should have passed on years ago, or so I would have thought.”
March passed swiftly, filled with homework, Quidditch practice, and evenings in front of the common room fire. Ron fed Scabbers dutifully and slowly seemed to become fond of the pathetic rodent. Hermione eventually persuaded him to leave the door of the cage open, and after that Scabbers could occasionally be seen scurrying under the furniture in the common room, avoiding students’ feet and an older student’s cat. At the end of the day, however, the rat always returned to his cage voluntarily to eat and sleep.
Hermione said that Scabbers looked a bit livelier and less scrawny than he had, and Harry and Ginny had to agree. Apparently, escaping the twins’ experiments and having the opportunity to run freely had been good for the poor creature. Ron carried bits of cheese wrapped in a napkin in his pocket, and whenever Scabbers wandered nearby, Ron gave him a treat. Scabbers was not as excited by cheese as Ron thought he should be, but he ate it nevertheless and came to spend more time in Ron’s vicinity.
The last day of March was a Tuesday, and when the post was delivered at breakfast, Ginny and Harry watched Errol deliver a letter to Fred and George, who were sitting a few seats down the table.
The twins ripped open the white envelope and read the letter inside. As their eyes flicked across the page, the colour drained from their faces, and they looked up at each other with wide eyes.
Ginny leaned towards them. “Fred? George? What’s wrong?” she asked with a concerned look. “Did something happen at home?”
Her brothers shook their heads slowly, their gazes lost in the space in front of them.
Ginny frowned. “What is it, then?”
Wordlessly, Fred held the letter out to her. Kneeling in her seat, she leaned across the table and took it. Holding it so that both she and Harry could clearly see it, they skimmed it quickly.
Fred & George,
Happy birthday!
I know it’s 31 March, and that’s why we’ve sent this letter. Your mum and I were going through some old things in our bedroom this month, and we ran across your birth certificates. She wants to frame them, of course, but that’s not the point.
It turns out that you were both born 14 years ago today, on 31 March 1978. We’ve always thought your birthday was 1 April because the two of you weren’t handed over to us until a few minutes after midnight. But in actual fact, Fred was born at 11:52, and George followed at 11:59. So today is your birthday. We’ve spent all these years saying that you were so wild because you were born on April Fools’, but I suppose you’re really just crazy without any mitigating circumstances.
Your mum is sending another owl with your presents. Have a great birthday.
Love from,
Dad
“What’s it say, Gin?” Ron asked. Ginny handed the letter over to him and looked back at the twins. They had turned to stare at each other, but their mouths still hung open.
Their reverie was interrupted by the arrival of a school owl bearing a small parcel. Woodenly, Fred pulled it open, and two identical knitted scarves fell out onto the table. Each of the twins picked one up and dutifully wrapped it around his neck, all without actually looking at the items at all.
“Bloody hell,” Ron said as he finished the letter. “They really did lose their birthday.”
Whenever Ginny and Harry spotted her brothers in the halls that day, they seemed subdued. Perhaps even a little quiet, if such a thing were possible for the Weasley twins. That evening, the young pair approached the older pranksters in the common room.
“Happy birthday, you two,” Ginny said, holding out a large envelope decorated with orange and yellow stripes. “Sorry to hear about the date thing, but we got these a couple of weeks ago by owl.”
George opened the envelope and pulled out two one-galleon gift certificates for Zonko’s Joke Shop. Ginny leaned forward and whispered, “We weren’t sure what you’d need most, so we thought we’d let you pick.”
“Thanks, Ginny. Thanks, Harry,” Fred said. “That’s really . . . great.” He sounded as though all the hope in the world had died.
“Fat lot of good it’ll do us,” George grumbled.
“Why’s that?” Harry asked.
“We had all sorts of things planned for tomorrow,” Fred lamented. “Dancing quills, walking cauldrons, every-flavour toothpaste . . . loads of stuff.”
“You can still do it, can’t you?” Ginny wondered.
Don’t forget, we need to double-check our toothpaste tomorrow anyway, Harry said.
“What’s the point? If we go around pulling pranks tomorrow, it’ll be like we’re pranking ourselves as much as anyone else.”
“Pathetic, that’s what it’d be,” George concluded.
“Oh,” Ginny said. “Well, sorry about that. I bet you can use all that stuff later on, though.”
“Yeah, s’pose we will.”
Apparently, the twins really were put off of pranking on April Fools’ Day, because the day’s classes passed without any interruptions. Angelina, Alicia, and Lee all joked and laughed around the twins at mealtimes, trying to cheer them up. The two brothers seemed less upset than they had the day before, but what few jokes they offered in return to their friends’ efforts lacked the twins’ customary sharpness and verve.
Near the beginning of dinner that evening, Errol flew into the Great Hall again, this time bearing a bright red envelope. The battered old owl dropped it in front of Fred and George and then flapped out of the hall without stopping.
“A Howler?” Fred wondered. “We didn’t do anything this time.”
“Best open it anyway,” George said listlessly.
Fred pulled open the top of the envelope, and Arthur Weasley’s voice boomed across the cavernous hall.
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, Fred and George Weasley! Yes, that’s right, today is April Fools’ Day, and it is your birthday. Fred was born at 12:02, and he had the cutest little nose. George came along at 12:09, and everyone said how much he looked like a little angel. We’ve got the birth certificates to prove it.
“You’ve just gone all day on April Fools’ without causing any trouble. Congratulations! You’ve been had!”
Perfect! Ginny said, watching the twins’ identical looks of shock.
Your dad got it just right, didn’t he?
Just before the red envelope burst into flames, Mr. Weasley’s voice emerged again at a lower volume. “And it wasn’t your mum and I who pranked you, boys. For that, you need to look around for your betters.”
Harry paled. You’ve finished eating, right Gin?
I’m stuffed. Really stuffed, she said rapidly. Time to go?
Harry got up from his seat as casually as he could and set off down the length of the Great Hall. Already going.
Wait for me! Ginny said, scampering to catch up with him. As they reached the doors and walked into the entrance hall, Ginny glanced over her shoulder to see the twins striding towards them, their longer legs letting them catch up to the first-years quickly. Run! she cried.
Out of sight of the students still at dinner, Harry and Ginny broke into a run. They climbed the stairs as quickly as they could, heading for the relative sanctuary of Gryffindor Tower.
We can hide in my dorm room since everyone else is still at dinner, Ginny said.
Can’t we just . . .
Harry reached the fourth floor with Ginny close behind, and they started down a short hallway to the next staircase. Just before they reached it, the twins burst out from behind a tapestry and bore down on them. The identical redheads were grinning, but Ginny and Harry knew that it was not a grin that boded well for them.
. . . go there directly? Harry finished.
Just as George got close enough to reach out to grab Harry, the two first-years transported themselves to Ginny’s bed in quick succession.
Now what, Gin? They could wait for us in the common room all night, and people will get suspicious if we aren’t seen there tonight.
Err . . . they pondered the problem for a moment. Okay, we’ll do that, Ginny said.
Harry transported over to his own room and dug the Invisibility Cloak out from under his pillow. He heard the door to his dormitory slam open, and he returned to Ginny’s bed before his curtains could be ripped open.
Well, they’re not stupid, he said.
But they’re not girls, so we’re safe here for now.
Are you completely sure they haven’t figured out a way around the alarms?
Well, no, she admitted slowly. But I think we’d have heard by now if they had.
Ginny slipped under the invisibility cloak and opened the door as quietly as she could. Tiptoeing down the stairs, she peeked into the common room. Fred and George had turned a sofa to face the girls’ stairs and were staring straight into the space where Ginny stood.
That’s eerie, she said as she returned to her room and shed the cloak.
So long as they’re both there.
Harry climbed off Ginny’s bed and knelt down beside it. He pulled a large box out from under the bed and handed it to her, and she wrapped her arms around it to hold it up. Good luck, Harry, she said with an encouraging smile.
He took a deep breath and went back to his own room. Once there, he opened the door and walked openly down the stairs. Just before he came into sight of the common room, he stopped and called out. “You can’t catch us if we don’t want you to, but we’ve got something for you if you’ll let us be.”
The sofa scraped against the floor as the twins leapt to their feet. “Trying to bribe your way out of trouble, Potter?” one of them yelled.
“We prefer to think of it as being prepared for all eventualities,” he replied.
“Come on out, then. Let’s see what you’re offering.”
“Alright. But I don’t have it. Ginny does, and if you mess with me, you’ll never see it.”
Harry stepped cautiously down the last few steps and found the twins watching for him. “What’s your offer, then?” Fred asked with a suspicious scowl. Harry and Ginny knew that the twins were not truly serious in their anger, but all four students enjoyed the game.
“Come on, Fred,” Harry said. “Do you really think that Ginny would let us get away with giving you gift certificates for your birthday?”
“We were a little distracted at the time,” George said with a frown, “but now you mention it, yeah. That’s not like our Ginny at all.”
“Well, we got you some real presents to balance out the joke,” Harry said. “We give them to you, and you leave us alone.”
“Sounds a bit one-sided if you ask me,” Fred offered. “We don’t even know what we’re getting, but we’re giving up on all sorts of potential joke opportunities.”
Damn. Plan B, Ginny said.
Harry sighed. “Alright. You get the presents, and you get one prank on us without any revenge. Only the one, however.”
The twins’ eyes lit up. “Any prank at all?”
“If you go too far, then all deals are off, and we’ll retaliate in kind.”
“And who gets to decide what’s too far, then?” George asked.
Harry shrugged. “If you think something might be too much, it probably is.” Ginny gave him an idea. “And it would be much more impressive to come up with something good that isn’t too much, wouldn’t you say?”
The red-haired boys snorted. “Yeah, alright. What’s the time limit?”
“Err… before the end of term.”
“Good enough. It’s a deal.”
A moment later, Ginny walked cautiously down the stairs, clutching the large box to her torso.
“Merlin, Ginny, that thing’s half as big as you are,” George said, striding across the room to relieve Ginny of her burden.
“Thanks, George,” she said. “Happy birthday.”
George set the box on a table, and Fred untied the string holding it closed. He set the lid to one side, and the twins’ eyes widened when they saw the contents. Fred reached into the package and lifted out a solid red Beater’s bat. Its handle was wrapped in leather cording to provide a sure grip, and the words “Fred Weasley” were written along one side in shining golden script. George had an identical bat with his name on it.
“Bloody hell,” George said reverently.
“You don’t have school brooms, so why should you have to use school bats?” Ginny asked. “We thought you might like your own.”
“Yeah,” Fred breathed. “These are . . .”
“Awesome,” George finished. “But . . .”
The twins both looked intently at Harry and Ginny, who had moved to stand together. “They must have been awfully expensive.”
“They’re a bit much, we know,” Harry said. “But . . . well, it’s sort of a one time thing. Just to say thanks, you know?”
“You two have been really great to us,” Ginny said in a quieter voice. “I mean . . . everything would have been a lot worse without you. So just take them, alright? Keep Harry safe from Bludgers for me.”
“Alright, Gin,” George said just as softly. “Thank you, both of you.” Ginny hugged her brothers one at a time, and George clapped Harry on the shoulder.
Fred sighed theatrically. “You know what this means, don’t you, George?”
“I do, old bean. I do, indeed.”
“What does it mean?” Harry asked cautiously.
“It means there’s not going to be any payback,” George explained.
Fred nodded. “Wouldn’t be right. Can’t claim payback when we owe you, can we?”
“Keep the prank,” Ginny said, grinning. “You deserve a chance to at least try to top us. You won’t succeed, of course, but we’re certain your effort will be mildly amusing.”
“Oi!” the twins said together, their usual mischievous expressions returning in full force. “Now you do deserve a prank.”
“Feel free to try,” Harry said.
“Oh, we will,” Fred promised. “That stunt you pulled was great, I must admit. Really top-notch. And getting Dad to help was genius.”
“But we have some small talent ourselves,” George continued, “and we will find a way to top this.”
“Try mint-flavoured whipped cream,” Ginny suggested. “It’s my favourite.”
“What is it with you and green things?” Fred asked.
Ginny pulled her ponytail in front of her shoulder and shook the end at her brothers. “This look familiar? Green matches wonderfully.”
Fred shrugged. “Only if you care about matching.” He looked down at the bat in his hand, and then he set it gently back into the box. “Did you two get a chance to eat?”
Harry grinned sheepishly. “Not really. There was something about being chased by Hell’s Carrots that ruined our appetites.”
George’s eyes widened in delight. He turned to his twin and said, “Shirts!”
“Absolutely!” Fred answered, nodding his head emphatically. He picked up the box containing the two Beaters’ bats and started towards the boys’ staircase. “I’ll be right back.”
A few moments later, Fred came back down the stairs. “Let’s go, then. We’ll head back down and come up with a suitably impressive story about why we all had to run out of there at the same time.”
“I, for one, think that our scenario should include a troupe of dancing cats,” George said, opening the portrait for the rest of the group.
“Tabby cats or tortoiseshell?” Ginny wondered.
“Well, tabbies, of course.”
“Yuck, no. Nobody would believe dancing tabby cats. Make them tortoiseshells, though . . .”
The four friends wandered back to the Great Hall, discussing ever more outlandish ways to explain their absence.
“Can we include a wild Snidget?”
“What about some significant looks? Every story needs significant looks.”
“Cookbooks! We must have cookbooks!”
“Why not cooked books? Ginny could give us lessons.”
“ ‘Sadly, the two oldest and most frail of the adventurers never returned . . .’ ”
“They’re having more fun elsewhere.”
“We can only hope.”
Fred stopped abruptly on the stairs leading to the first floor and turned to face the other students with a serious expression, which stopped their progress and their banter. “My friends, we have almost committed a horrible offense.”
“What’s that, Fred?” George asked.
“There are five hours left in April Fools’ Day, and we were prepared to let them pass without an incident of any kind.”
“That’s horrible!” George moaned.
“Truly tragic,” Ginny said, rolling her eyes.
“Who shall we prank, then?” George asked.
“Everyone, of course,” Fred said. “These two won’t settle for anything less.”
Harry shrugged. “It’s not our fault that we think in grander terms than you two.”
“What are we going to do, then?” Ginny asked.
The group was silent for a few minutes as the twins pondered their options. Harry and Ginny were happy to let them think up the prank, especially considering that it was their birthday.
“Fred,” George said suddenly. “Remember those badges we made for these two at Christmas?”
“Of course,” Fred said. “A nice bit of work. Nothing spectacular, but well done.”
“Those things are great,” Ginny added.
George bowed from the neck. “Why thank you. I was thinking . . . you know, the charm we used on those buttons really just changes the hair colour of whoever touches them, right?”
“Right,” Fred agreed.
“Well, who says we have to put the charm on a button?”
“A fascinating thought, George. Truly. Do continue.”
“What if we cast it on the tables?” George asked. “Then, anytime someone taps the table, it will change their hair colour.”
“Splendid idea,” Fred said, “but how are we going to cast a spell on the house tables while everyone’s sitting at them? We don’t have any time or space to prepare something like that.”
“That’s easy,” Ginny said.
“It is?”
Harry grinned. “Of course. Don’t cast it on the tables at all.”
“They’re doing it again, Fred. Teasing us.”
“All we have to do,” Ginny whispered, “is cast it on the flagstones outside the doors. Stepping on one is as good as tapping it, wouldn’t you say?”
“You know, I think she’s right,” George said.
Fred nodded. “So whenever someone leaves the hall . . .”
“They become Weasleys.”
“What?” Ginny asked. “Not pink?”
“Not this time,” George answered. “This time, we’ll make absolutely sure that everyone knows who’s done the deed.”
“Half of who’s done it, you mean,” Harry said.
“Well, yes.”
“Too bad we can’t get the professors that way,” Fred said. “They won’t go near the doors until they’ve removed the spell, once they see what it does.”
Harry and Ginny thought for a moment, and then grinned slowly. “Can you teach me that spell?” Harry asked.
“Sure,” George said. “It’s easier than most first-year spells, but nobody bothers teaching something that useless. Why?”
“Leave the professors to us,” Ginny said, smirking mischievously.
Five minutes later, Harry had mastered the simple charm and practiced it a few times on a Knut. Then, as Ginny and the twins continued their walk down towards the Great Hall, he transported back to his bed and put on the Invisibility Cloak.
Ginny stepped into the entrance hall and walked towards the huge doors into the Great Hall.
“What are you going to do, Gin?” Fred wondered.
“Me? Absolutely nothing.” She reached the doors and leaned down to peer through the large, ornamental keyhole. On the other side of the door, she could see the long aisle running between the house tables and up towards the high table.
When he could see his destination, Harry transported himself into the centre of the Great Hall, careful to make as little noise as possible as he landed. Then he crept up the hall towards the professors’ table and walked to one end, near Professor Sinistra.
Carefully and quietly, Harry charmed the flagstones between the end of the high table and the wall of the Great Hall. Then, backing away from the charmed area, he tiptoed to the other end of the table and repeated the process.
Let’s make it more interesting, Harry said.
In the entrance hall, Ginny grinned at her brothers, who were staring at her with expressions of deep suspicion and the slightest hint of awe.
Instead of transporting back to his dorm room, Harry walked backwards along the centre of the hall towards the doors, whispering the charm at random flagstones as he went. When he reached the end of the house tables, he returned to his dorm room, stowed the Invisibility Cloak under his pillow, and then transported back to Ginny’s side.
“All done,” he said, smiling broadly.
“How did you do it?” George asked, fascinated.
“Trade secret, George,” Ginny replied.
Fred sighed. “We’re going to regret ever telling you that, aren’t we?”
“Don’t you already?”
“We’re getting there.” George shook his head. “Alright, you two go in first. We’ll follow along and charm these flagstones before we open the doors.”
Harry and Ginny nodded, and then they opened the doors to the Great Hall and stepped inside. They crossed to the side of the hall and then up to their seats at the Gryffindor table, going nowhere near the charmed flagstones in the centre aisle.
“You survive the twins?” Ron asked quietly.
“Yeah,” Harry said. “We had to promise to let them get us later.”
“Raw deal, Harry. You never know what they might do.”
He shrugged. “We told them that if they went overboard, all bets were off, and Ginny got them to believe it would be more impressive to do something that wasn’t too outlandish.”
The doors swung open again and the twins strode proudly into the room. They also avoided the centre aisle, walking up between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables to sit with Lee, Angelina, and Alicia.
Dinner was uneventful for the next quarter-hour, and Harry and Ginny got a chance to eat without interruption. Then, the first group of students stood up from the Slytherin table and walked down the side of the hall towards the doors.
Slytherins! Harry exulted.
Bit of a bonus, yeah?
A burly sixth-year pulled open the doors, and the group crossed the threshold into the hall beyond. As they stepped through the doors, every student’s hair turned a bright Weasley red.
The Slytherins themselves were the first to notice the change. They pointed at each other’s heads and cried out, which attracted the attention of their classmates who were still eating. Soon, all eyes were on the crowd of scowling red-haired students in the doorway.
A tall girl, who normally had black hair, looked up at Professor Snape. The dour man’s lips thinned. He drew his wand and motioned sharply for the group to come to him. When the Slytherins stepped back across the threshold, however, each student’s hair reverted to its normal colour. Snape’s eyes narrowed.
Well he’s not that stupid, Ginny said. He’s figured out that it has something to do with the doors.
Too bad he doesn’t know the rest, isn’t it?
The Potions professor rose from his chair and walked down to the end of the high table. He crossed Harry’s line of flagstones, and his hair instantly became as red as his students’ had been. The colour contrasted sharply with his sallow skin and black robes, but Snape himself was unable to see the change. Students throughout the hall, except at the Slytherin table, began to laugh at the ridiculous sight.
Sneering at the students around him, Snape strode down the centre aisle of the hall towards the doors. As he walked, he touched many charmed flagstones, and his hair flashed randomly from black to red. Students who had been laughing before were now howling openly, led by Fred and George. Ginny thought she spotted tears of mirth in her brothers’ eyes.
Snape finally realized what was happening, and he stopped just short of the main doors. His hair happened to be red at that moment, but as he spun around to look back at the massed students at their tables, his foot touched another flagstone and his hair became black again.
Without hesitation, Snape’s enraged glance found Fred and George. He started towards them, but as his hair flashed to red again, he stopped and seemed unwilling to risk the charm to approach the twins.
To Ginny’s surprise, Fred and George stood up at their places. Each of them dug into his pocket, pulled out a handful of something, and then stepped up onto the bench of the Hufflepuff table. With all eyes on them, they carefully tossed a collection of tiny glass vials into the center aisle of the hall.
Dungbombs!
Ugh! Harry said. Let’s get out of here.
The other students had come to the same conclusion, and a massive stampede began as all four houses scrambled to get away from the spreading reek of the dungbombs. The students who had been sitting with their backs to the centre aisle had the easiest time escaping, but as they ran from the hall their hair flashed rapidly back and forth from its natural colours to red.
All of the Gryffindors and Slytherins, and half of the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, avoided the centre aisle as they jostled towards the main doors in a confused cluster. When they reached the doors and spilled out into the hallway, however, they all managed to touch one of the flagstones on the threshold. As a result, nearly all the students lingering outside the Great Hall or already departing for their common rooms had vividly red hair.
Harry and Ginny ran along with the rest of their housemates, and Harry’s hair became as red as anyone else’s as they finally escaped the now-fragrant confines of the Great Hall. Instead of heading up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower with Ron, Hermione, and Neville, they waited at the side of the doors and looked back inside.
Fred and George still stood on the Hufflepuff table, pinching their nostrils together with one hand and beaming at the confusion they had caused. The professors were filing out a side door, avoiding both the dungbombs and the charmed flagstones. The only exception was Dumbledore. On his way out of the hall, he deliberately sidestepped to the end of the high table, and his long, white hair and beard turned bright Weasley red. With a quick wink at the twins, he left the hall.
After another minute, the only people left in the Great Hall were Fred, George, and Professor McGonagall.
“Fred and George Weasley!” she called out, fanning the air in front of her face.
“How about tomorrow night, at eight, in your office?” George yelled back, his voice nasal as he continued to hold his nose.
“Yes!” McGonagall said forcefully. “And every night for the next week. Ten points from Gryffindor. Each!” She turned and marched towards the side door, but she paused before leaving the Hall. “Bring your own toothbrushes, Weasleys. You’ll be working in here.”
“Yes, Professor,” the twins chorused, their grins never slipping. When McGonagall had left, they hopped down from the table and hurried down the hall to the main doors. As soon as they left the room, Harry and Ginny pushed the doors closed in an effort to trap the horrible stench of dungbombs inside the Great Hall.
Beaming, the twins turned to Harry and Ginny. The four students were alone in the Entrance Hall. “That was brilliant, you two. Snape’s hair . . . ” Fred trailed off into choked laughter.
“Thanks,” Harry said. “The dungbombs were a stroke of genius, too. But don’t come any closer to us, okay?”
“We’ll spare you this time,” George said. “I hope you missed the worst of the smell.”
Ginny huffed and rolled her eyes. “We’ll be fine, just as soon as I spend an hour washing my hair.”
“Worth it, though, wasn’t it?” Fred asked.
“Yeah, it was worth it,” Harry said. He and Ginny started up the stairs. When they reached the first platform, they turned around and looked down at their odiferous fellow pranksters.
“Happy birthday, you two,” Ginny called.
“Thanks, Gin!”
“Best birthday ever,” George yelled.
A/N: Portions of the dialogue between Snape and Quirrell are quoted from canon.
Garry Kasparov did not actually publish his book, Lessons in Chess, until 1997. However, if I’m allowed to monkey with the facts of HP canon, I don’t see why I can’t change the facts of real-life canon.
Chapter 19: Escapes and Escapades
Author's Notes: Thanks, as always, to moshpit, Jonathan Avery, regdc, and Chreechree for their invaluable assistance with this story. Part of every review, award, or other praise is thiers.
In April, Hermione ploughed headlong into her revision and encouraged her friends to do the same. Harry and Ginny often joined her. At first, it was because they felt badly after seeing Hermione panic over the mass of red her hair had become on April Fools’ Day.
Harry and Ginny had returned to the common room that evening to find their friend tugging helplessly at one of her crimson curls. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her cheeks were stained with dried tears.
“Hermione, are you alright?” Ginny whispered.
“No! My stupid hair is all red, and I don’t know how to fix it!”
“It’ll wear off in a few hours, Hermione, but here . . .” Harry pulled his practice Knut out of his pocket and once again cast the colour-changing charm on the tiny brass disc. He placed it gently on the table in front of Hermione. “There you are. Give it a tap, and your hair will go right back to normal.”
Hermione lunged forward and slapped her palm down on the Knut. Her hair turned brown immediately, and she sighed in relief as she collapsed back into her chair.
“We’re sorry, Hermione,” Ginny said. “We didn’t mean to upset you.”
Hermione took a few deep breaths and then said, “It’s not your fault. I just . . . two years ago, a boy in my school put chewing gum in my hair. He thought it was terribly funny. My mother had to cut out part of my hair to get rid of the gum, and the stupid boy thought that was even funnier. So then, of course, he did it again, and the same day he persuaded two other boys to do it, too.” She closed her eyes and squeezed the bridge of her nose tightly.
“We had to cut off most of my hair, and it’s only just grown back,” Hermione said at last. “When it turned red, I was afraid that . . . that I would never be able to make it brown again.”
“Honestly, Hermione, the charm wears off in two or three hours,” Harry said. “But if we’d known, we’d have made sure it didn’t get you.”
“You’re positive that it wears off?”
“Absolutely,” Harry replied. “My hair’s red, right? By bedtime it will be black again. I had the charm on a few times over Christmas break.”
Hermione turned her head to look around the common room. Following her gaze, Harry and Ginny saw dozens of red-haired students. Some of them, like Lee Jordan, looked decidedly odd, but none of them seemed terribly concerned about the colour of their hair. As she looked, Harry saw a smile creep across Hermione’s face.
“It is rather funny, isn’t it?” she asked.
“We certainly hope so,” Ginny said.
“Well . . .” Hermione reached out and, with a deliberate motion, tapped the Knut again. Her hair flashed to Weasley red, and she pulled a small hand mirror out of her bag. “I don’t look too bad, do I?” she asked, peering at her reflection.
“Not bad at all. You look loads better than Parvati,” Ginny giggled, gesturing at their olive-skinned roommate.
Hermione stifled a laugh with her hand. “Alright. It won’t hurt anything to play along for a few hours.” She picked up the Knut and looked over at Harry. “Can I keep this, Harry? There aren’t many things I can show my parents, but they’ll adore this.”
“Of course, Hermione,” Harry replied. “If you want, we can teach you the spell, too.”
“I’d like that,” Hermione said. “But perhaps later. I need to finish my reading, and you . . . well, perhaps you’d consider showering soon? You’re a bit, err . . . fragrant.”
Harry and Ginny nodded, grinning widely, and climbed up to their respective dormitories to get clean.
After the first day of intense, guilt-driven revision in the library, Harry and Ginny continued studying with Hermione. The extra revision would be good for their grades, they decided, and the near-silence of the library hardly stopped them from talking if they needed a break. All they really had to do, they discovered, was keep their eyes on their books while they talked, joked, or explored their own memories. Aside from that, though, they did actually manage quite a bit of revision.
When Neville was not ensconced in the greenhouses, he joined them in the library. He revised a bit each day, but he made no pretense once he got bored. By the end of an evening, he would inevitably have his nose buried in diagrams and explanations about rare magical plants. Ron joined the group about half the time they invited him. On those evenings, he revised and did his homework grudgingly. On other occasions, Harry and Ginny assumed that he played games or otherwise relaxed with Dean and Seamus.
On the second Saturday of April, Hermione persuaded the entire group to spend two hours of the afternoon revising before pursuing their usual weekend distractions. The five first years gathered at a table along one wall of the library, reading their textbooks in silence. Halfway through the time they had allotted themselves, Harry looked up and spotted Hagrid walking along the ends of the shelves with his hands behind his back. Ginny thought their giant friend was trying to be subtle, or perhaps even sneaky, but the effect was ruined by his sheer size. As he walked, Hagrid’s hip collided with an empty table. A shrill screech echoed through the library as the table slid across the stone floor. Hagrid spun in place to put the table back, and as he turned, Harry and Ginny saw the books he had been trying to conceal.
“Hagrid . . .” Ginny began. She was interrupted when Madam Pince swooped down on the group, seeking the source of the disturbance in her domain.
“Who is making that terrible racket?” Pince demanded. Her voice was quiet but somehow still intense and sharp.
“Sorry, Madam Pince,” Hagrid said. “It was jus’ me.”
“And what are you doing in my library, Mr. Hagrid?”
“Ahh, well, you know . . . lookin’ a’ a couple o’ books on . . . err, summat.”
Pince’s eyes narrowed. “Do you intend to borrow any books, then?” Her tone made it clear that she disapproved of any such plan.
“Ahh, no,” Hagrid said. “No, I was jus’ puttin’ ‘em back, righ’.”
“In their proper places, I hope?”
“Oh, yes, Madam. Ever’ book in th’ proper place.”
The librarian sniffed. “Do be careful, Mr. Hagrid. We do not need any disruptions here.”
Hagrid nodded his shaggy head enthusiastically, and Madam Pince walked back to her counter with one last suspicious look over her shoulder.
“Hagrid,” Ginny started again, “why have you got books about dragons?”
“Why have you got books about rearing dragons?” Harry asked as they realised the theme of the books.
Hagrid backed up against the end of a long bookshelf, trapping his hands and the books between the shelf and his back. “Oh, well. Y’kno’. Bit o’ studyin’, tha’s all. Lovely critters, dragons. Fun to know a l’il bit abou’.”
Ginny noticed the groundskeeper’s nervous looks, and the fidgeting of a ten-foot-tall man was very hard to miss. Suddenly, she knew the answer. “You’ve got an egg, haven’t you?” she whispered.
“An egg!” Hermione exclaimed quietly. “Hagrid, you can’t raise a dragon. It’s illegal.”
“Unless you’re on one of the reserves, like Charlie,” Ron added.
“Why would you want to raise a dragon, anyway?” Neville asked.
Hagrid put his hands in front of him, gesturing rapidly for quiet and forgetting that he still held the incriminating volumes. “Hush up now, all o’ you. Don’t go yellin’ abou’ it.” He glanced around to make sure no one was in sight, and then he grinned happily. “C’m’ down to my place, and I’ll show you, but you can’t say nowt to anyone, alrigh’?”
As one, the other four students all looked expectantly at Hermione. The older girl was clearly curious but hesitant to be involved with something so potentially dangerous. At last, she nodded. “Oh, alright.”
Curiosity wins every time with her, doesn’t it? Harry asked.
Seems like. I’m sure there’s some limit to it, but I can’t imagine what it is.
The first-years packed up their bags, and Hagrid turned to return his books to their shelves.
“Did you want to borrow those books, Hagrid?” Ginny asked.
“Well, yeah, I did. But Madam Pince don’ like me borrowin’ books much. Reckons I wrinkle the pages up too much or summat.”
Wordlessly, Ginny pulled the three books out of Hagrid’s hand and carried them up to the librarian’s desk. “Madam Pince,” she said with her most innocent look, “may I borrow these books, please?”
The sharp-faced woman took the books from her hands and glanced at the titles. “Why are you reading about raising dragons, Miss Weasley? That is hardly first-year material.”
“No, Madam, it’s not,” Ginny said, widening her eyes and smiling brightly. “But, you see, my brother Charlie raises dragons on this reserve in Romania, high up in the Carpathians, and he tells all these wonderful stories about all the dragons there, and how sometimes they have eggs and sometimes Charlie gets to see the baby dragons hatch and learn to fly and everything. He said that someday if I was good I could visit, and maybe there would be eggs, and if I was lucky I would get to see a baby dragon.”
Back at the table with their friends, Harry lost control and started laughing. He quickly covered it with a cough, but Ron and Hermione looked at him oddly anyway. Fortunately, Hagrid and Neville did not seem to notice his mirth.
“Mostly they hatch at night,” Ginny continued without pause. “But Charlie said he’d wake me up and I could see, even if it’s past my bedtime. You can’t get too close, because the mother dragons don’t want anyone at all near their eggs or their babies, but the people there have these things called binculars that let them see things a long way off. Charlie said one time he saw a wild Fwooper with his binculars, but I think he just saw some Muggle bird and made up the Fwooper to tell people about it and make it seem scary.”
At last, Ginny stopped and beamed at the librarian, hiding the fact that she was completely out of breath.
“Yes, well,” Pince said, blinking rapidly. “I see.” She quickly recorded the titles of the books in her ledger and then pushed them into Ginny’s hands. “Take good care of these books, Miss Weasley. Run along, now.”
“Thank you, Madam Pince,” Ginny said. She cradled the books carefully against her chest and walked back to the table.
That was brilliant! Harry said.
Pince is easy, Ginny replied. She rounded the end of the shelves and handed the books back to Hagrid. “Here you are, Hagrid. Borrowed for three weeks. You’ll have them back before they’re due, won’t you?”
“O’ course I will. Never you min’ wha’ ol’ Pince says, I take good care o’ books. Ta very much, l’il Ginny. Right decent of you.”
“You’re welcome, Hagrid.”
“An’ who’s this here, then?” the groundskeeper asked, looking at Neville.
“Oh, this is our friend Neville Longbottom,” Ginny said. “Neville, this is Hagrid.”
“Hello, Mr. Hagrid,” Neville said.
“None o’ tha’, now,” Hagrid rumbled. “Jus’ Hagrid is righ’ fer me. Longbottom, is it?” Neville nodded. “Good folk, Longbottoms. Never doubt it.”
The five students followed Hagrid out of the library, through the halls, and out onto the lawn. The first-years had not stopped to drop off their book bags, and Hermione in particular strained a bit under the weight of several large books she had not planned to carry across the grounds.
“’Ere, now,” Hagrid said. “There’s no need for tha’.” He reached out and plucked Hermione and Ginny’s bags from their shoulders, holding the straps in one fist and hardly seeming to notice the extra weight.
“Thank you so much, Hagrid,” Hermione said, rolling her shoulders.
“Anytime, Hermi’ne. Yer made fer knowin’ th’ books, not fer carryin’ ‘em places.”
I suppose I am made for carrying them, then, Harry said with a grin.
Of course. Hagrid has excellent judgment about these things, wouldn’t you say?
The groundskeeper pushed open the door of his hut and reached down to hold back an enthusiastic boarhound. “Don’ you mind ol’ Fang, ‘e’s just righ’ glad ter see you lot again.”
A few minutes later, they were all seated on oversized benches around Hagrid’s table while he prodded something in the coals of his fire. Fang had inspected each member of the group before deciding to rest his chin on Hermione’s lap. She scratched his long ears absently as she tried to peer around Hagrid’s bulk.
Finally, the gigantic man backed away from the fire and gestured into the coals with a poker. “’Ere it is, then.” With Hagrid out of the way, they could see a large black egg nestled in the glowing coals.
“It’s . . . err . . . lovely, Hagrid,” Ginny said.
“D’you know what kind it is?” Ron asked.
“Norwegian Ridgeback, I reckon,” Hagrid said proudly. “They’re righ’ rare, they are, and jus’ plain beau’iful.”
Hagrid spent the next twenty minutes happily listing all the virtues of dragons in general and his dragon in particular. He only stopped when Neville rose timidly to his feet.
“I’m sorry, Hagrid, but I told Professor Sprout that I would meet her in the greenhouses this afternoon,” he said.
“An’ here’s me jus’ babblin’ along wi’out a care in th’ world,” Hagrid said, shaking his head. “Go on, then, Neville, an’ come back anytime you want.”
Neville said his goodbyes and left for the greenhouses. As the door closed behind him, Hagrid turned to the others. “Strong lad, that one. Glad to see he’s friends with you lot.”
“What do you mean, Hagrid?” Hermione asked softly.
The big man shook his head. “Jus’ what I said, Hermi’ne. Don’ underestimate a Longbottom, hear?” The students nodded cautiously. “Righ’ then. Who wants more tea?”
“Err, Hagrid,” Ginny said. “What do you plan to do with your dragon once he’s hatched?”
“Well, raise him up, o’ course! Bet he’ll like playin’ in th’ lake. Maybe make friends with the squid, and we could all go swimmin’. Be alrigh’, wouldn’t it?”
“Or you could use him to help guard the Philosopher’s Stone,” Ron offered.
Hagrid dropped his teacup noisily onto his saucer. “’Ere, now. Yer not supposed to know ‘bout tha’, an’ I didn’ tell you . . . did I?”
“We figured it out for ourselves, Hagrid,” Harry said. “It wasn’t too hard once we found out who Nicholas Flamel was.”
“Shoulda reckoned you lot would dig tha’ up,” Hagrid muttered. “But you can’t go ‘round tellin’ anyone, alrigh’?”
“Of course not,” Hermione said seriously. “I just hope Fluffy is enough protection for it. It seems like it would be awfully valuable, and he’s only one dog, after all.”
“Oh, Fluffy’s enough, I’d say. But even so, there’s other stuff in th’ way an’ all.” Hagrid caught himself and shook his head. “There I go agin, sayin’ stuff wha’ I shouldn’t.”
“What other things?” Ginny asked.
Hagrid sighed. “I’m no’ tellin’ you tha’. It’s bad enough you lot know abou’ it at all. But most of the professors helped ou’ with the guardin’ and such, so you can rest easy tha’ it’s safe from anyone wha’ wants it. No need to get my dragon involved at all.”
Harry accepted that Hagrid was not going to say anything else about the Philosopher’s Stone. “Really, Hagrid. What are you going to do with him? Your house is too small for a dragon.”
“Well, yeah, later on. But he can be righ’ cozy here while he’s little, can’t he?”
“But Hagrid, your house is made of wood,” Hermione said.
Hagrid waved off her objection as inconsequential and went over to stir the coals around his precious egg.
If he tries to keep that dragon, he’ll end up burning down his house and probably half the castle with it, Harry said.
We can’t tell him that, though, Ginny said. He’d be heartbroken.
“Hagrid,” Ginny began carefully, “maybe I could write to Charlie. I’m sure he knows more about raising dragons than you can find in a book, and you know he wouldn’t tell anyone you’ve got an egg. He could give you some advice.”
“You reckon?” Hagrid asked, his eyes brightening with eagerness. “Tha’d be righ’ nice o’ you, Ginny. None better’n Charlie to help ou’ wi’ raisin’ a dragon.”
That evening, Ginny wrote Charlie a long letter, explaining the situation and asking for advice about how to keep Hagrid from doing serious damage to the school. She and Harry were firmly convinced that there would be no way to keep a dragon at Hogwarts, but they could not see how to tell Hagrid that without hurting his feelings. They sent Hedwig off to Rumania and asked her to hurry as best as she could.
On Wednesday, the snowy owl returned with a hastily scribbled note.
Ginny & Harry,As Ginny read the letter, Harry offered Hedwig a piece of bacon from his plate. “Brilliant, Hedwig. Really well done.” Hedwig accepted his bacon daintily and preened proudly for a moment before flying off to consume her breakfast.
I’ll see what I can do. If the egg is that big, we don’t have much time. I’ll let you know.
Charlie
Two days later, just after the students began eating dinner, the doors of the Great Hall swung open forcefully. Automatically, Ginny glanced up at the High Table, but Snape was already seated.
I guess someone else likes a grand entrance, too, Harry said.
The doors came to rest, fully open, and Charlie Weasley strode through the centre of the opening. Ginny’s brother wore his work clothes, which consisted of a scorched black leather vest, matching trousers, and rugged leather boots and gloves. He wore a heavy cloak over it all, and he carried a battered knapsack. The muscles of his shoulders and arms stood out clearly, and more than one older witch’s head turned to follow his straight backed form as he walked up the aisle towards the high table. As he passed Harry and Ginny, he gave Ginny a brief wink before turning back to the professors.
Yup, that’s Charlie. I hate to think that he has anything in common with Snape, but at least he does it better.
Charlie stopped in front of Dumbledore. “Good evening, Mr. Weasley,” the Headmaster said. “What a pleasant surprise. What brings you to our humble school?”
The older Weasley’s baritone carried easily in the hall. “Humble, is it? I’d hate to see what you call grand, Headmaster.” Dumbledore smiled and nodded his head. “I happened to be in the area on business, and I thought I might stop by and see my younger siblings. There’s quite a collection of them here, I heard. Five, six . . . I lost count.”
Harry beamed, knowing with Ginny that Charlie would never say something like that casually.
“We do seem to have a few,” Dumbledore agreed, “and their effect seems to multiply as more of them arrive. Would you like to join us for dinner?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” Charlie said, smiling. “Thank you very much. I’ll be on my way by curfew, if that’s alright with you.”
“Certainly,” Dumbledore said.
Charlie nodded once, turned, and walked down the aisle to the far side of the Gryffindor table. As he approached, Ginny and Neville scooted apart to make room for him, and the twins stood up from their places to take seats on either side of Ron and Hermione. Charlie dropped his bag beneath the table and took the open seat, and then he put an arm around Ginny and squeezed her tightly to his side.
“Ugh, Charlie! You smell,” she protested.
“Great to see you, too, Gin,” he answered.
“What are you doing here, Charlie?” Fred asked.
“Like I said, I came to see you lot,” he said, glancing at Harry to include him in the group.
“Came to see Ginny, is what he means,” George said.
“Chopped liver, we are,” Fred added.
“Hey, some people like chopped liver,” Harry said. “Nobody I know, of course, but there’s bound to be someone.”
“Speaking of which, where’s our prefect?” Charlie asked. “We’ll get into trouble if we don’t have a prefect around.”
“Hermione? She’s right here,” Ron said, hooking a thumb at the girl next to him. The other students laughed as Hermione lowered her eyes, but the brunette was blushing and smiling, too.
“You’re Hermione Granger?” Charlie asked in a lower, more serious voice. Hermione nodded, and Charlie reached a hand across the table. “I’m very glad to meet you, Hermione. Any good friend of Ron and Ginny-and-Harry is a good friend of mine.”
Hermione looked up and reached out to shake Charlie’s hand. “I’m happy to meet you, too, Charlie. They’ve told me wonderful things about you,” she said with a smile.
“All lies, I assure you,” he replied with a wink.
Ginny elbowed her brother sharply to get his attention again. “Charlie, this is our friend Neville Longbottom. Neville, this is my brother Charlie. He’s second of the lot of us.”
“And with him as second, it’s a wonder any of the rest of us are around,” Fred interrupted and then ducked Charlie’s half-hearted swing.
Rolling his eyes at Fred, Charlie turned to Neville. “Hello, Neville.”
“Hello, Charlie. Nice to meet you,” Neville said.
Charlie nodded and craned his head to look up the table. “Oi, Percy!” he called. “Come on down here and be family.”
He’s a bit different than he was at the Burrow, isn’t he? Harry asked.
Yeah. Get him away from Bill, and he gets a bit louder. I’m not sure which way he prefers, but he seems happy with both.
Percy looked up from his dinner at the Prefect’s section of the table and scowled for a moment, but he put his fork carefully on his plate and brought it with him as he walked down the table. He sat next to Harry and looked at his older brother over the heads of Harry and Ginny. “Good evening, Charles. I trust you’re well.”
“Yes, I’m well, and I’m doing alright, too. How about you? OWL revision going smoothly?”
“Yes, it is,” Percy said, looking faintly surprised. “I have high hopes for exceptional marks.”
“Well, if any of us can get those marks, it’s you,” Charlie said. “Bill got twelve, and I’ve bet two Galleons with him that you will, too.” He shifted his gaze to look at Harry. “Been a few months, Harry. Still staying on a broom?” The Gryffindors sitting nearby chuckled at the apparent joke.
“Yeah, doing alright,” he said. “Keeping in a straight line, learning how to stop and go . . . you know how it is. I hear that there’s this weird practise called Quidditch, and I might like to try that.” The students laughed aloud this time, and Charlie grinned.
“Ginny told me about that last match you played. Makes me wish I could be a student again and regain some of my pride.”
“I was lucky, really,” Harry said with a shrug. “The Snitch tried a trick I’d seen recently.”
“Lots of lessons from that game, then,” Charlie agreed.
The collected Weasleys, plus Harry and Hermione, spent the meal catching up. Neville seemed content to listen in and contribute a bit, but on more than one occasion Harry thought that his friend was overwhelmed by Charlie’s forceful personality. The twins regaled the entire table with the tale of the birthday prank they had pulled, but they conveniently left out the parts about being pranked themselves and having help with turning everyone’s hair red. Ginny and Harry were just as happy they did not figure into the story, but the smirk on Charlie’s face told them that he suspected the truth.
When the other students began leaving the hall, Charlie drained his goblet and looked around at the group. “I think I might take a walk around the grounds. See the old sights and all that. Anyone fancy joining me?”
Ron, the twins, Ginny, and Harry all nodded immediately, but Hermione looked hesitant. “Oh, well, I’ll just go up to the Tower. I don’t want to impose . . .”
“Nonsense!” Charlie said before Ginny could reply. “With a family as big as ours, one or two or ten more doesn’t matter at all. Come along.” Hermione nodded, a shy smile creeping across her face.
“I appreciate the invitation, Charles,” Percy said, “but I do have several subjects I must cover tonight in my revision.”
“Ah, well,” Charlie said. “Good luck with that. If I don’t see you again tonight, it was nice catching up.”
“Yes, thank you. I enjoyed it also.” With that, Percy nodded to his brothers and sister and then marched out of the hall.
“Stiff as a board, that one,” Charlie muttered to Ginny.
She rolled her eyes. “That’s the nicest he’s been in months.”
Charlie sighed. “Too bad.”
Neville leaned behind Charlie’s back and caught Ginny’s eye. Wordlessly, he raised his eyebrows in question. She smiled and nodded, and he nodded his thanks in return.
The remaining five Weasleys and their three friends walked down the length of the Great Hall. Harry and Ginny were not surprised to hear Malfoy’s voice raised above the din as they passed his seat.
“They’ll let anyone in here these days, I suppose. Even those who aren’t even suited to scrubbing the floors,” the Slytherin sneered.
Grinning slightly, Charlie stopped in his tracks and turned to face the blond boy. His expression shifted to one of exaggerated thoughtful concern, and he nodded. “Wow, Malfoy. It’s so great to see you finally accepting your own limitations. The sooner you come to terms with how inferior you really are, the happier you’ll really be. Have you talked to Filch? He might be looking for an apprentice.”
Malfoy spluttered for a moment, his face reddening and his hands clenching on the table in front of him. Before he recovered, Charlie smiled and led his family and friends out of the Great Hall.
“That was priceless!” Ron said.
Charlie snorted. “There’s one of him in every crowd. We’ve even got one who managed to get a job at the dragon reserve. They can never take offensive remarks as well as they dish them out, and I couldn’t pass up an opportunity like that one.”
A few minutes later, all five Weasleys, Harry, Hermione, and Neville were strolling across the grounds between the castle and the Quidditch pitch. Charlie led them inside the pitch itself and up to the Gryffindor stands, where they all sat in a loose group.
“Now, is there anything new I should know about this dragon of Hagrid’s?” Charlie asked.
“Dragon?” George asked incredulously. “Hagrid’s got a dragon?”
“If I’ve got the timing right, he’s got a dragon egg for about another week.”
“That’s what Hagrid says, too,” Harry said.
Charlie nodded. “Say what you will, but Hagrid knows his beasts.”
“What are you going to do, Charlie?” Ginny asked. “There’s no way he can hide a dragon here.”
“You’re right, Gin. After a week, that dragon will be too big and too dangerous even for Hagrid. So, if all goes well, I’ll be taking the egg back with me tonight.”
“Really? Your boss will let you just bring another dragon to the reserve?”
“Let me?” Charlie scoffed. “Once he heard about it, he insisted. It’s rare to find a Ridgeback egg at all, much less one that could be from a bloodline we don’t already have. I’d have been here the same day I got your letter, but we had to do some paperwork and make room for a new orphan. That’s done, and now everyone back there is just waiting for me to show up with the prize.”
“But how are you going to get Hagrid to let you take it?” Hermione asked, her former shyness forgotten in the conversation.
“That’s the rough part, isn’t it?” Charlie shook his head. “The best I can do is appeal to his better judgment. Never mind the damage to the castle and forest . . . that dragon would be miserable here. After a few months, he’d leave, and Hagrid would never see him again. Then he’d be on his own, hundreds of miles from the nearest Ridgeback, and making problems for the Ministry.
Charlie stopped to run his hands through his hair in anticipation of the talk he would soon be having. “I think it’ll work, but Hagrid won’t be too happy about it. I brought him some firewhiskey in case he needs it.”
“You won’t give it to him until after he’s agreed to let you take the egg, though, right?” Hermione asked.
Charlie nodded at her with a slight smile. “Right, Hermione. I wouldn’t do anything like that, especially not to Hagrid.”
She looked apologetic, but she held Charlie’s gaze. “I’m sorry, but I had to be sure.”
“’Course you did. I’d do the same in your place.”
“I can’t believe Hagrid’s got a dragon egg, and we didn’t know about it,” Fred complained.
“Sorry, Fred,” Ginny said. “We couldn’t take a chance on anyone overhearing us, and it’s only been a few days since we found out. We didn’t mean to leave you out.”
George waved his hand airily. “Oh, that’s no matter. But think of all the fun we could have had tormenting Hagrid. He can take a joke, Hagrid can.”
“So long as it’s the right sort of joke,” Neville offered quietly.
“Well, yeah,” Fred agreed. “Making the wrong sort of joke is just unprofessional. A real career-killer.”
“Never mind that it’s likely to get you in trouble,” Harry said.
“That, too.”
“Well, lads and lasses,” Charlie said, rising to his feet. “I’d better get started with Hagrid. Who knows how long it’ll take to convince him, and then I’ve got to watch him drink until he falls asleep. Big as he is, that’ll take a while.”
“It was great to see you, Charlie,” Fred said.
“Makes for a nice change of pace,” George agreed.
“Yeah, you too,” Charlie said. “Not too many red-haired lunatics in Romania.”
“Just one, eh Charlie?” Harry asked with a grin.
Charlie laughed loudly and clapped him on the shoulder. “Too right, Harry. Maybe one is all they can handle.”
Ginny stood on the next higher bench to hug her brother around his shoulders instead of his waist. “Thanks for coming, Charlie,” she whispered.
“Anytime, Gin. You two just ask,” he replied just as quietly. As he released her, Ginny felt him slip a note into the pocket of her robes. She and Harry ignored it, knowing Charlie intended them to see it privately.
“It was nice to meet you, Charlie,” Hermione said.
“Pleasure was mine, Hermione,” he replied with a grin. “You’ve got a tough job, keeping up with this lot, but they tell me you’re smarter than all of them put together, so I suppose you’re the right person for it.”
She smiled and ducked her head again while Neville said a polite goodbye. Then they all climbed back down to the ground, and Charlie set out for Hagrid’s cabin while the students walked to the castle.
When Ginny and Harry got to the Tower, she excused herself to go to the lavatory, where she opened Charlie’s note in privacy.
Care for a fly? Eleven o’clock on the pitch. Don’t get caught.Harry was sitting downstairs at a table with Ron and Hermione, and the three of them spread out their books to continue revising with varying levels of enthusiasm. How does he know we can get there? he asked. We didn’t tell him about the cloak.
He probably thinks we’ll just transport directly onto the pitch.
Except that we don’t remember it well enough, and we don’t know exactly where he is, Harry pointed out.
Ginny nodded. Right, but he hasn’t thought of that.
Doesn’t matter, I suppose. It still won’t be terribly difficult.
They spent the evening revising and talking to their friends as usual. Ron told Hermione and Neville stories he had heard about Charlie’s days at Hogwarts, and Ginny thought that almost half of them were true. They went to bed at their usual time, but neither of them changed into their pajamas. Instead, they waited with their cloaks on Harry’s bed, listening to the other boys fall asleep around them and hoping that Charlie had been successful with Hagrid.
Finally, at eleven, Harry slipped out of his bed and over to the window. The moon was full, so he could easily see the Quidditch pitch from his window as Ginny wrapped herself in the Invisibility Cloak. They transported her to the entrance to the tunnel that led through the structure to the pitch itself. Harry got back into his bed and when she reached her destination, he joined her there. Ginny held the cloak open for him.
Let’s try to surprise Charlie, if he’s already out there, she said.
Grinning, he nodded and ducked beneath the shimmering fabric.
Emerging from the tunnel onto the grass, they spotted Charlie sitting against the wall with his bulging knapsack nearby. In front of him, his lit wand was pushed handle-first into the turf of the pitch, lighting the grass around him for several feet.
Quickly and quietly, Harry and Ginny backpedaled into the tunnel and rearranged the cloak so that both of their heads poked through the broad neck, with Harry standing behind Ginny. The hood was large enough to cover both of their heads.
How is it that we end up sharing hats so much? How many hats can there be that are big enough? Ginny asked with a smile.
Two or more, apparently.
Covered again, they crept out in front of Charlie. He must have heard them, because his eyes narrowed, and his head turned towards them. Then, as they took another step and entered the circle of his wand’s light, Charlie’s gaze flicked to their feet, where the grass was crushed flat in four shoe-shaped patches.
“How’d you manage that?” he asked softly.
Not surprised by her brother’s perception, Ginny reached up to push back the hood. “Invisibility Cloak,” she said.
Charlie started and blinked at the sight of two disembodied heads in front of him. “That’s creepy, you know. Where’d you get it?”
“Someone left it for me at Christmas,” Harry said, pulling the cloak off of them both. “We think it was Dumbledore. The note said it used to belong to my dad.”
Charlie smiled crookedly. “Nothing is safe, now.”
“You got the egg?” Ginny asked.
“Yeah. He was upset about it, though. Bawled like a half-ton baby. But he knew it was the right thing to do, and he agreed before too long. He only made me promise to name it Norbert, if it’s male, or Winifred, if it’s female.”
“Norbert? Winifred? What kind of names are those for a dragon?” Harry asked.
“Doesn’t really matter,” Charlie said. “The dragons don’t seem to notice what we call them, but they do need names for us to use, so Norbert or Winifred is as good as any. Anyway, I spent the last two hours pretending to sip firewhiskey while Hagrid drowned his sorrows.” Charlie shook his head. “Don’t go banging on his door before noon tomorrow, okay?”
“We weren’t planning on it,” Harry said. He looked down at the innocent knapsack next to Charlie’s knee. “Is the egg okay in there?”
“Sure is. It doesn’t look like much, but we charmed this bag to be warm enough for the egg, even this far north. Makes it awkward to carry, but I only have to hold on to it long enough to apparate a few times.”
Charlie retrieved his wand and extinguished its light as he clambered to his feet and stretched. “So, did you bring brooms in some other rare magical artifact?”
“No, we haven’t found one for that yet,” Ginny said with a laugh. “It was easier to come here first and then get the brooms.”
“How so?” Charlie wondered.
Harry grinned. “Come and see.”
With Charlie following, they went back down the tunnel to the outer wall of the pitch. Ginny put the Invisibility Cloak on again, and Harry crept towards the end of the tunnel until he could see the door of the broom shed. With a soft rush of air, Ginny transported there. Still invisible, she pulled the door open and slipped inside, pulling it closed behind her. She grabbed the twins’ brooms, and then they moved her back to the tunnel next to Harry.
Charlie jumped again when two broomsticks appeared, apparently floating in midair. Harry took them from Ginny’s hands, and she took off the cloak and folded it over her arm. Charlie laughed to himself and shook his head as Ginny smiled at him. “I’m still not used to that. Any more tricks I should know about?” he asked.
“Loads,” Ginny said with a nod and a small smirk. “But we’d rather fly.”
“Alright, then. What do we need to do?”
“Well,” Harry said as they walked back to the pitch, “we can fly around the pitch separately for as long as we want with one of us going straight while the other turns. We just have to make sure we stay at the same height and don’t go too fast. We’ve started trying to fly up and down, but we still have to stop every minute or two when we do that.”
“Let’s keep trying, then,” Charlie said. “Can I ride with you, Gin?”
Ginny nodded, and she and Charlie climbed onto one of the brooms. Harry mounted the other, and they all set off on a slow lap around the pitch, two yards above the ground. Once they had settled, Harry began slowly rising and falling, going as high as the top of the stands before dipping back down to Ginny’s path. They kept the same speed, but after a minute they got dizzy and Charlie took over flying Ginny’s broom. Harry leveled out, and they focused on keeping him in the air. When he was steady again, he resumed his rippling flight, and Ginny flew her own broom again.
By midnight, they had made some progress. It was not a major step forward, but Harry and Ginny agreed that it was much more than they would have managed on their own.
“Thanks, Charlie,” she said. “We do a lot better with help than by ourselves.”
“Why don’t you ask Ron or the twins to help you, then?” he asked.
She shrugged. “We’re not in a big hurry, and they’re always doing something else here at school. Plus, it would be odd for more than the two of us to disappear together for very long.”
“Well, maybe you can get more help this summer, then.”
“We hope so,” Ginny said.
“Come on, I’ll walk you back up to the tower,” Charlie said, picking up his knapsack by the straps and being careful not to let it brush against his leg. “Cloak or no cloak, it’s the middle of the night.”
“I think we can make it back by ourselves,” Ginny said, even though she and Harry knew that the walk was only an excuse for the three of them to spend a few more minutes together.
Charlie shrugged. “Of course you can, but every now and then I like to behave as though I’m a good big brother. So humour me, okay?”
In other words, he’s feeling protective.
You know they’re all wrapped around your finger, Harry said. Of course they’re protective.
They?
Okay, fine. He grinned. We. You don’t mind all that much, though.
Only because you’re all so sincere about it, she replied. Someday, it might get really old, though.
I’ll know, at least.
But that doesn’t mean you’ll stop, does it?
Will you?
They each shrugged in response.
“Can we go now, or should I put this egg down while you two stare at each other a bit longer?” Charlie asked.
“Sorry, Charlie,” Harry said. “Let’s go.”
Harry and Ginny reversed their previous trick to put the brooms back in the shed, and then Harry crawled underneath the cloak with her. They walked across the lawn with Charlie in the silvery light of the moon, beginning to yawn from the long night and the extra exercise.
They walked in silence for a few moments until Charlie spoke again. “How are things really going for you here?” he whispered.
“Not too horribly, I guess,” Ginny said. “Snape is still a git, as always, and Malfoy’s a spoiled bastard, but generally we’re having a good time.”
“Having a good time, is it? Dad told me about that stunt you pulled on the twins.”
Harry and Ginny grinned. “You’re just sad that you missed their expressions,” Harry said.
“Well, yeah, that too,” Charlie said as he pulled open the main doors. He casually held the doors open just long enough for Harry and Ginny to enter the castle.
They started up the stairs to Gryffindor tower, with Charlie taking the steps slowly and allowing the shorter students to keep up. “Don’t think I didn’t notice the gaping hole in the twins’ story, either,” Charlie said with a smirk. “How could they possibly have charmed the flagstones in the middle of the Great Hall when they decided to pull a prank after dinner had started? Someone who could become invisible, though . . .”
Ginny giggled softly. “That would make it easier, wouldn’t it?”
“Now that I wish I could have seen,” her brother said. “Snape with Weasley hair? Priceless. Was it still greasy?”
“Yup,” Harry said. “It’s not a good look for anyone in your family, trust me.”
“Guess I’ll have to keep washing my hair, then,” Charlie said with a sigh.
“You could always just shave it all off,” Harry suggested.
Charlie snorted. “I may not be as fond of my hair as Ginny is of hers, but I’d rather not look like an egg with freckles, thanks.”
As Ginny and Harry laughed quietly at that image, the three rounded a corner and came face-to-face with Professors McGonagall and Vector. The two first-years, still under the Invisibility Cloak, froze in place and tried not to breathe. Charlie stopped abruptly and faced the two women, who were staring at him in surprise, confusion, and a bit of suspicion.
McGonagall’s eyes narrowed. “Good evening, Mr. Weasley. I did not expect to encounter you while on patrol this evening. Weren’t you planning to leave before curfew?”
“Ahh . . . yes, Professor. That’s right,” Charlie stammered, his eyes shifting as he spoke. “I ended up talking with Hagrid all night, you see, and . . . err . . . I had to . . .” Charlie’s eyes strayed down the hallway the two professors had come from, and his face lit as he pointed to a doorway nearby. “I had to use the toilet. The folks at the international apparition points don’t appreciate everyone asking to use theirs, you know, so I thought I’d come back up to the castle before I left.”
Ugh, Harry said. I guess not everyone in your family can lie as well as you and the twins can.
Charlie and Ron are horrible at it, Ginny agreed. And Percy . . . well, I’m not sure it’s ever occurred to him to try.
“Are you aware that that is a girls’ lavatory, Mr. Weasley?” McGonagall asked, arching an eyebrow.
“Well, err . . . yes,” Charlie said. “It’s the middle of the night, see, and I . . . well, I always heard that the girls’ lavs were nicer than the boys’. So, well . . .” he trailed off and shrugged.
Professor Vector, who had been toying with an errant lock of hair, grinned slightly but said nothing. McGonagall nodded slowly, but her skeptical look did not waver. “I see. And to whom were you speaking a moment ago?”
We’re dead.
“Well, myself, actually.” Apparently Charlie had managed to think of this part ahead of time. He looked down at the floor and scuffed his toe loudly. “Had a touch of firewhiskey with Hagrid, you see. That’s why I was headed for the toilet.”
“So, to summarise,” Vector said, holding up her hand and ticking off points on her fingers as her grin grew broader, “you are inebriated, and you came to the castle to find a lavatory. Instead of using one on the ground floor, you climbed several flights of stairs and decided to investigate the girls’ room. Along the way, you’ve been talking to yourself and apparently finding yourself quite entertaining. Yes?”
Charlie clearly knew how ridiculous his story sounded, but he threw a cocky grin at the Arithmancy professor and stuck to it anyway. “Yes, that’s it exactly, Professor . . .?”
“Septima Vector,” she said. “Pleased to meet you.”
“Likewise, Professor,” Charlie said.
“Septima, please. I suspect that we must have gone to school together, though I don’t recall you specifically.”
“We couldn’t have,” Charlie said, smiling and leaning casually against the wall. “I’d surely remember you.”
Ginny only barely restrained herself from kicking her brother in the shins, but Professor Vector simply shrugged.
“Actually, you did,” McGonagall said. Both Charlie and Septima started and glanced inquisitively at Professor McGonagall. “Ms. Vector was in her seventh year when you were in your first, Mr. Weasley. She had the privilege of attending Hogwarts before the Weasley invasion commenced in earnest.”
Gee, thanks, Professor, Ginny said, but she had to grin at the joke.
“Weren’t you in a hurry to reach the toilet, Mr. Weasley?” Vector asked, deadpan.
Charlie’s grin flashed for a moment. “Call me Charlie. And yes, I was. If you’ll, err, excuse me?” At their amused nods, he put his bag on the ground and walked past them to the doorway of the lavatory. He hesitated only a moment, then stepped inside.
“That was . . . interesting. Though who am I to find talking to oneself odd?” Professor Vector asked with a shrug.
“That is hardly the point, Septima,” McGonagall replied.
“Well, in lieu of facts to the contrary, would we not have to give him the benefit of the doubt? He seems rather harmless, even if I do not believe his story. Do you?”
“Of course not,” McGonagall said. “Charlie Weasley has never in his life wondered about the interior of a girls’ lavatory. I daresay he’s waiting on the other side of the door and marveling that it looks just like the boys’.”
“Shall I give him detention, then?” Vector asked, deadpan. Harry quickly covered Ginny’s mouth as she started giggling.
Minerva shook her head. “Nothing of the sort. I am quite sure that, whatever he’s doing, he has good reason for it and means no harm.”
“Really?” Septima seemed surprised. “You’d let him wander the corridors in the middle of the night without knowing why?”
“Yes, I would,” McGonagall said simply.
Charlie emerged from the lavatory, making a show of rubbing his hands together to finish drying them. “Well, I’ll just be on my way, then,” he announced, picking his bag up again.
“I trust you enjoyed your visit, Charlie?” Vector asked.
His smile was genuine. “Yes, thank you. Hagrid is always good company, and I never miss a chance to see my family these days.”
“Have a good trip, Mr. Weasley,” McGonagall said. “If you should find yourself in the area in the future, feel free to visit. Though I do hope you will refrain from these midnight strolls in the future.”
“Ah, but you meet the most interesting people at times like these,” Charlie said.
McGonagall cocked her head to one side and gave him a very flat look. “Yes, I daresay you’ve encountered several interesting people since returning to the castle.”
“Yes, well,” Charlie said, flustered. “Goodnight, Professors.”
“Goodnight, Charlie,” Septima said as McGonagall nodded.
He turned and started back down the stairs. Harry and Ginny waited, still and silent, as the two professors turned to go up to the next floor. Then they followed after Charlie and caught up with him on the second landing. Ginny reached out and caught his hand through the fabric of the cloak.
“Thanks, Charlie,” she whispered.
“What’s family for?” he asked, shrugging. “You two had better get back to the tower.”
“It was great to see you,” Ginny said, hugging her brother through the cloak. “Good luck with the dragon.”
“You too, Gin. And Harry, of course. Take care of yourselves, alright?”
“We will,” Harry said. “Bye, Charlie.”
Charlie waved in their direction and then resumed his path down the stairs.
Shortcut? Ginny asked, watching her brother disappear from view.
Definitely. McGonagall might still be on the stairs.
Harry transported up to his room, leaving Ginny under the cloak in the hallway. As soon as he arrived, she went to her own bed and quickly changed into her pajamas.
As Harry slipped into his own pajamas, inside his bed curtains, he heard footsteps crossing the room. Ginny sat on her own bed, wrapped in the cloak once again, and waited to be sure she would not be discovered in Harry’s room.
“Harry?” a voice whispered. He finished buttoning his shirt and then pulled the curtains open to find Neville standing uncertainly on the other side.
“Are you alright?” he asked. “Thought I heard you moving around.”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Harry said. “Just couldn’t sleep.”
“Me neither,” Neville said. “I kept thinking about what it must be like to spend all day around dragons. Can you imagine?”
It’s the next best thing to heaven, if you ask Charlie, Ginny said.
Harry shook his head. “Err . . . no, not really. Seems like it’d be pretty nerve-wracking, yeah?”
“Yeah. Plants can be dangerous enough, but at least most of them don’t chase you when they get hungry.”
Most of them?
I’m afraid to ask, Harry said.
“Well, that should be the last we have to see of any dragons,” he said aloud.
“Let’s hope,” Neville replied. “Night, Harry.”
“Night, Neville.”
Harry pulled his curtains closed again and sat back against his headboard. He and Ginny silently agreed that they should wait a few minutes to let Neville settle before risking the noise of Ginny’s arrival.
Ginny, do you want to tell Neville about, you know, us?
I’m not sure, she said. It’s strange, but . . . I rather like having a friend who doesn’t know.
Yeah, Harry agreed. He seems to have noticed a few odd things we do, when we’ve slipped, but he likes us anyway.
Are we lying to him somehow? Ginny asked.
They thought for a moment. I don’t know, Harry said at last. But, really, it doesn’t matter. I don’t think Dumbledore would let us tell him, anyway.
That’s true, she agreed. But what about the Philosopher’s Stone? He was there when we found Fluffy, but we’ve never told him the rest.
We’re not supposed to know at all, right? Harry asked. How would it help to tell him and maybe get him in trouble if he says the wrong thing?
I suppose you’re right.
Harry grinned in the darkness. We’re right.
Whatever. Ginny shrugged in their minds and grinned herself. I’ve lost track.
They waited a few more minutes until the dorm was silent and Harry thought he could hear Neville’s soft snores. Then Ginny moved to Harry’s bed, and they fell asleep quickly after the evening’s excitement.
Two days later, they approached their weekly meeting with McGonagall with some trepidation.
Do you think she knows? Harry asked.
Probably, Ginny said, a trace of nervousness in her voice.
Their professor wasted no time. After she had greeted them, she settled into her chair and regarded them regally. “Ginny, did you know that I encountered your brother Charlie in the corridors after midnight Friday evening?”
Ginny had no idea what to say. She did not want to lie to McGonagall, but answering the question honestly would hardly help. Before they could decide how to respond, the stern woman continued.
“In spite of his rather . . . farfetched . . . story, it seemed obvious that he was on his way to Gryffindor Tower. Just before he noticed Professor Vector and myself, we heard him speaking to one or more people. I heard laughter that sounded nothing at all like Charlie Weasley’s laughter.
“And yet, when I did see Mr. Weasley, he was quite alone. Isn’t that curious?”
This time, she waited for a response. Too nervous to speak, Harry and Ginny nodded jerkily.
“I am forced to conclude that your brother was accompanied by one or more Hogwarts students, which means that those students were out in the corridors well past curfew, in direct violation of several school rules designed to ensure the safety of the castle’s residents.”
She’s going to give us detention for a week, Ginny predicted, her eyes wide and her hands shaking.
A month, at least, Harry countered.
“As it so happens,” McGonagall continued, cocking her head to one side thoughtfully, “there are only two students in the school who could have been talking to Mr. Weasley and then escaped quickly enough to avoid my notice.” Her eyebrow rose and her eyes went flat. “In actual fact,” she repeated, “those two students are among the most likely to have been out in the corridors with him at that hour.”
The professor’s words slowed and became even more unforgiving. “Do you know who those two students might be?” she asked.
Harry swallowed convulsively, and Ginny gripped his hand tightly. They both kept their eyes riveted on their shoes.
“I believe that you do,” McGonagall said. She stared at them for another long moment, daring them to speak. “However,” she said at last, “I am not in the habit of punishing my students based on, shall we say, circumstantial evidence.”
The professor could not possibly have missed the breath Harry and Ginny each released in a rush.
“Allow me, instead, to propose a hypothetical situation,” McGonagall continued. “If a student or students asked permission to be out of their common room after curfew with a trusted adult family member, such permission might be granted. If, however, those students had shown that they could not be trusted, I would very likely deny any such request. Hypothetically. Do you understand?”
Again, the two first-years could only nod without looking up. Ginny let her hair fall forward, hiding her face from McGonagall as their faces burned with shame.
“Excellent,” the witch said crisply. “While we are on the topic, there have been several interesting events this year that could also be attributed to the same two students.” McGonagall leaned forward, resting her elbows on the arms of her chair and lacing her fingers together in her lap. “I will be candid, Mr. Potter and Miss Weasley. There is, perhaps, a place at Hogwarts for those sorts of . . . amusements. But if I catch anyone doing such things, I will punish them according to the rules of the school. And if anyone is injured in any way, I will find the students responsible. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”
“Yes, Professor,” Ginny whispered as Harry nodded.
“Good.” McGonagall leaned back in her chair and visibly relaxed. After a long moment, the corner of her mouth twisted into the barest hint of a smile. “The Headmaster looks quite shocking with red hair, don’t you think?”
Harry grinned tentatively, and Ginny finally pushed her hair back behind her ears and raised her head.
“Did you know that he had red hair when he was young? Not quite that red,” she said, her eyes shifting to Ginny’s flaming mane, “but red nonetheless. I daresay he enjoyed revisiting his youth.”
As they walked back to their common room later, Harry and Ginny thought about the reprimand they had just experienced.
I don’t ever want to go through that again, Harry said with an internal shudder.
Well, me neither, but . . . Ginny paused. She did sort of say it was okay, so long as no one gets injured or really embarrassed or something.
She did, didn’t she? He thought for another moment. And as long as no one gets hurt, we just have to accept the risk of getting caught and having detention.
And if the detentions were that bad, Ginny finished, the twins wouldn’t still be doing pranks.
She’ll know it’s us, though, if we keep doing things that only we could do.
So? She shrugged. She already knows it’s us. We won’t get caught, that’s all.
That’s a brilliant plan, Ginny, Harry said, rolling his eyes.
She smiled brightly. Thank you, Harry. We thought so, too.
A/N: I found myself without anything text-related to put in my author’s note, so I’d just like to take the opportunity to thank everyone for voting for this story in the DSTAs. It’s a great feeling.
Chapter 20: Sticks
Author's Notes: Thanks, as always, to moshpit, Jonathan Avery, regdc, and Chreechree for their kind assistance. regdc helped quite a bit with Hagrid's dialogue in this chapter. Happy new year!
As May passed and the weather improved, Ginny managed to coax Hermione into taking her books outside. On sunny weekends, their studious friend read in the shade of a tree while everyone else played or relaxed in the sunshine. Harry and Ginny discovered that they could run and chase their friends in separate directions without any difficulty, which gave them some hope that their problems with flying would eventually be solved.
One week before exams were scheduled to begin, Hermione persuaded the entire group to resume studying in earnest. Monday evening after dinner, they had all put away their robes and were sitting at a round table in the common room. Most of the table was taken up with Hermione’s textbooks, notebooks, parchment, quills, and assorted volumes she kept nearby ‘just in case she needed them.’ The other four students sat with their own books, and Harry and Ginny were getting restless as they read through their Potions book for the fourth time.
They looked up to find the twins wandering over from the table they shared with their classmates, identical looks of speculation on their faces.
“You know, George, I reckon you’re right,” Fred said.
“See?” his brother replied. “I told you so.”
Ron, who had not turned a page of his book for several minutes, looked up. “Right about what?”
“This pair,” George said. “I think Harry might actually be growing.”
“What?” Harry asked, utterly confused.
“Back in September, Harry was just a couple of inches taller than Ginny,” Fred said. “Now, I think she might only come up to his nose.”
“I think I’d know if I was that much taller,” Harry said.
Between us we certainly would, Ginny added.
George shook his head. “Maybe not. It’s gradual, see, so you don’t notice it unless you have something to compare it to.”
“Here, you two,” Fred said, pulling Harry and Ginny up by their arms. “Stand up, back to back, and let’s have a look.”
There’s a prank coming, Ginny said as she rose. I can feel it.
Yeah, but we did say they could, didn’t we?
Silently, Ginny agreed, and they turned to put their backs together. Fred put one hand flat on top of Harry’s head, while George did the same with Ginny. Then the twins made a show of scrutinizing their hands and gauging the distance between them, but Harry and Ginny were already quite certain that neither of them had grown much more than the other.
“Hmm. I dunno, George.”
“It’s borderline, at best, isn’t it?”
“Sorry, you two. It looks like you’re still just titches,” Fred said, shaking his head sadly.
“And now . . .” Fred’s voice came from their other side, and they turned towards him just as they felt something flat and unyielding pushed between their shoulder blades. “You’re titchy bookends!”
The twins grinned, and then they triumphantly high-fived each other over Harry and Ginny’s heads. Ginny turned to stand next to Harry instead of behind him, but Fred’s hands darted out to hold the two smaller students in place.
“Careful, now!” he said. “You wouldn’t want to damage Hermione’s copy of Hogwarts: A History, would you?”
Harry saw Hermione’s head snap up. “What?!” she cried.
Ginny reached awkwardly behind her back and found the heavy tome trapped between her and Harry, its spine facing towards the ceiling. She tried to lift it away, but it tugged at their shirts, so she let the book go. Hogwarts: A History was adhered to their clothes.
“George’s Gooey Glue!” George said proudly. “Our very own invention.”
“Named for the slightly less handsome twin because we couldn’t come up with a snappy name that sounded good with Fred.”
“And because I was the one who dropped flobberworm saliva into one of our potions, leading to the discovery of Gooey Glue.”
“You’ve ruined my book!” Hermione shouted, shooting to her feet with a look of outrage.
“Ah, no, our dear Miss Granger!” Fred said quickly. “That’s the absolute glory of Gooey Glue. It sticks wonderfully, but when the correct counter-adhesive is applied, the Glue unsticks easily and leaves absolutely no residue.”
“So where’s this counter-adhesive, then?” Hermione asked. Her eyes were narrowed in suspicion.
George shrugged. “Why, in my pocket, of course.”
Here it comes, Ginny said with a sigh.
“And what do we have to do to get it?” she asked aloud.
“It’s quite simple, really,” Fred said with a wicked grin. “Just walk from here down to the entrance hall. Whenever anyone asks what’s going on, you tell them you’re bookends. We’ll follow along, and when you get to the main doors, we’ll apply the counter-adhesive.”
“How are we supposed to get down all those stairs with a book stuck between our backs?” Harry asked.
“Well, that’s the challenge, isn’t it?” George replied. Then his smile shifted into a knowing smirk. “I’m sure that if anyone can do it, you two can.”
Oh, that’s just too much.
You have to admit, though, Ginny said, it’s rather smart of them.
If it gets too difficult, I can always take off my shirt and go back to my room for another. Then I could just hold it up against your back on the way downstairs.
Good thinking.
“Oh, alright,” Harry muttered, attempting to sound sullen.
“I’m coming along,” Hermione stated. She moved until she was in Ginny’s line of sight. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, but . . .”
“It’s okay, Hermione,” Ginny said. “We’ll be careful, but you can come along just in case.”
Ron rose from his chair. “Well, not me,” he said. “No need to make this any more of a parade than it already is, right?” He shook his head and walked over to a nearby table, where Dean and Seamus were playing Exploding Snap.
“Oh, yeah,” Neville said quickly. “I’ll, err . . . I’ll stay, too. Good luck, Ginny.”
“Thanks a lot,” Ginny replied.
So how do we do this? she asked Harry.
We walk sideways, I guess.
Too bad we can’t just transport down there, Ginny said.
Yeah. People would see us, though, and who knows what it would do to Hermione’s book?
Carefully, they manoeuvred until they could link their elbows, holding their backs together and keeping the book safely in place. One step at a time, they walked sideways across the common room, ignoring the snickers and pointing fingers of the other Gryffindors. Hermione held the portrait open for them, and they climbed through it, one leg at a time.
Crossing the corridor was relatively easy. All they had to do was relax and let their bodies step sideways, trusting their shared sense of balance to keep them moving smoothly.
The first flight of stairs, however, presented more of a challenge. They had to move very slowly and carefully to walk sideways down the stairs, and without their ability to match each others’ motions they would have fallen after the first step. Fred and George both went down the stairs beside them, keeping a light hand on each of their shoulders.
When Ginny cocked an eyebrow at Fred in question, her brother shrugged. “It’s a prank, Gin. Not a way to make you hurt yourselves.” She flashed him a smile and returned to the task of creeping down the stairs. When they reached the fourth floor, they turned to walk down the corridor.
The stairs by the library are big enough that we usually have to take an extra step on each one, Harry said. That should make it easier.
They walked sideways towards the library, with Fred, George, and Hermione trailing several yards behind. From what they could hear, Hermione was interrogating the twins about the Gooey Glue, and they were answering her questions about how it worked, what it was made of, and the process they had used to perfect the formula.
Trust Hermione to make it sound like homework, Ginny said with a grin.
Other students moved up and down the corridor, stopping to stare, laugh, or smirk at the spectacle of two very recognisable students caught in such a predicament. When asked, Ginny dutifully told everyone that they were bookends, courtesy of Fred and George.
As a stretch of unpopulated hallway opened ahead of them, Ginny had a thought.
Harry, have you ever galloped before? You know, run sideways?
His memory provided them both with the answer as he spoke. Not personally, but it doesn’t look hard. Worst case, we have to stop, right?
Or we fall on one of our faces, Ginny said.
They looked back and found that Hermione and the twins had fallen behind. From Fred’s gestures and Hermione’s intense look, Ginny assumed that they had all somehow become caught up in their discussion of Potions. Let’s try it, she decided.
In one unified motion, they picked up their pace, skipping sideways down the hall at much greater speed. They were surprised to find that the motion required was easy. Ginny’s memory told them what to do, and if they relaxed a bit, they felt as though her experience was guiding them both.
“Be careful!” Hermione yelled from the hallway behind them. They grinned, confident in their movements, and rounded the corner towards the library at a trot.
This is fun! Harry said with a slight sense of wonder.
It is! Ginny agreed, though her thought was tinged with sadness that Harry had never tried it before. We should do it without the book sometime.
Suddenly, as they straightened to gallop down the hallway towards the library doors, Harry’s legs adhered firmly to each other, and they were falling sideways. Ginny used her feet and legs to slow their collapse, but she was not nearly strong enough to hold them up. With no time to separate their elbows, they twisted to the floor, falling along Harry’s front left side and ending up with him on his stomach and Ginny lying face up on his back.
An all-too-familiar voice drawled from further up the hallway. “Perfect. Now you two look just as stupid as you really are.”
Harry shook his head and shifted slightly to look up the hallway. Malfoy emerged from behind a suit of armour, smirking at their predicament, with his wand trained on them. Ginny untangled her left arm and pulled out her wand as the blond boy approached. Instead of hexing him immediately, she aimed along her body at Harry’s legs. “Finite incantatem,” she said, and Harry’s legs sprang apart.
Draco stopped abruptly, seemingly surprised at Ginny’s quick and effective counterspell. Hooking her elbow back around Harry’s, Ginny threw her weight sideways as she swung her legs. With Harry’s help, she pulled them both into a sitting position, still back to back, with Hermione’s book nestled safely between them. They spread all four of their legs for balance, and once they were stable Harry drew his own wand in his right hand. They twisted to point both wands at Malfoy’s chest.
“Don’t bloody move,” Harry growled. His head swam from the fall, and his body ached from the impact. Ginny let him lean back against her, supporting the weight of his torso as much as she could. As Malfoy froze, an expression of shock on his face, Ginny realised that the hallway around them was uncomfortably warm. She tried momentarily to calm them, but she knew how close Harry had come to serious injury, and she had no real desire for them to control their anger.
They stared at Malfoy for a moment, watching as his shocked expression became tinged by fear.
Dammit! Ginny shouted in their minds. We can’t just blow his face off, but I don’t know what else to do!
Malfoy must have realised that they were not going to retaliate, because his sneer returned in full force. As he took another step forward and aimed his wand, Harry and Ginny realised that they had another option.
Before Malfoy could speak an incantation, they simultaneously lowered their wands towards Malfoy’s feet and shouted, “Ignis Caeruleus! ”
Hermione had taught them the incantation and wand movement for her bluebell fire spell, but they had never tried it before. Bright blue flames shot from the end of their wands, but before they had travelled more than a few inches, they froze in midair and fell to the floor. The frozen flames shattered when they landed, and a moment later the shards vanished.
Professor McGonagall stormed down the hallway from the library doors, wiping her forehead and scowling as she lowered her wand. Even after Christmas and their midnight excursion with Charlie, Harry and Ginny were certain that they had never seen their Head of House look so enraged. Her features were cold, hard, and utterly unforgiving. “What is going on here?” she demanded.
“They attacked me!” Draco shouted.
“I am aware of that, Mr. Malfoy,” McGonagall said, “but because you are standing on your own two feet, while they are sitting on the floor and clearly struggling to stay upright, I suspect that there is a more thorough explanation to be found.” She turned to Harry and Ginny, her expression offering no hope for sympathy. “What do you say happened?”
“We rounded the corner, and Malfoy cast the leg-locker on Harry,” Ginny said, failing to control the quaver in her voice. They knew they had done almost exactly what McGonagall had instructed them not to do. “We fell, but we managed to sit up. He was about to cast something else at us, so we . . . err, we tried to hex him first, and then you found us.”
Hermione, Fred, and George jogged around the corner and slid to a halt as Harry and Ginny released their free arms and braced them shakily against the floor.
“Harry! Ginny!” Hermione cried. “Are you all right?” She leapt towards them and kneeled, looking concernedly between their faces. Hermione looked between their backs, where they could still feel her book. “Stupid prank!” she snapped. Then she turned to look over her shoulder at the twins. “Remove it,” she ordered. “Now!”
Blinking away his surprise, George crossed to them in two long strides and pulled a red vial from his pocket. He opened it and sprinkled the contents along the backs of Harry and Ginny’s shirts. The heavy book fell to the flagstones with a dull thud, and Hermione pushed it unceremoniously out of the way so that they could move freely.
“Hermione, help me,” Ginny said in a tight whisper, trying to avoid closer scrutiny by her Professor. Carefully avoiding Harry’s developing bruises, she took him by the shoulder and pulled him towards the corridor wall. On Harry’s right, Hermione mirrored her friend’s actions, and soon he was able to prop himself up against the cool stone. Finally, he relaxed his strained muscles and let his arms fall to his side. Ginny sat next to him, gripping his hand in both of hers, and Hermione kneeled on his other side, holding his shoulder to steady him.
“Bloody hell, Harry,” George said sadly. “We’re sorry.”
“Not your fault, George,” Harry muttered.
“Language, Mr. Weasley! All of you stay where you are and be quiet,” McGonagall snapped. Ginny looked up to see her professor glaring at the six students in the hallway. Up and down the corridor, a few other students were walking away quickly to escape the professor’s incandescent anger.
McGonagall’s eyes finally came to rest on Hermione. “Miss Granger. Can you tell me why Mr. Potter and Miss Weasley were adhered to a book, and how they came to be here in such a condition?”
“Please, Professor,” Fred said seriously. “That’s our fault, and we can tell you about it.”
Her gaze locked onto him. “Then do so.”
Even Fred must have been intimidated, because he swallowed heavily and spoke without a trace of humour. “It was a prank, Professor. We used a potion to stick them to the book, and we said they had to get down to the entrance hall like that. We were all having a good time with it, I think, and they went around the corner here ahead of us. We heard them fall, and by the time we caught up with them, you were already here.”
“You were following to watch them?” McGonagall asked.
“Yes, Professor,” George said.
“Why is Miss Granger here?”
“It’s her book,” Fred replied. “She didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“Mr. Potter, Miss Weasley. Is that so?”
“Yes, Professor,” Ginny offered with her eyes on the floor as Harry dazedly nodded his agreement.
McGonagall turned to glare at Malfoy, who was still standing against the opposite wall. “Mr. Malfoy, do you have anything to add? Remember that I can quite easily determine which spells were cast here.”
Malfoy pressed his lips together and stared down the length of the corridor.
“Very well,” the professor said. “Mr. Malfoy, for attacking your fellow students, you will serve detention tomorrow night at ten o’clock in my office. Fifty points from Slytherin. You may go.”
The blond boy’s nostrils flared angrily, but he turned and walked stiffly down the hall. When he rounded the corner and the sound of his footsteps faded, McGonagall turned back to her own students.
“Miss Granger, take your book and return to the common room.”
Hermione nodded and picked up her book, but before she turned away she looked at Harry with concern.
“I will see that Mr. Potter and Miss Weasley are cared for,” McGonagall said, her voice softening. “Return to Gryffindor Tower.”
The bushy-haired girl nodded again, shot Harry and Ginny an apologetic look, and started back the way she had come.
McGonagall addressed the twins, her voice frigid once again. “Fred and George Weasley, you endangered your sister and Mr. Potter. Your prank may have seemed harmless, but it created a situation where they could be and were injured. Do you see that?”
The twins nodded helplessly, their remorse plain on their faces.
“Good. You will also serve detention tomorrow night at ten o’clock. Fifty points from Gryffindor for the pair of you. Wait here, and do not speak.”
Finally, she turned to Harry and Ginny where they sat against the corridor wall. Gingerly, she crouched in front of them. “Harry, are you alright?” she asked in a whisper. Her words were still sharp and clipped, but concern showed in her voice.
“Just some bruises, I think,” Harry replied.
“Does your head feel the way it did at Halloween?” the professor asked.
Behind McGonagall’s back, Ginny saw Fred and George furrow their brows thoughtfully.
“No,” Harry said.
“He landed on his shoulder, mostly. It jarred him, but he didn’t hit his head,” Ginny whispered.
McGonagall nodded and pulled out her wand. “Where are the bruises?”
With Ginny and Harry’s help, their Head of House healed the bruises on his left side, and they both sighed as the pain faded to the simple soreness of overtaxed muscles.
“Ginny, are you alright?” McGonagall asked.
“I’m fine, Professor. I landed on Harry’s back.”
I’m sorry, Harry.
It’s okay, Ginny. You didn’t mean to. And if you hadn’t, one of us might have really gotten hurt.
“Very well.” McGonagall rose to her feet and towered over Harry and Ginny. Her expression slipped, and once again her displeasure showed clearly. “Mr. Potter, Miss Weasley, I am shocked at your behavior. I thought you would know by now that your spells often have unintended results.”
“We weren’t going to hurt him, Professor,” Harry said. “We just wanted to . . . err . . . to set his robes on fire a bit.”
“A bit?!” McGonagall fumed. “Things do not catch fire a bit. They burn!” She paused and took a deep breath, visibly controlling herself. After a slow exhalation, she asked softly, “You were conjuring bluebell flames, were you not?” Terrified, they nodded. “Have you ever cast that spell before?” They shook their heads. “Saints help us,” she whispered.
After another steadying breath, she spoke at a normal volume. “You mutually lost control of your temper and could very well have seriously injured or killed Mr. Malfoy. You must not draw your wand unless you are absolutely sure of what your spells will do. Do you understand?”
Silently and shakily, they nodded. They were shocked by the idea that they might have killed another student. Malfoy was certainly not their favourite person, but even he did not deserve to die for casting a childish hex.
“Fifty points from Gryffindor for each of you, and detention tomorrow night with the rest,” McGonagall said more loudly. Then she sighed heavily and spoke quietly again. “You must learn to control yourselves. I will try to help you in more practical ways, but you must also accept the consequences of your actions.”
“Yes, Professor. We understand that,” Ginny said.
“Messrs Weasley,” McGonagall said in a ringing voice. “Help them directly back to the tower. If either of them experiences any more pain or stiffness, find me or take them to the hospital wing yourselves. Can you do that?”
“Absolutely, Professor,” George said.
“Good. Be on your way, then.”
Harry and Ginny got to their feet, still holding hands, and Fred and George positioned themselves on either side of the younger pair with an arm around each of their shoulders. They walked in a line back to the tower, taking the steps slowly.
“I’m sorry, Harry,” Fred said quietly. “We never meant for either of you to get hurt or to lose points.”
“I know, Fred,” Harry replied. “It was Malfoy who messed everything up, as usual. We were having fun before that.”
“You’ll tell us if anything else hurts, right?” George asked.
Harry smiled. “I’m okay, and Ginny wouldn’t let me hide it if I wasn’t.”
“Too right,” Ginny said firmly.
Fred turned his head to look at her. “What was that about Halloween?”
“Harry got a concussion when we fought the troll.”
“A concussion? I thought you’d fought it with your wands?”
“We tried,” Ginny admitted. “We couldn’t do anything to it, though.”
“Ginny bit it in the leg instead,” Harry said as he failed to stifle a grin.
The twins missed a step, but they recovered and smiled broadly. “Good show, Ginny!” Fred said.
You had to tell them that, didn’t you? Ginny asked wryly.
I knew they’d appreciate it properly.
“Harry’s the one who tried to tackle it,” Ginny said.
The twins turned to him in surprise, but he spoke before they could. “Sure, but you stuck your wand up its nose.”
At that, Fred and George laughed out loud, leaning more heavily against Harry and Ginny as they climbed the stairs.
“Well, it seemed like the thing to do at the time,” Ginny muttered.
George wiped his eyes. “So what happened then?”
Harry’s grin faded. “Still not our story, George.”
“Oh. Well, alright. Can’t blame me for asking, eh?”
George gave the Fat Lady the password and held the portrait open while the other three clambered into the common room. Almost immediately, Hermione burst out of the crowd and stood in front of Harry and Ginny. “You’re both alright?” she asked. Ron and Neville appeared behind her.
“We’re fine, Hermione,” Ginny said. “Harry had some bruises, but McGonagall healed them in a trice.”
Their friend let out a breath and then rounded on the twins. Raising a finger to point at George’s chest, she hissed, “Of all the stupid, imbecilic, asinine, reckless . . .”
George raised his hands in surrender and shook his head sadly. “We know, Hermione. We’re sorry.”
She huffed through her nose and lowered her hand. “Good.” She spun on her heel and marched back to her table, settling herself among her books and bending over her homework. Apparently satisfied for the moment, Neville and Ron followed her, leaving the twins with Harry and Ginny near the entrance.
“Wound a bit tight, isn’t she?” Fred asked jokingly, as though trying to lighten the mood.
“Hermione doesn’t have a lot of friends, Fred,” Ginny whispered.
Her brother froze for a moment and then smiled down at Ginny. “Lucky us, then, eh?”
“Who said anything about you?” Harry teased.
“Haven’t you heard?” Fred asked. “Everyone loves us. It’s universal.”
“You two going to go to bed early?” George wondered, letting his twin’s comment pass without response.
Ginny shook her head. “No, it’s early still. We’re going to try to finish what we were working on.”
Fred nodded. “Let us know if you need help or anything, alright?”
“Sure, Fred,” Harry said. “Thanks.”
Harry and Ginny made their way over to the table where the others were waiting. As Harry sat down in his chair, Ron looked up at him.
“Malfoy’s a bloody git, isn’t he?”
“Yeah. Complete plonker,” Harry agreed.
“Wish you’d got to hex him,” Ron said.
Harry grinned. “Maybe next time.”
“I’m glad you’re okay,” Neville offered quietly.
Ginny pulled their books towards them. As Harry glanced around the room, he noticed other Gryffindors staring at him and Ginny or at Fred and George. Many of them were scowling or whispering to their friends. “Why’s everyone looking at us?” he asked his friends.
Hermione looked up from her book, her brow furrowed in sympathy. “The four of you lost a hundred and fifty points for Gryffindor. Someone must have heard Professor McGonagall talking to you. By the time I got back here, everyone already knew.”
“A hundred and fifty . . .” Ginny breathed as the seriousness of the loss finally struck them. “Then that means . . .”
“Means we’re dead last, that’s what it means,” Ron grumbled. Hermione shot him a look, and he hastened to add, “Wasn’t your fault, of course, but that’s what it means.”
“Nobody else really knows it wasn’t your fault, though,” Hermione said. “All they care about is that we were in the lead, and now we’re last. Malfoy lost points, too, so they’re in second place instead of first, but Slytherin is still the only house with a chance of beating Ravenclaw.”
“It’s just a cup,” Neville said through a quiet sigh. “We can try again next year.”
“I’m sorry, Hermione,” Ginny said after a moment. “A lot of those points came from you.”
Her friend shrugged. “A lot came from you, too. It doesn’t matter. I know what really happened.”
The remainder of the evening passed torturously. Almost every time one of their housemates walked near Harry and Ginny’s table, they were muttering about silly first years and what a total disappointment the real Harry Potter turned out to be.
They liked me just fine when I was catching Snitches, Harry said.
Don’t listen to them, Harry, Ginny replied. They’re just upset about the points.
Shortly before ten o’clock, Percy returned to the common room. He approached their table and stood stiffly behind Harry and Ginny. “I cannot tell you how disappointed I am,” he said in a ringing voice. “Fred and George are bad enough, but I really hoped that you, Ginevra, had more common sense than they do. I am sorry to discover that you clearly do not.” Ginny was sure that her brother’s tone and volume were intended to shame his siblings into better behavior.
Harry shot up from his chair, turning to face the Prefect at his back. His temper flared even as Ginny cringed from her brother’s words, but just as Harry was about to reply to Percy, Ron’s voice came from over his shoulder.
“Bugger off, Percy, and get a life!” he said harshly. “Ginny’s got more good sense in her little toe than you’ll ever have, even if you live to be two hundred.”
Thank you, Ron, Ginny said silently.
Harry was still fuming, but he resisted the urge to immediately take Ginny’s hand and comfort her. They did not want to draw more attention to themselves by heating up the common room.
“Percy,” Harry whispered, drawing the taller boy’s eyes back to him. “Go. Away. Now. ”
Percy’s eyes widened. With a half-hearted sniff, he took a step backwards and then turned to go up the dormitory stairs. Harry collapsed back into his chair with a deep sigh as he reached for Ginny’s hand under the table. As always, the contact comforted them both.
Don’t listen to him, Ginny, he said, unconsciously echoing her words from earlier. He just . . . he cares about all the wrong things.
Ginny stared at her brother’s receding back until he disappeared up the stairs. Her anger warred with hurt and confusion, but finally she shook her head and turned back to her books. Git, she summarised finally. She picked up her quill in her left hand, holding it awkwardly, and squeezed Harry’s hand gratefully in her right.
The next day’s classes were grueling. In the hallways, the other Gryffindors scowled at them while members of all three other houses chuckled behind their hands or even outright laughed at the students who had cost Gryffindor so many points. During History of Magic, only Ron, Hermione, and Neville refrained from whispering loudly about how badly Ginny and Harry had hurt Gryffindor.
At lunch, the five first-years sat with Fred and George. Angelina, Alicia, and Lee were sitting with the twins, but there was a broad open space at the table on either side, as though no one were willing to be associated with them even by location.
Harry and Ginny took their seats and began eating without looking around the hall. The dark looks of their housemates and the near-glee of students in other houses had taken a toll on the young pair’s morale.
“Cheer up, Ginny,” Fred said. “It’ll all pass over soon enough. It’s just points, after all.”
“Have you ever lost a hundred and fifty of them in one go, Fred?” Ginny asked.
“Well, no . . . but I’m sure it will pass over just the same.”
“Oh? When?” Harry asked.
“Err, well . . . if nothing else, we’ve only got about four weeks left in the term,” Fred said with false bravado.
“Wonderful,” Ginny said. “Only four weeks of this. That helps loads.”
The day got even worse that afternoon when, as they walked from Transfiguration to Defence Against the Dark Arts, they encountered Malfoy and Snape. Malfoy was standing straight and sneering proudly as the Potions Master nodded approvingly. “Ten points to Slytherin, Mr. Malfoy, for your impeccable uniform today,” Snape said. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Harry and Ginny walking by. “Potter!” he snapped. “Straighten your tie, you slovenly boy! Ten points from Gryffindor.”
Slytherin will have all those points back by the end of the day, Harry predicted, needlessly adjusting his tie.
I hope Fluffy gave him a nasty scar, Ginny said, scowling. Or, better yet, a raging infection.
That evening, rather than studying in the common room, they found a quiet corner of the library. Hermione was happy to accompany them, and Neville and Ron came along with the group. It was strangely relieving to have Pince watching them suspiciously instead of all their housemates glaring at them.
When the library closed, they went back to Gryffindor Tower and hid behind the curtains of Harry’s bed, reading their Defence book to pass the time. Around nine-thirty, they heard Dean, Seamus, Ron, and Neville come up to bed.
“I don’t blame him for goin’ t’ bed early,” Seamus said. “Half the house is lookin’ to hang him from a goal hoop by his ankles.”
“Lay off, guys,” Ron said. “He and Ginny didn’t mean to lose any points. It was Malfoy’s fault.”
“It’s okay, Ron,” Dean replied. “We know she’s your sister and he’s her best friend, but you don’t have to stick up for them when no one’s around.”
“I’m not sticking up for her. It’s the bloody truth.”
“Aye, whatever you say,” Seamus said.
The boys fell silent, and Harry and Ginny heard the sounds of them preparing for bed. At nine forty-five, when Ginny went back to her room and Harry emerged from his bed, the other boys’ curtains were all drawn.
Harry and Ginny crept out of their dormitories and down to the common room. The twins were still huddled over a roll of parchment at one of the tables.
Fred looked up and saw the younger pair approaching. “Time to go, then?” Ginny nodded, and the twins stuffed all of their materials into their book bags. As the four students walked down the stairs towards McGonagall’s office, Filch emerged from the fifth floor corridor onto the stairs.
“Stop there!” he snarled. “Students out of bed at this hour? Oh, the headmaster will hear about this, to be sure.”
“Hold on, Filch,” Fred said. “We’re going to Professor McGonagall’s office. She told us to be there at ten.”
“Ahh,” Filch wheezed. “So it’s you who’s in so much trouble, is it?” When the twins shrugged, he cackled menacingly. “Well, we can’t have you running off, trying to get away from your detention. I’ll make sure you get there on time. She’s asked me to help with your punishment, you see.”
Filch herded them all down to McGonagall’s office. They arrived a few minutes early, but the scowling caretaker forced them to wait outside the office until precisely ten o’clock. One minute before the hour, Malfoy strode up to the door from the other end of the hallway, sneering as usual and attempting to ignore the other students.
“All five of you, then,” Filch said. “Good, good. I can break a different finger on each of you, perhaps.” He pushed open the professor’s door and physically shoved the students into the office ahead of him. Then he stepped inside himself and pulled the door noisily closed while leaning against it, preventing any escape.
“Here they are, Professor McGonagall. Rounded up all five for you. Just say the word, and I’ll see that they learn their lesson.”
“Thank you, Mr. Filch,” McGonagall said coolly. “That won’t be necessary.”
She surveyed five students lined up in front of her desk and then addressed George, who stood in the middle of the group. “You will be serving your detention tonight with Hagrid in the Forbidden Forest. He will tell you exactly what you will be doing. I expect complete cooperation with any instructions Hagrid gives you. Any questions?”
“The forest?” Malfoy asked, his eyes widening. “I thought we’d be copying lines or something. There’s no call for sending us into the forest. There are werewolves in there!”
“If you would prefer to copy lines, Mr. Malfoy, feel free to do so,” McGonagall replied. “But you will copy them while assisting Hagrid in the forest. Is that clear?”
Malfoy’s face twisted into his usual disdainful sneer, but a trace of fear remained in his eyes as he nodded.
“Good. Mr. Filch, you will escort the students to Hagrid’s cottage and then return to your duties.”
“Yes, Professor,” Filch grumbled. He yanked the door open and tilted his head, prompting the students to go out ahead of him. In the corridor, Harry and Ginny led the way, followed by the twins, Malfoy, and Filch. They emerged from the castle and headed across the lawn towards the lamplight shining from Hagrid’s windows.
“Think you’ve got it bad, do you?” the caretaker said as they walked. “Detention in the Dark Forest is frightening, is it? Rubbish!” he spat. “If I had my way, there’d be no rule-breaking in this school. None at all. But they won’t let me use the rack anymore, and my poor thumbscrews haven’t needed cleaning in ages.
“Mark my words, though,” he continued, his voice a harsh rasp. “Some day, a student will be in enough trouble that they’ll let me do what’s necessary. I hope it’s both of you twins, myself.”
Ginny barely restrained a nervous giggle. If eye-rolling made a sound, I bet we could hear it right now from Fred and George.
Harry glanced back over his shoulder and saw the tight grins on the twins’ faces. George saw Harry’s glance and waggled his eyebrows in silent laughter.
You’d win that bet, Harry said.
They reached the door of Hagrid’s hut, and Ginny knocked firmly on the aged wood. The door opened immediately to reveal Hagrid with his crossbow and Fang waiting at his knee. “Best get started, then,” the groundskeeper said. “Run along, Filch. You’ve done your part.”
Still muttering, Filch turned on his heel and walked back towards the castle. Hagrid looked after him and snorted. “Spiteful old codger,” he said. “Spent the whole way ‘ere moanin’ an’ groanin’ abou’ what he wants to do to yers, did ee?”
“Yeah,” Fred said, nodding eagerly. “Mentioned the rack, and thumbscrews, and all kinds of really exciting things. I was a bit disappointed that we had to leave him, to be honest.”
Hagrid chuckled. “Yer s’posed to be filled wi’ remorse righ’ now, you know tha’?” He shook his head. “I’ve been ‘ere a lot longer’n Filch, an’ I can tell yous tha’ ‘e’s never once been allowed ter hurt a student, an’ I don’ reckon ‘e even knows what a rack is. All mouth an no trousers, that’n.”
“Can we get on with this?” Malfoy demanded. “I’m sure you yokels are happy to wallow together all night, but I have better things to do than waste my precious time listening to your plebeian drivel.”
The Slytherin’s voice and words were scornful, as he undoubtedly intended them to be, but Harry and Ginny could tell that his indifference was completely feigned. His hands shook slightly before he stuffed them into his pockets to hide their tremors.
“Fine,” Hagrid said, snorting again. “You’ll be singin’ a diff’ren song before t’night’s ower. C’mon, the lot of yehs.”
He led them towards the edge of the forest with Fang at his heels. “Nasty bit o’ business tonigh’,” he explained softly. “Summat’ in the forest ‘as been hurtin’ t’unicorns. There ain’t much that can ‘urt a unicorn, but I don’ plan on findin’ out whatever it is tonigh’.” He stopped just inside the edge of the trees and pointed to a low bush. “See tha’? Unicorn blood.”
Hagrid touched his fingers to a shining, silvery substance smeared across the leaves of the bush. He lifted his fingers towards the students, and Harry and Ginny watched as the thick liquid slowly gathered to drip from the end of Hagrid’s finger. “Can’t miss it, see,” he said. “Shines in the dark a bi’. Wha’ we’re gonna do is ter follow t’trail an’ see if we can find this unicorn. I kin patch it up a bi’, if I can jus’ find it.”
“What do you want us for, then?” Malfoy asked. “Follow the trail yourself.”
“Yer think I ain’t tried tha’?” Hagrid said. “There’s too much o’ the stuff, makes more than one trail to follow. This unicorn don’t have time ter wait fer me to ‘xplore half the bleedin’ wood.” He shook his head. “Shouldna’ said tha’. Ruddy bad joke.”
Hagrid wiped his fingers on his trousers and looked off into the forest. “We’ll split up. Two lots. Follow t’trails, an’ keep yer eyes peeled. There’s lots o’ things in this forest that ain’t too nice, but they’ll steer clear so long as me or Fang’s around. George, Ginny . . . you’re wi’ me. Fred, Harry, and Draco, ye go wi’ Fang”.
“If yer find t’unicorn, let loose some green sparks. If yous get in trouble, let off red an’ us’ll come ter help yers. If ye gets lost, send up sparks or jus’ follow the path uphill. You’ll come back to th’ castle eventually tha’ way, no matter what.”
Fred looked at Ginny questioningly when Hagrid split up the young duo. Ginny shrugged in acceptance, and Fred nodded in response.
At least this way we can both know what’s happening to everyone, Harry said.
“Let’s go, then,” Hagrid said. “I want to find th’ poor beast ‘fore dawn.”
Hagrid led the group into the forest along a path, and Harry and Ginny spotted unicorn blood on leaves and tree trunks as they walked. After a few minutes, they came to a fork in the path. “Alrigh’, Fred, you take the righ’ path, an’ we’ll take the left. Don’ forget them sparks.”
Ginny reached out to squeeze Harry’s hand, and then she veered off to the left with Hagrid and George. Harry stepped forward to walk beside Fred, leaving Malfoy and Fang to follow behind them.
On the other path, Ginny walked next to George, who reached down to catch her right hand protectively. As Hagrid walked a few feet ahead of them, George leaned down and whispered, “Keep an eye out for the rest of the family, Gin. I won’t let you fall or anything.” Ginny smiled up at her brother in thanks.
The two groups followed their paths slowly in the pitch dark. Harry and Ginny each spotted unicorn blood from time to time, and they could tell that they were getting further apart as they walked.
“Stupid detention,” Malfoy muttered from behind Harry. “Why should I have to search through this ugly forest? Let the dumb animal die, for all I care. You idiots got us into this, so you should have to chase it.”
“Quiet, Malfoy,” Fred said. “You got us into this, and you know it. Blaming us for it won’t make it any less your fault.”
“Shut up, Weasley,” Malfoy hissed in response. “Without me, they probably would have sent the rest of you in here just to get rid of you for the sake of the school. Be a good thing, I say. Potter gone, and three less Weasleys to have to put up with. If we could just get that fat cow of a mother of yours to stop breeding blood traitors . . .”
The rest of Draco’s insults were cut off as Fred spun around and pushed the tip of his wand sharply into the flesh of Malfoy’s neck. “You can say what you want about me or my brothers, Malfoy. You can say nasty things about my sister, too, if you’re really that moronic. But the next time I hear you say one word about my mother, I’ll break your arrogant, snobby, pureblood neck. You hear me?”
Ginny’s hand tightened inside George’s, but she shook her head in response to his concerned look. “Malfoy’s being Malfoy,” she whispered.
The blond Slytherin sneered at Fred over the length of his wand, but Harry could see sweat forming on the other boy’s brow. After a long, tense moment, Fred dropped his wand and turned to continue down the path. Harry shot Draco a warning look and then resumed his place at Fred’s side.
“Hagrid,” Ginny said a few minutes later, “what do you suppose is hurting the unicorns?”
“I dunno, li’l Ginny,” he replied. “There’s lots o’ things in this forest tha’ might want to, but there’s only one or two which could actually do it, and I’d know if it were one of they. Summat bad, tha’s all I can say fer sure.”
They heard a rustling and slithering sound from the bushes ahead of them, and Hagrid stopped in place. “Get down, both o’ yous!”
Harry stumbled in surprise, but Fred caught his shoulder and kept him upright as they walked. Fred’s face was full of concern, but Harry closed his eyes and let the older boy lead him as he readied himself to help Ginny if she needed him.
Wait, Harry! Ginny told him. We don’t know what it is yet.
George turned away from the unknown threat and dropped to his knees. He pulled Ginny down in front of him, sitting her sideways between his knees and wrapping one arm around her shoulders protectively as he drew his wand and pointed it behind him with the other. He twisted his neck to see behind him as best he could, but he kept his shoulders square to make a barrier for Ginny. She could not see anything around George, but she heard Hagrid take a few steps, and then the slithering sound faded from hearing.
Ginny fumed at having been handled like a toddler, but she could not deny that she appreciated her brother’s instincts. She raised her head to look up at George’s face. “George,” she whispered, “thanks, but if there was something coming after us, I could probably hurt it a lot more than you could.”
After a moment, George nodded. “Maybe so, Ginny, but . . .”
He was cut off by Hagrid walking up behind them. “Good lad, George,” he said. The huge man pulled George to his feet, then carefully picked Ginny up and set her on her feet, also. “No harm done, then.”
“What was it, Hagrid?” Ginny asked.
“I dunno, Ginny, but t’wer nowt good. I reckon it’s wha’s been a’ them unicorns.” He looked around at the trees for a moment and then nodded. “Come on, then, but be careful. Stay righ’ behind me, hear?”
George did not try to take Ginny’s hand again, but she noticed that he walked as close to her as he could without potentially interfering with her wand.
Harry relaxed with a soft sigh and opened his eyes. Fred raised an eyebrow at him, and Harry shook his head. “They’re alright,” he whispered. The older boy nodded, released Harry’s shoulder, and continued scanning the forest around them.
A minute later, Ginny heard heavy steps coming along the path in the other direction. Hagrid swept both students behind his back and raised his crossbow. “Who’s there?” he called. “Come on out so I can see yer.”
Ginny peered around Hagrid’s leg and saw a chestnut-haired centaur step around the bend in the path, his head cocked to the side in curiosity. “Do you plan on shooting me, Hagrid?”
“No, not you, but yer can’t be too cautious,” Hagrid said, lowering his crossbow. “How are you keeping, Ronan?”
“I am as I should be,” the centaur said.
“Well, good fer you, then,” Hagrid said. “This is George and Ginny Weasley, Ronan. They’re students up at Hogwarts.” The two siblings stepped out from behind Hagrid, though George kept his arm around Ginny’s shoulders.
Ronan leaned down towards Ginny, and his deep blue eyes regarded her for a long moment. Ginny thought she could see hidden depths of knowledge and wisdom in his unblinking gaze, but she returned the centaur’s regard as best she could. At last, Ronan bent his head slightly and said, “Be tranquil, little sister.”
“Thank you, Master Ronan,” Ginny said. She was uncertain how to respond or how to be polite to a centaur, so she went with what she knew.
Ronan’s tranquil expression shifted into a controlled smile. “Your intent is appreciated, but I do not require your honorifics. Centaurs do not need them.”
Unable to think of an appropriate response, Ginny nodded.
Ronan straightened and looked up at the sky visible between the branches of the trees. “Mars is bright tonight.”
"Yeah," said Hagrid, glancing up, too. "Listen, I'm right glad we've run into yer, Ronan, 'cause there's a unicorn been hurt. You seen owt?"
Ronan did not answer immediately. He stared unblinkingly upward and then sighed again.
"Always the innocent are the first victims," he said. "So it has been for ages past, so it is now."
"Yeah, right" said Hagrid, "but have yeh seen owt at all, Ronan? Anythin' unusual?"
"Yes. Mars is bright tonight," Ronan repeated, while Hagrid watched him impatiently. "Unusually bright."
"Yeah, but I was meanin' anythin' unusual a bit nearer ter home,” Hagrid said. "So yeh haven't noticed nowt weird an’all?”
Yet again, Ronan took a while to answer. At last, he said, "The forest hides many secrets."
Hagrid raised his crossbow again when the bushes behind Ronan rustled noisily. A black centaur stepped into the path.
"Now then, Bane," Hagrid said. "Alrigh’?"
"Good evening, Hagrid. I hope you are well." the second centaur said. His body shifted constantly, in marked contrast to Ronan’s tranquility.
"Well enough. Look, I were just askin' Ronan, you seen anythin' odd an’all round ‘ere lately? There's a unicorn been injured . . . would yer know owt about it?"
Bane walked over to stand next to Ronan. He looked skyward. "Mars is bright tonight," he said simply.
"We've heard," said Hagrid grumpily. "Well, if either of yous do see owt at all, let me know, alright? We'll be off, then."
Hagrid led Ginny and George around the two centaurs and down the path. "Never," he said, "try an' get a straight answer off a centaur. Ruddy stargazers. Not interested in nothin’ closer’n the bloody moon.”
“Why did he call me ‘little sister,’ Hagrid?” Ginny asked.
“No tellin’, Ginny. Like I says, no straight answers.”
George attempted to lighten the mood. “You’re a little sister to half the other people in the forest tonight, Gin. Maybe Ronan just wanted to fit in.”
Ginny rolled her eyes. “There’s five of you, and I’m not Harry’s sister.”
George nodded. “And I wasn’t counting Malfoy as people. He’s more like a slug. See?”
Harry had tensed again when Ronan first appeared, but after Hagrid relaxed, he had walked along with Fred in silence. At last, he had to stifle a laugh at George’s joke.
“What’s going on?” Fred whispered.
Harry leaned closer to keep Malfoy from overhearing them. “They ran into a couple of centaurs. Weird ones, I’d say, but Hagrid says it’s normal. They kept talking about Mars being bright.”
“What are you two whispering about?” Malfoy demanded. “Planning to leave me out here, are you? Well, it wouldn’t work. I can find this stupid unicorn and get back to Hogwarts without the likes of you getting in my way.”
“Arrogant wanker,” Fred muttered to Harry. “Watch this.”
He turned his wand to point at the side of the path and whispered, “Wingardium Leviosa.” The decayed leaves and loam along the edge of the trail leapt into the air, and Fred flicked his wand, causing the debris to fly across the path towards Malfoy. The Slytherin shrieked, and before the dirt had settled, he had shot red sparks into the sky.
Hagrid noticed the red light immediately, and he cursed under his breath. His eyes swept the forest nearby for a moment. “You two come with me,” he ordered. “Grab on my jacket, and don’ let go.” He plunged into the undergrowth and crashed through the forest towards the other group with George and Ginny clinging to the long tail of his moleskin overcoat.
“What happened?” George asked in a nervous whisper, his voice nearly drowned out by the sounds of their progress through the bushes.
“Fred got tired of listening to Malfoy whine,” Ginny explained. “He threw some leaves at him, and Malfoy started squealing like a pig.”
Malfoy seemed to realise what had happened. He stepped away from Harry and Fred, busying himself with picking bits of leaves off of his expensive cloak. The other two boys could hear that he was muttering darkly, but Harry was glad he could not make out the words.
Fred grinned at Harry, who could not help smiling in response. They turned away slightly and covered their mouths to stifle laughter as they waited for Hagrid to arrive.
After a few minutes, they heard the other group approaching through the forest. Malfoy finished straightening his hair and assumed an arrogant sneer as the huge man burst onto the trail with his crossbow readied. When he spotted the students waiting for him, he lowered his crossbow and narrowed his eyes. “Wha’s this here, then?”
“They attacked me!” Malfoy shouted.
He really needs a new line, Ginny said as she and George emerged onto the trail also.
“I tossed some leaves at him, and he screamed,” Fred said.
“Couldn’ you leave him alone jus’ fer a few ‘ours?” Hagrid asked, exasperated.
Fred scowled. “It’s the least he deserves if he’s going to go around insulting people’s mothers.”
“What?” George asked, his face darkening.
Hagrid sighed. “Can’t leave either of you twins near him,” he muttered. “Alright,” he said more loudly, “Draco, you come wi’ me an’ George now. Ginny, you go along with Harry and Fred and Fang.”
He leaned down to Ginny and whispered, “Just so’s you know, I prefer yer company to his, but it seems like this path is safer anyroad.”
George looked at Ginny with concern plain on his face, but she raised her eyebrow at him and rolled her wand between her fingertips. He sighed and nodded, and then he followed Hagrid and Draco back through the forest towards the other path.
“Let’s go, then,” Fred said, stepping in front of the first-years. Ginny took Fred’s place at Harry’s side, but they restrained themselves from holding hands. They both wanted to ensure that their wands were ready at all times. The three of them continued down the path, leaving Fang to follow along behind.
They walked through the deep forest in silence. After several minutes, Ginny and Harry thought they heard something large and heavy moving through the trees beyond the path. Fred heard it also, and they all faced the forest with their wands drawn. They waited a minute but heard nothing else, so they turned and continued their search.
Several more times, Harry and Ginny thought they heard something, but nothing ever came of it. They tried to ignore the occasional distant sounds as they became more nervous and walked behind Fred, saying nothing, for over half an hour.
Finally, as they crossed a narrow trail, they began to see larger splashes of unicorn blood on the soil, leaves, and tree trunks along their path. At one point, there was a great smear of silvery liquid in the middle of the path. The blood mixed with dirt to make a grotesque mud, and that substance was spread across the path as though it had been pushed around by something large and heavy. Swallowing heavily, Harry and Ginny followed Fred around the mess.
As they approached a clearing, Harry spotted something white through the trees. Emerging in to the open area, they found the unicorn they had been searching for. Harry and Ginny froze at the sight of the beautiful creature lying dead in the grass, its silver blood seeping slowly into the ground beneath it. The unicorn lay on its side, facing away from them, and its elegant neck was thrown back, exposing vicious gashes all around the base of its neck. One blue eye stared, unseeing, into the sky above the Forbidden Forest.
“That’s the saddest thing I could ever imagine,” Ginny whispered, her eyes filling. “I’ve seen pictures of unicorns, and I always wanted to see a real one because they were just so beautiful." She took a deep, shuddering breath. "But this . . . this is . . .”
“An abomination,” Harry finished.
Fred stepped into the clearing cautiously, and Harry and Ginny followed him. Just as Fred raised his wand to summon Hagrid, the same slithering, rustling sound came from the bushes at the side of the clearing. All three of them turned to look in that direction, and Fred stepped in front of Ginny as he pointed his wand towards the source of the noise. As they watched, something crept out from under a bush and circled to the far side of the unicorn.
Fang yelped loudly behind them and ran back into the forest. Harry and Ginny raised their wands, but they had no idea what they were seeing.
The creature crawled close to the ground, and it was covered in a ragged black cloak. When it reached the unicorn’s ravaged neck, it raised its head, and the three Gryffindors watched as it lowered its face, still hidden under the hood, to the unicorn’s seeping wound. Horrible wet slurping sounds carried across the clearing as the monstrosity drank greedily from the silver liquid. Then it raised its head, smacking its lips loudly, and turned towards Harry. The unicorn’s blood shone softly where it ran down the creature’s chin and onto the front of its cloak, but its features were still hidden.
Pain exploded from Harry’s scar. He and Ginny both screamed, their voices mingling as they fell to their knees. Harry collapsed sideways to the ground, curled into a tight ball with his hands pressed against his forehead. Ginny took a heaving breath and leaned over him as she screamed again, struggling to separate the searing pain in his forehead from her own senses. She opened her eyes, focusing on the sight of her knees pressing into the cold, damp ground, and she carefully concentrated on feeling the soil beneath her.
Gasping as the pain receded slightly, she looked up to see the creature stand up and step over the unicorn’s head, approaching them with slow, wavering steps. Ginny raised her wand shakily, but Harry’s pain was still too intense for her to concentrate on any type of spell.
Fred waved his wand strongly, but before he could speak the words of a spell, a stream of dark purple fire shot out of the creature’s cloak towards his chest. Desperately, Fred leapt to the side. The flames missed him by scant inches, but he stumbled, slid in the damp grass, and fell heavily. Ginny could not see what happened when he landed, but her brother did not get up from the ground.
Then, with a sound like thunder, something leapt over them from behind and stood between the three students and the monster. Ginny recognised the creature as a centaur as it reared up on its hind legs and brought its front hooves crashing to the ground in front of the swaying black figure. The dark shape released a sound that was half-hiss, half-grunt, and then it spun and darted away into the forest.
As soon as the creature turned away, the pain in Harry’s scar began to recede, and Ginny was able to think and function again. She reached down and wrapped her arms around Harry’s neck, reassuring him with her presence even as her tears fell onto his face.
It’s gone, Harry, it’s gone.
Harry took a few deep breaths and was finally able to sit up. He put an arm around Ginny, and they knelt together for a moment as the last of the pain faded into a distant throbbing. When they had calmed a bit, Harry and Ginny opened their eyes.
The palomino centaur was standing near the corpse of the unicorn, watching them patiently with his hands held open at his sides. He met their gazes and then stepped forward. Carefully, he put a hand on each of their shoulders and helped them to their feet.
As soon as she was standing, Ginny darted to Fred’s limp form and peered anxiously at his face as she held his wrist. Probing carefully with the fingers of her free hand, she found a growing lump on the back of his head and a rock on top of the soil. There was no blood in his hair, though, which reassured her slightly.
He’s alive, but unconscious, she announced, but then she bit her lip in worry. Dad said the spell to wake people up is dangerous if we don’t know how to do it properly.
Okay, Ginny, Harry soothed her, kneeling next to her and putting a gentle hand on her arm. He’ll be fine. Hagrid will know what to do.
The centaur crossed towards them and said, “Are you alright?”
Harry nodded jerkily as Ginny straightened Fred’s arms to make him more comfortable. “Yeah, thanks. Thanks for coming. What . . . what was that?”
The centaur did not answer. He looked back and forth between Harry and Ginny, and they watched as his eyes flicked from Harry’s scar, to Ginny’s hair, to their joined hands. “You are as you should be,” he said at last. “It is interesting to meet you.
“We must return you to Hagrid. You should not be alone in the forest, especially not now. Can you ride?”
“Who are you?” Ginny asked.
“My name is Firenze,” he answered.
“We have to get Fred back to Hagrid,” Ginny insisted.
“I will carry him for you, certainly, but we will find Hagrid more quickly if you ride.”
“Won’t we hurt you?” Harry wondered.
“No, it is no trouble. You weigh nothing. Come.” Ginny and Harry nodded in spite of their confusion. Firenze knelt down and picked Fred up in his arms, and then Ginny and Harry climbed onto his back. Ginny sat in front, with her hands on Firenze’s broad shoulders, and Harry rode behind her with his arms around her waist. As Firenze rose to his feet, more hoofbeats approached the clearing, and Ronan and Bane burst through the undergrowth.
“What are you doing, Firenze?” Bane shouted. “How can you allow humans to ride you like a common mule?”
“Do you know who this is?” Firenze asked. “Do you see them? They have no place in this forest yet, and the sooner they leave it, the better.”
“I want them in the forest no more than you do,” Bane said, “but it is not our role to interfere in their affairs. We are centaurs! Our purpose is to watch and know, not to act.”
Firenze reared slightly, forcing Ginny to grip his shoulders tightly as Harry’s arms wrapped more closely around her waist. “No one may tell me my purpose except the stars,” Firenze insisted. “That is the centaur’s way. Do you see that unicorn? Do you know what its death means? I do, and I will do what is necessary to prevent the ascension of what lurks in the forest this night.”
With a shake of his white-blond hair, Firenze turned and trotted down the path, back the way Harry and Ginny had come a few minutes before. He slowed to a brisk walk after a minute, and the two children were able to relax their grips.
“I’m sorry we caused a problem with your friends, Firenze,” Ginny said softly.
“You did not cause a problem,” he replied. “They made their own problem, as all of us do.”
“What was that thing that killed the unicorn?” Harry wondered.
Firenze halted and lifted his eyes to the sliver of sky visible above them. “You are sometimes called Harry Potter, are you not?” he asked.
“Err . . . yes.”
“Do you know what unicorn blood is used for, Harry Potter?”
“No,” Harry answered.
"It is a monstrous thing, to slay a unicorn," Firenze said. "Only one who has nothing to lose, and everything to gain, would commit such a crime. The blood of a unicorn will keep you alive, even if you are an inch from death, but at a terrible price. You have slain something pure and defenseless to save yourself, and you will have but a half-life, a cursed life, from the moment the blood touches your lips."
Harry and Ginny shivered slightly. “Who would do that?” she asked. “Wouldn’t death be better?”
“To one such as you, yes, it would be,” the centaur replied. “But to others . . . what if all you need is to stay alive long enough to drink something else? Something that will bring you back to full strength and power. Something that will mean you can never die naturally.” He paused for a moment. “Harry Potter, do you know what is hidden in the school at this very moment?"
"The Philosopher's Stone!” Ginny cried. “Of course! It creates the Elixir of Life! But who would . . ."
"Can you think of no one who has waited many years to return to power? Who has clung to life, awaiting their chance?" Firenze asked.
Harry and Ginny froze as he remembered his day with Hagrid in Diagon Alley. The huge man’s words echoed through their minds. “Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die. ”
Implications multiplied a hundredfold as they considered the possibility. Unable to sit still any longer, they half-climbed, half-tumbled down from Firenze’s back and moved around him to stare into his eyes from a few feet away, across Fred’s unconscious body. “You mean that was Voldemort?” Harry whispered. Firenze opened his mouth to speak, but then he closed it again as running footsteps approached along the path.
“Ginny! Harry!” George’s voice shouted from behind them. The red-haired boy leapt in front of the smaller children, raising his wand at Firenze. “Stay away from them!” he demanded. “What have you done to my brother?!”
The centaur lowered Fred to the ground and backed away two steps, but he did not seem concerned otherwise.
“George!” Ginny shouted. “Back off!” She stepped in front of him and placed both of her hands on his chest. She leaned forward, pushing him off-balance. She glared at him as he straightened, and after looking at her face, George lowered his wand.
Harry walked around them and looked up at Firenze. “I’m sorry, Firenze. He didn’t . . .”
“It is natural, Harry Potter.”
Hagrid came jogging around the bend in the path, carrying Malfoy over one of his shoulders like a small sack of grain and huffing as he rumbled to a stop. “Are you alrigh’?” he asked breathlessly. Fang flopped to the ground next to Hagrid’s feet. “Wha’s happened ter Fred?”
“He fell and hit his head, Hagrid,” Ginny said urgently, “but we don’t know how to wake him. Can you do it?”
Hagrid shook his shaggy head. “No, I can’t. Not safe at all fer me to be castin’ tha’ spell.”
“Well, I can,” George said. Before anyone could object, he waved his wand and said, “Reenervate.”
“George,” Hagrid said quickly. “Yer no’ supposed to know tha’ spell ‘til fourth year.”
“Yeah, well,” George said, shrugging slightly as he leaned over his twin.
Fred stirred almost immediately, and with George’s help he got back on his feet.
“Oi, what a headache,” Fred moaned, fingering the back of his head. “What happened? Where’s that black thing?”
“Firenze ran it off just after you fell,” Harry explained. “Then he brought us all back here.”
“You two are alrigh’, then?” Hagrid asked.
“We’re fine, all thanks to Firenze,” Ginny said. “The unicorn is in a clearing back that way. I’m sorry, Hagrid, but it’s dead.”
Hagrid set Malfoy on his feet and started down the path again, but he stopped and seemed to notice the centaur for the first time. “Firenze?”
“Good evening, Hagrid,” the palomino replied sedately. “It is time for you to return these students to the castle. Your purpose for the evening has been fulfilled.”
“Err, righ’,” Hagrid said. “I’ll just check on the unicorn righ’ fas’, then. Yeh lot — all o’ yeh — stay here. George, yeh keep an eye on ‘em, righ’?”
The twin nodded solemnly, and Hagrid followed the path back towards the clearing and the slain unicorn.
“I bid you good night, Harry Potter,” Firenze said, encompassing Harry and Ginny with his gaze. “You are safe now. May your path continue to be oblique.”
“Ahh . . . thank you,” Harry said. “Yours, also.”
Firenze smiled slowly. “Perhaps.” He turned and pushed through the bushes at the side of the path, walking deeper into the forest.
With the centaur’s departure, George finally relaxed a bit. Malfoy leaned against a tree trunk and refused to look at any of them, but Harry heard him making dire threats against Hagrid for treating him like so much produce.
“What happened, Ginny?” George asked as Fred rubbed his own temples gently.
She shrugged. “That’s pretty much it. We found the unicorn, and that thing Hagrid saw was there, too. It came after us and shot weird fire at Fred, but he dodged it and hit his head when he fell. Firenze drove the thing away, and then he brought us back here.”
“What was it that killed the unicorn?”
We can’t let the twins know, never mind Malfoy and Hagrid, Harry reminded her.
“We don’t know,” Ginny said. “It was dark, and the thing was all black.”
Hagrid returned from the clearing and shook his head sadly. “Nowt ter be done fer the poor beast now,” he said. “Dunno what killed it, but we’re done fer tonigh’. C’mon, back to the castle with you lot.”
The trip back to Hogwarts was much faster than the trip into the forest. They all walked briskly, eager to escape the darkness of the forest, and Fred kept an arm around Ginny’s shoulders the entire way, even though he occasionally rubbed his head with his other hand.
When Malfoy and Hagrid had gotten a few steps ahead, Ginny leaned up to whisper in her brother’s ear. “Are you okay, Fred? Really?”
“Yeah, Ginny, it was just a knock on the head,” he replied. Glancing down at her fearful eyes, he added, “Oh, right. Err . . . for most people, being knocked out is just like being asleep. It was nothing like what you described from when you were stunned. I don’t remember anything.”
“Good,” Ginny said faintly. “I’m glad it wasn’t . . . the other way.” Fred squeezed her shoulders affectionately in reply.
Without a word of explanation, Hagrid escorted them all the way to the entrance hall. “Run along now, back to yer dormitories,” he said. They climbed the stairs towards Gryffindor tower, and when Ginny glanced back from the first landing, Hagrid was still standing in the hall, watching them with a fierce, protective look. Ginny waved at him, thanking him silently, and he nodded gruffly in return.
The four students said their goodnights in the common room, and Harry and Ginny quickly readied themselves for bed. When Ginny had wrapped herself in the Invisibility Cloak and tucked her body against Harry's side with Bun-bun against her chest, they finally let their minds return to the encounter in the forest.
What are we going to do, Harry?
I don't know, he replied. Hagrid said that other professors had things guarding the Stone, and Fluffy really is pretty good by himself.
And Dumbledore's here, Ginny said, completing their thought.
Right. Snape's no match for Dumbledore, and Firenze made it sound like Voldemort's too weak to do anything himself.
I hope so.
Almost against his will, Harry remembered Mrs. Weasley telling Ginny and the boys about their twin uncles, Fabian and Gideon Prewett, and their part in the war against Voldemort. Harry could not help feeling a surge of sympathy for the woman who had lost her older brothers so horribly. He thought that, because of Ginny, he could understand how that would make her feel. Perhaps it would not be so different from losing his parents.
They were silent for a few moments. It all seems to happen to me, doesn't it? Harry asked rhetorically.
It used to, maybe, Ginny said, raising her head to look at him directly. But now it happens to us. We'll take care of each other, no matter what.
He smiled. Yeah. No matter what.
Ginny lay her head back on his stomach, and the familiar feel of his breathing somehow lulled them both, but it was a long time before they found sleep. For the first time in weeks, they had a nightmare. Something dark, with silvery blood covering its front, slithered towards them over and over, accompanied by familiar green light, wrenching screams, and endlessly cruel laughter.
A/N: Once again, portions of the dialogue come from canon. From here on out, I'll assume that you folks all know that and forgive me for it.
Chapter 21: Words
Author's Notes: Thanks, as always, to moshpit, Jonathan Avery, regdc, and Chreechree for their kind assistance.
In the week before final exams, the Professors all began reviewing the year’s lessons during class time, and Hermione continued to encourage her friends to revise after classes. Having only a few days left was enough to concern even Ron, who could often be found drowsily attempting to read his History of Magic book, which no one had ever seen him open before.
They found plenty of quiet time to revise because the vast majority of other Gryffindors still refused to associate with Harry or Ginny. Hermione, Ron, and Neville treated them no differently, and the twins and their friends were equally unconcerned. Everyone else, however, stopped talking and frowned whenever one of them walked by, and no one sat near them in the common room.
The final Quidditch practices of the year were a welcome relief from both the revision and the ostracism of their classmates. Angelina and Alicia knew the truth of the story, and they helped Harry and the Weasleys to convince Oliver and Katie of what had really happened. Practices were gruelling in preparation for the final match of the year. Oliver insisted that the team play their best in pursuit of the Quidditch Cup, even if the House Cup was out of reach. There was no chance to talk while concentrating on their flying, but Harry and Ginny were glad that the conversations before and afterwards were about McGonagall’s harshness instead of their own foolishness.
The constant physical, emotional, and mental stresses caused Harry and Ginny to fall into their bed each night completely exhausted. Even there, however, they found no real rest, because confused nightmares of the forest hindered their sleep. As the week wore on, they fell into the same half-daze that had clouded their very first week of school. By the third night, they could only seal the curtains on their bed, cling to each other tightly, and hope for a night of respite and rest. Unfortunately, they fell asleep only to find themselves back in the Forbidden Forest.
Dark, gnarled trees towered overhead, and twisted branches and roots grasped at Harry and Ginny as they struggled to escape the forest and flee in the direction of the castle. Just as they pulled themselves away from the attacking trees, they heard cruel laughter echoing in the darkness. Ahead of them, a flash of green filtered through the trees, and Lily Potter’s horribly familiar scream ripped through the night air. Terrified, they turned and ran back into the forest, but the laughter and screaming followed them, growing ever louder as they fled.
Ahead, they could see a glint of silvery moonlight through the malevolent trees, and they heard familiar voices talking and laughing. They scrambled across a thorn-choked ravine and burst into the same clearing where they had found the unicorn. The poor creature was missing, but its blood was scattered across the forest floor in pools, spots, and rivulets. Set into the middle of the clearing was a large picnic table, around which sat Ginny’s parents and three oldest brothers. James and Lily Potter sat next to Molly and Arthur, and all four adults were watching Hermione and Professor McGonagall discuss one of Hermione’s essays as they stood nearby. At a smaller table, Ron and Neville played Exploding Snap with the twins. None of them seemed to notice the silver blood dripping from the hems of their robes onto their shoes.
Panic seized Harry and Ginny as Mrs. Weasley waved them towards the dinner table and began filling two more plates. Behind them, the cruel laughter and wrenching screams reached a crescendo, and they could hardly believe that their pursuer had not yet reached the clearing.
“Mum!” Ginny screamed. “We need to leave. He’s behind us!” But no one answered them, and Mrs. Weasley began humming tunelessly as she served more food.
Spinning away from her mother, Ginny and Harry darted towards Professor McGonagall. An inky darkness was seeping into the moonlit clearing from the trees, and purple fire erupted in the surrounding underbrush. “Professor! Professor!” Ginny cried. “Please, we need to get out of here. He’ll kill you!”
McGonagall did not respond to them and continued to nod as Hermione talked. A moment later, Harry collapsed to the ground, screaming horribly and pressing his hands to his scar. The same pain flared on Ginny’s forehead as she collapsed next to him, and she tried desperately to pull him away from the edge of the clearing. Through the agony, they knew that they had to warn everyone. She had to protect her family. She looked up, trying to find her parents, and saw that the flowing darkness had surrounded the clearing completely. The feeble silver glow of unicorn blood was the only remaining source of light.
Out of the blackness crept a tattered shade, taller than a troll and silent as a tomb. It ghosted past Harry and Ginny towards the table, where the Weasleys were still beckoning the two children to join them. Ginny screamed again, trying to warn them, but the towering figure reached the table unnoticed.
Ginny watched, paralyzed in fright, as the smiles finally fell from the faces of her loved ones. They stared up at the apparition before them, and many of them began to leap to their feet, but it was too late.
A bolt of green light flew from the cloaked figure into James Potter’s chest, and he screamed Harry’s name as he fell. Terrified, Ginny’s family watched as the dark figure stalked around the table, casting the Killing Curse again and again.
Some of the victims screamed Harry’s name, and others screamed Ginny’s. When, at last, Hermione had fallen, the same mocking laughter boomed across the empty clearing, and the dark figure turned towards Ginny and Harry. Sobbing in grief, terror, and pain, Ginny pulled at her incapacitated friend, dragging him across the ground as he struggled to function through the splitting pain in his head.
It was futile. The creature towered over them a moment later, red eyes glowing in the darkness of its hood, and Ginny could see a rough red stone hanging around its neck and pulsating with a dark light of its own. The walking horror raised a hand, and green light rushed towards Harry where he lay huddled on the ground next to her.
Harry bolted upright in his bed, wide awake, but Ginny’s body was still asleep. They watched as Harry fell to the forest floor, his green eyes flat and staring sightlessly at the stars above. Another flash of green filled their vision before they were swallowed by the darkness. Then they were once more running through the dark woods towards a moonlit clearing.
Harry! Ginny screamed. You need to wake me up! Wake me up, please wake me up!
Quickly and roughly, Harry shook Ginny awake, and the two of them sat up, huddling together and clutching each others’ hands for reassurance. By silent consent, they retrieved their wands from the bedside table and held them ready in their free hands.
The dormitory was silent except for their ragged breathing and the various sleeping sounds of their roommates.
Wait here.
No, Harry, Ginny pled. I need to be with you.
We can’t risk you being seen, he insisted. I’ll just take a quick look and be right back. I promise.
As quietly as he could, Harry parted the curtains and crept to the dormitory window, reluctantly leaving an anxious Ginny perched on the edge of his bed. To their relief, the grounds and forest were quiet and still. As soon as they were partially reassured that their dream had not been real, Ginny opened her arms and Harry rushed back into his bed. He flung himself into her embrace, and they clutched each other fiercely. After a few minutes of comfort they lay down again, still locked in a tight embrace, but sleep was impossible.
At last, Harry verbalized their fear. He could be anywhere.
He has to stay in the forest where the unicorns are, though, right?
What if he can Apparate? Harry wondered. He could go someplace during the day and come back at night to kill the unicorns.
Firenze said he was just barely alive, Ginny said hopefully. Maybe he doesn’t have enough strength to cast the Killing Curse.
He sent that purple fire at Fred, Harry argued. I bet that would have done the trick. And if he gets the Philosopher’s Stone . . .
We can’t let him get that Stone, Ginny concluded.
But what can we do?
Snape doesn’t know how to get past Fluffy, right? So as long as Fluffy is there, the Stone is safe.
They did not sleep for the remainder of the night.
At breakfast they carefully and unobtrusively verified the presence of all four Weasley brothers and Hermione. They left their meal early and went to the Owlery, where they gave Hedwig a note to take to The Burrow. It was carefully worded to only mention their preparation for end-of-year exams, but they hoped that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would reply promptly anyway. The following morning, Hedwig returned with a brief note from Mrs. Weasley which, regardless of its content, told the two students that Ginny’s parents were alive and well.
After that one night, the nightmares continued, but their intensity and frequency diminished, never again progressing beyond laughter, screams, and flashes of light. The two tossed and turned at night, but they rested enough to function almost normally. As they had agreed, they kept their experience in the forest to themselves, and they were glad to spend their free time discussing tests and professors instead of pondering monsters and evil wizards, even as their anxiety persisted relentlessly.
Shortly after the incident in the forest, the twins had approached them as they worked, and the six students had held a whispered conversation amid the din of the common room. None of them, including Hermione, had ever heard or read about a creature that breathed purple fire, but they agreed that there must be many dark magical creatures whose very existence would be concealed from young Hogwarts students. As Hermione pointed out, it was called the Forbidden Forest for a reason. Harry and Ginny pretended to participate in the discussion, but they knew that it was no mere magical creature that had attacked Fred.
The two first-years also gradually became obsessive about checking on Fluffy. After each meal and whenever they could manage between classes, Harry and Ginny ran to the third floor and pressed their ears against the forbidden door. The huge dog’s breathing was audible, whatever he was doing, and they always felt relieved to hear proof that he was alive.
Ron and Hermione noticed their distraction, but Harry and Ginny refused to tell their friends why they left the group several times each day. As the days passed and Fluffy stayed at his post, Harry and Ginny grew a bit less anxious about the Stone, but they maintained their periodic vigil on the third floor.
At two o’clock on Sunday, after a detour to check on Fluffy again, Harry and Ginny knocked on the door of McGonagall’s office and entered to find the room very different from what they were accustomed.
All of the furniture was missing except for McGonagall’s chair, a tiny table, and the small sofa on which Harry and Ginny usually sat. These three items were pushed into a cluster in the corner closest to the door. The walls and floor were bare stone, and Ginny idly wondered how McGonagall had removed all of her bookcases without losing track of where each book belonged.
They had not been looking forward to this meeting. McGonagall’s anger at them had been nearly as frightening as their encounter in the forest. She greeted them with her usual small smile, and they hoped that perhaps they had been forgiven or at least that the passage of time had led to a more reasonable perspective from their Head of House.
“Good afternoon, Ginny and Harry. Please, come in,” McGonagall greeted them as she rose from her chair and set aside her cup of tea, which was the only hint of normality in the odd arrangement. As they met her in the corner, she looked down at them thoughtfully for a moment. Then she nodded slightly, as though deciding on something she had been pondering for some time.
“Your encounter with Mr. Malfoy last week was very disturbing,” she said, sitting and gesturing for them to do likewise. “I know that after the winter holidays, you are all too aware that some of your spells have unintended consequences. However, it seems to me that you lack the understanding of which spells will be affected, let alone what possible consequences exist for a spell you have not previously attempted.”
Harry and Ginny could feel the nervous twitters of each others’ stomachs as they wondered where their professor was going with the conversation. While they had seen her speak so seriously in class, and briefly in their private conversations, the stern face she presented was not the comforting one she typically offered on Sunday afternoons.
“Today, I wish to demonstrate to you precisely what would have happened if I had not intervened in your confrontation with Mr. Malfoy. It is most fortunate, for once, that one side-effect of your mutual anger is excessive heat. Recognising that effect is what allowed me to stop things before they became far too serious.”
Harry and Ginny had a hard time meeting her gaze, but she waited patiently until they both nodded their acceptance of her intentions. Apparently satisfied with their response, McGonagall waved her wand in a delicate pattern.
A round bale of hay appeared against the far wall of the room, almost twenty feet away. With another wave, she conjured a set of school robes, which were pinned to the side of the bale such that they touched the ground. The robes were approximately the size of a first-year student and trimmed with Slytherin green.
“You intended to set Mr. Malfoy’s robes on fire, did you not?” They nodded, intimidated and a bit frightened by their professor’s words. “Very well. I wish you to try it now as you intended to at that exact moment.”
Hesitantly, Harry stepped away from the sofa and raised his wand, but McGonagall shook her head. “You were touching, and you were both going to cast the spell together.”
Ginny reluctantly stood up and took Harry’s hand, but their professor held up a hand for them to wait. Then she stood for a moment, tapping the tip of her wand into her left palm, before addressing the pair. “You were fairly upset at the time, weren’t you, Ginny?”
She nodded slowly. “He might have really hurt Harry,” she said quietly.
“Or Ginny,” Harry added without thinking about it.
“Your concern was quite valid,” McGonagall reassured them. “But we shall discuss that later. Right now, I would like you both to consider how you felt at that moment.”
When she paused in the conversation, Harry and Ginny attempted to recall their emotions from the moments leading up the confrontation. Harry’s pleasure at the strange skipping gallop in the corridor had been coupled with Ginny’s sad but happy feelings. The sudden surprise of Harry’s painful landing had left both of them shocked and slightly scared when it happened.
“Try to summon the same feelings now, as though Mr. Malfoy has just attacked you without warning.”
The strange emphasis and soft words triggered flashbacks from that day. They felt the anger of the moment, the realisation that they lacked knowledge of how to truly stop him, and the knowledge that Malfoy was going to curse them again. There was nothing they could do to stop him.
“You might also recall other incidents when someone has treated you unfairly, unjustly, or perhaps even bullied you.”
Images flashed through Ginny’s mind of her mother’s gifts and actions from Christmas. The silent accusations and the lack of compassion had violated the very foundation of how Ginny saw her mother. Harry latched on to memories of Snape - his pettiness, his inexplicable antipathy, his constant derogatory approach to everyone not of his House, and his particular cruelty to anyone near or dear to Harry himself.
“When you think you feel something like you did last week, cast the spell at the bale.”
They heard McGonagall’s words but did not truly register them as Harry’s thoughts flashed through ten years of pseudo-life with the Dursleys. Nothing Harry had ever done, no matter how hard he had tried, had ever pleased them. They had grudgingly allowed Harry only enough food to keep him from being visibly malnourished. Harry had received only enough attention to prevent the neighbours from noticing his neglect and abuse. His entire life in that house had been an illusion, a lie, and a deliberate restriction of any freedom he might ever desire. Those thoughts, in turn, returned Harry and Ginny to the cruel events of Christmas Day. The fear, the loss, and the terror were still too fresh in their memory.
Tearing themselves away from the cycle of their reminiscence, they raised their wands and shouted, “Ignis Caeruleus!”
As it had before, the spell started with small flames that shot out from the tips of each of their wands. Without interference, however, the blue fire grew rapidly as it moved further from them. Two yards away, as another pair of flames emerged from their wands, each fireball had grown almost large enough to touch the floor and the ceiling. An unknown draft whipped the edges of their robes around their ankles.
A moment later, the first two flames had combined into a moving sheet of fire that filled the room from wall to wall and floor to ceiling. The door to the office flew open and slammed loudly into the stone wall as turbulent air rushed through the opening and around the room.
Harry and Ginny jerked backwards in surprise, throwing their arms over their faces to block the heat and light. Their loss of focus stopped new fireballs from being created, but a total of six had been launched across the room. The last two were unintentionally aimed at the ceiling due to their sudden sense of self-preservation.
After several tense seconds, when they finally felt the heat recede, they lowered their arms and looked towards the bale of hay.
There was nothing left. Both the hay and the robes were gone, and only a light dusting of ashes showed that either robes or hay had ever existed at all. Vicious scorch marks covered the stone from a few feet in front of them all the way to the far end of the room, darkening the floor, ceiling, and walls to a dull black. Glancing at the door, they saw that one of the stout wooden beams had cracked, leaving a visible gap in the door.
Harry and Ginny were stunned. With a single spell, they had turned most of McGonagall’s office into a scene out of a nightmare. They knew, without a doubt, that any people or objects in that area would have been obliterated just as completely as the hay and cloth had been.
Malfoy would be dead.
“And now you see,” McGonagall whispered into the shocked silence.
Anyone down the corridor or even near it would be dead or horribly burned. What have we done?
“Though this spell might be relatively harmless for another witch or wizard under normal circumstances, it is extremely dangerous for you, especially when you are both agitated.”
Hermione just barely set Snape’s robes on fire. We would have killed him, and perhaps every student in the stands. All of them. Dead.
“Quite aside from the flames themselves, the heat alone might have injured us today if I had not placed multiple layers of protective charms around us.”
We might have killed each other.
“As it is, I am thankful that I also warded the walls of the room itself, although I wish I had done more for the door. I expected the heat, but not the vacuum.”
Look at what we did to the stone. Just the side effects cracked the door!
With a few waves of her wand, McGonagall eliminated the traces of ash and removed the scorch marks from the walls. A bit of concentration and a few spells later, the door had been repaired and reinforced with bands of metal and a stout latch. Once whole, it closed gently by itself. Then the professor walked back to the corner of the room and sat in her chair, apparently as calm as she might be if she had just arrived for tea with old friends.
We might have killed Professor McGonagall.
“Please, sit down,” she said.
Woodenly, Harry and Ginny moved to sit together on the sofa, stowing their wands, but their eyes never left the place where the school robes had been. With a flick of her wand, their professor produced a tea tray. She served them before refilling her own cup and settling back into her chair.
“Today, if you do not object, I would like to teach you about how power affects different types of spells.”
What will we do? We can’t cast spells on people. They’ll die!
“You will not be tested on this material, of course, but I think you now understand that it is very important for you to learn.” McGonagall sipped her tea for a moment and then looked at them sternly over the rim of her cup. “Harry! Ginny!”
The two students blinked once or twice before looking at their professor dazedly.
“Focus, please. I trust that you are already well prepared for the tests you will be taking this week?”
Ginny jerked her eyes from the other end of the room back to McGonagall and blinked again. “Yes, Professor,” she said softly. “Hermione has been making sure we covered everything.”
We might have hurt Hermione when she came around the corner. And Fred. And George.
“Miss Granger is most skilled in many ways,” the older woman responded. “I am glad to hear it.”
We could kill them all just by making a mistake.
“What I would like to teach you today, as I said, is how magical power affects different types of spells. Your understanding of this concept is vital, and you must have it in your mind before you commence your second year here.”
Their professor paused, but neither of them really noticed. Their thoughts were still spiralling around how dangerous even the simplest of spells had become and the horrible things that could happen to the people they cared most about. After a long moment, McGonagall flicked her wand and a loud bang echoed through the room. Startled, both students jumped in their seats and looked about in owlish surprise.
“I take it that you are surprised at the effects of your spell?”
Harry nodded slowly. “Yes, Professor. It’s . . . we’re . . . err . . .”
“You find yourselves afraid of what has just happened, is that it?”
Without realising it, both Harry and Ginny had clasped hands so tightly that it was becoming slightly painful, and the physical stimulus provided a much-needed grounding sensation. Ginny looked up at her professor, nodding her head in acceptance of the woman’s frank assessment.
McGonagall leaned forward and held Ginny’s gaze with an expression of tender sympathy. “Please, listen to me. Your fear and these consequences are why we are here today. In your defence class next year, you will be casting spells that are considered minor for most wizards and witches against your fellow students, and we must ensure that you do not harm your classmates due to a lack of control.”
McGonagall stood and began pacing back and forth in front of the sofa in a pattern that was familiar from a year of her Transfiguration lessons. The familiar scenario allowed them to begin regaining their mental balance and finally focus on her words, slowing the dark litany in their minds. “Now, in terms of the effect of power, there are three different categories of spells. First . . .”
Ginny raised her hand tentatively, and at the professor’s nod, she asked, “I’m sorry, Professor, but should we write this down? We don’t want to get it wrong later.”
The tall woman tilted her head slightly to one side, a flicker of surprise on her face. “Tell me, Ginny . . . do you write down much of what I say in class?”
Harry and Ginny knew from her expression that their teacher already knew the answer to her question. “Err . . . no, Professor, not really,” Ginny admitted.
“You need not be so concerned,” McGonagall replied. “You have both produced excellent results in Transfiguration without taking extensive notes, so I see no reason to ask you to do so now. I will always be available to review this material with you if necessary.”
They nodded, and she resumed her pacing. “As I said, there are three categories. First, there are those spells which always have a fixed effect and which require very little power. Any witch or wizard may perform these spells and produce exactly the same result. Common household charms, such as those used to mend clothing or wash dishes, fall into this category, as does the Lumos charm.
“As I think on it, the most basic charms used to change the exterior colour of an object also qualify. Have you, perchance, encountered such spells?” She stopped to face them, visibly fighting and losing a battle not to smile.
Not quite meeting McGonagall’s eyes, Harry and Ginny nodded.
“Good. The next category of spells is those which require more or less power depending on how they are used. To cast the spell on one object may require more magical energy than to cast it on another, even when the end result is the same. The most common example of such a spell is the levitation charm. On your feet, wands out. I’ll show you.”
They rose and hesitantly pulled their wands out of their robe pockets, glancing nervously at their professor for confirmation. Their recent brush with catastrophe had left them hesitant about using their wands at all.
McGonagall nodded briefly at the students in encouragement, and then she floated her chair out into the middle of the room before returning to stand next to them. With a flick of her wand, she conjured a feather on the ground next to the chair.
“Here we have two objects of very different size and weight. Observe.” Their Professor swished and flicked her wand, saying the charm aloud for their benefit, and the wooden chair rose sedately into the air. She returned it to the ground, and then she levitated the feather in the same way. “You will notice that the effect of the spell was essentially identical in either case. I raised each object to the same level and held it there for the same length of time. However, levitating the chair in that way required more power than levitating the feather. If you try it, you will feel the difference.”
McGonagall waved encouragingly at Harry, and he obediently levitated the chair. He held it for a moment, as instructed, and then repeated the process with the feather.
“Did you feel the difference, Harry?”
They furrowed their brows.
Did you notice anything different? He asked Ginny.
She shook her head.
“Err . . . I’m sorry, Professor, but they felt the same to us,” Harry said. “Did we do it wrong?”
“No. Clearly you levitated the objects as I instructed you to do.” McGonagall tapped the end of her wand into her other hand again. Then she turned and looked at Harry. “Were you touching Ginny when you cast those spells, Harry?”
“No, Professor,” he answered honestly.
She sighed. “Very well. I should not be surprised. Wait a moment.”
McGonagall crossed to her window and opened it to the early summer breeze. Then she went back to the chair and tapped it with her wand, transfiguring it into a heavy metal barrel the size of a school trunk with a pop. Next, she held her wand over the barrel and muttered, “Aguamenti.” A stream of clear water poured out of her wand and began filling the barrel.
We should really . . .
As the barrel began to slowly fill, Ginny stepped forward. “Professor, would you mind teaching us the water spell? We could help you fill the barrel if you’d like, and we . . . well, you know, we . . .” she stammered to a halt and looked down at the carpet at her professor’s feet. “We start fires,” she muttered anxiously, visions of burning tables and devastated rooms flashing through their minds.
“An excellent idea, Ginny,” McGonagall said after only the slightest hesitation. “It is a sixth-year charm, but under the circumstances you may attempt it if you wish.” Water stopped pouring from her wand, and she beckoned them over to stand next to her. “You heard the incantation. It is ‘Aguamenti.’ Be certain that both the ‘a’ and the ‘n’ are pronounced softly. There is no wand motion for this spell, as it is intended to pour water in whichever direction you point your wand.”
After a few minutes under their professor’s tutelage, Ginny and Harry were both able to produce respectable streams of water. They did not flow as smoothly as McGonagall’s did, and they occasionally sent droplets of water spraying across the room, but they did put water into the barrel rapidly. Soon, the large container was full. With another tap, McGonagall conjured a tight lid for the barrel, and then she directed the first-years to stand near the sofa once again.
“Now, back to the levitation charm. First the feather, Harry, and then the barrel.”
Harry lifted the feather as he had before and then set it back on the carpet. He turned to the barrel of water and repeated the spell. It rose into the air just as the chair had, but this time they could both feel a difference. Lifting the heavy vessel made the tingling sensation they associated with magic more noticeable, and the pattern shifted slightly, as though it were moving through Harry’s body. After examining the feeling for a moment, Harry gently lowered the barrel to the ground.
“You felt the difference that time, did you not?” McGonagall asked.
“Yes, Professor,” Harry said. “It was . . . more, somehow. The difference was like when Ginny and I are touching compared to when we’re not, only this time it was . . . err . . . moving.”
“Your analogy is as good as any, Harry,” the professor said with a small, kind smile. Turning back to the barrel, she scowled slightly and flicked her wand. The heavy metal container rose into the air and hovered for a moment before settling back to the floor.
McGonagall sighed and shook her head. Then she moved back to the barrel and eliminated the lid with a tap of her wand. A moment later, after removing the water as well, she transfigured the barrel back into her chair. Finally, she waved her wand at the window, and it closed itself gently.
“What you felt when you levitated the barrel of water was the magical energy flowing from you, Harry,” she said, standing in front of them once again. “You produced the same effect on both objects, yes, but you required more power to lift the barrel compared to the feather. Many transfigurations function in the same way, though there are other factors. For instance, you would need more power to levitate anything if you were standing further away from your target. What you need to understand at this point, however, is that different amounts of power may be involved when doing even the simplest of things. Applying more power to the levitation spell would not cause the feather to do anything other than hover as it just did. Do you understand?”
“I think so, Professor,” Harry said. “It would require more power to make the barrel go farther away or higher in the air, but having more power wouldn’t change anything if we just wanted it to hover like that.”
She nodded. “Yes, Harry, very good. That is the second type of spell.”
“So,” Ginny replied after a moment’s consideration, “the first type won’t change at all no matter what we do, and the second type may require more effort, but the final result won’t change?”
“Precisely. And the third category, then, is the one most relevant to us here today. Spells of this type have effects which vary greatly based on how much power is applied to them. For example, Ginny, that very . . . creative . . . hex of yours is a quite interesting. Anyone could cast it, theoretically, but the effects are more drastic when more power is applied to the spell. From what I have heard about the 'Bat Bogey Hex,' it would seem that higher power levels cause the bats to become larger and to grow to their full size more quickly.”
Ginny flushed slightly and nodded as images from Christmas Day flashed through their minds. A discoloured patch of snow. A horrified and sad expression on Mr. Weasley’s face. A scattering of rusty stains on filthy blue pyjamas. Ginny focused on her professor’s shoes as Harry reached out a comforting hand to clasp hers.
“I did not intend to upset you, Ginny,” McGonagall said softly, “but you do need to know why your spell is so dangerous.”
“I understand, Professor,” Ginny said quietly, raising her head again slowly. “It didn’t matter much when there wasn’t a lot of power behind the spell, but now . . .” She shrugged in resignation.
“Exactly. And the bluebell flames are much the same. The more power you apply to the spell, the larger the flames grow. What I am going to teach you is how to consciously control the amount of power you use when working magic. This may take some time, or it may not. We shall explore it together, but I promise you . . . you will learn to control this power of yours. Once you master it, you will be able to cast your hex or summon fire without unduly endangering anyone’s life.”
McGonagall closed her eyes, sighed, and then looked at them with a slightly pained expression. “However. In the meantime, I realise that you have no spells you can use safely when faced with a . . . confrontation.” Her gaze sharpened, and Harry and Ginny felt that they might well be eviscerated if they reacted improperly to this part of their conversation. “Understand that I do not condone fighting or duelling of any kind between students. I am aware that such things do happen on a somewhat regular basis, but I will continue to punish any student I find engaged in spellwork against a classmate outside of class.”
With a soft sigh, McGonagall’s stern look faded back to an almost sad expression which they had never before seen. “At the same time, given that some students insist on finding the worst things to say to everyone they see, I would rather deal with your hexing someone than your disfiguring or killing them. Therefore, I will teach you a few spells of the first type, for which the effect is fixed regardless of your strength.” McGonagall made a complicated motion with her wand, and thick, plush carpeting appeared across most of the floor. “Stand apart, facing each other. Please, for your own safety, stay away from the walls and the bare stone.”
They moved nervously to face each other with a few yards between them. It was very hard for them to imagine practicing spells on each other, even under McGonagall’s watchful eye, given the earlier demonstration of how horribly their magic could go wrong. But they had to admit that their professor had clearly planned for this and obviously knew what she was talking about.
“What you need,” their professor said, “are spells which prevent your opponent from attacking you without harming them. The spell that Mr. Malfoy used on you earlier in the week is an excellent example, so we will begin with that.”
Within a few minutes, they mastered the simple Leg-Locker Curse by casting it on each other and then removing it. They each fell once or twice, but the plush carpeting successfully kept them from any injury other than a few minor bruises. When McGonagall was satisfied with their performance, she taught them the Full Body Bind, which had the same petrifying effect on the whole body. While some people thought that it prevented any movement at all, it really just forced the arms, legs, and head to reach their neutral position and froze the voluntary muscles that allowed for movement of the limbs, neck, and jaw. All the involuntary muscles continued to function normally, so the target of the curse could breathe, blink, and even move their eyes.
Over the next half hour, they learned and practiced the Jelly-legs Jinx and the Stuttering Hex. McGonagall tried to teach them the Tickling Hex, and they did in fact learn the incantation, but after one attempt they decided not to practice it since it caused them both to collapse from laughter every time one of them cast it on the other. They could not imagine casting it on the professor, and she did not offer her assistance in that regard.
At last satisfied with their rudimentary skills in self defence, McGonagall waved them back to the sofa, and she resumed her seat in the chair. “I must stress to both of you that I do not wish to see or hear of you using any of these spells on your fellow students. Most students learn these spells either in second-year defence or outside of the classroom, and I’ve taught them to you today so that you may have them available in place of more damaging spells. Next year, we will endeavour to teach you the control necessary to cast any spell safely, although if you keep practicing the levitation charm on heavy objects it will make that task much easier.”
“Thank you for teaching us, Professor,” Harry said.
Ginny nodded emphatically. “Thank you. We won’t use any of these spells unless we absolutely have to.”
“Good. Now, I suggest that you return to your common room. I am quite sure that Miss Granger knows of something you should be reviewing before this week’s examinations.”
I never thought I’d be glad to have got caught by a professor, but I am, Ginny said as they walked back to Gryffindor Tower. If she hadn’t come along . . .
I don’t want to think about it, Harry replied. I had no idea that we could . . . I mean, it was just a little flame spell!
We don’t have many little spells, I suppose. Not until we figure out how to make them that way.
They shuddered slightly. I can’t imagine that it’s going to be easy, he offered.
Probably not. But she was great about explaining everything to us, so I think she’ll be able to teach us that, too. And we have to learn it. We just have to.
Harry nodded. At least she taught us some other spells to use for now.
Yeah, Ginny said. Next time Malfoy tries to curse us —
We’ll try the Full Body Bind first, because it stops him completely.
I think we should cast the tickling hex on him at the same time. It’d be awful to be tickled and not be able to move at all.
They continued climbing the stairs, trying to think of creative ways to combine the few ‘safe’ spells they had available. Strangely, their spirits had been lifted somewhat by the meeting with McGonagall and the lessons they had received.
If Crabbe and Goyle were with him, Harry suggested, we could put them all in the body bind and then stack them like cordwood.
With Malfoy on the bottom, Ginny agreed. Grinning, she glanced over at Harry as they reached the seventh floor, and the bouncing of his two pendants caught her eye.
Their stomachs sank. How could we be so stupid? Harry wondered. If we’d just used one of the pendants she gave us, she could have heard everything!
The portrait of the Fat Lady swung open, and Harry and Ginny joined Hermione at one of the tables along the wall. They pulled out their books and prepared to continue revising, but they had a hard time focusing on their studies.
I wonder why she didn’t say anything about that today? Ginny asked. A moment’s thought gave them one possible answer. Maybe she just didn’t want to make it any worse for us than it already was.
There wasn’t much time, either, he added. If she hadn’t been in the library and felt the heat, Malfoy would have had plenty of time to curse us a few more times before she got there.
They were relieved that they had not succeeded in setting Malfoy’s robes on fire, but they were also glad that the arrogant boy had not been able to curse them again. Still, we should remember those pendants. One of us could cast spells while the other tries to call McGonagall.
“Harry, Ginny!” Hermione whispered sharply. “You’re staring at each other again.”
“Oh, right,” Harry said. “Thanks.”
“We all need to work on our Herbology, anyway. Keep your mind on that.”
As all of the professors had promised, the end-of-year examinations were gruelling, and Harry and Ginny were very glad of the extra revision they had done with Hermione’s help. For the first three days, they had written and practical exams in Transfiguration, Charms, and Potions. Fortunately, one whole morning was dedicated to each written exam, so Harry and Ginny had plenty of time to write two different essays without causing suspicion. Ginny had practiced enough with her wand to be able to do the spells as well as Harry did, but he stood by with his wand in case she felt like she needed it, and Professors McGonagall and Flitwick were prepared to allow a substitution if necessary. Snape, of course, merely scowled at all of the students attempting to brew Forgetfulness potions. Ron forgot to add dried Billywig stings to his cauldron, which produced quite memorable results.
On the fourth and final day of exams, the first-years hurried down to breakfast. Hermione pulled out one of her textbooks and laid it open on the table even before she served herself from a platter of eggs.
“Now, does everyone remember what order the exams are in today? We’ve got three different ones,” she said.
I know it’s her way of managing the pressure, or whatever, but couldn’t she at least use different words each day? Harry complained.
At least she’s consistent.
“Come on, Hermione. It’s Defence, then Herbology, and then History,” Ron said. Then he lowered his voice to a disgruntled mutter. “Just like it was last night when you asked us.”
Hermione glared at him but continued with her plans for the morning. “Right, Ron. So make sure you look over the chapter notes from your Defence book before breakfast is over. Do you suppose I should look at the notes I made from other sources? You never know what he might ask.”
“Really, Hermione,” Ginny said. “When has Quirrell ever cared about anything that wasn’t in the book? All he does is read it to us, for goodness’ sake, and toss bits of garlic around.”
“But what about the stories he’s told? He might ask a question about one of those.”
“There’s only one thing you have to remember from those stories,” Ginny said. Turning to Harry, she asked, “Harry, what’s the best way to repel vampires?”
“Well, Ginny, I think it’s bathing in garlic every few seconds.”
“There you are, then,” Ginny said with a grin.
Hermione huffed and rolled her eyes, but some of the nervousness left her face. “Oh, alright, I can’t argue with you about that. Garlic. Honestly.”
As the post owls flew into the hall, Harry spotted Hedwig gliding gracefully towards their table. Unsurprisingly, the snowy owl landed in front of Ginny and dropped a battered letter next to her plate. Then Hedwig hopped in place to turn around, picked up a whole banger from Harry’s plate, and launched herself back into the air.
Ginny opened the envelope and pulled out a letter written in blocky letters with black ink.
Ginny and Harry,Spell-o-taped to the back of the letter were two photos. In them, a black dragon with bronze-coloured horns slept curled into a tight ball on a sunny patch of grass. The tip of Norbert’s tail twitched constantly, and occasionally a puff of smoke would emerge from his nostrils and dissipate into the air. A few feet away from the dragon, Charlie stood smiling and waving.
If I’ve timed this properly, it’s your last day of exams. I thought this might cheer you up a bit.
Hagrid’s egg hatched right on time. It was a male, so we named it Norbert as I promised Hagrid I would. We’ve had a rough month taking care of him and keeping him from burning the place to the ground, but he’s coming along. He’s about the size of an Abraxan now. Aren’t you glad Hagrid didn’t keep him at Hogwarts?
I’ve enclosed two copies of a picture we took the other day. One is for you two, and the other is for Hagrid. Pass it along, would you?
Say hello to the others for me.
Good luck,
Charlie
Ginny passed the letter and pictures to Ron. “It’s bloody huge,” he said. Then he handed the bundle to Hermione, who tutted softly at his language.
“This is a much better picture than the ones I found in those books Hagrid borrowed,” she said. “Look, you can even see the tiny scales on its neck.”
Neville took one look at the photo and handed it back to Ginny. “Now I’m even happier that it’s gone.”
“We should take that down to Hagrid at lunch,” Ron suggested hopefully.
“Ron!” Hermione said, exasperated. “We need to spend lunch re-reading our History of Magic notes. We can visit Hagrid after the exam is over.”
The red-haired boy’s fork plunged sharply into his eggs. “Yeah, alright,” he grumbled.
I’m not sure he even has History notes, Harry said.
He’s got loads of Quidditch doodles, though. He can look at those and keep Hermione from asking questions. Maybe he can find a Ridgeback playing Keeper.
The Defence Against the Dark Arts exam was just as simple as they had predicted. Ginny and Harry felt much less confident about the Herbology test, which combined written responses with practical work at a series of tables in the greenhouse. During the History of Magic exam, Harry found himself very appreciative of Ginny’s ability to remember the gist of Binns’ droning. They did not do as well as they might have, but they were sure they had at least passed.
At the end of the day’s exams, the five first-years burst out onto the sunny grounds. Neville left the group to find Professor Sprout, saying that he thought there had been two possible correct answers to one of her questions. Hermione’s eyes widened fearfully at that possibility, and she shifted anxiously from foot to foot for a moment, but she stayed with the group as they moved across the lawn towards Hagrid’s house.
“’Ello, then. All done with yer exams?” Hagrid greeted them from his seat on the front steps.
“Yeah, finally,” Ron said. “Now we can relax and watch some Quidditch without worrying about all that rubbish.”
“Rubbish!” Hermione exclaimed. “It’s not rubbish, it’s very important. And we’ll get our scores next week. How can you not worry about that?”
“That’s easy,” Ron replied. “Watch.” Smirking, he dropped to the grass and leaned back on his elbows, stretching his lanky frame and closing his eyes as he tilted his head up towards the sun. “See? Not worrying. Try it sometime.”
Ginny lightly kicked the side of her brother’s foot. “You’re a prat, Ron.”
He shrugged without opening his eyes. “Yeah, whatever. Give him the picture.”
Harry lowered his bag to the ground and pulled Hagrid’s copy of the photo from between the pages of his History book. “Here you are, Hagrid,” he said. “Charlie asked us to give this to you.”
Hagrid took the photo gingerly between his thumb and forefinger. “Blimey! Look a’ tha’. I thought it’d be a li’l boy. And now ‘e’s half-grown!” He snuffled loudly. “Seems jus’ las’ week I brought ‘im ‘ome in ‘is l’il shell.”
“Where did you get the egg, anyway, Hagrid?” Hermione wondered.
“Won it off a bloke down th’ pub, playin’ cards.”
“Someone was gambling with a dragon’s egg?”
“Well, yeah,” Hagrid said. “Seemed a bi’ keen to be rid o’ it, actually, but tha’s no surprise. How it is a’ th’ pub some nights. You drink a few pints, play a few games . . . win an’ lose all sorts o’ things. Fer a while tha’ night, I ha’ meself a set o’ pan-pipes and a matchin’ collection of King George II Thruppenny Bits. Th’ pipes were much too small fer me, o’ course, but mos’ things are.”
He scratched his beard. “Come t’ think on it, the same bloke won the pipes off me a while after I got ‘is egg. Said it were a good trade for ‘im. Didn’ wan’ to be aroun’ when th’ egg hatched, ‘e said.”
“I can’t imagine why not,” Ron muttered.
“Me either!” Hagrid boomed. “I told this bloke I’d ‘ave no problem wi’ a dragon. Said it couldn’ be no harder to raise than a three-headed dog.”
Harry straightened in his chair as some of the information started to fit together. “You told him about Fluffy?”
“Sure I did. Fluffy’s a righ’ ol’ softie when you ge’ down to it. All ‘e really wants is someone to . . . err . . .” Hagrid shook his head, and Ginny thought she saw his eyes widen momentarily. “Never min’ tha’.”
“You told him, didn’t you, Hagrid?” Ginny asked, anxiety leaping out of the background of their consciousness. “You told him how to handle Fluffy without getting hurt?”
He seemed to have realised his error. “Well . . . I mighta. ‘Ad more than a few pints tha’ nigh’, like I said. Bu’ there’s no ‘arm done, righ’? ‘E was jus’ some bloke in th’ pub.”
Ginny and Harry’s stomachs sank as their fears increased. “Hagrid . . . what did this bloke look like?” she asked.
“I don’ righ’ly know,” Hagrid said with a shrug. “Ha’ this ol’ black cloak on, y’ see, and ‘e kept ‘is ‘ood up th’ whole time ‘e was there. Sounded a bit funny, but ‘e said ‘e ‘ad a cold or summat.”
The image of the creature in the forest, wearing a black cloak with the hood pulled up, still haunted Harry and Ginny’s thoughts and dreams. They unthinkingly leapt to their feet from their seats on the grass and looked across the grounds, almost expecting something dark to come stalking across the lawn towards their friends.
“’Ere, it’s nothin’ to be worried abou’. All kinds o’ strange folk in tha’ pub. I’ weren’t so odd to see one in a cloak all nigh’.”
We have to get out of here! Harry said. We have to tell Dumbledore!
“Oh, err . . . yes, Hagrid, I suppose you’re right,” Ginny said as she fidgeted and tried to fabricate a suitable excuse. “Nothing to worry about. It’s just that I remembered we’re supposed to meet the twins in the common room this afternoon. They’re going to bring some pumpkin juice and biscuits for us.”
Ron and Hermione looked puzzled, but Hagrid just waved his hand towards the castle. “Run along, then. I wouldn’ wan’ you to miss tha’. Come back an’ see me before you get on th’ train, eh?”
“Sure, Hagrid, definitely,” Harry said with obvious urgency. “C’mon, Ron, Hermione. Don’t you want a biscuit?”
Ron shrugged and climbed to his feet. Hermione scowled at Harry, but she also stood up and brushed her uniform clean. After waving hastily to Hagrid, Harry and Ginny led their friends back towards the castle at a brisk walk.
When they were well away from Hagrid’s cabin, Hermione tugged on Harry’s sleeve. “Harry, what’s going on?”
Ginny glanced around the grounds and spotted a secluded bench. “Come on,” she said, grabbing Hermione’s hand and tugging her in that direction. Harry and Ron followed them, though Ron now looked just as confused as Hermione.
When they reached the bench, Ginny and Hermione sat down while Ron and Harry stood facing them. Harry and Ginny could see in all directions, and they kept a close eye out for anyone who might approach. As quickly as humanly possible, Ginny told her brother and friend what had happened in the Forbidden Forest as she and Harry fought their shared feeling of unease and fear. Hermione gasped when Ginny described the creature that had attacked the unicorn.
“You get it, right Hermione?” Ginny asked when she finished the story.
Mutely, the older girl nodded, her eyes wide.
“Get what?” Ron asked. “If you guys really saw You-Know-Who, that’s bloody scary. But what is it we’re supposed to get?”
“Snape has been trying to get to the Stone, but he didn’t know how to get past Fluffy,” Harry tried to explain. “Firenze told us that Snape wants to give the Stone to Voldemort. Voldemort himself is hiding in the forest and attacking unicorns while he waits. When he came after Ginny and me, he was wearing an old black cloak. The man Hagrid won the egg from was also wearing an old black cloak, and Hagrid told that man how to get past Fluffy. What if they were the same man?”
“Bloody hell,” Ron breathed with a shudder. “Stop saying that name! And if they’re the same man, then You-Know-Who and Snape know how to get past Fluffy, and that’s all he needed to know to get to the Stone!”
“Right, and if he gets the Stone, then Voldemort can live again,” Harry said, nodding and ignoring his friend’s reaction. “But we’re the only ones who know it.” Scenes from their nightmares flickered through their minds.
“But if Professor Snape found out how to get past Fluffy back when Hagrid won the egg, why hasn’t he tried to get the Stone before now?” Hermione asked.
“Because Dumbledore’s here,” Ginny replied. “Hagrid told Harry that Dumbledore’s the only wizard Voldemort was ever afraid of.”
“We need to tell him, then,” Hermione said
“He’s the best one to stop Snape anyway,” Harry added. “Let’s go.”
They went back into the castle and ran up the stairs towards the seventh floor, cursing the moving staircases and the sheer size of the castle. When they reached the gargoyle guarding the Headmaster’s office, Harry and Ginny realised their mistake. “We don’t know the password,” Ginny said between gasps.
“Hermione, do you remember what it was when we were here last term?” Harry asked.
Hermione furrowed her brow for a moment and then shook her head. “I don’t. I’m sorry.”
“We don’t either,” Ginny said. “So what do we do?”
“If we wait for him, we’re just giving Snape more time,” Harry said.
“Where else could he be?” Ron asked. “It’s not a mealtime, so he’s not in the hall. Is there anywhere else he goes?”
“We’ve only ever seen him here or there.”
“Maybe he’s in the lav,” Ron suggested. “We could . . . “
The gargoyle sprang to life and moved aside to reveal the spiral staircase already in motion. A moment later, it stopped and Professor McGonagall stepped into the corridor carrying a sheaf of papers under one arm.
“Good afternoon, students. What are you doing here?” she asked.
“We, ahh . . . we wanted to see the Headmaster,” Ginny said somewhat evasively.
“Professor Dumbledore is not here,” the older woman replied with an arched eyebrow. “He was called away to London on urgent business just this morning. Is there something I can help you with?”
Harry shook his head slightly as their feeling of dread increased. “Well, no, Professor. We were . . . we wanted to talk to the Headmaster.”
“There is something you wish to tell him that you do not wish to tell me?” Harry and Ginny nodded reluctantly. “I must admit that I am quite surprised. I had hoped you knew that you could speak to me about anything you cared to. I hope you do not feel that I have treated you poorly.”
“No, Professor, not at all!” Ginny said. “It’s been really nice talking to you and learning things from you. It’s just . . .”
We’re going to have to tell her, Harry said. There’s no one else.
It’s worth a try.
Ginny took a deep breath. “Could we talk to you someplace, err, more private, Professor?”
McGonagall nodded, her expression baffled, as she turned to lead them back to her office. When they arrived, Ginny and Harry automatically sat on the sofa, leaving Ron and Hermione to sit in chairs that McGonagall conjured for them.
“What is it, Ginny?” McGonagall asked cautiously. Hermione’s eyebrows went up at the familiar form of address, but she said nothing, while Ron was oblivious to the byplay.
“We . . . we know about the Philosopher’s Stone,” Ginny began. “We know it’s reached through the trapdoor that Fluffy guards, and we know what it does.”
The professor’s eyebrows rose fractionally. “That’s very interesting.”
“We think that Snape is trying to get it. He tried to get past Fluffy on Halloween, but he got bitten. Then he tried to get Professor Quirrell to tell him how to do it. But . . .” They did not want to reveal Hagrid’s part in helping Voldemort. “But we think he knows how, now.”
McGonagall sighed. “Professor Snape is a member of the staff here at Hogwarts, selected by the Headmaster himself. Why would he want to steal something the Headmaster is guarding?”
Harry swallowed. He had hoped to avoid that question. “Voldemort’s hiding in the forest,” he said. “We saw him during our detention that night. If Snape gets the Stone, then Voldemort can use it to stay alive.”
“That’s preposterous!” McGonagall said, straightening her neck and back abruptly. “You-Know-Who is dead. You, of all people, should know that.”
Ginny cocked her head at the odd look in the professor’s eyes. “Do you really believe that, Professor?” she asked.
McGonagall paled visibly. “That is immaterial,” she insisted. “All you need to know is that Professor Snape is a trusted member of the staff. Regardless of what you have heard or surmised, he is not attempting to steal anything. No one is. The Philosopher’s Stone is perfectly safe, and it will remain that way as long as the Headmaster is guarding it.”
“But the Headmaster isn’t here,” Harry protested feebly. “If Sn . . . if someone knows how to get past the dog, he might know how to get past everything else, and Professor Dumbledore won’t be here to stop, err . . . them.”
McGonagall simply shook her head and maintained her disapproving expression. “I repeat: no one is attempting to steal the Stone. I am shocked that you place so little faith in the rest of the staff.” McGonagall stood and loomed over the four students. “Now, I think it is time for all of you to leave. Return to your common room, or go outside to enjoy this beautiful day. Do not mention this to anyone else. Is that clear?”
With a frustrated sigh, Harry and Ginny nodded. Based on their prior conversations, they knew that McGonagall had a huge blind spot about the potions professor.
“Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, do you agree also?”
Ginny turned her head to see her brother and friend both nodding. Hermione’s eyes were wide and fearful, while Ron looked almost thoughtful.
McGonagall dismissed them, and the four friends walked slowly back towards Gryffindor tower.
After a minute of silence, Hermione’s expression cleared somewhat. “What you told us fits together nicely, Ginny. But at the same time, Professor McGonagall is right. What if we’re wrong somehow? What if we don’t know everything, and the Stone is safe, even if it appears to us to be in danger?”
“Which do you think it is, then?” Ginny asked.
“I really don’t know.”
“So what do we do?” Harry asked. “Do we believe McGonagall, even if there’s a chance she’s wrong and really, really bad things could happen?”
Hermione put her hand on Harry’s arm and pulled him into an empty classroom whose door was open. Ron and Ginny followed and then watched as Hermione faced Harry with her hand still resting lightly on his elbow. “Harry, I don’t want those things to happen any more than you do,” Hermione said earnestly. “But . . . well, the Professors are a lot older than we are, and they do know a lot more about magic. If Professor McGonagall thinks the Stone is safe, don’t you think she’s probably right? If she is, and we go telling someone else, then we’ll have gotten into loads of trouble over nothing.”
“But what if she’s wrong?” Harry asked urgently. “How would we feel if we didn’t say anything, and Voldemort got the Stone?”
Hermione sighed and dropped her hand to her side. “Awful, I suppose.”
“Hermione,” Ginny said softly, drawing her friend’s attention. “Voldemort killed Harry’s parents. If he gets the Stone, who’s to say he might not kill ours, too?” It was the closest she could come to revealing the root of their worst nightmare.
The four students stood silently for a long moment before Hermione sniffed and blinked watery eyes. “I don’t know what to do,” she whispered.
Ron cleared his throat. “Well, I was thinking . . .”
“Ron?” Harry asked, momentarily distracted from his sense of impending doom.
“McGonagall said we couldn’t tell anyone about the Stone, right?” The others nodded. “And we’re not absolutely sure that someone is trying to get it, right?” They nodded again. “Well, why don’t we keep an eye on it ourselves, then? If no one goes after it, then at least we know for sure, and we won’t be in any trouble if we don’t get caught. And if someone does try to get it, we’ll know who it is, and we can send McGonagall to just the right place.”
It’s a brilliant idea.
That’s my brother, Ginny crowed. Sometimes, anyway.
Harry turned to Hermione. “What do you think? We could use my cloak and just see if anyone goes through that door on the third floor.”
“We’d really only need to do it while Dumbledore’s away,” Ginny added. “With him here, I’m sure the Stone will be safe.”
Hermione bit her lip and stared at the floor. Harry and Ginny knew she was deep in thought. A minute later, she looked up again. “It would be better to know for sure, wouldn’t it?”
“If we do get caught somehow, we’ll say it wasn’t your idea,” Ron offered.
She shot him an angry look. “That’s not the point.” Turning back to Harry, she nodded firmly. “So when do we start?”
“Tonight, I’d say,” Harry replied. “Snape wouldn’t try anything during the day, with students everywhere.”
“Harry and I can take it in shifts, at least at first,” Ginny suggested. “That way, if someone does go through the door, we can get back to the Tower quickly before we all go looking for Professor McGonagall. Even if we’re there watching all night, no one will think it’s odd if we have a lie-in tomorrow morning.”
“What about us?” Ron asked.
Harry shrugged. “Be ready, I suppose. If it goes on too long, one of you can take a turn at the door and just run back here if Snape shows up.”
“I don’t think he would arrive too long after curfew, though,” Hermione mused. “He’d want to have plenty of time to get to the Stone and back out again before anyone wakes up.”
They returned to Gryffindor Tower and spent the rest of the afternoon attempting to relax. They did not want to tire themselves out, but they were all restless. Fortunately, many of their fellow students also appeared nervous, though Ginny suspected that they were just concerned about their exam scores.
At dinner, Harry kept a close eye on Professor Snape, but the sallow man ate his meal and glared at the students as he always did.
I guess you’ve got to be pretty good at faking things if you’re going to help Voldemort right under Dumbledore’s nose, Harry said while trying to subtly keep his attention on the dreaded professor.
Yeah. That, or he’s so mean he doesn’t care at all.
Do you remember how to get to McGonagall’s private quarters if he does go after the Stone?
I think so, Ginny replied. We couldn’t just arrive there, but one of us could run.
The hours between dinner and curfew crept by. The rest of the Gryffindors had conquered most of their post-exam tensions and were playing games or talking loudly, though they still avoided Ginny, Harry, and anyone in their company. More than once, Harry and Ginny watched as Percy roundly scolded younger students for being too noisy but never said anything to fifth-, sixth-, or seventh-years who were shouting or laughing.
After curfew, the four friends waited nervously in the common room as their housemates drifted out up the dormitory stairs. When the last few sixth-year boys left, Harry looked around the room and then pulled the Invisibility Cloak out of his bag, where he had hidden it that afternoon.
“I’ll go first,” Ginny said for Ron and Hermione’s benefit. Harry held the cloak open for her, and moments later she crept silently out of the portrait hole.
“Don’t let me fall asleep, okay?” Harry asked. “If I do, Ginny will . . .” They shuddered. “Just don’t let me fall asleep.”
Ron and Hermione nodded, their faces serious.
And if I do fall asleep . . . Ginny began.
I’ll get there and wake you up as fast as I can. I promise.
Chapter 22: Stones
Author's Notes: Thanks, as always, to moshpit, Jonathan Avery, regdc, and Chreechree for helping me to make this story comprehensible to others. We all worked especially hard on this chapter.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione waited nervously as Ginny made her way to the third floor under the Invisibility Cloak. To keep Ron and Hermione from asking the same question over and over, Harry periodically told their anxious friends that Ginny had not yet encountered anything.
When she finally arrived, Ginny noticed that something was vaguely odd about the forbidden door. Stepping closer, she discovered that it was slightly ajar.
That can’t be good, Harry said.
Carefully, Ginny pushed the door further open until she could peer into the room beyond. Inside, she could see Fluffy standing in the middle of the room, but the trapdoor lay wide open between his paws.
Should we try to tell McGonagall with the pendants? she wondered.
I’m not sure, Ginny, he replied. She wouldn’t listen earlier. I think she would just come out here and tell us again that there’s no way anyone is getting to the Stone. Then she’d punish us for being out of bounds after she warned us about it.
But surely she would see the open trapdoor and realise that something is really wrong?
Maybe. But do you want to take the time to argue about it with her? I don’t. Harry’s sense of urgency became more magnified as he thought about it. I don’t want to wait any longer at all.
Resolve hardened in their minds. “The door and the trapdoor are both open,” Harry said to the others. “He’s already gone down there.”
“What are we going to do?” Hermione asked nervously, her voice rising slightly as she became visibly worried.
“We’re going after him.”
The air stirred as Ginny appeared at his side and swept the Invisibility Cloak off in one smooth motion. “You two can take the cloak and try to find a professor,” she said firmly as she held it out. “Send them after us, okay?”
“What?!” Hermione exclaimed, panic creeping into her voice. “Why?”
“Hermione, we don’t have time to find someone else first!” Harry paced a moment trying to find a way to explain it to their friend. “There’s no telling how long he’s been in there! It can’t have taken him long to get past Fluffy if he knows how. We have to go soon, so that we at least have a chance of catching him before he gets back out. Before he can get to the forest and to . . . to him!”
“Bugger finding a professor,” Ron shot back at his sister, unconsciously matching her strident tones. “Told you I’d stick with you, didn’t I? Well, I’m sticking.”
Hermione nodded firmly. “What he said goes for me, too. Except for the language. I’m not sure it’s the best idea, but if you’re going, then I’m going.”
“You don’t need to do that,” Harry protested. “You could get hurt in there.”
Ron frowned slightly. “So could you, and four can do a lot more than two.”
He’s right, Ginny said. I don’t like it at all, but he’s right this time.
“Alright, fine,” Harry said.
A shaky voice spoke from near the boys’ dormitory stairs. “I don’t think you should go.”
All four students spun towards the far side of the room. Slowly, but with a determined expression, Neville marched over to them, stopping to stand next to one of the large armchairs. “You should find Professor McGonagall and tell her instead.”
Hermione shifted from foot to foot as Neville systematically made eye contact with each of them before slowly resuming his walk towards them. “Remember how you said you did something stupid with that troll at Halloween? And you all got hurt? You don’t want that to happen again.”
The others moved aside to let Harry speak for them, and Neville stopped and faced Harry directly. “You need to tell someone this time, and let them take care of it. Or at least get help.” His expression became pleading. “You could even talk to Fred and George.”
We’re running out of time! Harry fumed silently. If he keeps us from stopping Snape . . .
He took a deep breath to control his need to leave immediately and tried to quickly explain the situation as well as he could. “Neville, look, we really appreciate that, but you see. . .”
Ginny thought furiously for a moment. She realised that Neville had no intention of letting them go anywhere without exploring other options first.
“No,” the other boy insisted, “I really think you should talk to someone. I know I can't stop you from going, but if you do go, I'll get help for you myself!"
He might find someone quickly enough that they could interfere before we can stop Snape, Ginny said. We can’t take that chance.
“Petrificus Totalus,” she whispered, pointing her wand at Neville’s side.
“Ginny!” Hermione yelled.
Harry had just enough warning to be able to keep the larger boy from falling face-first onto the floor. With Ron’s help, he lowered Neville to the ground and set him on his back. Their friend’s body was completely stiff, but his eyes were wide and darted from face to face.
Ginny kneeled and put her hand on Neville’s arm as she leaned over him. “I’m really sorry, Neville, but it’s important. We’re in a hurry.”
McGonagall’s going to kill us, Harry speculated as he levitated Neville onto the sofa nearest the fire.
Ginny voiced the other half of his thought. Better her than Voldemort. She’ll at least be quick about it.
Harry’s sense of urgency increased, and he quickly crossed the room to stand near the portrait hole with the others. “We’ll take the cloak,” he said softly to Ron and Hermione. “Ginny can join us when we get there.”
We’ll both get to the same place in the end, Harry.
You’re right, but . . .
Okay, she relented. Just this once.
His two friends stood close behind him, and Harry swung the Invisibility Cloak around them all. Ginny curled herself into an armchair in the dark corner near the portrait hole and watched to make sure that they were completely covered.
Make sure Ron keeps his head down, she said. Otherwise his feet show.
Thanks.
Slowly, the three friends crept out of the common room and down the stairs. At the fifth floor landing, Harry spotted Mrs. Norris approaching them from the corridor, and he was sure that the caretaker’s cat had noticed them somehow. She stalked towards the stairs, sniffing the air intently, but they scrambled down the stairs before she got too close.
Once the three friends had left the common room, Ginny turned to the sofa where Neville lay, even though she could not see him. Rising to her feet, she moved to a chair nearby, but she was careful to stay out of the boy’s limited line of sight.
Belatedly, she attempted to explain things to Neville, but most of her attention was on Harry and the others. “We already tried to talk to Professor McGonagall,” she whispered into the silence. “We really did. But she wouldn’t believe us at all.” She was quiet for a minute, trying to decide what to say. “It’s just really important, Neville.”
After another long pause, she gave up. “I’m so sorry I had to hex you.”
Finally, the invisible trio reached the third floor and started down the hallway to the forbidden door. Harry stopped suddenly when Hermione hissed from behind him.
“Ouch! Ron, that’s my foot.”
“Sorry,” Ron whispered from the back of the group.
“Just walk in step, would you? It would be much easier.”
“Well, sure, but who says your step is better than my step?”
“Aren’t we supposed to be quiet?” Harry whispered.
“Sorry,” they replied nearly in unison.
They reached the door, which was still slightly ajar. He pulled the cloak off, folded it hastily, and tucked it away in a pocket of his robes. At the same time, Ginny rose from her chair and left the common room before appearing next to them.
I think we forgot something, Ginny said, peering through the crack in the doorway again.
“How are we going to get past Fluffy?” Harry asked.
“That’s easy,” Hermione said, waving her hand casually. “The same way we did last time.”
“What?”
“Ginny, can you get to your bed and back?” the brunette asked.
“Err, yes?”
“Good. Go and get your bedspread, please.”
Puzzled, but trusting their friend, Harry and Ginny sent her back to her dark four-poster. She gathered the heavy bedspread in her arms, bunched it haphazardly in her haste, and then returned to the third floor corridor.
“Thank you,” Hermione said. “Put it on the floor.”
Ginny dropped the blanket and backed away a step as Hermione drew her wand. “Engorgio!” she said. The blanket grew to four times its original size, becoming a tall mound of loosely-piled fabric that nearly knocked the redhead off her feet.
“Oh, I’m so glad that actually worked,” Hermione whispered absently. “The movement diagram was horribly drawn.”
She didn’t know it would work? Harry asked incredulously in the momentary silence.
“What are we doing, Hermione?” Ginny asked.
“Well, the last time, you managed to distract Fluffy for a few moments with some stuffed toys, but they were small enough that he was already destroying them by the time we got out of the room. This time, we’re making a much bigger stuffed toy so that he’ll be able to play with it long enough for us to get through that door.”
“That’s brilliant,” Harry said.
“Thanks,” she replied with a grin. “Now, Ron, you’re going to levitate this. Once we get it through the door, Harry and Ginny will turn it into a bunny. Then you’ll put it as far from the trapdoor as you can. Once he’s got it in there to play with, we all go through the trapdoor. Got it?”
The other three nodded, and Ron lifted the huge blanket with his wand. “Feels . . . heavy, or something,” he said.
“It takes more power to lift it since it weighs more,” Ginny said absently, “but you’re not actually feeling its weight. You’re feeling how much extra magic it takes.”
Harry almost laughed at the shocked expressions on Ron and Hermione’s faces.
“Ginny, how . . . where . . . ?” Hermione began.
“Later, Hermione,” Harry said. He pushed the door open fully, and Ron stepped into the room with the blanket floating in front of him. Fluffy growled as Harry and Ginny entered behind him, but the huge dog did not attack.
Let’s use your wand, Harry, Ginny said. We don’t want to take a chance of it not being perfect on the first try.
He nodded and took her right hand in his left. The feeling of power coursed through them as he raised his wand and aimed at the massive blanket. “Brunesempra!”
With a loud whoosh of air, the bundled fabric transformed into a plush, pink bunny which stood approximately sixteen feet tall. Fluffy’s attention snapped to the toy, and his six ears swivelled forward as his heads cocked to various angles.
Ron moved the bunny across the room, and Fluffy’s eyes followed it, though the dog did not leave his post above the trapdoor. A moment later, Ron had the toy positioned in the far corner of the room, but Fluffy still did not move.
“Err . . . move it around a bit,” Hermione suggested.
Ron shrugged and moved his wrist to make the bunny wobble and bounce in place. With a thunderous two-headed bark of joy mixed with one rumbling growl, Fluffy leapt across the room and pounced on the toy. A moment later, all three of his heads were gnawing happily at the pink monstrosity.
All four students were momentarily stunned. At last, Harry shook his head before whispering his thoughts aloud. “I would never have thought that spell would be useful.”
Ron grinned and clapped him on his shoulder. “Good show, Harry.” The strained hush of the conversation was contagious, as everyone kept their voices low to avoid re-focusing the various attention spans they were dealing with.
Fluffy was still engrossed in destroying Harry and Ginny’s creation, so Harry walked slowly towards the trapdoor. “Let’s go,” he said.
They stood around the door and peered down. There was no ladder or staircase visible, and it was too dark inside the hole to see the bottom. “I guess we jump,” Ron said. “See you in there!”
Harry, thinking that he should go first, reached out to stop him, but Ron had already hopped over the edge. A moment later, they heard the muffled sound of his landing.
“Not bad,” he shouted. “There’s something here to break your fall. Come on down.”
Harry jumped next, followed closely by Ginny. They landed on something hard yet springy and fell flat. Just as they were getting up, Hermione landed next to them and toppled onto their backs.
“We’re not what’s supposed to break your fall, Hermione,” Harry croaked.
“Sorry!” she said, rolling quickly off of them. “Lumos.”
The light of her wand showed them that they were in a small chamber directly beneath the trapdoor. Hermione had rolled off to one side towards a dark corridor. Ginny, Harry, and Ron were sprawled on a nest of rough vines.
Harry and Ginny again tried to get to their feet, and they heard Ron’s muffled swearing as he did the same. Harry braced his hand against a thick strand of vegetation and tried to pull his feet under him, but they seemed to be caught on something. The dim light of the Lumos spell and the closeness of the vines made Ginny and Harry feel as if they were in the Forbidden Forest again, with branches grasping hungrily at their clothes and skin.
Panicking, Ginny twisted to look and saw that small tendrils of the plant had wrapped themselves around Harry’s ankles. They were slowly tightening, and the same squeezing sensation was coming from Ginny’s left ankle and wrist. A quick glance showed that Ron was under attack from at least four different vines, one of which had covered his mouth partially. His muffled oaths were much more serious than they had first believed.
“Hermione!” Harry shouted. “Help!”
She spun around from where she had been peering down the corridor.
Ginny, go!
Without hesitation, Ginny and Harry willed her to the edge of the room next to Hermione. She landed shakily on her feet before rapidly backing up a few steps, making room for Harry to appear safely in front of her. They looked back at Ron, whose shoulders and chest were heavily enshrouded with vines. The one that had been around his mouth had shifted slightly and was starting to wind around his neck.
“Do s’m’th’g!” Ron tried to yell.
Unable to think of anything else, Harry raised his wand and said, “Wingardium Leviosa!” Ron’s legs and hips rose into the air, and a few of the smaller tendrils were pulled away from his arms and torso. He hung in the air, upside down, with Harry’s spell holding him up while the vines around his shoulders held him down.
Ginny looked to Hermione, but the older girl was staring at Ron with a look of utter shock on her face, one hand half-extended as though to stop everything for just a moment.
“Hermione!” Ginny screamed. She did not know what to do, and she felt helpless watching her brother in a situation so very much like the one in their nightmare.
Hermione blinked once and dropped her hand. “That’s . . . that’s Devil’s Snare,” she said quickly. “Professor Sprout said something about it . . . it tightens the more you move, and . . . and . . .”
“NOT H’LP’NG!” Ron screamed around the vines holding him down. Harry’s levitation charm was keeping more vines from attacking him, but the one around his neck was beginning to tighten visibly even as Ron thrashed about to avoid it.
“I remember!” Hermione shouted. “It likes dark, damp places, and it avoids heat and light!”
“So light a fire!” Harry said, struggling to keep Ron off of the ground without making the plant rip off his limbs.
“But there’s no wood!”
“Have you gone mad?” Ron coughed, his mouth momentarily free, as his face began to purple. “Are you a witch or not?”
“Right,” Hermione said. “Ginny, you’re the only one with a free wand. Cast the Bluebell flame spell!”
“B-B-Bluebell flames?” Ginny said, horrified. “I . . . I can’t. Not with Ron. Please, I don’t want to hurt him! I can’t!”
“Gin —“ Ron’s scream was choked off as the Devil’s Snare tightened on his throat.
“Hermione, cast the spell!” Harry yelled. “We don’t need light!”
C’mon, Hermione, Ginny begged as she sank to the floor with her useless wand. Don’t make me cast that spell near my brother. Please!
“Right!” Hermione cancelled her light spell and then muttered the incantation in the darkness. Ginny exhaled in relief as a stream of blue flames the size of grapefruits flew from her wand into the mass of the plant. In the flickering blue glow, they watched as the vines and tendrils retreated from the flames, hastily pulling away from Ron as they went.
As soon as his shoulders were free, Ron shot a few feet into the air from the continued effect of Harry’s levitation charm. Harry stopped the ascent and guided his horribly dishevelled friend over to the bare stone floor, well away from the cringing plant.
Stumbling to her feet as the blue flames died out, Ginny lit her wand and rushed to her brother’s side. Dropping beside him, she hugged him tightly. “I’m sorry, Ron. I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you!”
Ron patted his sister’s back awkwardly. “It’s okay, Ginny. We all make mistakes.” He made a disgusted noise and shook his head before staring at Hermione. “‘There’s no wood!’ Honestly.”
Hermione’s triumphant expression fell. “I’m sorry, Ron,” she said softly.
The red-haired boy extracted himself from Ginny’s embrace and stood with a muffled moan, rubbing at the livid red marks on his neck. “Oh, don’t worry about it, Hermione. You did the right thing in the end, and it sounds like none of the rest of us would have been able to make fire at all.” He grinned slightly. “Just for the record, though . . . plants are wood.”
Hermione spluttered as Harry and Ginny laughed nervously. When she recovered, she said, “Harry and Ginny know the spell. They could have done it.” Then she frowned and looked at Ginny. “Why didn’t you, anyway? You can’t really hurt anyone with Bluebell flames.”
“Umm, well, we’re not supposed to . . . I mean . . . it . . .” Ginny trailed off as they thought about the spell.
It would make it easier to get back out, Harry said.
And if we’re not touching and not really upset, it should be a lot smaller, right?
I think so.
“Back up, everyone,” Ginny instructed. They all moved to the doorway, and Harry and Ginny deliberately placed themselves in front of their friends. Then she pointed her wand at the mass of Devil’s Snare. “Ignis Caeruleus.”
Three spheres of blue fire flew from the tip of her wand, expanded to over two feet in diameter, and burst into the tangled vines. The plant tried to pull away, but it was not fast enough to avoid the larger flames, and the fire spread quickly among the dry vines. Within moments, the entire mass was ablaze, and bright flames leapt several feet into the air as the Devil’s Snare burned in silence.
Ron and Hermione hastily backed even further away from the inferno, their mouths gaping in shock. When the plant stopped moving and the remaining vines began to break apart and collapse into ashes, Harry and Ginny put out the rest of the fire with water from their wands. When they were finished, only a few sodden black tendrils remained in one corner. With the rest of the plant out of the way, they could see that the flagstone there had been removed and replaced with a recessed pot of dirt.
From behind them, Ron finally broke the silence. “Uh, Ginny . . . thanks for, err, not helping me.”
She turned around and smiled abashedly. “Anytime, Ron.”
“That’s why Professor McGonagall took away so many points, isn’t it?” Hermione asked quietly.
“Yeah,” Ginny replied just as softly.
“Come on,” Harry said after a moment. “This way.”
Ginny relit her wand and transferred it to her left hand as she walked next to Harry. After a few steps, Ron whispered “Lumos” and held his wand forward to light their path. Ginny looked back at him quizzically. “If something moves, just . . . you know, burn it,” he instructed her. She extinguished her wand and kept it ready.
After a few yards, the dark corridor ended in a large wooden door. “Ready?” Harry asked. At their nods, he jerked the door open and aimed his wand into the next room.
From the corridor, the room appeared to be empty except for a jumbled assortment of brooms leaning against the far wall, next to another door. A loud buzzing filled the room, and the air vibrated with the sound. Torches set into the walls provided a dim, flickering light.
Cautiously, Harry and Ginny stepped through the doorway with Ron and Hermione immediately behind them. The door swung closed behind them all with a click that was audible over the pervasive humming. They still could not see any danger, but following the noise led them to look up. The ceiling of the room was nearly thirty feet high, and the open space above their heads was filled with glittering objects flying around in a chaotic swarm.
“Well, Ron, which one shall I burn, then?” Ginny asked.
“What are they?” he replied.
“Dunno,” Harry said. “Do you suppose they’ll attack us if we try to cross the room?”
The other three shrugged, so Harry and Ginny stepped forward slowly. They reached the middle of the room, but the flying objects did not respond at all. Feeling more secure, they crossed the rest of the way to the far door.
“Maybe Snape already got rid of whatever was in here,” Ron suggested.
“Yeah, could be,” Harry said. He tried the handle on the door, but it would not budge. “It’s locked. Hermione?”
She stepped between Harry and Ginny and touched her wand to the knob. “Alohomora.”
He tried the door again, but it still refused to open.
“It’s a pretty simple unlocking charm,” Hermione said. “There must be loads of ways to lock things that I can’t open.”
“So we need the key,” Ginny said. She looked up at the buzzing swarm above their heads. “Do you suppose . . . ?”
Harry followed her thought and aimed his wand at the middle of the shifting cloud. “Wingardium Leviosa.” The spell hit one of the fliers, and it stopped in midair even though its wings still fluttered. Harry brought it closer, and Ginny picked it out of the air. Holding it tightly, she discovered that it was a heavy brass key with small white wings affixed to its head.
“It’s a key, alright,” she said. She raised her wand and pointed it carefully at the struggling key. “Finite Incantatem.” The wings vanished, and the key stilled in her hand. She held it up next to the lock on the door. “Much too large, though.”
“But there’s hundreds of them,” Ron said. “How do we know which one is right?”
“It would take too long to hit them all and try them,” Harry said.
“Well, the keyhole is fairly small,” Hermione offered. “So it should be a small key. And most keys match their locks, so I’d guess it would be silver and probably a bit tarnished.”
Harry and Ginny looked up and scanned the group of keys. After a moment, Harry raised his arm and pointed. “There, that one. It’s silver, and one of its wings is bent. See it?”
Ginny closed her eyes to see the silver key clearly. She turned her head to follow it and then opened her eyelids to track it herself.
“Alright, so how do we get it?” Ron asked. “I don’t think any of us could hit that one key with a spell while it’s flying. Can you use the fire to burn all the wings off? Or just burn down the door?”
I really don’t like using that spell, Ginny said.
Harry started to answer Ron, but Hermione was quicker.
“If you put that much heat near a key made of silver, it might melt too much to work in the lock,” she pointed out. “And if the doors were that weak, all of the rest of this would be completely pointless.” Hermione picked up one of the broomsticks from where it rested near the door. “I think we’re supposed to use brooms to catch the key. Madam Hooch must have thought it up.”
“Well, no problem, then,” Ron said confidently. “Harry, hop up there and catch it, and the rest of us can help trap it.”
Ginny, I think . . .
She nodded. I suppose so. Seems strange, though.
“It’ll be easier if Ginny flies by herself,” Harry said.
Ron blinked. “What? Why?”
“This room is pretty small for a broom, so if we all fly, we’ll just get in each others’ way. That means just one person should be up there, and grabbing the key will be all about manoeuvrability. I can spot the right key easily enough and keep track of it for her, but Ginny will be faster and more manoeuvrable because she’s a bit smaller than I am.”
The red-haired boy furrowed his brow in thought. “That’s true, I suppose,” he said after a moment, “but you’ve got more experience Seeking than she does.”
Harry shrugged. “She’s been there every time I’ve been on a broom, Ron.”
“Oh, right,” Ron said with a flash of embarrassment. “Sorry, Ginny.”
“It’s okay, Ron.”
She studied the small assortment of brooms and was amused to see a solid and dependable Oakshaft 79 and a few older Cleansweeps in addition to the Comet 180 in Hermione’s hands.
What’s this? Pick your favourite type of broom? Why on earth should there be more than one here at all? Ginny wondered.
Maybe they wanted to make it easy for whoever comes along. Wouldn’t want it to be an actual challenge, now, would we? Harry thought sarcastically.
Ginny took the Comet from Hermione as Harry found the correct key again. Though the Nimbus was infinitely superior, at least she would be using a racing broom.
Ginny soared into the air and around the edges of the room, adapting to the capabilities of the broom. Harry focused on the silver key, ignoring everything around him so that Ginny could fly and use his vision at the same time. When they were sure that she could manoeuvre without becoming disoriented, she darted into the centre of the cloud towards the elusive key. As they expected, it shied away from her and flew erratically towards the other side of the room.
A whisper and a metallic clang interrupted Harry’s concentration. Looking around, he saw Hermione hex a second key out of the air with Finite Incantatem, being careful to aim away from where Ginny was flying. Noticing his look, Hermione shrugged. “It’s good practice, and there will be fewer keys for her to fly through.”
Ron took up station in the middle of the room and attempted to hit the one of the keys with a spell also. His aim was not as good as Hermione’s, but just as Harry decided that his friend’s efforts were futile, Ron connected with a spell, and a key fell to the ground.
Returning his attention to the keys above him, Harry ignored the sounds of his friends’ activities. He quickly relocated the correct key, which Ginny had lost sight of a few moments after losing Harry’s help. Together, they tracked it around the edges of the room, and Ginny flew as quickly as she could. Her hair and robes brushed the walls and ceiling as she weaved, but she refused to slow down and let the key get away of her.
Careful, Ginny.
Different from down there, isn’t it?
I know, but . . .
I’ll be fine, Harry.
She inverted herself in midair again, following the silver key in its erratic path. When it drifted closer to one of the corners, she flew towards it in a curve instead of a straight line. When the key was directly between her and the corner, she straightened and sprinted towards it. Trapped by the corner, the key hesitated for a moment and then darted along the wall at an angle towards the floor. Ginny used her momentum to cut the corner of its path and reached out with her left hand. Her fist closed around the small key just as her knuckles brushed lightly along the stone wall. Turning, she braked as hard as she could to avoid a collision with the wall or the floor. She managed it, but her landing was harder than usual, and she had to bend her knees sharply to absorb the impact as her feet hit the ground.
Dropping the broom, she crossed to Harry. “Here you are, Harry,” she said, grinning impishly as she pressed the key into his hand.
The memory surfaced for both of them, and Harry snorted in laughter. Not fair. There’s no dirt here for you to brush off of my shoes.
Why would I do a silly thing like that? she asked.
“That was brilliant, Ginny,” Ron said.
Harry rolled his eyes. Spoilsport. This doesn’t mean you win.
Yes, it does.
She smiled at her brother. “Thanks, Ron.”
“We should go,” Hermione suggested in a low voice.
The urgency of their situation came back to Harry and Ginny, and their smiles faded instantly. “Yeah,” she said. She picked up the broom and leaned it against the wall as Harry fitted the key to the lock. It turned easily, and he released the key to flutter weakly around near the floor.
They all stepped through the doorway, and it clicked shut behind them. Looking around, Harry and Ginny saw a double row of tall white statues in front of them. The square flagstones of the room were laid in an alternating pattern of black and white.
Ron took a step forward and looked towards the far side of the room. “It’s a chessboard,” he breathed.
Gazing around again, Harry and Ginny recognised the configuration. The four students stood immediately behind the white king and queen, on the edge of the board. Across the chamber, the black pieces formed a threatening wall in front of another door, which was flush with the far edge of the board. To the left and right, beyond the coloured squares, were narrow strips of open floor. The entire room was lit by a row of large torches mounted high on all four of the walls.
The pieces themselves were incredible works of sculpture, magical or otherwise. Each one, with the exception of the castles, took the form of a tall, faceless human. The kings and queens were tallest, with crowns to indicate their status. The knights were armoured and rode huge stone horses, and the bishops wore long, flowing robes and mitres. In front of them, the pawns were shorter, broader figures.
Each humanoid piece carried a weapon. Heavy sceptres for the king and queen, maces for the bishops, longswords and shields for the knights, and pole arms for the pawns. Each weapon, though carved from stone, looked deadly.
“We have to play our way across the room?” Hermione wondered.
Unexpectedly, the white king turned its head towards them and nodded silently.
“Do we just tell you what to do, then?” Harry asked. The king shook his head and then stepped to the side of its square. Unfolding its crossed arms, it pointed at the place where it had just been standing. “We take your place?” The king nodded.
Ginny took a step forward. “All on the same square?” The tall statue shook its head again. “One piece for each of us?” It nodded.
Harry looked around one more time and then turned to his friends. “How should we do this?”
“Well, no offence or anything,” Ron said. “But I really should . . .”
“Definitely,” Harry replied before Ron could finish. “We’re not stupid enough to try this ourselves when you’re around. Where do you want us?”
Ron frowned and rubbed his forehead for a few moments. “Well, Harry, you’re the one who really needs to get through this, right? I mean . . . you beat You-Know-Who before, so maybe you can beat Snape, too. And Ginny can go wherever you go.”
Reluctantly, Harry nodded.
“So you should be the king,” Ron continued. “That way, if we win at all, you’ll be able to go forward.”
“What do you mean, ‘able’?” Hermione asked nervously.
Ron turned to her, his face solemn. “It’s wizard’s chess, Hermione. These pieces probably fight each other. I’ll do my best to protect us all, of course, but . . .”
“Oh,” she replied. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then looked at them all again. “Well, if that’s the way it is, then that’s the way it is.”
Ginny reached out and squeezed Hermione’s arm as Ron gave instructions. “So Harry will be the king. Ginny, you be the queen. It’s a dangerous position, but I can get you away from anything that tries to hurt you if I have to. Hermione, you be the bishop on Ginny’s side. I’ll take the knight on Harry’s.”
Harry stepped into the centre of the king’s square. When the statue did not move, he reached out and touched its stone knee. The figure bowed and then walked heavily off to the right side of the room to stand in the open area. Ginny did the same with the queen and stood at Harry’s left. Hermione and Ron took their places, and when the bishop and knight had joined the collection of white pieces at the side of the room, the chamber fell into an eerie silence.
“Alright,” Ron said after a moment. “White goes first.” He took a deep breath and spoke firmly. “Pawn to queen’s bishop four.”
The pawn standing in front of Hermione walked forward two squares, and the game began. For a long while, the pieces moved around each other, and none were taken. Ron avoided moving any of the living pieces for as long as he could, but finally he moved out into the area in front of his friends.
“Be careful, Ron,” Ginny said.
Her brother nodded, never taking his eyes off of the board around him. “Can’t play chess without moving the pieces.” His voice was distant, and his mind was clearly engaged on the game instead of what they were saying.
Several moves later, a black pawn moved diagonally to attack one of the white pawns. The dark piece lowered its pike from its shoulder and prodded viciously at the white piece, which did not attempt to defend itself. The weapon struck its chest with a loud crack, and the white pawn slumped to the floor. The black piece dragged its fallen opponent to the side of the board with the other inert white pieces, and then it returned to the square it had claimed.
Ron gulped as he looked around the board. “Wizard’s chess, alright.”
The game continued. Ron lost more pawns and the other white knight, but he took an equal number of black pieces in exchange. He finally asked Hermione to move, placing her in front of Ginny. None of his friends asked him to explain what he was doing or why. In this, if in nothing else, Ginny and Harry knew to defer to her brother.
The black king had moved closer to the right side of the board, and Ron began moving himself and other pieces in that direction. At the same time, the black queen moved steadily towards where Harry, Ginny, and Hermione still stood. The game went on, and Ron moved Ginny towards the black king with the other pieces. She found herself facing the opposing king diagonally, and in response the tall figure moved backwards on its next turn to stand at the edge of the board, one square from the corner.
Ron had been directing the pieces steadily, never pausing for very long between moves. After the black king’s retreat, however, he stood silently for several minutes. He was in one of the centre squares of the board, facing a black pawn in front of him and the black queen ahead and to his left.
“Ron?” Ginny finally asked from her position across the board in front of him.
He straightened and turned to face Hermione, who still stood diagonally in front of Harry. Harry himself had not moved at all. “Alright, this is what’s going to happen. Hermione, you’re going to move ahead and to your right, all the way to the edge of the board, to take that black pawn.” Hermione took a step towards the edge of her square, but Ron called out to stop her. “Stop! Listen first, then move.”
The red-haired boy took a deep breath. “After you move, the black queen should take me.”
“Ron, no!” Hermione cried.
“There’s got to be another way,” Ginny protested from behind him.
He turned to her and shook his head. “There isn’t. If she takes me, we can win without any of you being in danger. If I try to get away from her, we might win, and I don’t know who would be standing at the end. This is the best way.”
Hermione pointed frantically at the black queen’s sceptre. “But Ron, she could kill you!”
“That’s a chance we’ll have to take,” Ron replied, his voice sounding strained. After a long moment, the redhead shrugged as though resigned, and then he straightened his shoulders as he turned back to Hermione. “Alright, the queen should take me right after you move. Then, you’re going to tell this pawn,” he pointed back over his left shoulder, “to take the queen. I’m at king’s four, so that’s where you’ll tell it to go. Right?”
“Right,” Hermione said in a subdued voice.
“Good. I don’t know exactly what black will do after that, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing they can do will hurt any of you or change the ending. So after they move, Ginny, you’ll move one square diagonally so that you’re standing right in front of the king. That’ll be checkmate.”
“I see it,” Ginny agreed, nodding slowly. She sniffed softly and whispered, “Great game, Ron.”
“Thanks, Ginny. Hex Snape at least once for me, okay?”
“We’ll come back for you, Ron,” Harry promised. “Whatever happens.”
“Get the Stone first,” Ron insisted. “Now come on, we’re wasting time. Hermione, go ahead and take that pawn.”
Hermione opened her mouth to say something else, but she stopped herself and simply nodded. Squaring her shoulders, she marched across the board on the black squares. When she reached the opposing pawn, she hesitated for a moment. Then, shrugging, she reached out and smacked her hand against its stone leg. The tall figure bowed its head at her, walked off the edge of the board, and slumped to the floor with its fallen comrades.
Shaking her hand but looking satisfied, Hermione turned back towards the centre of the board. After only a moment, the black queen stepped from her square into Ron’s and raised her sceptre. With a whoosh of displaced air, she swung it down towards the boy’s head. Hermione whimpered and covered her face, but Ron only closed his eyes and stood still. Ginny and Harry watched, transfixed, as the stone rod passed an inch over her brother’s head, accompanied by a flash of red light. He collapsed to the floor.
“Ron!” Hermione and Ginny shouted.
“Don’t move!” Harry reminded them.
The queen picked Ron up by the back of his robes and carried him to the side of the board, where she set him on the ground. Then she walked back to the square he had occupied and faced Harry from only three spaces in front of him. There was only blank stone where her face should have been, but somehow that made her even more menacing.
Taking a deep breath, Hermione turned back to the game. “Pawn to king’s four!” she shouted.
The white pawn rammed his pike into the torso of the black queen’s larger figure. The queen fell, and the pawn dragged her out of the way, leaving Harry with no black pieces anywhere near him. The three remaining students waited for a few long moments for one of their opponents to move. At last, one of the black pawns stepped forward, threatening the pawn that had felled its queen.
Without hesitation, Ginny stepped forward and to her right. “Checkmate!” she shouted viciously, seeking some small measure of revenge for the loss of her brother. The black king bowed and placed its crown at Ginny’s feet. The other chess pieces, of both colours, walked to the sides of the room, leaving the friends’ path to the exit completely clear.
Instead of going directly to the door, they crossed to where Ron lay. Hermione reached him first and sighed in relief. “He’s breathing,” she said as she shook his shoulders. “But he’s not waking up.”
“We’ll have to leave him,” Ginny said. “He should be okay. I think the pieces just use Stunning Spells. I don’t know of any other spells that have a red colour and knock someone out,” she added hopefully.
“He’ll be fine,” Harry said confidently. “We can levitate him out of here on our way back.”
Nodding, Ginny leaned down and patted her brother’s hand. “Sleep well, Ron.”
The three friends went to the door and pulled it open. They walked down a low, narrow corridor to another wooden door. After glancing at Hermione to make sure she was ready, Harry opened the second door.
The room beyond was approximately the size of Harry’s dormitory, but it had a much higher ceiling. Lying in the middle of the stone floor was a massive troll, and an equally large club lay a few feet away. They approached it cautiously, but the ugly creature did not stir. They stood silently for a moment, watching the unmoving troll.
“I suppose it’s not so bad that Ron didn’t have to see this,” Hermione offered.
Harry and Ginny nodded. They knew that Hermione was remembering what had happened at Halloween, just as they were.
“Come on,” Ginny said. “That’s one less thing we have to worry about.”
The far side of the troll’s room did not have a door. Instead, another small corridor extended into darkness. Hermione lit her wand, and they followed the corridor until they arrived at the threshold of another small room.
They peered inside from the corridor, but the room held nothing more than a small table. Lined up on its top were seven bottles of various sizes and colours, and in front of them rested a rolled scroll of parchment. On the other side of the room was another doorway. Once again it was too dark for them to see what lay beyond.
Harry crossed to the table with Ginny at his side and Hermione close behind. When he was a few feet into the room, black flames sprang up in the doorway ahead of them. Spinning around, Ginny saw that purple flames now blocked the doorway from which they had entered. Both sets of flames were thick and completely opaque, blocking their view of whatever lay on the other side.
They turned back to the bottles. Each one was a different size, and they all held some quantity of liquid. As Harry continued to study the bottles, Ginny picked up the parchment, unrolled it, and held it so that she and Hermione could both read it.
Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,
Two of us will help you, whichever you would find,
One among us seven will let you move ahead,
Another will transport the drinker back instead,
Two among our number hold only nettle wine,
Three of us are killers, waiting bidden in line.
Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore.
To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:
First, however slyly the poison tries to hide
You will always find some on nettle wine's left side;
Second, different are those who stand at either end,
But if you would move onward, neither is your friend;
Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,
Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;
Fourth, the second left and the second right
Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight.
Before Ginny had finished reading, Hermione sniffed at her side. “Arrogant, that’s what it is.”
“What do you mean?” Harry asked. “It looks like a pretty tough puzzle to me. Probably Snape’s idea.”
“I’m sure it’s quite challenging for wizarding folk,” Hermione explained, “but it’s just a carefully worded version of a common Muggle puzzle. Haven’t you seen it before, Harry? I did it in school two years ago.”
“Err, no,” Harry admitted. “I might have seen it, I suppose, but . . . well, it’s not the sort of thing I’d have looked at for very long.”
“Oh,” she replied, lowering her eyes. “Well, I’m sure you could do it now.”
Harry and Ginny skimmed the parchment again. “Yeah, maybe so,” he admitted. “But why bother, when you’re here?”
Hermione grinned faintly at him, rolled her eyes, and then pulled the puzzle out of Ginny’s hands. She read it once more before handing it back. Without hesitating, she pointed at the smallest bottle in the collection. “This one will take you forward,” she said. Then, pointing to a large, rounded bottle at the right end of the line, she continued. “And this one will take you back through the purple flames.”
Harry dubiously picked up the smallest bottle. It was little more than a vial, containing no more liquid than a thimble might. The decision was easy.
It’s not as though we’d send her on alone, Ginny commented.
She’d go if we asked her to.
Ginny nodded and turned to her friend. “Alright, Hermione. You drink from the larger one and get out of here. Harry will use the other potion to go through the black flames, and I’ll move to him once he’s across.”
“But, Ginny, I want to help,” Hermione pleaded.
“You can,” Harry said. “Get back to Ron and take him out of here. Then go to the Owlery and send Hedwig to find Dumbledore. He might get here in time to stop Snape on the way back out. We’ll do our best to slow him down, at least.”
“Harry, what if You-Know-Who is in there with him?”
Together, they shrugged, but Ginny answered. “We have to try, even if he is.”
Hermione closed her eyes and nodded. “I know you do,” she whispered. With a slight whimper, she leapt forward and put an arm around each of their necks, pulling them against her shoulders. Ginny put an arm around her friend, and Harry hesitantly followed her lead on the other side.
“You take care of yourselves,” Hermione said, her voice catching. “I don’t care how strange your lives are, you’re still the very best people I know. If anyone in the world can get that stone back, it’s you. And if you can’t . . .” she trailed off and sobbed quietly. “If you really just can’t, then please, please get out of there.”
“We’ll do our best, Hermione,” Ginny said. “Harry won’t let me do anything foolish, and I won’t let him, either.”
Hermione released them and stepped back. “You’re already doing something foolish. We all are.”
“Get going, then,” Harry said. “See if you can get us out of it. The sooner you send Hedwig, the sooner Dumbledore will get back to the castle.”
Their friend nodded firmly, her resolve showing itself once more. She picked up the large bottle and drank deeply. As she set the bottle back down, she grimaced and shivered. “Goodness, that’s cold.”
Hermione turned back the way they had come. “I’ll get help here as fast as I can,” she promised. Then, with a final glance and a slight wave, she launched herself into a sprint that carried her through the purple flames and out of sight down the corridor beyond.
Ginny reached out and squeezed Harry’s hand. Ready?
Not much choice, is there?
No, she said. I’ll be there as soon as you’re through the fire.
Do we need a plan?
She shrugged. Hex him. Use the Full Body Bind. Then we can figure out the rest.
He shook his head ruefully and then pulled her into a tight hug. I don’t know how we got this way, Ginny, but I’m glad it happened. I can’t imagine being here without you.
Me neither.
They pulled apart, and Harry picked up the tiny vial. After removing the stopper, he drank it quickly and tried to ignore the sour flavour as his mouth puckered. An icy feeling crept across his body, marked by goose pimples on his flesh.
He quickly walked towards the doorway as a mixture of confidence, affection, fear, and concern washed between them both. Mixed in with their swirling emotions was a silent promise to stay together.
Always.
No matter what.
Harry squared his shoulders and raised his chin defiantly. Without looking back, he stepped through the black flames and into the corridor beyond, his wand out.
The black flames tickled Harry’s skin and felt warm, but they were not hot enough to bother him. He took three steps through them and then emerged on the other side. Instantly, Ginny was next to him, and they felt the true heat of the fire on her skin from two feet away.
Cautiously, the pair moved down the short corridor and eased open the door in front of them. They looked into the next chamber to see, as expected, a figure in a black cloak standing with its back to them.
Quickly stepping into the room, Harry and Ginny moved to the side of the doorframe, and neither of them noticed the door closing behind them with a soft click. It took them a moment to register that the figure before them did not have lank black hair. In fact, it did not have any visible hair at all. Instead, its head was completely wrapped in a familiar turban.
“Professor Quirrell?!” Harry asked, too stunned to do any of the things they had considered. Ginny’s mind was equally frozen by the completely unexpected realisation that it was not Snape who was stealing the Stone after all.
The figure spun around, and their Defence professor stared at them down the length of his drawn wand. His lips twisted into a cruel smile, and neither his face nor his wand twitched at all. “Hello, Potter. I thought I might see you here.” His eyes jumped to Ginny. “And the Weasley girl, of course. Can’t seem to find one of you without the other. No matter. Witnesses are no longer an important issue.”
“But . . . Snape was . . .” Ginny spluttered.
“Ah, yes. Dear Severus. He made a quite convenient distraction, even if he is far too clever for his own good.”
“He tried to kill me!” Harry protested.
“Foolish boy!” the professor barked. “I tried to kill you. That idiot Snape was trying to save you by steadying your broom. When that jumped-up Mudblood brat set his robes on fire, he drew too much attention, and I had to let you go. Pity. Another few seconds and I would have had you off that broom.”
Harry and Ginny could almost feel the malevolent hatred radiating off of the man as he lectured them in a cold, harsh tone.
“Then that idiot had to go and volunteer to referee the next match. As though I am stupid enough to try the same thing twice! I wonder if perhaps he really did want to keep you Gryffindors from winning. He hates you, of course, and I’m sure he did not enjoy having to protect you. Such a petty man.”
Quirrell’s smile widened, and his eyes glinted madly. “But no matter. I’m going to kill you tonight, and the delay he caused is inconsequential.”
His wand twitched, and Harry dropped to a crouch to avoid the curse he expected, while Ginny immediately moved off to the side. However, the white light was not aimed at him, and it struck Ginny squarely in spite of her attempt at evasion. Her arms snapped to her sides, and her legs locked together, causing her to topple slowly sideways towards Harry. Dropping his wand, he scrambled across the flagstones and caught her before her head hit the ground. He looked down into her face in concern, and she stared up at him with fear and resolution in her eyes and mind.
Stop him, Harry! Just stop him!
Lowering her quickly yet gently to the flagstones, he grabbed his wand from beneath her legs. He tried to remove the Full Body Bind, but as he started the incantation he belatedly realised that Quirrell had already sent another spell on its way. Harry’s wand flew out of his hand and landed on the far side of the room even as Harry himself was thrown several feet away from where Ginny lay.
“Yes,” Quirrell said. “I am going to kill you. Your little friend can watch and see the whole thing before I kill her, too. She’s so easily frightened . . . I’m sure she’ll enjoy it immensely.” A wave of his wand turned Ginny onto her side, and they saw Quirrell approach Harry from her point of view.
Harry! Get my wand!
He climbed to his hands and knees and scrambled back towards Ginny, already focused on the wand still clenched in her hand. Before he had covered half the distance, however, he was struck by another spell, and thick ropes wound tightly around his body. He, too, fell stiffly to the floor, although he landed face down.
“You see, Potter? You are no match for me, even if you did manage to beat my troll.” A foot pushed roughly under Harry’s hip and flipped him onto his back. Quirrell looked down at him, still smiling malevolently. “Did you know, Potter? You killed that lovely troll. Bashed its head in. Did you enjoy it?” He shook his head and straightened. “Never mind. I’m sure you did, even if you won’t admit it.”
Ginny was slightly alarmed at the unexpected news. We didn’t know that! Ron doesn’t know that!
He doesn’t need to, either.
“You let the troll in?” Harry asked aloud.
“You are dim, aren’t you? Of course I did. I have a special affinity for trolls, you see. Very helpful creatures, really. Big enough and just smart enough to be useful, but not so rare as to be really valuable. The first one distracted everyone quite nicely, and its life was well worth the effort. But Snape already suspected me, and he tried to get past that damned dog thinking I’d already done it. I ‘rescued’ him, of course, but I should have waited a few moments longer.”
Quirrell smiled in a horrifying way at the thought, his mouth twisting into a demented façade of happiness. “Perhaps neither one of us would have to worry about Snape anymore. That would have been nice. Now, Potter, be quiet. I have to retrieve the Stone for my Master before I’ll be allowed to take the time to kill you and your friend properly.”
Quirrell spun away from Harry, and whatever he was studying was blocked from Harry’s view by the man’s back.
It’s the mirror, Harry! Ginny yelled, drawing his attention to her vision. He’s looking at the Mirror of Erised!
Why is it here?
Dumbledore must have put it here to guard the Stone.
How could it do that? he wondered as they both tried to work out the puzzle.
“There is nothing else left to guard or block, so the Stone must be in the mirror,” Quirrell muttered. “I see it . . . I see myself holding it and presenting it to the Dark Lord. But how do I get it out?”
Harry and Ginny’s minds were racing as they tried to figure out both the puzzle Quirrell represented and the best way to keep him from getting the Stone.
I wish we could reach one of the pendants now, Ginny said, frustrated by her inability to move. McGonagall would ruddy well believe us if she heard this lunatic talking.
“Snape was trying to stop you, that day in the forest, wasn’t he?” Harry asked, hoping to interrupt the man’s concentration.
“Yes,” Quirrell said absently, circling the mirror slowly. “He was trying to frighten me. As though I would possibly be afraid of him while in the service of the Dark Lord.”
“You’ve been meeting Voldemort in the forest?”
He chuckled darkly. “No, foolish boy. Once, I did meet the Dark Lord in a forest in Albania, and he educated me in the ways of real power. I have been most fortunate to serve, but I have no need to meet him anywhere anymore. He is with me wherever I go, as befits his most useful servant. I have served him faithfully, though I have failed him more than once in my weakness. Ever since I failed to steal the Stone from Gringotts, he has kept a close eye on me to ensure that I do not falter again.”
I saw him that day! Harry remembered. Hagrid must have taken the Stone out of the vault just minutes before he tried to steal it.
You couldn’t have known, Harry, Ginny said, struggling and failing to wiggle her fingers or toes.
Quirrell returned to the front of the mirror and faced it again. “The Stone must come out somehow. Do I have to find a way to break it?”
Hope surged through Ginny and Harry as they remembered what Bill had told them in his letter. “How else would you get something out of a mirror?” Harry asked, feigning ignorance.
“Fool!” Quirrell snapped. “You know nothing of magic. And yet . . .” He trailed off and then raised his wand to tap the surface of the mirror. “Perhaps, in this case . . . from the mouths of babes, indeed . . . “
A harsh, breathy voice seemingly emerged from the mirror itself. “No!” it rasped. “If you destroy the mirror, the Stone is lost.”
Quirrell leapt back from the mirror, hunching forward as though cringing from an unseen presence. “Forgive me, My Lord. I did not think.”
The voice spoke again, and this time Harry and Ginny, hearing it from two different locations, could tell that it was somehow coming from Quirrell himself. “Use the boy,” it said.
Their professor straightened and turned to Harry. With a wave of his wand, the ropes disappeared, and then Quirrell lifted Harry to his feet by the front of his robes and dragged him in front of the mirror. When the man released him, Harry brought his left arm up to his chest, cradling it in his right hand as though he had been injured. As casually as he could, he wrapped his fingers around the circular pendant at his throat and squeezed it tightly. Harry tried valiantly to think only of McGonagall instead of the man behind him or the fact that Voldemort was here, somehow, inside Hogwarts.
Come on, Professor!
“What do you see, Potter?” Quirrell demanded harshly.
Bill’s words came back to him for a moment. Mirrors always reflected something, but the trick was to find out what they really reflected. Harry and Ginny knew that somehow, Dumbledore had altered the reflection now that the Stone was inside the mirror. But what would it reflect now? And what did they hope it would reflect?
Harry squeezed his eyes shut as they thought quickly, attempting to decide on an answer to Quirrell’s question while continuing to think of McGonagall. The original mirror showed us what we most want. What do we want most?
To keep Voldemort from getting the Stone, Ginny supplied.
So it should show me how to do that. But what do I tell him I see?
Use Ron’s!
His eyes snapped open, and he gazed into the mirror. Once again, his own reflection faded and was replaced by an image of Ginny. This time, instead of a clean Hogwarts uniform, he saw her as she was. Her uniform was dishevelled from being worn all day and then abused by the Devil’s Snare, her hair was tangled from her flight in the key room, and her robes hung open. But she was smiling with both happiness and affection, and she winked at him conspiratorially.
That is weird! Ginny said from her place on the floor, interrupting her desperate recollection of their last Sunday meeting with their Head of House.
The Ginny in the mirror rolled her eyes and reached into her pocket. When she pulled out her hand, she was holding a rough, red stone that pulsed slightly with its own light. The image widened her eyes dramatically and mouthed, “The Philosopher’s Stone!” Then the Stone slipped out of her hand, causing Harry and Ginny’s hearts to skip a beat, but the image caught the Stone easily in her other hand, smirked at him, and put it back into her pocket. At that moment, they both felt something pressing against Ginny’s hip through the fabric of her robes.
I’ve got it, Harry, she cried. I’ve got the Stone!
Well don’t say anything!
How the bloody hell could I? Ginny asked, half-hysterically.
Quirrell shook Harry roughly. “Well, Potter? What do you see? How do I get the Stone?”
Harry tried to calm himself after the moment of euphoria, and Ginny returned her attention to thoughts of McGonagall. “I see . . . I see myself, holding the Quidditch Cup. I’ve got a badge on . . . I’m Quidditch Captain!”
“Get out of the way, boy!” Quirrell shouted, pushing Harry roughly to the side. He looked into the mirror again and released a frustrated grunt.
Harry backed across the room as quietly as possible, hoping to reach Ginny’s wand and release her, while he kept his hand on the pendant. As he moved, the small metal disc finally warmed under his palm. He had taken only two steps when the strange voice spoke again.
“He lies . . . the boy lies . . .”
Quirrell spun to face him, once more aiming his wand at Harry’s chest. “Tell the truth, Potter! What did you see?”
“Let me speak to him,” the harsh voice said. “Face to face . . . let me see him . . .”
“Master, you are not strong enough!” Quirrell protested.
“I have strength enough . . . for this.”
Harry froze as the meaning of Quirrell’s words registered. The voice . . .
Voldemort! But where? How?
He stood frozen as Quirrell began unwrapping the turban from his head. When the last layer of cloth had been removed, they saw that Quirrell was completely bald, and Ginny could see an odd lump near the back of his head. The professor dropped the cloth to the floor and spun slowly in place.
Ginny screamed into the stunned silence of their minds as the back of Quirrell’s head became visible, and Harry felt as though he had been petrified as well. Where there should have been smooth skin, they saw a grotesque face on the back of his head. Its features were pinched, but it had large, protruding red eyes above a flattened nose and a lipless mouth. The red eyes blinked slowly, and the skin of Quirrell’s entire head shifted as it spoke.
“Harry Potter,” it breathed. “We meet again. Does it please you to see what I have become? Do you feel triumphant? You would prefer me dead, I am sure, but it will take far more to kill Lord Voldemort. I have shared others’ bodies and gained strength from the blood of unicorns, drunk by my faithful servant here. But no more. Now that I have found the Philosopher’s Stone, the Elixir of Life will enable me to create a new body. One more fitting for the greatest Dark Lord in history”.
“Now, boy,” it whispered. “Why don’t you give it to me?”
He doesn’t know you’ve got it! Harry exulted silently. We have to make sure he keeps thinking I have it. He released his pendant and reached down to cup his hand on his robes, as though grasping an object in his pocket.
Be careful, Harry!
Harry took a step backwards and to the side, further from where Ginny lay helpless.
“Save your own life, Harry,” Voldemort said as Quirrell walked backwards to follow Harry across the room. “If you give me the stone, you need not meet the same fate as your parents. They died screaming and begging for mercy. Is that what you want for yourself?”
Harry knew little of his parents, but he knew better than to believe the words of a creature such as Voldemort. “You’re lying,” he whispered.
“Such courage. Such lovely, foolish courage. Yes, boy, your parents had it, too. I killed your father first, though he did try to fight me. But your mother need not have died. She was trying bravely and foolishly to protect you. If you do not give me the Stone, they will both have died in vain.”
Harry could not conceive that his parents were not brave, based on what he had been told and his view of them in that very same mirror. They had surely not given in to the Dark Lord’s demands, and neither would he. “Never!” Harry shouted.
He sprang towards the closed door. He had no intention of leaving, but he needed to distract Quirrell and Voldemort until he could get to Ginny’s wand.
“Stop him!” Voldemort ordered. Ginny saw Quirrell wave his wand, and the tall black flames reappeared along all four walls of the room, blocking the door and reducing the space available to Harry for manoeuvring.
Abandoning deception, Harry leapt directly towards Ginny. She watched as Quirrell’s hand caught Harry’s wrist, and they both yelled, mentally and vocally, as a searing agony shot through Harry’s body from the scar on his forehead. Quirrell released him abruptly, and Harry stumbled away in a daze towards the mirror. The demented professor hunched over his hand, cradling it and moaning in pain, but then he turned to pursue Harry with his wand at the ready.
We have to get you out of here! Harry shouted to Ginny. We have to get the Stone away!
I won’t leave you! she protested.
You can’t help while you’re petrified, and I can’t get to your wand to end the curse.
Your wand! Ginny suggested. It went behind the mirror. Look, I can see it!
Following her gaze, he spotted his wand on the other side of the mirror. He moved towards it, but another wall of fire leapt into existence across the middle of the room, cutting Harry off from his wand. He turned back to face Quirrell, sidling around the edges of the open area and stalling for time.
Ginny, you have to go! If you get away, I can leave too, but we have to get the Stone away!
Where can I go? I can’t move even if I go somewhere.
It’s too late for McGonagall to be in her office, and no one would notice you in the dorms.
The hospital wing? she wondered. Pomfrey’s always there. Do we remember it well enough?
The horrible time they had spent in the hospital wing on Christmas Day had never really faded from their memory. Mrs. Weasley would not be lying bloody and unconscious on a bed, and Fawkes would not be disappearing in a flash of orange fire, but they remembered the room itself clearly.
Apparently unnoticed by Quirrell and Voldemort, Ginny vanished and reappeared just above the floor of the hospital wing, near the matron’s office. The one-inch drop to the cold stone floor was barely noticeable compared to the fight still going on back in the chamber. In her peripheral vision, she could see that the doors to both the matron’s office and the hallway were closed.
At the same moment, Voldemort shouted, “Seize him!” Quirrell lunged forward, taking advantage of Harry’s distraction as he focused on moving Ginny. The larger man’s hands closed around his neck, and pain shot through his body again. He shouted wildly, and tears leaked from the corners of Ginny’s eyes as she lay frozen on the floor of the hospital wing.
Through his own pain, Harry could see that Quirrell’s face was contorted with agony. “Master!” Quirrell shouted. “I cannot hold him! My hands . . . my hands!”
Harry looked down and saw the skin of the older man’s wrists blistering and cracking. Moisture developed on Harry’s neck and dripped down towards the collar of his shirt, and a moment later he saw blood begin to seep through the flesh of Quirrell’s wrists, which was rapidly becoming shrivelled and discoloured.
Come on, Harry! Ginny pleaded.
It’s hurting him! he protested as they fought to keep the pain from overwhelming their consciousness.
The Stone is safe, she insisted. Come to me!
What about Voldemort? I can’t just let him get away again! I could beat him for real this time!
It’s not worth it! You could . . .
At that moment, Madam Pomfrey burst into the hospital wing from the door to the hallway. “Who’s there?” she called. Then she looked down, and her eyes came to rest on Ginny, who was lying almost at her feet. “Miss Weasley? Are you alright?”
Ginny still could not move, but she blinked rapidly as tears ran down her face into her hair. Thankfully, Madam Pomfrey recognised what was happening.
“Finite Incantatem!”
The moment her muscles unlocked, Ginny screamed.
Get away! Please, please, please get away! she begged Harry, pulling at him with all the power of her mind.
He panted heavily through the tight grip on his throat, even as he felt Quirrell’s hands dry out and rub his skin oddly, and focused on staying where he was. I can beat him! I can keep him from killing everyone we care about! I can do it! I have to do it!
Then I’m coming back to you!
No! Stay where you are, Ginny! You’re safe, the Stone is safe, and I’m going to stop him!
Harry, don’t do this! We promised to stay together!
Harry reached up and put his hands on Quirrell’s wrists, ignoring the flaking sensation under his palms, and held on tightly.
Pomfrey scooped Ginny into her arms, holding her head still with one hand and looking intently into her wide, panicked eyes. “Miss Weasley! What’s wrong?! Ginny? Come on, child, tell me what’s the matter.”
With an animalistic cry of pain, Quirrell jerked his hands away and out of Harry’s grip. His fingers had been reduced to bare bone, and even that crumbled as Harry watched. The disintegration travelled up the man’s arms as he continued to scream.
As the worst of the pain receded, Ginny gasped in Madam Pomfrey’s arms. “Harry,” she sobbed. “Harry!” Come back to me come back comebackcomeback . . .
Quirrell’s arms had now disintegrated completely, and his head was beginning to resemble that of a dried-out corpse. His eyes bulged above sunken cheeks, and his lips were stretched away from his mouth in a grotesque parody of a smile. He screamed again as his tongue receded and stiffened, and Harry heard Voldemort yelling from the back of the man’s head. With that odd chorus ringing in the room, Quirrell lowered his head and charged Harry. The last thing Harry saw before Quirrell slammed into him was the crazed professor’s robes falling away to reveal tattered, desiccated flesh clinging to his exposed ribs.
Harry fell backward under the man’s weight, stumbling and slipping in the ashes littering the floor. His feet flew out in front of him as his momentum carried him backwards. Quirrell slid off of him as he fell, giving voice to a horrible wail, and Harry thought that he might have finally succeeded in his mission. Just as he relented to Ginny’s insistent will, he saw darkness creeping into the edges of his vision. He did not think he was losing consciousness, though.
Quirrell’s black flames rose on either side of Harry’s body as he landed among them. He barely registered that fact before he felt the horrible burning pain in his back, stretching from his hips to the bottom of his shoulder blades.
Hundreds of feet apart, two children screamed in one voice.
A/N: The chess game depicted in this chapter is one that Garry Kasparov played against a computer called Constellation in 1985. I thought it was quite fitting. I did switch the colours as compared to canon. If you look closely, you might be able to determine why.
Chapter 23: Hurt
Author's Notes: Thanks, as always, to moshpit, Jonathan Avery, regdc, and Chreechree.
Ginny arched her back and thrashed her arms in Madam Pomfrey’s grip. The pain from Harry’s contact with the black flames utterly consumed her senses, shredding her consciousness, and she could no longer tell which body was suffering. Half a moment later, Harry’s intention to escape finally crystallised, and he appeared on the floor of the hospital wing on his back.
Pomfrey hastily eased Ginny to the floor and hurried to Harry’s side. His eyes were squeezed tightly closed, but Ginny managed to turn her head in spite of the pain and saw him laid out on the floor. His back was arched identically to hers, and his robes burned with black flames that did not die out as she watched. “Help him,” she gasped. “Oh, please, help him!”
Quickly, the matron levitated Harry and turned him face-down as she placed him on one of the beds. As he was rotated in midair, Ginny got a single glimpse of his back. Most of his school robes and shirt had been consumed, but the edges of the ragged hole still burned, and sullen black flames still flickered between his ribs and his hips. Ginny closed her eyes as she fought the bile rising in her throat.
When he came to rest on the bed, Harry unconsciously panted and whimpered into the pillow, one arm tensely hanging over the side of the bed frame and the other trapped in the remains of his robes. Every few moments, something caused a new surge of agony in his back. With each spike, Harry and Ginny yelled vocally and mentally, their voices mixing in a demonic chorus. Their minds and bodies were locked in confusion and overwhelmed by anguish.
Madam Pomfrey muttered a long incantation and swept her wand forcefully above Harry’s back. Distantly, Ginny saw the last of the flames disappear, and the trickle of sickly grey smoke coming from Harry’s body finally ceased.
The constant pain was still almost insurmountable, but Ginny laboriously dragged herself across the floor. Through the agony and reek of burned flesh, she grabbed Harry’s dangling hand and squeezed it tightly. Tears streamed unnoticed from their eyes.
The sensation of contact helped Ginny to focus slightly and to regain a faint sense of separation between their bodies. Harry was still lost in the pain and only vaguely aware of her hand crushing his.
Pomfrey’s here, Harry. She can help. Ginny pressed the back of his hand to her cheek and rocked slowly, fighting the torment, fighting the stench, and fighting the screaming of his mind. She’ll help. It’ll stop soon. Ginny slowly sank into a stupor while chanting It’ll stop soon over and over into their minds. The litany was the only thing she could focus on through the haze of horrible perceptions.
“Miss Weasley, I need you to move out of the way so that I can treat him.”
Ginny looked up through eyes clouded by pain and found Madam Pomfrey standing next to her. The matron was reaching awkwardly across Harry’s body to wave her wand over his back. Without hesitation, Ginny sank to her hands and knees and crawled under Harry’s hospital bed, trying to ignore the thickening of the sickly sweet smell clogging her nostrils.
“That will do.”
Once out of the way, Ginny pulled her knees to her chest to get her feet out of Pomfrey’s path. The cold tile floor provided another solid, reassuring sensation, letting Ginny fight her way into a semblance of coherent thought. She seized Harry’s hand with both of hers, brought it back to her cheek, and resumed her rocking and silent chanting. Amid the words, she silently projected her affection and assurances that he would soon be whole again. That they would soon be whole again.
Pomfrey moved into the space Ginny had left, and her robes swayed as she worked. Burned and smouldering scraps of black robe fell to the floor on either side of the bed, followed by barely-recognisable shreds of Harry’s uniform shirt. As she worked, the pain continued to hammer at their minds. It peaked a moment before each scrap of fabric fluttered to the floor. Ginny tried to ignore the strange, blackened lumps clinging to almost every shred of cloth on the floor beside her.
The sleeves of Harry’s robe and shirt fell to the floor, and then the rain of unbearable and charred things mercifully ceased. Pomfrey’s sharp voice came to them both from above. “I have to remove the curse from these wounds before I can heal them. I’m sorry, but I can do nothing to stop the pain until the curse is gone. Normally I would stun you, but . . .”
“No!” they exclaimed hoarsely together through Ginny’s lips. Harry’s body was still locked into a snarling rictus of pain and too overwhelmed by the physical sensations to allow conscious control. Even so, they knew that they preferred hours of agony to even a moment of near-oblivion.
“Very well. Try to remain still, Harry.” Her voice softened. “This will hurt.”
The hem of her robes swung again, and the pain tripled as a horizontal stripe of Harry’s lower back felt as though it were being ripped from his body. Harry and Ginny both yelled harshly, sounds from mouths and minds blending into an unholy, agonised plea. Ginny squeezed his hand spasmodically as his body involuntarily fought the pain, and he struggled to keep from lashing out at the matron.
Ginny . . . he gasped at last, struggling for any coherent thought. Something . . . something else . . .
Confusion played through their minds. They knew there was something he was struggling to realise, but they could not determine quite what it was. The pain warred with their thoughts.
Mine! he tried again. No! Yours! Something yours!
They finally realised the answer. Ginny pulled one of her hands away from Harry’s and wrapped her fingers around one of the metal legs of the infirmary bed. Harry! Harry, feel with me! The combined sensations of cold floor and the cold metal were enough for Ginny to begin to perceive them, but Harry’s pain still radiated through them both in excruciating waves.
She concentrated, ignoring Harry’s agony as much as she could. Gradually, she became able to perceive the cool rigidity of the metal as more than a wavering background impression. She ran her hand up and down the pole to keep from warming it in any one spot.
C’mon, Harry! Harry! Focus!
Another flash of pain ripped through their consciousness, eliciting both mental and verbal screams of unending misery. Ginny struggled to focus again and returned her attention to the metal under her hand. Finally, Harry was able to distantly feel what she felt.
Cool, he muttered. Hard.
Yes, Harry, it’s cool and hard, Ginny said, fighting her own tears from the shared agony. She kept her attention on the input of her own senses as much as she could.
Cool. Yours. Better. Harry’s thoughts were stronger, but then Madam Pomfrey moved again, and the pain returned in full force. The feel of the metal leg completely vanished from their attention. They had no knowledge of how long the misery lasted or when their mingled cries ceased, but when they had recovered slightly, Ginny thought of a new tactic. She removed her hand from the bed’s leg and pulled her tangled hair in front of her. She ran the back of her hand gently down the length of her hair, letting the loose waves tickle her skin.
Feel this, Harry. You like this! Focus, Harry! Focus!
His free hand, still clasped in hers, curled slightly to match the hand on her hair. As she moved her hand in long strokes, his wrist bent slightly to mimic her motions.
“Soft,” he croaked, not realising he had spoken aloud.
Ginny’s shaky burst of laughter emerged as a broken sob. It’s a mess, Harry.
“Pretty.” Soft. “Yours.” Better.
Madam Pomfrey bent down to look at Ginny and saw what she was doing. The older woman’s eyes flicked to Harry’s hand where it moved back and forth in Ginny’s grip in a weak echo of her own movements. “Well done, Miss Weasley,” she whispered. “It won’t be long, now.” She straightened, and the purposeful swaying of her robe resumed.
When the pain in Harry’s back peaked again, smashing through their fragile focus on each other, Ginny reflexively drove her fingers into her hair and pulled sharply down. As the red locks slid between her fingers, they caught in the tangles, and she felt Harry regain his focus more quickly in spite of his shaky mental state. The combination of sensations from her hand and her scalp was enough to keep them focused through Harry’s pain.
Don’t “hurt” yours“elf”, Harry said weakly. His thoughts were becoming slightly more coherent, but almost all of his energy was going into staying still and ignoring his own body. He had no idea of whether he was speaking audibly or mentally.
Ginny’s temper flared momentarily, and a hot spike of resentment flashed through both their minds. You’re the one to talk!
The momentary lack of sensation and the flash of anger broke their focus, and the driving pain that Harry’s body was experiencing returned in full force. Sorry. “Please?”
Knowing there were more important things at that moment, Ginny untangled her fingers and gripped her hair loosely, letting it slide unhindered across her palm.
The next spasm passed, and Ginny thought that perhaps it was less painful than the others had been, even though Harry’s mental screams were still terrifyingly real. She continued stroking her hair, and the repetitive motion was soothing in some obscure way. As she moved, the back of her hand slid along her cheek, where fresh tears fell in the tracks of older ones.
Sorry, Harry said through the haze of pain. So sorry. Sorrysorrysorry . . .
Later, Harry. Later.
Pomfrey’s voice came from above. “Once more, and it’s over.”
The pain spiked again, and Harry’s hand clenched as Ginny tightened her grip on her hair. Their cries were much softer, but Ginny suspected that the decreased volume was due to fatigue and vocal strain more than anything else. When the assault of agony finally passed, the matron’s robes swung in a broad motion, and the pain vanished completely. It was more than relaxing, because Harry’s entire back ceased to tell their minds anything at all. Harry and Ginny both released the breath they had been half-holding through the entire ordeal, and their bodies slumped weakly.
“The Numbing Charm will only last for a few minutes,” Pomfrey told them. “Long enough for me to apply a poultice and bandage the burns. Mr. Potter, I am going to Petrify your back to prevent you from moving. Just because you do not feel excessive pain does not mean that you cannot make things much worse by improperly stretching the skin. Once the Numbing Charm wears off, you will feel discomfort and a slight burning sensation, but it should be easily manageable - comparable to a sunburn, perhaps. Tomorrow we’ll start proper conditioning of the skin, but for tonight you must let the potions work.”
She muttered a spell they could not hear, and Harry’s torso stiffened under the effects of an immobilization spell. For a few blissfully painless minutes, Harry closed his eyes, and Ginny kept his hand pressed against her cheek. Their minds wandered over distant and indistinct images, but all coherence was lost in the sheer joy of the pain being gone. They did not speak at all and only let their sense of relief and mutual comfort soothe them as Madam Pomfrey worked on in silence.
They heard the door to the hospital wing slam into the adjacent wall, and when Harry opened his eyes, they saw Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall enter the room at a jog. McGonagall spotted the two students first, and she rushed towards their bed with a horrified gasp. All Ginny could see from her vantage point was an occasional flash of purple- or tartan-covered legs.
“Stay there, Minerva,” Pomfrey ordered. “They will be fine if I am not interrupted and quite otherwise if I am. Wait and be quiet until it’s your turn.”
Dumbledore and McGonagall both stopped in their tracks. The normally stern professor moved to one side and leaned down until she could see Ginny around Pomfrey’s legs. Flicking her eyes up towards Harry, she raised her eyebrows in question.
Ginny, huddled under the hospital bed and holding the back of Harry’s hand to her cheek, nodded faintly. McGonagall’s eyes closed, and Ginny heard her long exhalation. Then the professor opened her eyes again and gave Ginny a tiny smile of encouragement. With her free hand, Ginny reached into the pocket of her robes and pulled out the Philosopher’s Stone. She had completely forgotten about it until that moment, but seeing the Headmaster reminded her forcibly of why they were here and why they had suffered such agony.
Wordlessly, Ginny held the Stone in front of her for McGonagall to see. The older woman’s eyes widened, but then she nodded firmly. Ginny raised her shoulders slightly in question, and the professor made a small gesture with her hand in Dumbledore’s direction. Ginny scowled slightly and nodded.
It will be safe with Dumbledore, Harry said at last, some coherence returning to his mind as he shared Ginny’s perceptions.
I hope he does something better with it this time, she growled.
Yeah, we should never have been able to get through all that. Harry’s voice was laced with weakness and exhaustion, and it was all he could do to keep up with her thoughts.
Madam Pomfrey stepped away from the bed with a long sigh. “Very well, Mr. Potter. Your back will heal perfectly if you do not move improperly while the poultice heals the burn, and so you will continue to lie on your stomach with the Petrification in place. I shall give you Dreamless Sleep potions to ensure that you rest and to minimize the discomfort.”
Dreamless sleep? Harry was groggy, but the effect sounded very close to the unconsciousness Ginny had experienced while Stunned.
“What does the potion do, Madam Pomfrey?” Ginny asked in a whisper, her voice cracking slightly, fearing the answer.
“You may come out, Miss Weasley.” Ginny slowly climbed out from under the bed, carefully holding Harry’s hand in hers to avoid shifting his body, and leaned against the mattress. Harry lay under a thin sheet and was clothed in white hospital pyjama tops and bottoms. Through the thin material of the pyjamas, she could see that his back was swathed in thick white bandages. His socks, shoes, and the rest of his uniform were nowhere in sight. His back was beginning to feel warm, as it had after a long day labouring in the garden at Privet Drive, and his instinctive efforts to shift his shoulders failed utterly.
The matron ran her wand briefly over Ginny’s body. With a gentle hand on her chin, Pomfrey turned Ginny’s head to the side and then tapped the back of her head with her wand. A pain that Ginny had not yet noticed faded away, and then the matron continued. “The Dreamless Sleep potion is just that. Mr. Potter will sleep deeply for approximately eight hours at a time without having any dreams.”
“Thank you, Madam,” Ginny replied, wincing at the hoarseness of her own voice.
“Poppy, may we have a few minutes before you administer the potion?” Dumbledore asked quickly.
Pomfrey looked sharply at the Headmaster with a stern frown on her face. “No, you may not. Have you not paid any attention these last nine months? If you wish to speak to Mr. Potter, address Miss Weasley. There is no reason to interfere with his healing.”
Dumbledore blinked. “Ah. Yes. You’re quite right, of course.”
“Indeed,” Pomfrey snapped. “And at some point, we will discuss where Mr. Potter encountered Dark Fire. I hope your explanation is very convincing, unless you wish to require my services yourself.”
The matron crossed to the potions cabinet and returned with a small vial of liquid and a plastic straw. Pomfrey stopped and held Ginny’s gaze. Her voice became quite gentle as she continued. “You need not fear. It is nothing like the effects of the Stunning spell you encountered some months ago.”
Holding the potion in one hand, she dropped the straw into the vial and positioned its other end at Harry’s mouth. “Drink, Mr. Potter.”
Harry eyed the vial warily, but Ginny silently encouraged him to trust Madam Pomfrey’s assurance that the potion was harmless.
Obediently, Harry drank the foul liquid. No matter what he thought of the taste, Ginny insisted that he drink it quickly and begin the healing process. When he was finished, Madam Pomfrey moved away, and Ginny released Harry’s hand to kneel on the floor next to the head of his bed. With gentle fingertips, she reached out and stroked his forehead and cheek. His eyes, though their lids were already sagging, met hers from the shadow of her palm.
Ginny managed a small smile, and she watched as tears of relief began to gather in her eyelashes. You’re alive, Harry. You’re going to be alright.
Blinking more and more slowly, Harry swallowed once and nodded slightly.
Ginny looked into his green eyes and continued stroking his face until his eyelids closed and did not open again. The last thing he saw with his own vision was her face, smiling bravely and radiating her affection for him.
After the input from his body retreated to a faint echo, Ginny’s senses were the only ones they could actively perceive. As promised, it felt nothing like being Stunned, and they marvelled at the novel sensation of Ginny being fully awake and mostly alert while Harry slept.
Thank you, Ginny, he said. That really . . . that really helped. I’ve never . . . I mean . . .
I know, Harry, she replied gently. You’re welcome.
Sighing, she rose from her knees. As she leaned against the bed, she picked up his hand and held it in hers once again.
“He won’t dream?” she asked Madam Pomfrey.
“No, child.”
Ginny glared at the Headmaster. “Why didn’t you give this to us before?”
“The dreamless sleep potion causes serious problems if it is used regularly,” Dumbledore slowly replied. “It is also somewhat addictive.”
The Headmaster waved his wand and conjured two plush and comfortable chairs for himself and McGonagall. Another wave produced a padded stool for Ginny, which was tall enough that she could sit and hold Harry’s hand without discomfort for either of them.
Pomfrey sniffed. “You have precisely twenty minutes, Headmaster. Miss Weasley is uninjured, but she requires rest.”
“May I please sleep here, Madam Pomfrey?” Ginny asked. Her voice was still scratchy and slightly uncomfortable.
“I see no other option,” the older woman replied. She flicked her wand, and the next bed in the row slid across the floor until it butted against Harry’s. The sheets and blankets on the bed turned down perfectly, awaiting an occupant. Ginny stared longingly at the bed. They both wanted to just go to sleep and be left alone, but they knew that the Headmaster would not want to leave without at least some discussion of the evening’s events. Sighing in resignation, Ginny tried to find a comfortable position on the stool.
The matron leaned down in front of Ginny and looked her in the eyes. “Miss Weasley, your task whenever you are here is to ensure that Mr. Potter is not moved. When he is awake, you should also be certain that he does not move himself. He should only move when I am supervising his healing. Will you help me to ensure that?”
“Yes, Madam,” Ginny replied. “No one will touch him except you and me, and if he tries to move, I’ll petrify him myself.”
Gee, thanks, Ginny.
You’ll be happy if that’s all you get from my wand. The flicker of her anger and fear was a faint echo of her earlier feelings, but it was still tangible and immediate in their minds.
Pomfrey looked at her searchingly for a long moment. “I believe you, Miss Weasley, and I trust you.” She straightened and turned towards her office. The matron addressed the two professors in a tone that broached no argument, which Ginny thought was perfectly appropriate. “Twenty minutes, Headmaster.”
“Will you tell me what happened, Miss Weasley?” Professor Dumbledore asked after a moment of uncomfortable silence.
Ginny slowly pulled the Stone out of her pocket again and stared at it. It was rough and warm and red. Altogether, it was no more than an ugly, heavy rock, and she hated it and everything it represented.
They had spent weeks worrying over the Stone, trying to determine its nature and who wanted to steal it. When they eventually understood the danger, no one in authority had listened to them or even entertained their concerns. Ron was hurt, and Harry was incredibly lucky to be alive. She knew that it was ultimately Dumbledore’s fault, since he was the one who had it brought to the school. He was the one who had set up the protections. He was the one who had decided how the overgrown pebble would be dealt with in general.
Ginny stared at the Headmaster in hostile silence, unaware of the heat radiating from the point where her hand held Harry’s. McGonagall wiped at her brow absently as Dumbledore regarded Ginny with an infuriatingly calm expression. “None of this should have happened at all!” Ginny finally shouted as she threw the Stone at the Headmaster with all of her strength. “We’re like this because of you!”
Dumbledore quickly caught the Stone before it struck his forehead, and he gave Ginny a sad look as Professor McGonagall gasped. “Ginny . . .” she began, her tone tinged with faint reproach.
“No, Minerva,” Dumbledore said softly, raising one hand up to stop her chastisement. “Miss Weasley and Mr Potter are, unfortunately, quite correct. Sometimes, one can be too clever. I was certain of the protections the staff and I had created, so I grew complacent enough for Professor Quirrell to make his attempt.” Carefully, Dumbledore tucked the Stone into his robes. “Miss Weasley, Mr. Potter. I am deeply sorry for everything. Though it may mean little to you now, I thank you. You two have done me a great service this evening.”
Ginny stewed in the silence of their minds. She wanted to shout at the Headmaster, but her fatigue sapped her will to do so. She grudgingly admitted to herself, at least, that she had made mistakes as well. Harry had made even more mistakes, and she could never imagine not forgiving him. His remorse dulled the edges of their rage, leaving them feeling a simmering anger and a bone-deep exhaustion. Ginny did not care for Dumbledore nearly as much as she did for Harry, but she knew that eventually she would forgive him, as well.
“And what will you do with it now? More mazes, more traps, more hiding?” Ginny asked tersely, ignoring the raspy sound of her words. The faint discomfort of her voice was nothing compared to the pain that they had recently endured.
“What I should have done with it originally,” Dumbledore replied after a moment. “I have been in correspondence with Nicolas these past few weeks, and we have recently decided to destroy the Stone. As you have discovered, it can never be safe enough to risk its continued existence.”
They had not expected such a permanent solution, and Ginny blinked in surprise. “But then . . . your friend will die.”
“Yes, he will die. Nicolas and Perenelle are quite prepared for it, actually, and he finds some humour in the timing.” He sighed. “They are very old, Miss Weasley. They have been awake for a very long time, and they are ready to sleep. To someone your age, it seems quite final, I am sure. But to the well-organised mind, death is but the next great adventure.”
Tell that to Voldemort.
“What happened to Voldemort?” Ginny demanded at Harry’s unintentional prompting. “Is he dead now?”
Dumbledore smiled faintly. “I am glad to hear that you do not fear his name. As they say, fear of the name increases fear of the thing itself.” He sighed deeply again. “I am afraid that he has, once again, escaped. He appears to have abandoned Quirrell’s body in the last moments of your . . . struggle. Without a body from which to feed, he is much weaker than he was before, but he was still able to leave the castle.”
Bitterness washed over Ginny, and Harry’s fatigue reached new levels as they realised that everything they had endured had ultimately changed nothing. A single tear slid down Ginny’s cheek. “He’ll try again, then, won’t he?”
“Yes, Miss Weasley, Mr. Potter. He will, almost certainly. But you have thwarted him most effectively merely by slowing him down. Next time, if someone slows him down again, and then again the time after that, continuing ever on, then perhaps he will never succeed at all.”
“You seem to be awfully trusting that others will stop him,” Ginny whispered derisively. “He should never have had the chance in the first place!”
McGonagall opened her mouth to respond, but at that moment the doors to the hospital wing opened again. Ginny shot to her feet and drew her wand in a flash. The two professors rose more slowly and turned towards the door while drawing their own wands.
Hermione poked her head into the room, her wand held tightly in her fist, and looked around the door at them nervously. “Ginny!” she said in obvious relief.
On some level, they were happy to see their friend. Ginny’s frustration and Harry’s fatigue, however, were sapping their strength. Ginny almost wished that they had been left alone so that they could rest.
Before anyone could fully react, Hermione turned her head back into the hallway and quietly called out, “They’re here!” As she moved into the room, Ron, Neville, Fred, and George all followed her through the door. All four boys had their wands out and looked uniformly anxious.
McGonagall lowered her wand. “Close the door, please.”
George pushed the door closed, and the Headmaster sealed it with a spell as the new arrivals all hastily put away their wands.
“Ron!” Ginny said, standing up from her stool. She kept a firm but careful grip on Harry with her left hand and held her wand in her right. “Hermione got you out! You’re okay!”
Dumbledore chuckled loudly, and the corner of McGonagall’s mouth turned up in a faint grin. “Miss Granger was hardly prepared to be thwarted by such a trivial thing as our challenges,” she said.
“What do you mean?” Ginny asked. Then she turned to Hermione. “What does she mean?”
“I’ll tell you later,” her friend muttered, a look of embarrassment flashing across her features.
The twins moved around the adults and towards Ginny. She raised her wand, pointing it harmlessly at the ceiling, and they slid to a halt. “Don’t touch the bed,” she warned sharply. “Harry mustn’t be moved.”
“Okay, Ginny,” Fred said soothingly. “Can you let him go a moment?”
You’ll know if it matters, Harry told her.
Nodding, she placed Harry’s hand carefully on the bed, tucking it against his side. Then she stepped towards her twin brothers, and George picked her up and hugged her. “Merlin, Ginny. Don’t scare us like that.”
“It had to be done, George,” Ginny whispered, her lingering anger slowly fading as she luxuriated in the warmth of her brothers’ affection and concern. She stepped back from him and was immediately swept up by Fred.
“What had to be done?” George asked when she was back on her feet. “Ron told us all kinds of insane things that you four went through, but he wouldn’t say why.”
Ginny’s resentment returned as she was abruptly reminded of the reason they were in the Infirmary at all, but Dumbledore interjected before she could reply. “Mr. Weasley, there are secrets which are kept for amusement or other personal reasons, but there are also secrets which are kept for the safety of all.” The Headmaster held the gaze of each newcomer in turn. “Suffice to say that Professor Quirrell sought to steal something that I was guarding. Please accept that knowing anything more would be most dangerous.”
“Isn’t it dangerous to them already?” Fred asked.
Dumbledore nodded. “Yes, it is. We will make every effort to minimize that danger, but we cannot deny the knowledge they have gained after so much effort.”
“We could help them,” George protested.
“You could,” McGonagall agreed quietly. “But you would help them anyway, without knowing the reason, wouldn’t you?”
“’Course we would!”
“For now, they need your help in keeping the other students from asking too many questions,” Dumbledore said.
Fred looked back and forth between the two professors a few times before grinning wickedly. “Well, that’s easy. We’ll just give them more answers than they can handle. Standard operating procedure.”
“Very good. Would you others mind leaving us with our four intrepid adventurers for a moment?” Dumbledore asked. “We have some things to discuss with them. I suspect that Miss Weasley will be back among you tomorrow, and you may visit Mr. Potter as Madam Pomfrey permits.”
“You’re really alright, Ginny? You sound rough.” George’s concern showed in his words and the careful hand he laid on her shoulder.
“I’m fine,” she replied with some tartness. “And Madam Pomfrey says Harry will be okay once he heals properly.” She was unable to stop herself from shooting dark glances at the Headmaster.
Her brother sighed before giving her another brief hug. “Okay. If you two need anything, anything at all, let us know, alright?”
She smiled tiredly, knowing that her exhaustion was plain on her features. “We will.”
Neville, who had been standing quietly and uncertainly near the door, spoke in a mild voice. “I’m glad you’re both safe, Ginny.”
Guilt washed through her mind, and Ginny hoped that it did not also show on her face. Nevertheless, she met his gaze. “Thanks, Neville. Thanks a lot.” Neville nodded, looking away from her again. Then the Headmaster unsealed the door, and Neville and the twins left. As the door closed, the two brothers cast final, uncertain looks over their shoulders.
“I will not keep you from your beds for long, Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley,” the Headmaster said. “As you most likely surmised from my explanation to Messrs. Fred and George Weasley, it is vital that no one know about Voldemort’s involvement or the nature of the Philosopher’s Stone. Since neither of you saw either of those things, I trust that you can avoid discussing them.”
“Yes, Headmaster,” Hermione responded instantly. Ron nodded his agreement, but his eyes lingered on Harry’s back.
“Excellent. Say goodnight, then, and we will let Mr. Potter and Miss Weasley sleep in peace.”
Under Ginny’s watchful eyes, Hermione put a gentle hand on Harry’s forearm for a moment, and then she turned and hugged Ginny tightly. “I knew you could do it,” she whispered.
Ginny smiled tiredly as Hermione turned back to face the two professors. “Ginny needs her pyjamas and clothes for tomorrow. May I go and get them for her?”
“There is no need, Miss Granger,” Madam Pomfrey said as she stood in the doorway of her office, clearly watching everyone in her ward. Ginny had no idea when the matron had appeared, but the older woman carried a small stack of clothing topped with a hairbrush and two toothbrushes. Ginny immediately recognised the blue of her pyjamas and the white and grey of one of her school uniforms.
“Thank you,” she said as Pomfrey placed the clothing on a small table at the foot of Harry’s bed.
“You’re welcome,” the matron replied. She looked at the professors once more, her gaze sharpening. “Ten minutes.” She turned and walked back into her office.
Ron and Hermione said their goodnights, and Ron gave Ginny a crushing hug. They left, promising to return as soon as they were allowed to visit the next day.
“I believe it would be unwise to stay beyond the limit of Poppy’s generosity,” Dumbledore commented as he sealed the door. “Someday, I should like to hear the story of your journey to retrieve the Stone, but we haven’t time for that this evening. Are there any questions I might answer for you?” he asked Ginny. His demeanour conveyed nothing but politeness and respect.
Ginny’s anger refused to resurface when the old wizard was showing such obvious contrition, but she was still unhappy. Their encounter with Quirrell flashed though their minds. Most if it was simply too shocking to truly absorb without more time, but some of the things the man had said stuck out in their minds.
“Yes,” Ginny broke the silence. “We . . . well, you know we thought it was Snape who was trying to steal the Stone.” Dumbledore nodded encouragingly, and Ginny saw McGonagall’s eyes tighten. “He seemed to really hate Harry, and we thought it was because he was . . . err . . .” She trailed off and took a breath to try again, wishing faintly that she had a cool drink to soothe her throat. “Quirrell said that Snape really does hate Harry, but now we can’t guess why.”
"Hate is rather a strong word, wouldn't you say?” the Headmaster asked. “You lacked sufficient information about the situation, so I can understand that you might feel that Professor Snape does not like Mr. Potter. You presumed that he was acting on Voldemort’s behalf."
Rubbish, Ginny said vehemently. We felt it because it’s true.
Dumbledore sighed as he looked away toward the windows. “The real explanation lies in a very old, rather sad story, Miss Weasley, Mr Potter, and it is not entirely mine to tell. What I can tell you is that once, years ago, Harry’s father saved Severus Snape’s life, and Severus most certainly did hate James Potter at that time. Severus could never accept what had happened, I think, and hoped to repay the old debt by saving Harry’s life at the Quidditch match. Professor Snape informed me of what happened that day, and at the time we could not determine who was trying to harm you, Mr. Potter. In any case, it is important for you to remember that Professor Snape was trying to do the right thing at the Quidditch match, regardless of the rather complex reasons for his actions.”
Ginny’s temper roared back to life when she heard the Headmaster’s explanation. “If you knew someone was trying to hurt Harry, why didn’t you do anything about it?!” she demanded. Her voice warbled and cracked from the abuse of her shouting.
Dumbledore spread his hands helplessly. “As I said, Miss Weasley, we did not know who the culprit was at that time. Nevertheless, Professor Snape made an ongoing effort to ensure Mr. Potter’s safety and to determine the identity of the attacker.”
Ginny’s weariness was already overwhelming the intensity of her anger at the Headmaster, yet Harry was not entirely certain that the explanation matched his experiences with Snape.
After a moment, he gave a mental shrug. He still absolutely loathes me.
But he’s not helping Voldemort.
Not yet, anyway. He just seems like the type.
Their thoughts triggered another question. “What happened to Quirrell, then, at the end?” Ginny asked, shuddering slightly as flashbacks of dissolving flesh flickered through their minds, and her emotions flickered between outrage and fear. “Why did he just . . . crumble away like that?”
“Harry’s mother died to save him,” Dumbledore replied slowly. “If there is one thing that Voldemort cannot comprehend, it is love. He didn't realise that love as powerful as Lily’s for her son leaves its own mark. Not a scar, perhaps, for there is no external sign. But to have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever. It is in Harry’s very skin. Quirrell, full of hatred, greed, and ambition, and sharing his soul with Voldemort, could not touch him for that reason. It was agony to touch a person marked by something so good."
“How could he touch anyone at all, then?” Ginny wondered. “Surely everyone is loved that much by someone. I mean . . .” She lowered her eyes for a moment but pressed on determinedly. Her frustration demanded a more complete answer. “My mother and I haven’t had the easiest time of it lately, but I know she still loves me. So does Dad. And I love them, and Ron, and Hermione, and Harry. Shouldn’t we all be protected? What made Harry special?”
“A very perceptive question. I expected no less of you.” The old man sighed. “Harry’s mother voluntarily died for him, Miss Weasley, when presented with a chance to save her own life. Though I hope that we are all loved by someone, very few of us have actually had someone trade their lives for ours. The magic of life and death is very strong, and none of us understand it completely.”
She traded her life for mine, but why did it have to be me at all? Harry was unable to stop the faint tinge of bitterness from creeping into his mental voice.
“But why Harry?” Ginny persisted, trying to soothe Harry with her concern for him while hoping to force the truth from the Headmaster. “Why did Voldemort try to kill him in the first place?”
Dumbledore stared across the room towards the dark window for several long moments. At last, he shook his head, his eyes still focused on something far from the peaceful hospital wing. “I am no longer certain of the answer. Once, I thought I knew, but then . . . well. There are many factors involved, and I do not know them all. At this point, I believe it is dangerous and pointless to even speculate on that question, because we may still not recognise or have all of the information we might need. Someday . . . someday we will discuss this further.”
In other words . . . Harry began.
“There’s something you don’t want to tell us,” Ginny accused.
The Headmaster nodded solemnly and continued in the same placating voice. “That is correct, Miss Weasley, but everything I have told you is absolutely true. I do not think it would be useful to tell you everything I know or suspect.” His beard twitched as he grinned ever so slightly. “If nothing else, I do hope that the effort might take quite a bit of time.”
His attempt at levity did not impress Ginny and Harry. They did not think that Dumbledore would say anything further on the matter, so they reluctantly switched topics. Ginny knew that she would revisit the question when she had more strength to fight for the answers.
“How did Harry get the Stone out of the mirror, then?” she asked. “You must have changed it somehow to guard the Stone, but we didn’t think we’d figured out what we needed to want to get it yet.”
The old man grinned, looking suddenly much younger. “Oh, I had hoped someone would ask me that. It was one of my better ideas, if I do say so myself. And I must say so myself, because who else has more knowledge of my ideas?”
Ginny glared in response to the Headmaster’s evasive nature, wishing she knew some spell or potion that would force him to answer their questions directly rather than indulging in flights of fancy.
“I did not truly change the nature of the Mirror of Erised, Miss Weasley,” the Headmaster continued, unaware of her frustrations. “I merely . . . focused it for my own purposes. Only someone who wanted the Stone in order to give it to someone else could get it out of the mirror. More importantly, the person retrieving it could have no desire to use it, nor could he want or expect the recipient to use it. If all of those conditions were met, then the Stone would appear directly in the possession of the intended recipient.”
“Why did it show up in my pocket, then?” she wondered, momentarily distracted from her antagonism. “We wanted to get it back to you.”
The Headmaster leaned forward slightly. “Are you sure that’s what you really wanted?”
Harry and Ginny considered the question carefully despite their fatigue and simmering irritation.
We did want to give it back to Dumbledore, didn’t we?
Well, I think so, Harry answered. But . . . that wasn’t what I was actually thinking of right then, really. I was thinking more about getting it away from Voldemort than of getting it to any one person.
The explanation came to them in a moment of pure intuition, and Ginny’s anger was replaced by new feelings that made them both smile mentally. Harry felt the warmth of Ginny’s affection even as McGonagall spoke aloud.
“I believe you have reached the proper conclusion,” she said gently. “Harry, or perhaps the both of you, did not necessarily want to give it to the Headmaster in particular. Harry wanted to give it to someone who could be trusted with it absolutely. Someone he was completely certain would not abuse its power. That person was you, Ginny. You are the only person in the world he would trust with the lure of eternal life.”
I don’t think that’s quite right, Harry added thoughtfully. I trust you like that, of course, but all I really cared about was that we wouldn’t try to use the Stone. We were just trying to get the stone away from Voldemort, and the mirror was set up to allow us to do that ourselves.
Ginny frowned at Dumbledore, her irritation flaring again as she thought of a new possibility. “Did you do it on purpose?” she asked. “Did you mean to make it so that only Harry and I could get the Stone?”
McGonagall’s expression shifted as she realised the error of her statement, but the Headmaster only smiled and held up his hands, blissfully unaware of her ire. “I knew you’d notice that,” he said. “But no, I did not realise at first that my idea had that effect. I intended for it to be only accessible to Nicolas and myself in the proper configuration.”
They wanted to press for more information about the mirror and the Stone, and Ginny was ready to start swearing in order to get it, but at that moment Madam Pomfrey returned. “That’s enough for now, Headmaster,” she announced without a trace of a smile. “You can come back tomorrow if you feel the need to continue your conversation.”
“Very well, Poppy,” Dumbledore said. “Thank you for your diligence at this early hour.” He and McGonagall stood up from their chairs, and the old wizard banished them with a flick of his wand.
“Ah, I almost forgot,” he said. He pulled Harry’s wand from a pocket of his robes. “You have returned something valuable to me this evening, and so I return something valuable to you.” He held the wand out to Ginny, and she took it with her left hand. In her right, she still clutched her own, shorter wand.
“Thank you, Professor,” Ginny said, unable to avoid feeling a sliver of genuine gratitude in spite of her lingering bile. “We thought it’d been burned.”
“No, Miss Weasley, though that would have been quite ironic,” he said with a grin. At her puzzled look, he explained. “Phoenix feather, you see.” Dumbledore moved towards the door and turned to look back at Ginny. “Good night, Miss Weasley, Mr. Potter. I will visit you again soon.”
Professor McGonagall, who had been quiet and somewhat pensive throughout most of the Headmaster’s explanation, looked to the matron. “Poppy,” she said, “may I have just a moment with my students?”
Pomfrey sniffed loudly. “A moment, Minerva. No more.”
Dumbledore smiled. “Then good night to you also, Minerva. I advise you to be very conscious of the time.” With a nod, he unsealed the doors and left the room.
Once the Headmaster had gone, Madam Pomfrey waved her wand and quickly resealed the door. “Take as long as you need, Minerva,” she said, and suddenly her voice was much warmer. “I have no reason to think you will keep Miss Weasley awake for pointless conversation, unlike some others we know.” She went back into her office and pulled the door closed.
Ginny was still glaring at the door where she had last seen the Headmaster. A short lifetime’s worth of experience and family conversations told her that Albus Dumbledore was a man to be respected and perhaps even revered. But they now knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the old man shared in the blame for what had happened to them that evening. They had not yet found any way to fully reconcile the two impressions.
“Do not be too hard on him, Ginny,” McGonagall said in a quiet voice, perhaps recognising their state from the sweat on her brow and Ginny’s expression. “He is as human as the rest of us.”
Ginny shifted her gaze to the tall woman. “Harry almost died.” She waved her hand sharply at Harry’s body. “Look at him. He almost died. I can’t . . . I won’t just ignore that. In spite of what happened, the Headmaster refused to even tell us the reasons for it all!” Ginny winced as her throat protested the harsh tone she was using.
The professor sighed. “I would not expect you to ignore it,” she admitted.
McGonagall conjured another stool to match Ginny’s and perched on it stiffly. After a moment of awkward silence, the professor conjured a tall goblet of water with ice floating in it.
Understanding the gesture for what it was, Ginny shook herself out of her furious stupor and looked at the cup gratefully. While it would not cure anything, it would soothe her, and that was enough for the moment. She placed the two wands she was holding on the bed next to Harry and reached across to sip from the ice water.
After completely draining the cup, Ginny reached across Harry’s feet to pick up her hairbrush. She had intended to begin brushing out the tangled mess of her hair, but the professor’s continued silence and the serious, pinched look on the her face made Ginny pause. Instead, she sat straight and still on her stool, holding the forgotten brush in her lap.
“Miss Weasley, Mr. Potter,” McGonagall began. Then she shook her head and released a breath abruptly. “Ginny, Harry. I, personally, owe you a profound and terrible apology. In the many years I have taught at Hogwarts, I have become . . . accustomed to knowing more about a situation or topic than my students. Unfortunately, I forgot that it is still possible for others, even first-year students, to discover something that is new to me.”
McGonagall sighed as she brushed absently at the tartan fabric stretched across her knees. “You came to me with a genuine concern based on evidence and experience. Your . . . conclusions were not precisely correct in every regard, but they were much closer than I would have thought possible. Based on what you told me, I should have at least investigated the situation more carefully rather than dismissing your concerns.”
She met Ginny’s eyes squarely and smiled her tight, controlled smile. “In effect, I did very much the same thing that I recently punished you for.”
Her smile faded, and her eyes became almost haunted. “My arrogance very nearly cost you your lives,” she whispered. “I, more so than anyone else, am responsible for what happened this evening. I am very sorry for that, far more than I know how to tell you, and I hope that someday you both will be able to forgive me for this.”
She didn’t mean any harm, Harry said quietly.
Just like we didn’t, Ginny agreed, the lingering shards of her anger fading into simple exhaustion. We messed up before, and she punished us, but then she helped us anyway. She forgave us.
We all made some mistakes, Harry agreed. And she wasn’t afraid to admit to them.
Ginny summoned enough of her energy for a small grin. “Fifty points from the faculty, Professor.”
McGonagall relaxed visibly, her smile ever-so-faintly returning, though her eyes remained hooded with unspoken regret. “If I had house points, you would be welcome to them. All of them.” She paused for a moment. “Speaking of which, I feel that I must also apologise for the severity of the punishment I gave you after you attempted to attack Mr. Malfoy. I maintain that the loss of points was the proper thing to do at the time. I needed to convince you to not do anything like that again until I could prepare some type of lesson to teach you just how dangerous what you were attempting was.” She sighed. “But I had no idea what Hagrid was planning for the detention that night. The Headmaster has spoken to a centaur named Firenze. You’ve met him?”
Ginny nodded, trying to keep visions of the forest and Quirrell out of their minds. Their memory of the forest was no longer as haunting and disturbing as it had once been. It was, however, inexorably tied to their memory of him disintegrating amidst the flames and agony of their confrontation that evening.
“He told Professor Dumbledore what happened in the forest and how close you came to a confrontation with You-Know-Who. That would have included Quirinus, I suppose. In any case, I should never have allowed you to be put in such a situation. The interior of the forest is no place for students or even most fully-trained adults, and I have reminded Hagrid of that fact. I apologise for that oversight, as well. Hagrid means well, but he does not perceive danger as . . . well, as anyone else does.”
Ginny and Harry reflected for a moment on how McGonagall’s obvious sincerity. The woman obviously had a mental list of faults that she was determined to work her way through, and they respected her all the more for her honesty. It left them thinking about their own actions and what they might have done differently.
“We’re sorry, too, Professor,” Ginny offered. “We . . . err . . . we may have done something tonight that you . . . ahh . . . won’t like.”
McGonagall raised an eyebrow in faint amusement. “You have done that several times this evening, Ginny. Which one is bothering you at the moment?”
Ginny took a deep breath and pushed onward. “Have you seen Neville? Aside from when he came here to visit, I mean.”
“Ah, yes, Mr. Longbottom. I spoke to him earlier tonight when he and your brothers came to find me. His story had already convinced me to follow you, even before you managed to notify me yourselves with your pendant. He said that he would have told me much sooner, but he somehow managed to Petrify himself. He managed this while alone in the common room, using a spell which he had never heard of before this evening and for which he could not remember the exact incantation.”
Thank you, Neville.
Their conscience forced Ginny to speak plainly. “You know I Petrified him, Professor,” she said, straightening her shoulders.
“I knew that one of you had, yes, and I am still not certain which one of you is confessing,” McGonagall replied. “I am not pleased by your choice at that moment, but I cannot absolutely say that I would not have done the same thing in your position. Regardless, if Mr. Longbottom is unwilling to make any accusations, then I find myself unwilling to ask any questions as to who was Petrified by whom.”
“Thank you, Professor.”
“I am not the one who deserves your gratitude, Harry and Ginny,” McGonagall said meaningfully. “He was doing what he perceived to be the right thing, just as you and your friends were.”
Ginny nodded as guilt roiled in the back of her mind. “I know, Professor. I’ll talk to him about it tomorrow.”
“Good.” The professor looked as though she wanted to say something else, but then she shook her head slightly.
McGonagall stood up and removed the stool she had conjured for herself. Following her lead, Ginny slid to the floor, and a moment later the stool she had occupied was gone also. The professor looked down at her for a long moment. At last, she reached down and put a gentle hand on Ginny’s shoulder.
“I am very proud of you both,” she said. “You have done a great thing tonight and brought great honour to our House. I should have listened to you, and I shall regret that for a very, very long time.”
Ginny could not help the bashful smile that crept across her face. “Thank you,” she whispered. “We don’t blame you, Professor. Please don’t blame yourself.”
McGonagall smiled stiffly. “Sleep well, Ginny and Harry. I will see you tomorrow.” She squeezed Harry’s hand briefly and let herself out of the hospital wing after a final nod to them both.
Ginny gathered her things, went into the lavatory, and wearily changed into her pyjamas. When she emerged, a screen had been erected around the two beds, and Madam Pomfrey was waiting for her.
“You should sleep as long as Mr. Potter does if you can, Miss Weasley,” the matron said. “When he awakens, I will have breakfast brought for you both. If you need anything overnight, simply call out or tap your wand against one of the bed frames. I am only one door down in the hallway, and I have monitoring charms in place here. You, and only you, are welcome to be with Mr. Potter at any time during the day or night. Your friends will be limited to normal visiting hours.”
“Thank you, Madam Pomfrey,” Ginny said.
“You are welcome. Goodnight, Miss Weasley, Mr Potter. Do try to rest.” She extinguished all but one of the lamps and lowered that one to a faint glow. Then she left them alone in the dark and silent ward.
Ginny climbed onto her bed and picked up her hairbrush. Carefully, she arranged herself so that she was sitting up, with her legs folded beneath her and her bare left foot resting lightly in Harry’s upturned hand. Then she began methodically brushing the tangles out of her hair. It would require extra attention when she showered in the morning, but for now, brushing it out was enough. The familiar act of grooming helped her to relax a bit more, and their minds smoothed even as her hair untangled. Harry’s even breathing was the only sound in the room other than the rasping of the brush, and it, too, was somehow soothing.
Their thoughts swirled, flashing through their experiences in pursuit of the Philosopher’s Stone. The encounter with Quirrell, coupled with Dumbledore’s explanations, brought them back to the idea that out there, somewhere, Voldemort was free again. Ginny’s irritation flared faintly, but she was too tired to stay angry at the moment.
I’m so sorry, Ginny, Harry said, his mind flooded with regret and remorse. I really thought . . . I thought I could make him go away forever. That your family would be safe, that we’d all be safe.
Ginny’s arm stopped moving, and the brush trembled slightly in her hand. You scared me so much more than Voldemort ever did, she whispered. I don’t want to lose you, Harry, and we came so close tonight.
I didn’t want you to get hurt, he replied sadly, feeling her fear and anger mingling with his own regret and frustration. Not by Quirrell, not by Voldemort, not by anyone. Not ever.
Ginny’s eyes squeezed tightly closed and her face contorted into a silent scowl as her knuckles tightened on the hairbrush. I want you to be safe, too! she shouted in the vaults of their minds. Us! Both of us, safe. Together! Not you and not me, but us! She dropped her brush and reached down to clutch his limp hand with both of hers. It’s only right if we’re together! Just an hour ago we said that we would always stay together, no matter what. Together, Harry!
His misery beyond words, Harry let the feelings flow through their minds in a seemingly endless loop. He wanted her to be safe and happy. He would do anything to protect her. She would only be happy if he was safe. She wanted him to be safe and happy. She would do anything to protect him. He would only be happy if she was safe.
Tears dropped onto her pyjamas, but she did not release his hand to wipe them away. Do you get it? she asked more quietly. Desperately. When you hurt, I hurt! Can you imagine how hurt I would’ve been if he’d killed you? I might survive, physically, but how could I live with half of me gone? The only way we both get what we want is if we’re both safe and happy, and we need to do anything to protect us. I watch over you, and you watch over me!
Her thoughts became fierce, displacing her desire to make him understand. I could have helped you, she said. I could move, and I had my wand. I could have gotten back there and hexed him before he could even move. He might really be dead.
I know, Harry admitted, his frustration fusing with his anger at himself for not thinking as well as Ginny could. You’re right, I know. But . . . you would have done the same thing in my place . . . wouldn’t you?
She sniffed loudly and nodded into the darkness, her eyes still closed. The admission was all the more difficult because it was painfully true. Yes, Harry, I think I would have. It would still have been wrong, though. Neither of us can do things like that. We have to stay together. We can . . . we can do more that way. We’re stronger that way. Better. We both learned that tonight, and next time . . . next time there’s no one staying behind.
Pushing her brush to the foot of the bed, she pulled aside the blankets and lay down on her side. She curled up against his arm, careful to avoid moving his torso at all, and pushed her cheek and nose against his elbow. She kept his hand in hers, holding it close against her chest.
Please don’t ever do that again, Harry, she said, her thought a mere whisper in their minds. If we’re separated and you’re in trouble, you have to come to me or let me come to you. Promise me, and don’t you dare forget again.
I promise, Ginny, and I won’t forget, he said solemnly. But you have to promise, too.
She nodded against his arm. I promise.
They lay in silence for a few minutes as her tears finally stopped. I wish I could hug you, Harry said at last.
Me, too.
He could not move at all, so Harry focused on Ginny and her senses. He let the remorse, promise, gratitude, and affection wash between them. The same feelings, redoubled, came back to him from her. Without moving or speaking, they shared an embrace of emotion. Exhaustion finally overtook Ginny, and she fell asleep with Harry’s arm providing her the physical security and reassurance that she needed in order to rest.
The images started as they usually did, with a flash of green, a wrenching scream, and an echo of eerie laughter. As Ginny’s body tensed, the black figure from the forest arose behind bright bursts of red, green, black, and purple light. The screams grew stronger and harsher until Ginny could hear her own screams mixing with her mother’s and Lily Potter’s. Quirrell’s laughter joined the screams in a maniacal accompaniment, but then it shifted. The dry, harsh rasp of Voldemort’s voice as he had whispered to Harry from the back of Quirrell’s head drowned out the screams.
Green light flashed, and they were shoved into a dark cupboard, feeling cramped and claustrophobic. Purple light flashed in the forest, and Fred did not wake when George tried the counter-spell. Molly Weasley screamed as Ginny’s hair burned in vicious red flames and the forest burned all around her.
Ginny began to whimper and gasp in her sleep, unconsciously squeezing Harry’s hand in hers and crushing his arm against her face, neck, and breastbone.
She launched blue flames at the Devil’s Snare, and as the plant became a writhing inferno, Professor McGonagall appeared in the middle of the blaze. Her expression remained disapproving and disappointed as her robes caught fire, and the professor was rapidly reduced to ash as the flesh melted away from her bones. Quirrell appeared and joined McGonagall in a macabre dance of bones and peeling flesh, screaming taunts in time to her pleas for mercy.
The redhead’s movements became more frantic, and she made small sounds as she shuddered, her continual whimpers intermingling with louder cries of true distress.
Ginny watched, and Harry screamed, a deeper and harsher sound, as his mother was consumed by purple flames next to the Mirror of Erised. In the mirror, the image of a happy, carefree Lily Potter smiled benignly down on her burning counterpart. Mrs. Weasley launched a bolt of green light, and Ginny screamed as it approached Harry.
Ginny pushed Harry out of the way, but then Quirrell was there and leapt towards Harry, knocking him backwards into the black fire. Harry wanted to leave, to escape to Ginny, and she desperately willed him away. He did not move, however, and pain overwhelmed her as Harry continued to burn, his own flesh dissolving with Quirrell’s. Among towering black flames, two skeletons lay on the floor in front of her, and a shadow loomed over them all, laughing insanely.
Ginny’s shoulder shook violently, finally waking her from the cycle of horrifying images and sounds.
HARRY?!
I’m here, Ginny. Harry’s voice was clear and comforting, even though he also felt the lingering effects of her dreams, and his mind shook from the imagery. That was . . . They shuddered, mentally and physically, and Ginny’s body quaked as their combined minds sought any outlet for the stress.
There was a warm pressure on her arm, and her shoulder shook again. Her eyes, already leaking tears, flew open. Harry’s arm, covered in salty moisture, was flattened against her body, and her muscles quivered from the tension of fright. Looking up, she saw Professor McGonagall sitting on the edge of the bed next to her. The older woman’s black hair was rumpled from sleep and fell past her shoulders. She wore a tartan dressing gown, and she looked anxiously down at Ginny.
Gasping in relief, Ginny sat up and let Harry’s hand fall into her lap, but she never released him. With wide, terrified eyes, she stared at her professor for a moment, seeking something she could not quite identify. Wordlessly, McGonagall reached out and, shifting her own position, pulled Ginny into her lap. Ginny put one arm around the woman’s neck, keeping the fingers of her other hand interlaced with Harry’s.
When McGonagall put her arms around Ginny’s shoulders and began to rock, the tiny girl did not try to restrain herself, but her grip on Harry’s hand tightened painfully. She dropped her head to McGonagall’s shoulder and wept bitterly at the visions and memories that still flashed in distant echoes of her nightmare.
For a while, Ginny’s whimpers, gasps, and broken sobs were the only sounds in the room. McGonagall did not speak. Instead, she held Ginny protectively in her arms and gently stroked her hair, slowly rocking her as though she were a very small child. Harry did the best he could to soothe her, constantly reassuring Ginny without words that he was alive and safe, but he knew that the true comfort was coming from the professor’s human touch. Harry knew that he would always be grateful that McGonagall had returned to the hospital wing, however she had known to come.
Distantly, Ginny was aware of the door to the hospital wing opening and closing, and then soft footsteps shuffled across the stone floor. Her tears continued unabated as she shuddered and gasped for air, wishing the images would stop for just a moment.
“Go back to sleep, Poppy,” McGonagall whispered. Feet shuffled again, followed by a muted clink and a slight movement of McGonagall’s shoulders. A moment later, the doors closed again.
Quirrell’s dead, Harry reminded them both. Voldemort’s run off again. Your mum promised never to hurt us again, and we believe her. No more fires. No more curses. No more pain.
You don’t know that! she cried. You can’t know there won’t be any more! Voldemort got away! It’s not over yet!
No more for now, he amended, knowing he could not deceive her even to comfort her in her moment of desperate need. And if anything comes after us again, we’ll face it together.
You won’t stay away? You won’t keep me away?
Never again, he assured her. We promised to face these things together tonight, and that’s how we’re going to do it. They were absolutely sure of his sincerity, and they knew he would not forget this moment. Together.
After a few more minutes, the lingering imagery faded somewhat, and Ginny finally began to relax. She spoke without raising her head from her professor’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she whispered as she relaxed her crushing grip on Harry’s hand.
“What on earth for?”
“For . . . for this. I shouldn’t have cried all over you.”
“You shouldn’t be ashamed of crying, Ginny,” McGonagall said gently.
Ginny shook her head slightly, wiping at her nose and eyes half-heartedly. “I’m not. I meant that I didn’t want to burden you, and I’ve made a mess of your dressing gown.”
The older woman smiled softly as she conjured a small, soft towel and handed it to Ginny. “Dear girl, you are certainly not a burden, and my robes can be cleaned. At times like these, it can be very helpful to let everything out. It cleanses you, if you will, and lets you face the future with your strength renewed.”
You told me a long time ago that it wasn’t good to keep everything inside, Harry added.
You never cry.
I don’t know how, Harry said honestly, but you know I wouldn’t ever think any less of you for it. It makes you feel better, and that’s all that matters. It makes me feel better, too, though I’m not really sure why.
So I get to cry for both of us?
I wish I was awake, he replied after a moment.
Me, too. Professor McGonagall is being very nice, but it just isn’t the same when it’s not you.
“You are an incredibly strong person, Ginny,” McGonagall continued, without commenting on Ginny’s distracted expression. “One of the strongest I have ever known. And your strength has nothing to do with magic. If you need to cry to maintain that strength, then so be it. If I can be the one who helps you to do that, then I am happy to help. And you know by now that what we talk about stays between us.”
Ginny could not think of how to respond. Her professor’s words warmed her, and she fervently hoped they were true. She wanted to be as strong for Harry as he was for her.
You are, Ginny. You know you are.
After a moment, she nodded. “Thank you,” she whispered, knowing it would be understood mentally and aloud in different ways.
McGonagall shifted a bit and reached away from Ginny with one long arm. She raised her hand after a moment and offered Ginny a small vial. “Drink this, Ginny,” she encouraged. “No more dreams tonight. Dreamless Sleep potion is for more than just the physically injured and ill.”
Without question or even hesitation, Ginny took the vial and swallowed its contents. She winced at the flavour. She had known what to expect after tasting Harry’s dose, but her foreknowledge made it no more palatable. McGonagall took the empty vial, set it aside, and then gently lowered Ginny back down to the bed. Ginny curled up against Harry again, just as she had before, with his hand clasped firmly to her body. She felt the professor lift her head away from Harry’s arm to slide a pillow beneath her. The cool linen was comforting, and Harry’s hand still lay in front of her. She moved slightly so that she could hold his hand in both of hers, fingers entwined, but she did not move the pillow that was preventing her from resting her face against his arm.
“Sleep now,” McGonagall said softly, patting her shoulder. “I will be here.”
Ginny twisted just enough to look over her shoulder and found the older woman curling herself into a large, plush armchair that had not been there a moment before. The professor’s eyes were open and alert, and she nodded encouragingly at Ginny as she faced the doors into the infirmary.
“You’ll stay?”
“Yes, Ginny,” McGonagall said with a faint smile. “I’ll stay, and you’ll both be safe now. I promise.”
“Thank you,” Ginny repeated sleepily.
“Good night, Ginny.”
Good night, Ginevra.
Good night, Harry.
With Harry safe in front of her and McGonagall watching them both protectively, Ginny slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Chapter 24: One
Author's Notes: Thanks, as always, to moshpit, Jonathan Avery, regdc, Chreechree, and Sherylyn for their invaluable assistance on this chapter.
On Friday morning, Harry awoke quickly and felt fully alert. The first thing he determined was that Ginny was still asleep and had moved very little during the night. She lay huddled against him with his hand pulled against her, and she had shifted so that her face was once again pressed lightly against his arm.
Are you okay, Ginny?
Yeah, she replied. It was awful, but . . . I think I feel a bit better now.
Harry could not say the same. Lying on his stomach for the entire night with his head turned to one side had left him with a horrible ache in his neck. Carefully, he raised his head as far as he could and turned to press his face straight down into his pillow. As he moved, his neck stretched painfully, but it felt better than it had before. After a moment, he turned his head the rest of the way and laid it back on his pillow.
Professor McGonagall still sat in the armchair she had conjured, holding a small book. There was no sign that she had left or slept at all. As Harry turned his head, she looked up from her book and met his eyes.
“Thank you, Professor,” he whispered. “From me.” He hoped she understood how grateful he was for what she had done for them simply by being a source of physical comfort.
She gazed at him silently for a few seconds and then nodded. “You’re very welcome, Harry.”
The professor rose to her feet, stretched, and then Banished the chair she had occupied overnight. “I look forward to your speedy recovery,” she said. “If either of you needs me while you are here, for any reason, you know how to reach me.”
“We hope you’re able to rest today,” Harry said.
She smiled tightly. “Cats can sleep almost anywhere for short periods of time and feel quite refreshed, but I appreciate your concern.” McGonagall paused for a moment. “Ginny, I contacted your parents last night via Floo. It was important to inform them that you were both safe before they heard any rumours of your adventures from other sources. I also sent an owl to the Dursleys, although I doubt they will respond in any meaningful way.”
Oh no, Ginny moaned.
“What . . . what did Mr. and Mrs. Weasley say, Professor?” Harry asked.
“They were, of course, relieved to hear that your prognosis was good, Harry, and that you, Ginny, were essentially unharmed. I told them only very generally what had happened, and I promised to call them again first thing this morning to provide an update on your condition.”
Harry sighed. “Thank you for telling us, Professor.”
“You’re welcome. Good day, Harry and Ginny.” With a final nod, McGonagall walked around the bed, and Harry heard the doors of the hospital wing open and then close quietly.
What are we going to tell your parents? Harry wondered. They’re going to ask sooner or later.
We’ll tell them the same things that Fred and George know, I suppose, Ginny said. Otherwise, they’ll just hear about it somewhere else, like McGonagall said.
What will they do?
They were quiet for a few moments. I just don’t know, Harry.
“Good morning, Mr. Potter, Miss Weasley.” Madam Pomfrey’s voice came from the direction of her office, and her tone was businesslike as always. “Shall I assist Mr. Potter to the lavatory?”
Ginny giggled in their minds as Harry flushed lightly at the thought of receiving help of that sort, but the truth was unavoidable. “Err . . . yes, please.”
Pomfrey walked up on his right until he could see her standing behind Ginny, nearly in the spot McGonagall had occupied. “Very well. I will levitate you off the bed and set you on your feet. From there you should be able to manage on your own, though movement may be a trifle awkward at first.”
Harry nodded, relieved that the matron would not have to accompany him into the lavatory itself. She pulled the blanket off of him, draping it around Ginny, and used the levitation charm to raise him a few inches.
The moment Harry’s body moved, Ginny’s grip on his arm tightened. After a few moments, when Ginny’s hold did not relax, Pomfrey lowered him back to the bed.
Sorry, Ginny said.
It’s alright. This time he was chuckling at her.
“Can you . . . err, could you give me my wand? And a towel or something?” he asked.
“A towel?”
“Yes, please.”
Dubiously, the matron put his wand in his left hand and placed a folded towel next to his pillow. Bending his elbow to aim properly, he whispered, “Brunesempra.”
The familiar, standard-sized version of Bun-bun appeared next to him. “Could you give this to her, please?” Harry asked.
“That is a rather curious spell, Mr. Potter,” the matron observed with a raised eyebrow. “I don’t recall that being in the first-year curriculum.”
“No, Madam,” Harry agreed as Ginny mentally groaned her embarrassment. “I learned that spell just for Ginny.”
“I see.” Pomfrey picked up the bunny and tucked it carefully into the crook of Ginny’s arm. Harry carefully rotated his hand around the wrist Ginny was clinging to and gently took her hand. Then he nudged her fingers towards the plush toy. After a few moments of encouragement, Ginny shifted her grip to the familiar object.
Thanks, she said, still slightly embarrassed.
You’re welcome, he replied with an internal grin.
Pomfrey levitated him again and set him on his feet. After overcoming some initial unsteadiness due to his Petrified back, he was able to walk stiffly across the ward to the lavatory. A few minutes later, he emerged again, still twisting and turning his neck to eliminate the last of the stiffness.
“Would you like breakfast now, Mr. Potter?”
“May I wait until Ginny wakes up?”
“If you wish, but she will sleep for at least another hour.”
“That’s alright,” Harry said.
“Back to bed with you, then,” Pomfrey ordered, and then she helped him back into position next to Ginny.
You’re hungry, Harry, Ginny said. You don’t have to wait for me.
I know, but I’d rather. It’d feel weird otherwise.
“Your brother Percy visited earlier this morning, Miss Weasley, and inquired about your condition,” Pomfrey said. “He asked me to tell you that he is glad to learn that you are uninjured.”
Ponce, Ginny muttered. He says he understands, but apparently he hasn’t actually thought about it at all.
That’s pretty funny, really, Harry added, because it’s Percy.
A bit, she agreed. Still . . . he came by, didn’t he? He still cares, even if he doesn’t show it very well.
After a final warning to avoid unnecessary movement, Madam Pomfrey returned to her office.
Harry and Ginny passed the next hour dissecting everything they had seen and learned the night before. In the light of day, it was only slightly less terrifying, but Ginny was determined to find some way to regain their usual cheerfulness. Dwelling on those events would not help them at the moment, and she wanted to think of something other than the Headmaster’s choices over the past year.
We should give Hermione a piece of firewood for her next birthday, Ginny suggested.
Can’t you picture her carrying it around in her bag, just in case?
But then she might hit Ron with it when he’s being a git.
That’s a bonus, right? Harry asked.
When Ginny’s body woke up, she took a shower and changed into the uniform that had been brought for her. It was not what she would have chosen to wear on a day without classes, but it was certainly better than the previous evening’s clothes or her pyjamas.
Madam Pomfrey allowed Harry to sit up long enough to eat his breakfast, and Ginny sat in a chair that she had pulled up next to Harry’s bed, inside the curtained area and opposite her own bed. When they were finished, Harry stacked his dishes and moved to put them on the table nearby.
Oh no, you don’t, Ginny said, putting down her own tray and jumping up from her chair. You just lie back down the way Pomfrey wanted you to!
I just wanted to put the tray down, he protested.
Too bad! You can’t! She pulled the tray out of his hands and put it next to hers. Whenever you’re not eating or using the loo, you’re lying on your front. I said you wouldn’t move, and I meant it.
Oh, alright, he agreed with a sigh. He knew she was right, but he hated being unable to do things for himself. She knew that and sympathised slightly, but neither of them really wanted to risk his healing. Harry knew that Ginny would not tolerate any deviation from her instructions at the moment.
As Harry lay back down, facing towards Ginny’s chair and the door, she pulled the curtains open to ask Madam Pomfrey what to do with their dishes. The matron Banished them with a wave of her wand. “Your classmates and brothers have been waiting to see you,” she said. “If you promise to keep them from disturbing Mr. Potter, I will let them in for the remainder of the morning.”
“They won’t bother Harry, Madam Pomfrey,” Ginny assured her, eager to see their friends and family. “I’ll make sure of it.”
“Very well.”
When the doors opened, Harry and Ginny heard several people scrambling to their feet, followed by one of the twins’ voices. “About time. If you’re going to make people wait in the hallway, couldn’t you at least put out some catalogues or something?”
“Perhaps a portrait or two to keep us company,” the other said.
“You were more than welcome to return to your common room, as I told you,” Pomfrey said calmly. “If you choose to loiter in my hallway, then that is none of my concern. Now, you may visit Mr. Potter until lunchtime, provided that you do not move him and do not make too much noise in my hospital. Is that perfectly clear?”
“Yes, Madam Pomfrey,” Hermione answered promptly.
The matron stepped out of the doorway, and Ginny could see the twins, Ron, and Hermione in the corridor beyond. As soon as the path was clear, the four students hurried into the hospital wing and surrounded the double bed.
Ginny had elected to sit cross-legged on her bed next to Harry, with her knees against his arm and her bare foot once again resting in his upturned hand. As soon as her brothers approached she raised her wand in warning. “Remember, nobody touches Harry or the beds.”
“No problem, Ginny,” Fred said, dropping into the chair she had occupied earlier. George and Ron pulled over three more chairs, and the four students sat in a rough line along the side of Harry’s bed.
“How are you, Harry?” Hermione asked.
“Uh, not too bad, thanks. Just a bit stiff, perhaps.”
“That’s preposterous,” she replied in a matter-of-fact tone. “You’ve got bandages covering half of your back. You’re not ‘just a bit stiff.’”
“Well, yeah, my back’s Petrified, actually,” he admitted. “So I am more than a bit stiff, but I can’t feel any of the rest.”
“What happened?” Hermione asked, regarding the pair on the bed with glistening eyes. “Madam Pomfrey told us you’d been burned, but nobody’s said how it happened.”
Ginny described the evening’s events as well as she could without revealing anything about the Philosopher’s Stone to the twins. She did not correct Ron’s assumption that Quirrell had been incinerated by the black fire, but Harry and Ginny silently agreed to tell Ron and Hermione the whole story sometime later.
As she spoke, Ginny reached down and began rubbing the muscles of Harry’s neck with her fingers, attempting to alleviate some of the discomfort there.
Thanks, Ginny.
I feel it, too, she replied as she easily adapted her movements to what felt best for him.
“What about you, Hermione?” Ginny asked when she was finished with her tale. “How did you get back out to the third floor?”
“Yeah,” Ron encouraged her. “You said you’d tell us when you told Ginny and Harry.”
Hermione blushed, but Ginny was sure she saw a tiny smile on her friend’s face. After a moment, Hermione took a deep breath. “Alright, I suppose. I left the room with the logic puzzle and went back past the troll - ”
Ron paled slightly and straightened abruptly. “Troll?! What troll?!”
“It was after the chess set,” Ginny said. “Quirrell had already knocked it out, so we just went around it.”
“Oh. Well . . . good, then.”
We’ll never tell him the truth about the troll on Halloween, right? Harry asked.
Not any time soon.
A sudden thought made Harry grin. “I was going to let Ginny stop for a snack, but she wasn’t hungry just then.”
You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?
I’d have to forget it, too, he pointed out. And that’d be an awful shame.
The others laughed. “Do you suppose we could ask Mum to pick up some troll pies at the market?” Fred asked.
Ginny, Ron, and Harry all froze. “Don’t you dare,” Ginny said sternly, locking eyes with her brother.
Fred recoiled slightly and raised his hands. “Just kidding, Ginny. Honest.”
Hermione cleared her throat. “I got back to the room with the chess game,” she said, continuing her story, “but it had reset itself. The white pieces were on my side of the room that time, and they blocked me from just running to the other side. Ron was still lying off to one side where we left him.”
“So you had to play again?” Ginny asked.
“Good job, Hermione,” Ron said. “How’d you do?”
“I didn’t really play at all,” she answered. “I just repeated all the same moves you made, and the set did the same things in response.”
The other five students stared at her in stunned silence for a moment. Hermione looked at them as though she could not understand what was so strange about her story.
Finally, Ginny spoke up. “Hermione . . . there must have been at least thirty moves in that game. You remembered every single one?”
Catching on at last, Hermione blushed again and refused to meet anyone’s eyes. “Well . . . yes, I did.” She raised her head. “But it wasn’t that hard. I mean . . . all the moves fit into a sort of pattern, didn’t they?”
Ron nodded, but Ginny thought that her own expression, as well as Harry’s, surely matched the dubious looks on the twins’ faces.
“We’re going to play a lot more chess next year, Hermione,” Ron said.
Hermione shrugged. “If you like. In any event, once the game was over, I levitated Ron and took him back to the room with all the keys, but the door to get out required a different key. I tried flying, but I couldn’t keep up with the keys at all, much less find one in particular. My only option was to try remove the charms again, one key at a time.
“I was still working on that when Professor McGonagall and the Headmaster came into the room from the other direction. They fixed Ron in a trice, and we told them everything that we knew. Then they sent us back to the common room to wait for you in case you went there.”
“You should’ve seen McGonagall,” Ron jumped into the conversation, all but cutting Hermione off. “You know how Mum gets when she’s really, really angry about something, and she won’t stop until she’s sorted it out?” Harry and Ginny nodded cautiously as the twins shuddered their agreement. “Well, McGonagall was like that, only worse. I think she’d have blown a hole in the castle if that silver key hadn’t still been flopping around on the floor. Dumbledore looked like he was just sort-of tagging along in her wake.”
“She was just a bit intimidating,” Hermione agreed after a moment’s reflection.
“How did you get back up through the trapdoor and past Fluffy?” Harry asked.
“Oh, we took two of the brooms and flew up through trapdoor,” Hermione replied. “Dumbledore told us that all we had to do was sing, and Fluffy wouldn’t bother us.”
“Sing?” Ginny echoed incredulously.
“Yeah,” Ron said. “Music puts him to sleep. We couldn’t think of anything except the school song, though, so we flew up past the ruddy beast bellowing ‘Hoggy Warty Hogwarts.’ Pretty funny, now that I think of it.”
“Anyway,” Hermione continued, “we went back to the tower, and Neville, Fred, and George were already waiting there. We all sat for a while but finally decided to try the hospital wing.” She shrugged. “We found you, and that was that.”
“Kids these days,” Fred said with a mournful look at his twin. “They go off on adventures and leave their betters behind.”
George nodded solemnly. “Course, you might expect that out of bookends. They’re not nearly as smart as the books, since they only see the end.”
“Why were you already in the common room?” Ginny asked them, ignoring their banter.
“Fred and I came downstairs after midnight to, um, nick some food from the kitchens,” George said, running one hand through his hair hurriedly. “We found Neville and unpetrified him. He told us a really strange story. We all went to find McGonagall, and she sent us back to the tower right quick while she went off to find you lot.”
Fred looked at Ginny and frowned. “I don’t think you should have Petrified Neville, Ginny. He was trying to look out for you.”
“I know,” Ginny agreed, looking at her feet. “I’m going to find him today and apologise.”
“Good,” George said, giving her a quick nod when she looked back at him. “He knows some of what really happened, but he still deserves to hear it from you.”
Fred grinned suddenly. “You missed a bit of fun at breakfast this morning,” he told Harry and Ginny. “Someone must have heard us talking in the common room last night, because the story started to get around about the dog, the plant, and all of that.”
“Everyone knows?” Harry asked worriedly.
“Yeah, they know,” Fred said. “But they don’t know that they know that they know, you know? Once we got wind of the story going around, we started enhancing it, so no one knows what they ought not to know.”
“How did it feel to wrestle a herd of bewitched goats, Ginny?” George asked, his eyes wide and awestruck.
“Did you really have to play Exploding Snap with a pack of werewolves?”
“And what about that fifty-foot Flobberworm? Did you really have to chew your way through it?”
“And if so,” Fred added, “did it taste like chicken? I heard some Ravenclaw telling a Firstie that it would.”
The four first years were frozen in surprise for a moment, and then they all laughed, though Harry was a bit restricted by the immobilization charm on his chest and back.
“Honestly, though,” George said after they had calmed down somewhat. “Did you really use a giant plush toy to get past that huge dog? That’s got to be the strangest of all the things Ron told us.”
“Yeah,” Harry confirmed.
“You should have seen it,” Ron added. “It was bigger than Hagrid.”
“I think it was the largest stuffed rabbit in the world,” Hermione said wistfully. “It made me wish I could have one of my own.”
“Well, you can’t,” Ginny stated, pulling the bunny from her pillow into her lap. “Bun-bun is mine, no matter what size he is, and that one wouldn’t fit in the dormitory anyway. You can have the next odd toy Harry creates by accident.”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “I’ll remember that.”
George grinned. “Anyhow, all anyone really knows is the line Dumbledore fed us last night. Quirrell was trying to steal something, so you four went to stop him. With Ron and Hermione hanging around as usual, they know that the two of you,” he waved airily at the pair on the bed, “ended up finding him.”
“I heard one Slytherin suggesting that Harry was really a vampire and got tired of all the garlic that man carried,” Fred interjected.
“Yeah, that was a good one,” George agreed. “In any case, since you’re still alive and, uhh, mostly well, yet Quirrell’s nowhere to be found, they figure that you managed to save whatever-it-is.”
“And, believe me,” Fred said, “‘whatever-it-is’ is a big source of speculation.”
“Lee’s trying to convince people that it’s Dumbledore’s ‘Magical Mystical Munificent Mane Medicinal’,” George said.
“D’you suppose there is such a thing?” the other twin asked. “If there were, we could find all kinds of ways to use it.”
“Could be, Fred, could be. Or it could be that nobody ever taught him the shaving charm.”
“Good point,” Fred said. “Or maybe he’s just really bad at it, and he figures that a beard is better for his dignity than a spotty bit of scruff.” He shared a final look with his twin, and they both shrugged before Fred turned back to Ginny and Harry. “Anyway, most people seem to think that Dumbledore was guarding some powerful magical relic, and they all agree that it would have been absolutely disastrous if the dear, departed Quirrell had got his paws on whatever-it-is.”
Well, they’re right about that, Harry said.
Whether they know it or not.
“Speaking of which . . .” The twins dug into the pockets of their robes and pulled out an amazing assortment of shrunken sweets. After a few quick waves of their wands, small boxes of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans, individually-wrapped Chocolate Frogs, Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum, Ice Mice, Peppermint Toads, and even a few Cockroach Clusters were stacked into a haphazard pile on the table at the foot of Harry’s bed.
“Most of the Gryffindors and a few people we’ve never met asked us to bring this in for you,” Fred said as he patted his pockets. “Some Slytherin girl tried to slip a Dungbomb into the lot, so we went ahead and checked out all the rest. Everything here is safe to eat.”
“I’m not sure the Cockroach Clusters are good to eat, mind you, but that’s your problem,” George added.
At that moment, the infirmary doors swung open, and Molly Weasley strode into the room with Mr. Weasley and Professor McGonagall struggling to keep up. Ron and the twins leapt to their feet and turned to face the door.
Bugger, Ginny thought. As quickly and casually as she could, she relaxed her posture and leaned sideways until she was nearly reclining next to Harry, with one elbow propped on her pillow. I do not want to talk to them yet.
“Ginny!” her mother cried, rushing forward.
“Molly!” McGonagall said sharply. “If you touch Harry or jostle the beds, you might very well damage him permanently.”
Mrs. Weasley slowed her approach somewhat as she rounded the bed. “Ginny, dear,” she said, gently lifting Ginny bodily out of bed and setting her on her feet. “Are you alright? Let me look at you.”
“I’m fine, Mum, just really tired.” Ginny stood patiently, in spite of a vague sense of exasperation, as her mother looked her over from head to toe and then hugged her tightly. “Harry’s the one who got hurt.”
Mr. Weasley squatted near the head of Harry’s bed and looked him in the eye. “How are you, Harry?” he asked.
Don’t lift your head when you talk, Ginny instructed him.
“I’m fine, Mr. Weasley,” Harry said, his voice partially muffled by the pillow beneath his head.
The older man smiled gently. “I’m not sure you’re fine, Harry. Haven’t you noticed all the bandages and suchlike?”
Ginny spotted Hermione’s quick grin before the other girl’s face settled back into careful neutrality.
Mr. Weasley looked across the bed at her. “What happened to him, Ginny? Professor McGonagall just said he was seriously injured.”
Ginny climbed carefully back up onto her bed and moved her pillow so that she could lean against the wall behind her. When she was in place, she pulled her hair over one shoulder and idly ran her fingers through it as she leaned her head back. She sighed deeply and said, “He got burned, Daddy. All over his back.”
“But he’s going to be okay?” he replied.
She nodded. “Provided he doesn’t move too much. Madam Pomfrey’s keeping him partially Petrified.”
Professor McGonagall conjured a stool and sat quietly behind her students. Seeing her, George pulled up two more chairs to the foot of Harry’s bed. “Thank you, son,” Mr. Weasley said, dropping into one of them.
Mrs. Weasley pulled the blankets on the bed up over Ginny’s lap, and then she Summoned an additional pillow from an empty bed and tucked it behind her daughter’s shoulders. She squeezed Ginny’s arm as though she was reluctant to let go, but then she walked around the beds and sat down as well. Somewhat hesitantly, the Weasley brothers resumed their positions.
“Are you alright, Ron?” Mrs. Weasley asked. “Minerva said you hadn’t been injured.”
“I’m okay, Mum,” he replied. “Barely a scratch.”
“Mum, Dad,” Ginny said, hoping to distract them as she waved towards Hermione. “This is our friend, Hermione Granger.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Hermione,” Mrs. Weasley said somewhat distractedly. “Ginny’s told us so many wonderful things about you.”
Hermione smiled. “Thank you, Mrs. Weasley. It’s a pleasure to meet you, also.”
“Were you along for this adventure of theirs, too?” Mr. Weasley asked. At Hermione’s nod, he continued. “And did you get hurt at all?”
“No,” she replied, “the others did all of the work.”
Ginny rolled her eyes at her friend’s modesty, but she schooled her expression as her parents turned back towards her. She did her best to ignore the speculative look Hermione was giving her behind their backs.
“Tell us what happened, then,” Mrs. Weasley instructed. “Minerva said you’d somehow got in the middle of a conflict between the professors . . . that Professor Quirrell was trying to steal something from the Headmaster?”
Ginny began to feign a yawn but found that it became real halfway through. “We’re exhausted, Mum, and Harry can hardly talk at all when he’s lying like that. Do you mind if Fred and George tell you about it? They know everything that’s worth knowing since the Headmaster talked to them.”
Fred’s eyes widened in a moment of panic, but George only blinked before he picked up on Ginny’s request. “Yeah, we’ve heard it twice now, and Dumbledore told us a bit, and Ron and Hermione can help us if we miss anything. Harry and Ginny really didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.”
Mrs. Weasley’s hands twitched in her lap, and Ginny knew that her mother desperately wanted to do something comforting. Ginny looked directly at George and tried to put as much gratitude as she could into her expression.
“I suppose that’s alright,” her father said, glancing at her curiously.
“Well, here’s how it started, then,” George said. “Dumbledore was hiding something here at school, and he’d put a bunch of things in one of the corridors to protect it. The ickle Firsties found out that Quirrell wanted to steal it, and then later they worked out that he had actually started to break his way through the Headmaster’s protections. So they chased after him.”
“They what?!” Mrs. Weasley gasped, half-rising from her chair.
Her husband put a calming hand on her wrist, guiding her back into the seat, and turned to Ron. “Why didn’t you tell one of the other professors?” he asked.
Ron gulped, but Professor McGonagall spoke before he could. “They tried, Arthur. There was . . . a miscommunication.” Mr. Weasley’s brow furrowed, but he nodded slowly.
Fred and George, talking in turns, launched into a recounting of the challenges the younger students had faced. Mrs. Weasley gasped when she heard about the Devil’s Snare, and she insisted on inspecting Ron’s neck for herself. As her family talked, Ginny let her eyelids sag.
Didn’t think it would be this easy to fake being tired, did we? Harry asked.
Ginny sighed mentally. It was a long night, and hearing about it only makes it seem longer.
Mrs. Weasley’s grip on her chair had become progressively tighter, and as the twins talked about the chess game, the fallen troll, and the potions puzzle, her arms began to shake slightly with tension.
As Fred and George described the confrontation with Quirrell, Ginny and Harry squeezed their eyes tightly shut, desperately trying to avoid reliving the events as her brothers described them.
“They got into some kind of tussle,” George concluded, “and ended up both falling into a fire that Quirrell had conjured up. Harry got away by transporting back here, and Quirrell . . . well . . . I guess he didn’t get away at all.”
A tear rolled slowly down Ginny’s cheek at the memory of their separation and pain. They had not noticed any movement, but Ginny was pulled gently into her father’s strong arms and held in a comforting embrace.
“It’s over now, Sweetheart,” he murmured into her hair. “It’s all over.”
Ginny sniffed and wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “I know, Daddy. It just . . . it just hurt so much.”
Mr. Weasley eased her back onto the pillows and rounded the bed, crossing in front of his family and Hermione to crouch in front of Harry again.
“You were trying to do the right thing, weren’t you, Harry?”
Suddenly nervous, Harry whispered, “Yes, sir.”
“Oh, come now, there’s no need for that with me,” Mr. Weasley replied with a gentle smile. “Would you say that what you did was really the right thing?”
Harry desperately wanted to shake his head as emphatically as he could, but he had to settle for words. “No. Not at all. Not even close.”
The older man nodded. “Good lad.” He ruffled Harry’s hair gently and then stood up. He scanned the row of people sitting next to Harry’s bed, and Ginny saw his eyes stop on her mother. Following his gaze, Ginny saw that her mother’s face was very pale and she seemed to be swallowing convulsively.
Mr. Weasley returned to his chair and took his wife’s hand as her eyes darted from Ron to Ginny.
“You’re alright?” she whispered. “Both of you?” Her gaze swept around to Harry and Hermione. “All of you?”
Each of them nodded except Harry, and Mrs. Weasley’s breath escaped in a rush. She swallowed twice more and then found a bit more of her voice. “You . . . you sneaked past a giant three-headed dog.” She took a shuddering breath. “You played a chess game that could have . . . have killed you, for all you knew. You fought against an experienced Dark wizard.”
As her mother finished speaking, Ginny could see tears forming in the woman’s eyes, and she felt a moment of guilt for excluding portions of the story, even as she realised that it was the best thing to do.
No one else spoke, and Mrs. Weasley continued in the same soft, horrified voice. “I can’t believe that my children . . . my youngest children . . . did something so . . . so . . . so foolish. So reckless. You could have died!
“You should have found an adult,” she said, tilting her head in emphasis. “You should have told a prefect. You should have . . . have run up and down the halls screaming until someone listened to you. Anything but try to stop him yourself.”
“Molly, they did try . . .” McGonagall interjected carefully.
Mrs. Weasley shook her head sharply, but her voice remained quiet. “I don’t care. There is no excuse for what they did.”
“If they had not done what they did, the consequences would have been most dire, indeed,” the professor persisted.
Mrs. Weasley closed her eyes and nodded minutely. “That is good. I admit it. That is a good thing. I am glad of it, but that does not make it acceptable.”
Ginny squeezed her own eyes closed. Her mother’s quiet words of concern, tinged with the anger that Ginny knew was there, were far more devastating than any shouting might have been. Her mother, she knew, was not in any sort of towering rage. Instead, her terror was overwhelming her anger, and Ginny hated to see the result.
“The two of you,” she said, pointing at Ron and Ginny, “will be trimming the grass of the paddock this summer. Separately. With scissors.” For just a moment, her eyes flashed in a hint of her temper. “Perhaps that will teach you to think!”
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and released it slowly. Then she stood up and turned to Ron, pulling him up out of his chair and hugging him ferociously. She released him just as abruptly before performing the same manoeuvre on a very shocked Hermione. Turning back to the bed, she stood still for a moment, blinking rapidly, and then reached out to gently squeeze Harry’s foot. Finally, she rounded the bed and pulled Ginny to her shoulder for another crushing embrace.
“My little Ginny,” she whispered softly enough that only Ginny and Harry could hear. “I’m very glad you’re safe,” she said over Ginny’s head at a more normal volume, “and I’m really very proud of you. All four of you. But I . . . you . . .” She sighed. “I’m glad you’re safe now.”
Mrs. Weasley finally released Ginny and moved back towards her chair. As she walked, Ginny heard her soft gasps and saw the tears finally escaping her eyes to roll silently down her scarred nose and reddened cheeks.
Professor McGonagall rose from her chair and intercepted the distraught woman. “May I offer you a cup of tea in my quarters, Molly?”
Ginny’s mother nodded for a moment before recovering her voice. “Yes, thank you, Minerva. That would be very nice.” Wiping her face with a handkerchief from her pocket, Molly looked around at the gathered children until her eyes rested on Hermione. “It was lovely to meet you, Hermione. Arthur, you know where I’ll be. If you all will excuse me?”
All six students said their goodbyes in soft voices, and then Mrs. Weasley and Professor McGonagall left the room together. Ginny saw the professor’s hand resting gently on her mother’s back, and once again she was grateful to the woman who had become their mentor.
“Is she . . . will she be alright?” Hermione asked quietly.
Mr. Weasley shook himself, pulling his eyes away from the doors, and smiled weakly. “She’ll be fine, Hermione, since you lot are alright.” His smile became the familiar Weasley grin. “I think you really impressed her.”
“Oh,” Hermione said, blinking. “Well . . . err . . . thank you?”
“She was serious about the grass, wasn’t she?” Ron asked after a moment of silence.
“Yes, she was,” his father answered, nodding. “And you’ll do it, too, won’t you?”
Ron nodded, and when Mr. Weasley turned towards Ginny, she said, “Yes, Dad.”
Her father stood up again. “I need to get back to the Ministry before too long, and a cup of tea wouldn’t hurt me, either. You lot stay out of trouble, alright? And Ginny, I’m sure I don’t have to tell you to take good care of Harry.”
Ginny shook her head with a small smile. “Thank you for being here.”
“Any time, Firefly. And I do mean that literally. The next time you have something important to say, and no one will listen, you come straight home and tell me. I’ll see to it that something gets done. Alright?”
She smiled gratefully. “Alright, Daddy.”
“Good girl. We’ll see you all at the platform on the twentieth.” With a final smile, he turned and walked slowly out of the room, silently pulling the infirmary doors closed behind him.
After a full minute of silence, the six friends all sighed and smiled nervously at each other.
“Well, Hermione,” George said, “what are you going to tell your parents?”
They all laughed a bit breathlessly. For the remainder of the morning, they nibbled on sweets and devised even more outlandish incidents to add to the rumours of the quartet’s adventure, as well as unlikely stories Hermione might try to tell her own parents when they asked about her term.
Harry grew stiff and restless from lying on his stomach, but each time he considered trying to shift his arms or legs more than an inch, Ginny overrode his plan before he began moving. They both knew that she really would Petrify the rest of him if she thought it would help him to heal more quickly.
Just before noon, Madam Pomfrey emerged from her office and held the hospital wing door open imperiously. “Everyone out except for my patients,” she ordered. “It’s time for lunch, and I rather doubt that any of you want to see me change Mr. Potter’s bandages prior to eating. Out.”
The three Weasley brothers were quick to rise from their seats, and Hermione followed their lead more calmly. “May we visit again later, Madam Pomfrey?” she asked.
“Mr. Potter will be asleep for the afternoon, but you may visit him briefly after dinner. Miss Weasley may spend the afternoon as she pleases. As of now, she is released from my supervision.”
“I’ll be here, if that’s all right,” Ginny answered instantly. The matron nodded.
You don’t have to, you know. I don’t dream, and you could be outside or in the common room or something.
I know, but . . .
Yeah. Me, too.
“Alright,” Hermione said. “We’ll come by after dinner, then. Try not to move, Harry.”
“Thanks, Hermione. I’ll do my best.”
“And if he doesn’t,” George added, “Ginny will see to it for him.”
The four other students left in a group, and Ginny sat uncertainly on her bed as Madam Pomfrey drew her wand and approached Harry. The matron pulled the sheet off of Harry’s back and banished his pyjama shirt, exposing the slightly yellowed bandages beneath, but she paused before removing them.
Her face softened as she looked at Ginny. “Miss Weasley, there is no need for you to stay for this. I admire your dedication to Mr. Potter. I’m sure he appreciates it also, but it does not help him for you to see his injury at this stage. Perhaps you would like to join your friends for lunch in the Great Hall while I work?”
“Is it going to hurt?” Ginny asked. She did not want to be elsewhere when she could be distracting them from pain.
“No, child. You won’t feel anything at all, regardless of how the wound looks.”
Would you mind? Ginny asked. I really do want to talk to Neville.
Of course not, he replied. I don’t actually want to see it either.
Ginny sighed in relief and nodded at the matron. “Alright. How long do you suppose it might take?”
“Half an hour, perhaps.”
“That will be plenty of time. I’ll come back as soon as you’re done, if that’s alright.” Ginny jumped to the floor, straightened her skirt and blouse, and slipped on her socks and shoes.
“Provided you are alone, Miss Weasley,” Pomfrey answered.
“I will be. Thank you for letting me stay with him,” Ginny said.
The matron snorted. “We both know that I could not stop you even if I were so foolishly inclined. Run along now, child. I have work to do.”
Ginny walked around the bed, leaned down, and lightly kissed Harry’s forehead. I’ll be back in an instant if you need me.
He smiled and nodded against his pillow. I know.
Smiling in return, Ginny left the hospital wing. The moment the doors had closed behind her, they felt Harry’s back go numb, and the sounds of bandages being manipulated reached their ears as Harry turned his face into the pillow. Ignoring what was happening to him as much as possible, he focused on what Ginny was seeing and accompanied her as she went to lunch.
It was several minutes after noon, so they decided that there was no point in looking for Neville in Gryffindor Tower. Instead, Ginny went directly to the Great Hall. The rumble of voices and dishes grew louder as she approached, and the noise contrasted sharply with the quiet of the hospital wing. Ginny pushed open one of the huge doors and entered the crowded hall.
As was her habit with Harry, she crossed the foot of the Hufflepuff table and started up the aisle between it and the Gryffindor table. Before she got halfway to her usual seat, the hall grew quiet in a wave that spread from one end of the room to the other. Looking around, she saw that almost everyone was staring at her. Most of them were smiling or nodding, but a few simply looked shocked, and the combined attention was much more than she cared to endure. She lowered her eyes and walked as quickly as possible towards her seat.
She sat with Neville on her left, as usual, but the seat on her right was strangely empty. Each time she saw the open space out of the corner of her eye, she instinctively glanced in that direction because it looked so very foreign. Hermione and Ron sat across from her, and the other students nearby were already casting curious looks at the first years and Ginny in particular.
Hermione leaned across the table towards Ginny. “You know, it’s very odd seeing you without Harry,” she whispered. “Aside from trips to the loo, it’s only happened two or three times.”
Ginny glanced at Neville, but he was staring at his food and did not look up at all. Ginny leaned forward also and whispered, “Far more odd for us.”
Hermione nodded and mouthed, ‘Hi, Harry’, accompanied by a tiny wave of her fingers.
Hi, Hermione, Harry said. Ginny smiled at their friend in acknowledgement and reply.
Ginny sat back in her seat and served herself lunch from the platters nearby. She tried to ignore the students near her and her friends, but their stares were becoming more pervasive and their voices were getting louder. Just when she was sure that one of them would finally ask her a question, Fred dropped into Harry’s usual seat. On the other side of the table, George sat next to Hermione, and together the twins effectively blocked any other students from talking to Ginny. She smiled at them gratefully and graciously allowed Fred to nick a piece of fruit from her plate without challenge.
“Chin up, Ginny,” he whispered. “After Mum and Dad this morning, this crowd is nothing.”
Ginny grinned in response. As she began to eat, she continuously found herself waiting for the alternating tastes and textures that normally came from Harry during meals. They had each spent years eating as other people did, and they were surprised by how odd it now seemed.
As she ate, Ginny kept a surreptitious eye on Neville in an attempt to gauge his mood. He seemed to have eaten his fill, but he was staring at his plate and toying with the remaining crumbs.
“Hi, Neville,” Ginny began tentatively.
“Hullo, Ginny,” he replied without looking up.
She sighed. She had known this would not be easy, but her friend’s demeanour and response only increased her sense of guilt.
“Neville, I’m really, really sorry,” she said quietly. “I should have explained things to you first instead of hexing you.”
His eyes flicked up to hers for the briefest of moments before settling back on the crumbs. “If you’d told me, I might have helped,” he mumbled to his empty plate. “Or at least stopped trying to keep you from going.”
“I know,” Ginny said, nodding. “I should have trusted you enough to give you a chance.”
Neville’s shoulders rolled in a loose shrug. “S’alright, I suppose. I probably would’ve just slowed you down. You were right in any case.”
“You were right, too,” she said more softly. “One of us did get hurt again. Harry . . .” She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment to hold back a surge of her own emotions. “Harry was hurt terribly.”
I’m okay, Ginny.
I know.
“He’ll be fine,” Neville said confidently. “You’ll see.”
“Yeah, I hope so,” she agreed. After a moment of silence, she tried again. “I’m still sorry, no matter who was right about what.”
Neville shrugged again. “Don’t worry about it.” He dropped his fork onto his plate and stood up abruptly. After shifting his weight from foot to foot for a moment, he mumbled, “See you later, Ginny. Let Harry know I understand, alright?”
“Okay. Bye, Neville.” Her subdued voice trailed after his retreating back. She stared after him for a long moment and then sighed as she turned back to her meal.
“You couldn’t have expected that to go much better,” Fred whispered.
“I suppose not.”
“You made the best choice you could at the time,” Hermione said from across the table. “That’s all anyone can do.”
Ginny cocked her head at her friend. “You wouldn’t have hexed him, though.”
The other girl lowered her brow thoughtfully. “I’m not sure about that,” she said. “If he had gone on much longer, I think I might have. You and Harry were so . . . so . . . intense, I suppose.” She shrugged. “I could tell it was really important.”
Ginny smiled weakly. “Thanks, Hermione.”
She finished her meal in silence, listening to her friends and family talking around her. Fred and George teased Hermione gently about her exam results, and Ron occasionally grunted his contributions around mouthfuls of food.
Almost too normal, isn’t it? Harry asked.
Yeah. But at the same time, it’s a weird sort of normal.
After a few more minutes, Madam Pomfrey announced that she was finished with Harry’s bandages and removed the Petrification. She set him on his feet, conjured a new shirt for him, and sent him to the lavatory. When he returned, she led him through a series of simple movements to properly and carefully stretch the raw skin of his back.
“It is important to preserve the skin’s normal flexibility,” she explained, “and these exercises help to do that. They require careful monitoring, but between the exercises and the potions, your back should heal with no lingering problems. That is if you do as you’re told, Mr. Potter.” Regardless of the reason, Harry was glad to be able to move his torso even a bit.
Ginny excused herself from the table, walked to her dormitory to retrieve her book bag, and transported back to the hospital wing. Just after she arrived, the matron Petrified Harry’s back again and then gave him his lunch. Ginny held his free hand as he ate, and when he was finished she encouraged him to drink the half-dose of Dreamless Sleep Potion provided by Madam Pomfrey. His senses faded out of their perception even as his breathing became deep and regular.
Ginny spent part of the afternoon reading a textbook, but eventually she lay down to rest at Harry’s side.
Two hours later, Harry awoke from the effects of the Sleeping Draught. When he stirred, Ginny awoke from her nap, and Harry turned his head to the other side to watch as she brushed her hair, removing the tangles of sleep. He never tired of the colours and texture of her hair, and they enjoyed the sensation of brushing it.
Before Ginny had finished, Madam Pomfrey opened the curtains around their beds. “The Headmaster was here a while ago to enquire as to your condition, and he said that he would visit again tomorrow when you were more likely to be awake. Hagrid also came by, and he seemed quite eager to see you. I instructed him to come back after five o’clock. Would you like to see him?”
“Yeah, definitely,” Harry said. They had appreciated their quiet afternoon together, but they knew they would get bored without company.
“Very well,” the matron replied. “We will need to separate your beds during his visit.”
Ginny moved into the chair next to Harry’s bed while Madam Pomfrey slid the other bed back to its original place and straightened its blankets. Then she adjusted the curtains to enclose only Harry’s bed and left them open. Any outsider would think that Harry was the only patient in the hospital wing and that Ginny was merely visiting him.
A short while later there was a heavy knock on the door. Madam Pomfrey opened it to allow Hagrid to enter the room. “Mr. Potter mustn’t be touched,” she warned him.
“I’ll be careful,” Hagrid promised as he entered, and Harry thought their friend sounded odd. Hagrid straightened and stopped for a moment, and Ginny watched his eyes slide along Harry’s covered form. The huge man snuffled loudly, and they noticed that his eyes were red-rimmed. He shook his head and then crossed the room to sit on Ginny’s bed, which bent visibly under his weight.
“How are yeh, ‘Arry?” Hagrid asked timidly.
“I’ll be alright, Hagrid,” he replied. “How’ve you been?”
The groundskeeper’s composure shattered, and huge tears leaked from his eyes. “How’ve I been?” he howled. “I nearly get yeh killed, twice, and yer askin’ me how I’ve been!” He shook his shaggy head as he looked down at his hands. “Heart as big as Hogwarts, yeh’ve got. Jus’ like yer mum, bless her soul.”
Harry was momentarily distracted by the sliver of information about his mother, but he hastened to reassure his huge friend. “It’s alright, Hagrid. You didn’t mean to do anything wrong.” As he spoke, Ginny walked around his bed and sat next to Hagrid, putting a comforting hand on his broad back and leaning her head onto his arm.
“But I did do summat wrong, didn’ I?” Hagrid protested Harry’s words. “Forest is no place for firs’ years, Professor McGonagall said, an’ she’s righ’. Took you off into th’ forest, an’ what’d you find? You-Know-Who! Yeh coulda been killed!”
“But I wasn’t . . .” Harry began.
Hagrid continued his sobbing confession, noticing neither Harry’s interruption nor Ginny’s attempt to get his attention by tugging his arm. “An’ if that weren’t enough, I told You-Know-Who how to get pas’ Fluffy! Gave it to ‘im on a platter, I did, jus’ for a dragon egg. An’ you went ter fix it.” He took a shuddering breath as his shoulders heaved. “An’ yeh got all burned, ‘Arry!” he wailed.
“Hagrid, I’m okay,” Harry said again, but Hagrid did not seem to hear him. He sat, with his head in his hands, sobbing loudly enough to shake the bed on which he sat.
Ginny could not stand to see their friend this way. Giving up on his arm, she climbed directly onto Hagrid’s lap. Kneeling on one of his massive thighs, facing him directly, she reached up and put her small hands on either side of his huge head.
“Hagrid,” Ginny said softly. “Come on, Hagrid. Look, Harry’s alright. You can see him right there. It all worked out okay.”
At her coaxing, Hagrid lowered his hands and looked up at her with thick tears still running down his face. Ginny met his eyes and moved her hands to his wet cheeks, trying her best to project the calm reassurance that her father had always offered to her when she was upset. “He’s going to be fine,” she said again. “If you hadn’t told him what he needed to know, Voldemort would have figured it out some other way. Maybe he would have hurt you to get it, and the very same thing would have happened to Harry.”
“Don’t say ‘is name!” Hagrid protested weakly.
“It’s just a name, but that’s not the point,” Ginny said in the same calm voice. “It’s not your fault that Harry got hurt. Maybe you made mistakes at the pub and with the Forest, but you didn’t mean to. Just be careful not to do it again.”
Hagrid stilled under her hands as his tears stopped. “Yeh’ve been here all day, haven’t yeh, Ginny?” She nodded without speaking, and he sniffed again. “Yer a good friend to him. An’ to me.”
Hagrid wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to his shoulder. His grip was tight, but it was obvious to Ginny that he was being careful not to hurt her. She stayed quiet and let Hagrid rock her in his arms for a few minutes.
I suppose this is how Bun-bun feels, Harry said.
So long as it works, Ginny replied. But I do wish he’d wash his hair.
Harry watched as Hagrid finally opened his eyes and looked over Ginny’s head. “Yer gonna realise how fortunate yeh really are one day, ‘Arry. For now, jes’ take my word for it.”
Harry and Ginny started. Does he know? How could he know? she wondered.
“What do you mean, Hagrid?” Harry asked cautiously.
The gigantic man chuckled, vibrating Ginny’s whole body where she was still held in his arms. “I’ve seen lots o’ students come through ‘ere, ‘Arry. Sometimes I kin jus’ tell by lookin’. Yeh’ll know what I mean sooner or later.”
They were relieved, but Harry adopted an expression of innocent confusion. “Okay, Hagrid. If you say so.”
He’s right, though, he said silently. Ginny silently sent him a warm rush of affection in return.
At last, Hagrid released his grip on Ginny and set her on her feet in front of him. “Speakin’ o’ which, I brough’ somethin’ for yeh,” he said. Reaching into a pocket of his coat, he pulled out a package wrapped in rough brown paper. “Can yeh open it for ‘im, Ginny?”
Ginny nodded and took the package from his hands as she slid off of his lap. She unwrapped it, letting the paper fall to the floor, and found a handsome, leather-bound book. She opened it, and on the first page was a picture of James and Lily Potter, sitting on a bench on the Hogwarts grounds and smiling as they leaned into each other.
“Oh, Harry,” Ginny breathed as their emotions surged. He could see the picture, but she carried the book to the bed and held it where he could see it with his own eyes.
“‘Ermione came ter see me a while back,” Hagrid explained between bouts of blowing his nose in a kerchief the size of a jumper. “She said you didn’ have any pictures o’ yer parents. Shoulda realised tha’ meself. I wrote letters to some o’ their old school friends, an’ they sent me some pictures for yeh. I hope yeh like it.”
Ginny flipped through the pages, and they looked at image after image of James and Lily Potter. In some pictures they were with other people, but every photo included both of his parents smiling and clearly enraptured with each other.
“It’s brilliant, Hagrid,” Harry said. “This is . . . amazing. I’ve never had a better present. Thank you.”
“Glad ter do it,” Hagrid replied.
The door opened again, and Hermione leaned into the room. “Oh, good, you’re awake,” she said. “Oh, hello, Hagrid. Madam Pomfrey said we could stop by before dinner. Do you mind if we come in?”
“Not at all,” Harry said, turning his head away from Hagrid to look at the door. He watched as Hermione, Ron, and the twins filed into the room. Hermione had a thick book tucked under one arm, and the twins’ pockets bulged noticeably. They all greeted Hagrid, who rose ponderously to his feet.
“I’ll be goin’, then,” he said. “Got things ter do meself. You lot take care of our ‘Arry, here, alrigh’?”
“I’m fine, Hagrid, I promise,” Harry said, though he could not see his large friend.
“I know, I know . . . but it never hurts to ‘ave a few friends about. All of yeh’ll come down an’ see me before yeh leave, won’t yeh?”
“Of course,” Hermione promised. “Have a good evening, Hagrid.”
After a round of farewells, including a hug for Ginny and a careful pat on Harry’s leg, Hagrid squeezed through the door and left the hospital wing. Ginny turned to Hermione as the twins emptied another batch of sweets from their pockets onto the table.
“Did you know about this?” Ginny asked, holding the photo album open to the first page. “Hagrid said you talked to him about it.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful,” Hermione said. “I told him Harry didn’t have any photographs and asked if he knew of any, but I didn’t know he’d found some.”
“Thanks for giving him the idea,” Harry said. “It’s perfect.”
“You’re welcome,” she said.
“You can all sit down if you like,” Ginny said.
“Thanks, sister dear, but I’m afraid we can’t stay too long,” Fred said. “We’ve got to get to dinner on time so that we don’t miss the start of Quidditch practice. We can’t possibly win the game without a Seeker, but Oliver says we have to play our best anyway to try and make up some points.”
“And of course we can’t possibly win the House Cup, either, thanks to yours truly,” George added.
“We lost points, too,” Ginny said.
“Ah, yes,” George agreed. “But we say that it’s our fifty points that will keep us out of the running.”
Fred nodded. “The rest of Gryffindor has forgiven you two completely, so they pretty much agree with us. Of course, our spreading the idea around a bit didn’t hurt.”
“Ron and I were going to watch the practice,” Hermione said, “but I can stay here with you if you’d rather.”
“You persuaded her to watch Quidditch practice?” Harry asked Ron.
The other boy shrugged. “She’s brought a book.”
Hermione ignored Ron. “I really don’t mind keeping you company instead.”
An idea was beginning to form in Harry and Ginny’s minds, so Ginny shook her head. “It’s okay, Hermione. Go on out and watch. We’ve mostly just been sleeping and reading anyway.”
Their friend blinked in surprise. “Oh. Well, alright, I suppose.”
“Come on, then,” Fred said. “We’d best get started. Shall we stop by after practice, Harry?”
He could not help a small grin. “Sure, if you want to.”
The four students left, and Harry and Ginny could not help treasuring the confused, thoughtful look on Hermione’s face.
She needs to be surprised every now and again, Harry said. It keeps her sharp.
And, more importantly, it’s fun, Ginny added.
Chapter 25: One More
Author's Notes: Author’s Notes: Thanks, as always, to moshpit, Jonathan Avery, regdc, Chreechree, and Sherylyn for their beta assistance.
Ginny pressed her left palm against the pendant on her right wrist, and they both deliberately revisited the vivid memory of Professor McGonagall’s apology to them from the night before. The black and white disc warmed almost immediately, and Ginny raised it to her mouth.
“When you’ve finished eating, would you be able to come and see us?” she whispered. “Everything’s fine, but we’d really like to talk to you before dinner’s over.”
Madam Pomfrey delivered their meals a few minutes later, and Harry and Ginny ate as quickly as they could. Not long after their dishes had been removed, the door opened, and Professor McGonagall strode into the room.
“Good evening, Harry and Ginny. What may I do for you?”
“Professor,” Ginny began, “we were wondering. What are the rules for adding reserve players to the Quidditch team?”
To their delight, McGonagall’s face lit up. They had never seen her eyes become so bright, and excitement radiated from her in nearly palpable waves. “As I recall, you caught that key, didn’t you, Ginny?”
Ginny nodded, a huge grin stretching her face.
The professor clapped her hands together in front of her. “Excellent! Reserves may be added up to and including the day before the game. The student must be a member of Gryffindor House, in good academic standing, and the addition must be recorded on the roster, but no other restrictions apply.”
“Do you keep that roster, Professor?” Ginny asked.
“As it so happens, I do,” she replied. “Would you like me to add your name to it?”
“Please do,” Ginny said, her smile broadening. “May I tell the team at practice tonight?”
“Yes, you may. A broom is no problem, of course, as ours is assigned to the Seeker, but you will need a uniform.”
“I can wear Harry’s,” Ginny offered. “It’s only an inch or so too long, and that won’t matter in the air.”
“Excellent,” McGonagall said. She glanced down at her watch. “You have twenty minutes before practice, and you’ll be on the roster by the time you get there. If Mr. Wood offers any sort of objection, feel free to summon me. I look forward to seeing you on the pitch tomorrow.”
Still smiling, the professor turned and left the room.
You need to change clothes, Harry said. And you should get my gloves from my trunk.
Ginny’s hands were already busy braiding her hair into a single, thick plait. When she finished, she found an elastic in her bag and tied the braid off tightly. Pausing for a split second, she swooped down and kissed Harry’s cheek quickly, and then she prepared to transport directly to her bed.
You should walk. There’s enough time, and you never know when someone might be in there.
Oh, alright, Ginny said, fighting a giddy laugh. She left the hospital wing at a jog and climbed the stairs to Gryffindor Tower. The common room and her dormitory were both empty, and she quickly changed into her trainers, jeans, and a jumper. Then she climbed into her bed and pulled the curtains closed. A moment later, she appeared in Harry’s bed, and they listened carefully to determine whether or not any of his roommates were there. Hearing nothing, Ginny moved to his trunk and found Charlie’s old Seeker’s gloves inside.
She pushed them into the back pockets of her jeans and went back to her room. How much time do I have?
Harry awkwardly raised his wrist to his face. Five minutes.
Perfect.
She darted back down to the common room and out of the tower. She had hoped to be able to transport her way down the stairs, but other students were already climbing them on their way back from dinner. Instead, Ginny ran down the steps as quickly as she could, dodging her classmates, until she reached the entrance hall. She pulled open the doors and hurtled across the grounds to the broom shed. The Nimbus waited in its usual place, and she held it carefully away from the ground as she began to run to the pitch.
You have heard of flying, haven’t you? Harry teased gently.
Oh, right.
Ginny mounted the broom and flew towards the pitch. Rather than going through the pedestrian tunnel, she ascended to soar over the side of the pitch before diving down to the grass inside. Her timing was almost perfect, as the rest of the team was just gathering at the side of the pitch with their brooms in their hands.
Oliver Wood was facing the other players with his back partially towards Ginny and with the crate of Quidditch balls at his feet. The others noticed her arrival first, and the twins’ faces broke into gleeful grins. As she reached the ground, Oliver turned and watched her land.
“I heard that you’re in need of a Seeker,” Ginny said, letting the Nimbus rest in the crook of her arm as she pulled on Harry’s gloves.
Wood looked at her for a moment and then turned back to her brothers. “Can she do it?”
They nodded seriously in spite of their smiles. “Just try to stop her,” George said.
Oliver waved her into line with the rest of the team. “We’ll have to talk to McGonagall right after practice,” he said.
“I spoke to her a few minutes ago,” Ginny said. “I’m already on the roster as a Reserve Seeker.”
“Well done. I appreciate someone who shows some initiative,” Oliver said. He paused, and a grim smile spread across his face. Harry and Ginny were familiar with the gleam in his eyes, but they had never seen it look quite so maniacal. “Alright, you lot!” he shouted. “We’ve got a chance now, and WE’RE GOING TO TAKE IT!”
Wood flipped open the crate at his feet. The two Bludgers soared into the air as he tossed the Quaffle to Angelina. “Chasers, Beaters, get up there!”
The twins saluted Ginny and Oliver with their customized red Beater’s bats before taking off into the air after the Bludgers. The three Chasers took flight at the same time, already passing the Quaffle back and forth between them as they ascended. Wood straightened from the crate with the Snitch held tightly between his thumb and first two fingers.
“Alright, Ginny,” he said with quiet intensity. “You catch this. When you’ve done that, bring it to me, and you can start again. Got it?”
“Yes, Captain,” Ginny said, nodding and trying to contain her bubbling excitement.
Harry and Ginny saw Oliver’s arm flex, and Ginny raised her arm just as Wood released his grip on the Snitch. In a flash, she snatched it out of the air when it was only inches from his hand. Holding it out to him, she grinned. “Here you are, Captain.”
Oliver took the golden ball from her hand, grinning again. “You’ll do.” He reared back and threw the Snitch high above them, and it zipped off into the sky. Ginny took off after it, and as she gained altitude she heard Oliver shout joyfully. “Two of them! Thank Merlin, there’s two of them!”
Still grinning, Ginny soared once around the pitch for the sheer joy of it. Even for Harry, still lying in the hospital wing and ignoring his own surroundings, it was a tremendous relief to be flying again. Looking down, Ginny spotted her friend and brother in the stands. Ron cheered as Hermione beamed and clapped, her book forgotten on the bench beside her.
With nothing to distract their focus, Harry and Ginny were able to search diligently and thoroughly for the Snitch. Occasionally, they looked down at the rest of the team, and they thought that the older students were playing with as much enthusiasm and skill as they ever had. Ginny hoped, privately, that her presence helped to revitalize the team.
Over the next two hours, Ginny caught the Snitch four times. As they expected, Ginny had a bit more trouble tracking the Snitch from across the pitch than Harry did. They were annoyed that they lost the Snitch a few times, but Ginny’s size and speed made up for those missed opportunities. She made one catch in particular that they were certain Harry would have missed or taken a bit longer to make.
Just after sunset, when Ginny handed Oliver the Snitch from her most recent catch, he flew to the ground and signalled for everyone to land. The twins brought the Bludgers in and tied them into the crate, and Katie dropped the Quaffle into its place. Oliver himself secured the Snitch in the tiny cage made to hold it.
“Alright, people. We looked pretty good out there today, but we need to make sure we keep that edge for tomorrow. The game’s at ten o’clock, so I want you all dressed and ready to go in the locker room by nine thirty. Ginny, did Professor McGonagall find you a uniform?”
She nodded. “Harry’s letting me borrow his.”
“Good.” Oliver paused and scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Let’s all keep our mouths shut about Ginny. If Ravenclaw doesn’t know we have a Seeker, we may gain an edge when she’s there and ready to play. Now you lot get cleaned up and head back to the castle. Get a good night’s sleep, and I expect you to eat a good breakfast, but don’t stuff yourselves. Get back to the tower, relax for a bit, and be in bed by ten thirty. And remember, we’re Gryffindor, and we’re coming out with a roar!”
The team walked back towards the locker room, and Ginny squeezed in between the twins. “Could one of you get Harry’s uniform for me so I can put it in a locker for tomorrow?”
“Sure thing, Ginny,” Fred said as they reached the doors. “Wait here a sec.”
A moment later, Fred emerged with Harry’s uniform over his arm. “Great flying tonight. Keep it up, and the game tomorrow will be a walkover.”
She smiled. “Thanks, Fred. We can all hope, eh?”
Ginny walked into the girls’ locker-room and immediately realised her dilemma. At least one of her team-mates was in the shower, from the sounds, and two of them were talking loudly. Seeing no alternative, she lowered her eyes to the ground and stepped further into the room.
Count something, Harry, she said. He could see very little, so he began counting the potions arrayed along a nearby shelf and then trying elaborate schemes to guess how much each one might weigh or how much liquid they each contained.
Katie Bell sat on a bench in her flying clothes, brushing out her honey-coloured hair. Alicia Spinnet was leaning against the locker bearing her name, holding her broom and apparently waiting for the other two girls as she chatted with Katie. Ginny assumed that Angelina Johnson was in the shower, and she sighed in relief that none of the girls were changing. It had been so long since she and Harry had deliberately separated their senses that they were no longer certain that it could be completely effective.
Most of the lockers in the room did not have a name attached, so Ginny picked the one nearest the door and pulled it open. She hung Harry’s uniform on the hook provided and placed his gloves on the shelf before settling the Nimbus into the stand inside the locker. Officially, the Quidditch players stored their brooms there on the night before a game to avoid an extra trip to the broom shed the following morning. Unofficially, since the team rooms were barred to non-House members, it ensured that no one tried to tamper with the brooms before a game. When she closed the locker door, Katie and Alicia looked up from their conversation.
“Hey, Ginny,” Alicia said. “I’m glad you came out tonight. Ravenclaw would have stomped us without a Seeker.”
Ginny smiled, pleased with the older girl’s words but still eager to leave the room before Angelina finished her shower. “Thanks. I’ve been to all the practices and flown on Harry’s broom, so I figured I had as good a chance as anyone of catching a Snitch.”
As good a chance? Harry scoffed faintly while trying to guess at the colours different combinations of potions might make. You were brilliant.
Katie, who was the quietest of the three Chasers, put away her brush and looked up at Ginny. “Did a good job of it, too.”
“When are you going to show us those moves the twins told us about?” Alicia asked.
“Oh, err…” Ginny had completely forgotten about that promise. “Next term, maybe? They’re nothing special, really. Just some fun things to do when you’re the only Chaser in a backyard game.”
“You never know when something like that might come in handy,” Angelina called from the shower stall. “Anything that lets me get one past Oliver is great in my book.”
“I’ll be glad to do it, then,” Ginny replied, raising her voice slightly over the running water. “Just don’t expect miracles.”
Alicia snorted. “Yeah, and getting the Quaffle past Oliver is a minor miracle of its own.”
The water stopped, and Ginny started for the door. “Well, I told Ron and Hermione I’d walk back up to the castle with them. See you all tomorrow morning.”
“‘Night, Ginny,” Alicia said. “It’ll be nice to outnumber the boys for once.”
“Goodnight, Ginny,” Katie echoed. “Good to have you.”
“Don’t let Fred tease you too much in the morning,” Angelina called. “If he messes up our new Reserve Seeker, I’ll beat him bloody.”
Ginny giggled. “I’ll tell him you said that. Goodnight.”
She had fabricated the story about meeting Ron and Hermione outside the changing rooms, but they actually were there waiting for her. Together, the three first years started up the hill towards the castle.
“That was really excellent flying, Ginny,” Hermione said.
“Thanks. It was great to be able to fly that much for a change, especially without worrying about what Harry was seeing at the same time.”
“How much did it help you, having been there for his games?” the brunette asked curiously.
They thought about it for a moment. “Well, I knew how the Snitch would move from seeing it before, and we were able to judge the distances pretty well. We think that maybe Harry’s just better at spotting it and keeping track of it.”
“Do you suppose you need glasses?” Hermione asked.
Ginny blinked in surprise. “I hadn’t thought of that,” she admitted. Then, after a moment, she shook her head. “I don’t think so. I could see the Snitch from just as far away as Harry can with his glasses. He’s just better at spotting it among all the other things he can see.”
“Hmm,” Hermione said thoughtfully. “That’s really interesting.”
“So long as she catches the Snitch, it doesn’t matter too much,” Ron said.
“Not for Quidditch, perhaps, but it’s still interesting.”
The twins caught up with them, and all five students returned to the hospital wing to gather around Harry’s bed. Ginny perched on the edge of the mattress to his right, and Harry tilted his head as far as he could to see all of the others, who sat in a line along his left side.
“You…” Fred began and then trailed off. “I was going to say ‘you should have seen her’, Harry, but that probably would have been the stupidest thing I’d said all week.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, Fred,” Ginny said. “I’m sure you’ve said loads of stupider things this week.”
“You hear this, George?” Fred asked, shaking his head. “One session of absolutely breath-taking flying, and now she thinks she can mouth off at her big brother.”
“She’s always mouthed off at us, Fred.”
“Well, yes, but now she thinks she can get away with it.”
“Can she, then?” George asked.
Fred shrugged. “Probably. But that’s not the point.”
“What do you say, Ron?” Harry asked. “Think we’ll win tomorrow?”
Ron’s face took on the serious expression that he always adopted when discussing Quidditch. “If the team flies like they did tonight, it will at least be a really good Quaffle game. Ravenclaw’s Seeker is good, but I think Ginny can beat him unless he just gets lucky. So I’d say our chances are decent, and I suspect we have a slight advantage over them in terms of overall talent.”
“The points’ll be harder, though,” George said. “Even if we beat Ravenclaw, we can lose the Quidditch Cup to Slytherin if our score isn’t high enough.”
The Quidditch Cup was awarded to the team with the highest point total, regardless of wins or losses. Slytherin’s performance against Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw had given them an impressive total score for the season, in spite of their loss to Gryffindor.
“You don’t need terribly many,” Hermione pointed out. “Assuming Ginny catches the Snitch, you only need four goals to get ahead of Slytherin.”
“Yeah, but the Birds’ Keeper is nearly as good as Wood, and their Chasers are really impressive,” Fred said. “If we let them get enough goals, they could conceivably win the game and the Cup, even if Ginny gets the Snitch. We’re tied with them in Quidditch points right now, after all.”
Hermione nodded. “That’s true. They’d need at least one hundred sixty points to do that, and their Chasers did get them nearly that many against Slytherin.”
“Slytherin’s Keeper is absolute rubbish,” Ron said confidently. “It’s hard to picture Wood letting sixteen goals get past, especially if our Chasers are also scoring.”
“Oliver allowed eleven goals against Slytherin,” Hermione countered. “Some were while Harry was in trouble, but he still allowed them.”
Ginny and Harry could no longer contain themselves, and they burst into laughter. “Hermione,” Harry said through his mirth, “you do realise you’re debating Quidditch with Ron and the twins?”
She blinked a few times, looking vaguely affronted. “Well,” she said at last, “the maths are interesting enough. It’s not as though I’m comparing oddly-named Chaser formations or anything.”
“Ah,” Ginny said, “but you do know that there are oddly-named Chaser formations, don’t you?”
“Err… well, yes, I suppose I do.”
“We’ll finish converting her in time. Have no fear,” George declared.
The six friends spent the rest of the evening sharing Harry’s sweets and making predictions about the Quidditch Cup and the House Cup. They generally agreed that Gryffindor’s chances for the Quidditch Cup were good, but they knew that their house would never be able to overcome Slytherin’s lead for the House Cup. Still, they enjoyed debating the various possibilities, aided by Hermione’s memory and quick calculations.
At nine thirty, Ginny walked back to Gryffindor Tower with the others. Because she was no longer a patient in the hospital wing, she needed to seem to go to bed in her own dormitory. She also wanted to shower and prepare for bed in the more familiar facilities.
While she was gone, Madam Pomfrey expanded the curtains and moved Ginny’s bed back against Harry’s. By ten o’clock, Ginny was clean and her hair was dry. She casually said goodnight to her roommates. A few minutes later, when her dormitory had become silent, she made a quick detour to Harry’s bed and then transported herself to the hospital wing.
I’ve got the proper towel this time, she commented. The other one doesn’t smell right.
Harry twisted his arm to produce Bun-bun, and Ginny curled up against him as she had the night before. After the evening’s activities, she was exhausted, and she fell asleep easily. Within a few minutes, she was breathing rhythmically against Harry’s elbow. Harry himself was restless and wide awake after all the rest he had unwillingly taken, so Ginny kept him company in his head until midnight, when Madam Pomfrey provided him with another full dose of Dreamless Sleep Potion.
Ginny woke suddenly the next morning, propelled by her excitement about the day’s match. Harry would sleep for another half an hour, so she transported back to her bed in the girls’ dormitory. Hermione’s curtains were open and her bed neatly made, but Ginny could hear that Lavender and Parvati were still asleep. Quietly, Ginny gathered a set of weekend clothes from her trunk and went into the lavatory. She showered again to help her feel fresh and alert, and then she took the time to braid her hair tightly. When she was ready, she glanced into the mirror, and even she had to admit that her expression glowed with anticipation.
This is going to be fun!
Harry smiled. I’m really glad you get to play, Ginny. You love it. We love it.
I like flying with you, she replied, but somehow it’s not quite the same.
I know.
Ginny went downstairs and found Hermione fully dressed and sitting on a sofa with a library book open in her lap. “Morning, Hermione,” Ginny said brightly as she bounced down the last few stairs.
“Good morning,” Hermione replied. “Are you having breakfast with the rest of us? I was just thinking about going to the Great Hall.”
“No, thank you,” Ginny said, perching on the arm of the sofa. “Harry’s going to wake up soon, and I’d like to have breakfast with him.”
The older girl nodded. “Alright. I’d go up with you, but visiting hours haven’t begun yet.”
“That’s okay. We can all go up there after we win the match.”
Hermione grinned. “Confident, then?”
“Yep! Why not?” Ginny asked. “We did really well at practice last night, and being gloomy wouldn’t help us fly any better today.”
Her friend leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Which ‘we’ and ‘us’ are you referring to?”
Ginny blinked. “Oh. Both, I suppose.”
Harry emerged from his potion-induced slumber, and he turned his head to the other side, seeking some relief from the ache in his neck, as he blinked slowly.
“Harry’s awake,” Ginny whispered. “Want to walk down the stairs with me?”
“Sure,” Hermione replied before dropping her voice to a whisper. “Good morning, Harry.”
That’s nice of her. She always remembers, and good morning to her, too. Harry was amused that Hermione never seemed to think about the odd situation. She just accepted it completely.
“He says hello to you, too,” Ginny whispered back.
Hermione closed her book with a smile after marking her page, and then she went up to the dormitory to put it away.
The two girls went down the stairs to the ground floor, talking lightly about the upcoming match and speculating about when Ron might finally wake up. As they walked, Madam Pomfrey helped Harry to get out of bed for his trip to the lavatory. When he returned, Harry sat on his bed, and Madam Pomfrey put two breakfast trays on the table nearby. Harry thanked her and waited for Ginny to arrive.
Ginny paused in her conversation with Hermione. Go ahead, Harry.
It’s not polite.
She reflexively rolled her eyes at his refusal. Be serious. How could it possibly offend me?
Dunno. But you’ll only be a few minutes, and I’m in no hurry.
Ginny smiled unconsciously. Thanks, Harry. You’re such a nice boy.
“You know, Ginny, you really ought to be more careful with your expressions in public,” Hermione offered quietly. Ginny looked over at her, grinned, and shrugged slightly. When the girls reached the entrance hall, Hermione squeezed Ginny’s hand and turned towards the Great Hall. “Good luck, Ginny,” she said. “I’ll see you after the match.”
“Thanks, Hermione,” Ginny replied. She waved and then picked up her pace, almost jogging to the hospital wing as she sought an outlet for her excess energy. When she arrived, she leapt onto the bed next to Harry and landed with a cheerful bounce.
Harry could not help grinning. If it makes you this happy, you can play all the time next year.
Ginny gave him a flat look, though her smile did not fade.
Yeah, okay, he said. But I had to offer.
Ginny impulsively leaned over and kissed his cheek. I know you did, and I do appreciate it, even if you are being silly.
Harry smiled and did not try to help this time as Ginny handed him his breakfast tray and claimed her own. They ate more quickly than they usually did, but Ginny was careful not to wolf down her food.
At least we can eat before a match now, Harry said.
Yeah. I’m a bit nervous, I suppose, but we’ve done it enough that I know what’s coming. I’m mostly just excited.
You’ll be great, Ginny. We’re sure of it.
When they finished their breakfasts, they still had almost thirty minutes before Ginny needed to leave for the Quidditch pitch. Madam Pomfrey helped Harry back onto his stomach, and Ginny sat next to him on the bed and rubbed his neck gently. They sat in silence with their eyes closed and spent the remaining time carefully recalling each time Harry had caught a Snitch, whether at practice, in a game, or on Boxing Day at The Burrow. They were confident, but they agreed that it could not hurt to have all of the Snitch’s tricks fresh in their minds.
At nine o’clock, Ginny gave Harry’s hand a final squeeze and left to get ready for the match. When she stepped into the entrance hall, she noticed Professor Snape standing near the doors to the Great Hall with his hands tucked into his sleeves and with a look of profound irritation on his face. Hoping to avoid his brooding gaze, Ginny quickened her steps towards the main doors.
“Miss Weasley,” he called from behind her in a clipped voice.
Reluctantly, Ginny turned around. Snape was already walking towards her, and he stopped when he was close enough to loom over her. She schooled her expression into neutrality. “Yes, Professor?”
“I have heard about your recent… escapades. It does not surprise me that the four of you did something so unutterably foolish. That is, after all, the Gryffindor way.” As usual, the Head of Slytherin spoke slowly, as though he was choosing each word to convey his distaste as clearly as possible.
Ginny stared defiantly up at the man, refusing to respond in the slightest way, even though she and Harry were seething.
“Perhaps it is fitting that Mr. Potter is being forced to recognise the consequences of his own stupidity,” Snape drawled. “Tell me… how is our young hero today?” He said the last words with an audible sneer.
Happy to be well away from you, thanks very much, Harry retorted.
Snape stared down at Ginny, his black eyes boring into hers. She felt uneasy for a moment, and she was reminded of their first Potions lesson, when the professor had glared at her and Harry in the same way.
Ginny set aside her unease and forced herself to smile brightly. “He’s going to be just fine, Professor,” she replied. “Thank you very much for asking.”
Snape blinked rapidly for a moment, and then his lip curled even more as his nostrils flared. “I am sure that you and many other children are pleased by that. After all, it would not do for him to be inconvenienced at all, would it? Regardless of any considerations of justice.”
Ginny and Harry were more than familiar with his veiled insults. “I suppose not,” she said as calmly as she could manage. “May I go now?”
Snape looked as though he smelled something rotten, but he nodded sharply. As Ginny turned back towards the doors, he spoke again from behind her, in a loud voice. “Five points from Gryffindor, Miss Weasley, for your cheek.”
Slimy git! Harry said as Ginny escaped to the grounds.
The June morning was still and warm. She walked down to the pitch as just one member of a trickle of students who wanted to be early. The short walk gave them time to put the encounter with Snape behind them. He seemed to rejoice in regularly finding new ways to express his malevolence, and they realised that they should have expected to hear from him at some point. Today, of all days, they would not let Snape ruin their mood, and the excitement of the Quidditch match returned to the forefront of their emotions.
No one seemed to notice when Ginny ducked into the outer entrance to the Gryffindor changing rooms. She slipped into the girls’ locker room, relieved to find it empty, and quickly pulled on Harry’s red Quidditch robes and his Seeker’s gloves. Then, with nothing else left to do, she picked up the Nimbus and headed for the small common area to wait for the rest of the team. It was, she decided, indescribably different to experience pre-game excitement and jitters personally rather than through Harry.
She entered the room, which contained only a planning board and two long benches. The door to the pitch was closed, but the murmur of voices from the stands filled the room. She had expected to be alone in the room, but Oliver was already there, using his wand to draw moving diagrams on the board. He looked up from his work when Ginny entered, but he only nodded briskly at her before turning back to his planning. She perched on the end of one of the benches and tried to make sense of Wood’s complicated diagrams.
A few minutes later, the three Chasers entered from the locker room in a group. They filled the rest of Ginny’s bench, with Angelina sitting next to her.
“Next time you play in a match,” the dark-skinned girl said, “you can find us in the Great Hall for breakfast if you want. We girls always eat together and walk to the pitch together before a match, and you’re welcome to join us.”
“Thanks, I’ll remember that,” Ginny replied. “I hope it won’t happen, though. It’s Harry’s spot, not mine. I wanted to eat with him this morning so we could review how the Snitch behaves.”
“Oh, good idea. And, well, yeah,” Angelina said, nodding, “we don’t want anything to happen to Harry, but now you know, just in case it ever comes up again.”
“She’ll still be a reserve next year,” Oliver said without turning away from his scribbling. “Harry’s our Seeker, but we’re not going to give up Ginny now that we’ve got her on-board.”
Alicia leaned in front of Angelina to whisper to Ginny. “As if we didn’t know that already!”
Ginny grinned, stifling a giggle as she nodded. Harry merely agreed that it was an obvious statement.
Two minutes before Wood’s deadline, Fred and George strolled into the room, casually flipping their Beater’s bats in their hands. As they sat on the other bench, Oliver turned and nodded to acknowledge their arrival. Then he turned back to the board, erased his drawing with a swipe of his wand, and started another one.
Part of the team’s ritual was to sit and talk together before the match while their Captain remained focused on his planning. For the next twenty minutes, the six students exchanged stories, joked, and gently teased each other. By unspoken consent, they never said anything about Quidditch during this time, and they made sure that everyone was included in the conversation. In the past, Harry had mostly listened and offered a few simple tales of the twins’ childhood exploits, claiming to have heard them from Ron and Ginny. With Ginny herself present, they were free to tell much more detailed stories, which led to a lot more hilarity overall. Angelina seemed particularly amused to hear that Fred and George had, at their own insistence, run around The Burrow starkers until they were nearly eight years old.
Ginny could tell that her brothers were embarrassed, but they shrugged it off with their usual aplomb. “It was hot,” Fred explained as if it were the most natural thing in the world. George winked approvingly at Ginny when he thought the other girls were not looking. Harry spent as much time laughing with Ginny as she did tormenting the twins.
At nine fifty, Oliver turned away from the board and cleared his throat. Instantly, the other players fell silent. “Alright, lads and lasses,” he said in a strong, energetic voice. “This is the last game of the year, and we have a chance at the Quidditch Cup. We’re flying well, and they don’t know we have a Seeker. That means we have the advantage, and we will use it! Don’t get too confident. Fly hard, fly fast, and fly straight.”
He locked his gaze onto the three older girls. “Chasers, the magic number is four.” Oliver paused dramatically and held up four fingers, slowly moving his hand in front of each of them. “We need four goals and the Snitch to beat Slytherin for the Quidditch Cup.” He leaned down towards the Chasers. “Can you give me four goals?”
“Aye, Captain,” Angelina said. “We’ll start with four and then give you another four or more.”
Wood nodded sharply and turned to Fred and George. “Fred, George, the Ravenclaw Beaters aren’t as good as you are, but they’re not stupid. The minute they see Ginny and how small she is, they’re going to start focusing the Bludgers on her. Are you going to let them knock your sister out of the air?”
Ginny could see tension erupt in her brothers’ bodies, and their faces became almost frightening. “Not bloody likely!” they shouted together, their bats making a firm smacking sound in their open palms.
“Good lads!” Wood replied in his booming voice. Then he squatted in front of Ginny and looked into her eyes as he spoke more quietly, but with even more intensity. “Ginny, you’re going to be the fastest thing on the pitch. Perhaps the fastest thing that’s been on that pitch in centuries. I need you to use that speed to get me the Snitch, but not until we’ve scored at least four goals. Without both, we’ve got no chance for the Cup. I know that’s a big load for someone with small shoulders, but if you fly anything like you did yesterday, I know you can do it. So go out there and fly. Fly for me. Fly for your brothers. Fly for your House. Fly for Harry. Catch him a Snitch. Can you do that?”
Though she that knew that his pleas were not quite accurate, Ginny was both moved and energized by Wood’s speech. She smiled as the twins’ words came back to her. “Try to stop me,” she stated, grinning hungrily. Harry was almost ready to crawl out of bed and play himself, and only his fear of Ginny’s wrath stopped him from truly considering it.
Wood cocked his head intently and leaned closer to her. “They will, Ginny. They’ll try their hardest to stop you. Can you do it anyway?”
“Yes, Captain. I’ll bring you that Snitch.”
“Good,” Wood said. He rose to his feet and surveyed the entire team. “We have a chance to bring the Quidditch Cup back to our house,” he shouted. “Are we going to do it?”
“Yes!” they chorused in reply.
“Who are we?” Wood bellowed.
“GRYFFINDOR!” the team shouted as they surged off of the benches.
“What’ll we do?”
“WIN!”
“Or?”
“DIE TRYING!”
“Let’s get out there!”
All things considered, I really wish he’d picked a different motto now, Harry said.
The team lined up at the door to the pitch, and Ginny could hear Lee Jordan announcing the Ravenclaw team. When he was finished, Wood pulled the door open and mounted his broom in anticipation.
Lee’s voice was now perfectly audible. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, I give you Gryffindor! Captain and Keeper, fifth-year Oliver Wood!”
Oliver flew through the doorway and onto the pitch as the Gryffindors in the audience applauded.
“Chasers! Second-year Katie Bell, third-year Angelina Johnson, and third-year Alicia Spinnet! Three cheers for the lovely ladies of the Lions!”
The three girls flew out as their names were called, and Ginny saw Alicia wave cheerfully at Lee as she rose into the air.
“Gryffindor’s Beaters! The ever-fabulous and unstoppable twins, third-years Fred and George Weasley!”
Louder cheers and whistles came from the crowd as Ginny’s brothers flew onto the pitch side by side with their bats held over their heads. Once they were in the air, the Gryffindors’ cheering rose to a peak and then gradually faded in expectation of the start of the game. As the seconds ticked by, the students in the stands began to murmur in confusion.
Lee just can’t let the chance go by, can he? Ginny asked as she mounted the Nimbus.
You can’t tell me you’re surprised.
If he calls me Ginevra, I’ll ram him.
At last, Lee’s voice boomed across the pitch, louder even than before. “And last but not least, Gryffindor’s new Reserve Seeker!” A hush fell over the crowd. Even most of the Gryffindors did not know that Ginny had joined the team. “Flying today under Harry Potter’s number seven, in his honour. The youngest player ever to play in an official Quidditch match at Hogwarts! Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Gryffindor’s unbelievable secret weapon… Ginny Weasley!”
I can’t possibly live up to that introduction.
Hush. You already did.
Ginny flew straight out onto the pitch, pushing the Nimbus for its maximum acceleration as she skimmed across the grass. The crowd, starting with the Gryffindors, began to react to the surprise of her presence. When she reached the exact centre of the pitch, she pulled up sharply and shot straight into the air. The planned manoeuvre elicited loud cheers from the Gryffindors and shouts of surprise from most members of the other houses. When she was nearly a hundred feet above the stands, Ginny levelled off and began flying in easy circles around the perimeter of the pitch.
On the grass below, the Captains shook hands, and then the players took up their starting positions. Ravenclaw’s Seeker was a lanky sixth-year boy who was circling the pitch just above the level of the goal hoops. The Chasers faced off in the centre of the field, the Beaters waited to either side, and the Keepers hovered in front of their hoops.
Madam Hooch released the Snitch and the Bludgers. Ginny tracked the Snitch as it rose into the air, but before it reached normal playing altitude, it completely vanished. A moment later, Hooch blew her whistle, and the game began in earnest.
Harry closed his eyes in the hospital wing and focused on Ginny’s search for the Snitch. He could feel his own heart beating faster as the game got underway. They began to fly in quick loops around the entire pitch, maintaining their momentum in case they needed to manoeuvre quickly.
Lee’s commentary drifted up to them from below, and it quickly became apparent that Ravenclaw’s Chasers were every bit as talented as the Gryffindors had expected. In the first ten minutes of the game, they scored twice before Oliver began to adapt to their tactics.
The Gryffindor girls flew well when they gained possession of the Quaffle, but they had to work constantly to keep the older and larger Ravenclaw fliers from stealing the Quaffle. However, when they did get into scoring range, they found that practicing against Wood paid off handsomely. Ravenclaw’s Keeper was not as responsive as his counterpart, and Alicia scored on Gryffindor’s first attempt.
“Spinnet puts one through the hoops!” Lee announced. “Perhaps Pitt was watching her instead of the Quaffle, eh?”
“Jordan!” McGonagall snapped.
“Sorry, Professor,” he replied. “Maybe that only happens to me.”
At first, Fred and George seemed primarily concerned with keeping the Bludgers away from Ginny. The Ravenclaw Beaters sent the heavy iron balls towards her regularly, and the twins flew interference. As the score began to increase in Ravenclaw’s favour, however, the two boys recognised their error.
Ginny watched as, with no words exchanged, her brothers divided their duties. George stayed above the action and shadowed Ginny’s flight in smaller loops. Meanwhile, Fred worked his way into the shifting mass of Chasers and Beaters on the main level of play. Each time one of Ravenclaw’s Beaters sent a Bludger at Ginny, George intercepted it and sent it whizzing towards his brother. Fred then redirected it towards a member of the opposing team, and the cycle began again.
After forty minutes of play, the score was 40-20 in Ravenclaw’s favour, and Ginny had not caught even a glimpse of the Golden Snitch. Periodically, she had dipped lower into the stadium and scanned the groove where the Snitch had hidden during the last game, but it had not chosen that tactic a second time.
Gryffindor’s Chasers seemed to find new resolve as the game continued. They kept possession of the Quaffle more consistently and worked aggressively to get the last two goals they had promised to Wood. In another fifteen minutes, they scored those goals, but they did not stop pushing for more. The gap slowly narrowed, and after an hour and a half, the score stood at 50-40 with Ravenclaw still in the lead. Gryffindor had the points they needed, so all Ginny had to do was find and catch the Snitch.
Early in the game, when their Chasers had been widening the gap in the score, the Ravenclaw Beaters had seemed content to continue their pattern of interfering with both Ginny and the other Gryffindor players. Fred and George had switched roles twice, and no Bludgers had come anywhere near Ginny’s path. When the score became closer and it was clear that the Snitch would probably decide the game, the two opposing Beaters held a quick conference in midair. When they entered the action of the game again, they seemed to ignore Ginny. She thought that was odd, but she did not let it distract her from her mission.
Ginny flew in different patterns, constantly changing direction to maximize her chance of spotting the elusive golden ball. She varied her altitude as she flew in serpentine paths across the length of the pitch, and she regularly turned sharply to examine a new area of the pitch.
It has to be here somewhere.
I’ve never gone this long without seeing it, Harry said, but there have been games that lasted hours without even a glimpse of the Snitch.
So we just make sure we don’t miss anything.
“Ginny!” George shouted from his position below her. She looked over her right shoulder and down to see him flying to intercept a Bludger aimed at her. Even as he flew into position and readied his bat in one hand, he pointed frantically across the pitch with the other. “Left! Look left!”
Ginny whipped her head around and spotted the other Bludger speeding towards her. Fred was pursuing it, but he was too far away to catch it before it got to her. She turned sharply and rolled at the same time, spinning enough that the Bludger passed directly above her as she hung from her broom. She heard the crack of a Beater’s bat as George sent it back towards the opposing team.
As she continued her roll to fly upright again, she spotted a glint of gold against the clear blue of the sky directly above her. She wrenched the Nimbus into a twisting turn and flew directly away from the ground in pursuit of the Snitch.
Ginny heard another flier behind her, and she risked a quick look over her shoulder to see Ravenclaw’s Seeker climbing in her wake. Even as she glanced at him, though, she could tell that he would not catch her. The gap between them was already opening, and she had not yet reached the top speed of the Nimbus. Ignoring her opponent, she held her face to the sky and kept her eyes on the Snitch as the sound of her pursuer’s flight faded away. Harry’s excitement matched her own as she urged the broom to reach its maximum possible acceleration.
For once, the Golden Snitch did not seem inclined to vary its path at all. It flew straight up, maximizing its speed, and it was at least thirty yards ahead of her. Nevertheless, she continued to push the broom against the direct force of gravity, and she gained ground. Distantly she heard Lee’s voice from the pitch below.
“… going higher than I’ve seen a Snitch fly, but she’s sticking with it. Smith is falling behind, and it looks like he’s giving up. Go for it, Ginny! Meanwhile, Bell’s scored again, bringing it to a tie at fifty points each! Getting hard to see the Gryffindor Seeker. She’s getting really high up there, and she’s half the size of a Sickle to begin with…”
Gee, thanks, Lee.
Lee’s voice faded to nothing as she climbed higher. The wind began to pick up, and the air grew slightly cooler. The Snitch was now only two yards ahead of her, so Ginny doggedly kept to her course. A moment later, she caught up to her quarry and reached out to pluck it easily from the air.
That seemed awfully simple, Ginny said.
You mean aside from the fact that we’re probably a thousand feet above the ground?
Ginny levelled off her flight and looked around. They were indeed far above Hogwarts. The Quidditch pitch looked like part of a child’s play set, and the other players were nothing more than red and blue specks. Looking around, Ginny could see the vast expanse of the Forbidden Forest, the glittering surface of the lake, and the incredible vista of the Scottish mountains around them.
We’ve got to do this more often, Harry said.
It’s beautiful, she agreed.
Shall we go tell Oliver the game’s over and done? He might like to know.
Grinning, Ginny tipped her broom towards the ground and launched herself into a steep dive. After a few seconds, she was flying faster than either of them had ever flown before, and the feeling was incredibly thrilling. Harry was glad that Madam Pomfrey was not trying to examine him as his own body tensed and twitched in response to the sensations flooding their minds.
“… back down, and look at her go! If she’s got the Snitch, then the game will be over, but not until Madam Hooch acknowledges the catch. We should be able to tell any time now if she’s got it…”
A hundred feet above the stands, Ginny gradually pulled out of her dive, letting her speed bleed off as she turned into a lap around the pitch. Holding the Snitch tightly in her fingers, she raised her hand above her head for everyone to see. Madam Hooch’s whistle blew a fraction of a second before the stands exploded with shouts and applause.
“Ginny Weasley’s done it! She’s caught the Golden Snitch! The match is over, and Gryffindor wins 200-60! Gryffindor wins the Cup! Gryffindor wins the Cup!”
Ginny looked down and saw Lee abandon his commentary as he threw his hands into the air and jumped up and down. McGonagall was on her feet next to him, clearly applauding as loudly as she could. In the stands, the Gryffindors were a writhing mass of exultant noise and motion. The Hufflepuffs were clapping and cheering enthusiastically, while the Ravenclaws’ applause was decidedly perfunctory. The Slytherins were sitting silently or, in a few cases, booing at the top of their lungs.
Spotting her team-mates waving at her from below, Ginny flew down towards the pitch and landed near the middle of the field. Immediately, she was engulfed by her team-mates. The three other girls all hugged her tightly at the same time, bouncing together in a tight mass, before releasing her to the twins. Fred and George thumped her soundly on the back as they each hugged her, shouting in her ear.
“Well done, Ginny!”
“Knew you could do it, little sister!”
Brilliant game, Ginny.
“Thanks!” she shouted, her grin growing even broader.
The audience quieted slightly, and Angelina pointed up towards the stands. “Look! The Cup!”
The rest of the team turned in the proper direction and craned their necks up towards the professors’ box. Ginny could not see past her brothers, so she pushed between them to stand in front. They noticed her movement, and rather than making room for her, they crouched down and pushed their shoulders under her hips. Ginny whooped in surprise as they stood up again, and she braced one hand on Fred’s head for balance, still holding the Nimbus in the other.
Sitting on their shoulders, she watched as Oliver flew up to Dumbledore and was awarded the Quidditch Cup. The Gryffindor Captain held it above his head for a moment as the cheers redoubled, and then he flew down towards his team. The Cup was passed around among the Chasers as Ginny hopped down to the ground. When it was their turn, Fred and George each took one handle of the Cup and, holding it between them, kissed its polished golden surface.
Smiling broadly, Oliver pulled the Cup away from the twins and held it out to Ginny. “Take this up to Professor McGonagall for us, Ginny. You’ve earned the right.”
Ginny put the Snitch in Oliver’s free hand, remounted her broom, and wrapped one arm carefully around the Cup. She launched herself into the air, looping around the team once, and then flew straight towards McGonagall. She stopped and hovered in front of the professor, holding out the trophy. “Can you find some place to keep this, Professor?”
“I think I know just the spot,” McGonagall replied, but she did not take the Cup. “First, however, I think it only fitting that you and your team-mates deliver it to Mr. Potter. He is a member of this team also, after all.” Her expression was perfectly straight, but Ginny saw the slightest twinkle of mischief in her professor’s eyes.
“Yes, Professor,” Ginny said, beaming. “Thank you!”
Turning in place, Ginny dove back towards the team, who were looking up at her in confusion. As she flew over their heads without stopping, she shouted, “Let’s take it to Harry!” Then she turned her broom in the direction of the castle and accelerated to soar over the stands. As she flew over the heads of the startled Hufflepuffs, she looked back and saw that the rest of the team had mounted their brooms and were following her.
“Madam Pomfrey!” Harry called out sharply.
“Yes, Mr. Potter?” she replied, emerging from her office with a look of concern on her face.
“We’ve just won the Quidditch Cup, and the team’s coming here now. Can I sit up? Please?”
Harry knew that he could not contain his excitement, but the mediwitch just gave him a thin smile. “You may, but you still must not be moved unnecessarily, and no one may touch your lower back.”
Harry nodded against his pillow. “Ginny knows. She’ll make sure I’m safe.”
A moment later, Pomfrey’s levitation spell lifted him and set him on his feet, and then she helped him to sit on the edge of his bed.
Ginny landed just outside the main doors of the castle, significantly ahead of her team-mates. Pulling the doors open, she ran into the deserted Great Hall and transported herself to the hospital wing, holding the Quidditch Cup in one hand and the Nimbus in the other. Once she arrived, Ginny paused only long enough to prop the broom against the wall before launching herself towards Harry’s bed. She set the Cup on the table and then climbed up next to him.
Don’t move! she reminded him. Kneeling at his side, she reached over and wrapped her arms very gingerly around his shoulders, staying well away from his injury and making sure that she did not rest any of her weight on his body. When she was satisfied that he would not be damaged, she touched her forehead to his crown and squeezed his shoulders. Unable to do anything else, Harry reached over and squeezed her knee through the Quidditch uniform.
We did it, Harry! We won the Cup!
Their joy flooded them. Together, just like we promised.
Ginny nodded and then pulled away from Harry when they heard footsteps in the hallway. She stood in front of him, and when the rest of the team entered the room, she held out her arms. “Wait!” she said loudly, interrupting their ongoing conversation. They all stopped abruptly and looked at her.
“You can’t touch his back, and you can’t make him move his back,” she said. “Just shake his hand or something.”
Ginny moved to the side, and Oliver nodded and stepped forward to shake Harry’s hand firmly. “Looks like Ginny already gave you the news. She did a brilliant job today, Harry, but we’d never have won the Cup without you. Don’t think for a minute that we appreciate you any less because you weren’t on the pitch today.” The others nodded in agreement, though the twins wore smiles that were slightly more knowing than usual. Even though Harry had already known the outcome of the game, he had no problem appearing excited. Ginny’s adrenalin and their pleasure still buoyed them both.
When Oliver moved aside, the three Chasers each shook his hand in turn. The twins each took one of Harry’s hands in both of theirs and shook his hands in alternation.
“We missed you, Harry old boy, but Ginny did her best to fill in your uniform,” Fred said.
“You’d have been proud if you could’ve seen it,” George continued with a sly grin. “She was so good, it was almost like watching you up there.”
“Except for the hair and the continuous threats to hex us.”
“Quite right. Other than that, you’d think she’d been flying with us the whole year.”
They had begun to pump his arms more and more vigorously as they spoke. Ginny pushed between the twins and turned to face them. “Gently!” she reprimanded them. “Or I’ll hex you right now.”
“See?” George asked. He and Fred shrank their motions until Harry’s wrists barely moved as they shook his hands.
“It was a great game to end the season,” Oliver reflected magnanimously. “Really good flying from both teams, with no rough play this time. Just playing Quidditch the way it was meant to be played.” He grinned. “Except that we did it better than they did, needless to say.”
The team launched into a play-by-play recounting of the game for Harry’s benefit, and Ginny hopped up to sit on the bed next to him as they listened. They knew much of what had happened, but they had not been able to notice any details, and Ginny particularly enjoyed hearing about the tactics used by both groups of Chasers.
After a few minutes, Ron, Hermione, and Lee Jordan entered the room and joined the group around Harry’s bed. Lee and Ron immediately dived into the conversation, offering their viewpoints on the team’s actions.
Hermione leaned against the foot of Harry’s bed and smiled at them. “I’m not getting into this one.”
“C’mon, Hermione. You know you want to,” Ginny whispered. The other girl merely rolled her eyes.
A while later, Lee opened the knapsack he had brought into the room and pulled out a battered magical camera. “Let’s have a picture,” he suggested. “The whole team with the Cup! Everyone get up on the bed with Harry.”
“But don’t —” Ginny began.
“— touch his back, or you’ll hex us, right, right,” Fred finished, grinning.
Ron and Hermione stepped off to one side, and Ginny shifted closer to Harry. Alicia sat next to Ginny, and Angelina and Katie sat on Harry’s other side. Oliver, Fred, and George kneeled on the bed behind the rest, and Oliver stayed far enough away to keep from brushing Harry’s back with his robes.
When they were all in place, Lee handed Harry the Quidditch Cup to hold in his lap. Then he backed away and adjusted his position as he looked through the camera. “All set?”
The team nodded. Ginny looped her arm through Harry’s and leaned over to rest her head lightly on his shoulder.
“On three, everybody say, ‘Gryffindor!’ One, two, three…”
“GRYFFINDOR!”
Chapter 26: Reason
The day after the final Quidditch game of the season was a Sunday, and the pace of life at Hogwarts regained some measure of normality. Ginny was excused from the mandatory Sunday breakfast and spent the day with Harry in the hospital wing. The Gryffindor victory party the previous evening had gone long into the night, but Ginny had stayed only long enough to be polite and appreciative of her house-mates’ gratitude. Given the opportunity, she had been more than happy to avoid the crowded common room in favour of spending time with Harry.After breakfast, Ron and Hermione arrived at the hospital wing. They reported that Gryffindor Tower was crowded and noisy again now that even the older students were finished with their exams.
The morning passed quickly, and after Ron and Hermione left for lunch, Madam Pomfrey changed Harry’s bandages as Ginny and Harry read a spellbook. Madam Pomfrey reported that Harry’s healing was progressing well and that he might be released from the hospital wing some time in the next day or two. This made Harry a bit more dedicated to ensuring his own speedy recovery, but he still became restless after several hours of wakefulness. For this reason, Pomfrey gave him another half-dose of Dreamless Sleep potion for the afternoon.
Not long after Ron and Hermione had left and Harry had fallen asleep, the Headmaster entered the room with Professor McGonagall close behind. The screens around Harry and Ginny’s beds had been removed and the beds separated, so Ginny was sitting in a chair between Harry and the door. When the professors arrived, she put aside the spellbook and looked at the adults expectantly.
Walking in together like that, you can just bet they have something important to say, Harry commented.
These days, that’s rarely good news for us.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Potter, Miss Weasley,” Dumbledore began. “May we have a few moments of your time?”
The Headmaster’s implacable geniality grated on Ginny’s nerves. Her temper had cooled somewhat in the excitement of the Quidditch victory, but the more time she spent reflecting on their experiences, the more she questioned her trust in the venerable wizard.
Nevertheless, there was little question about replying in a proper manner. “Yes, Headmaster,” she said, though she knew that there was no warmth in her voice.
Madam Pomfrey emerged from her office, but after noting who the visitors were she went back inside and closed the door. With two waves of his wand, Dumbledore sealed the doors to the ward and conjured one of the plush armchairs he preferred. He raised an eyebrow at McGonagall in question, but the professor shook her head tightly and pulled over one of the room’s existing chairs. When they were both seated and comfortable, Dumbledore cleared his throat.
“Mr. Potter, Miss Weasley . . . have you considered your sleeping arrangements for the summer, perhaps?”
Harry and Ginny were instantly wary. “We’re going home. Harry’s going to live with me,” Ginny said in the tone her mother used to corral the twins. The choice seemed obvious to them both. They realised that Mrs. Weasley would find the arrangement awkward, but anything they might have to endure at The Burrow would pale in comparison to life on Privet Drive.
Dumbledore nodded. “I thought you might have reached that particular conclusion.”
“There isn’t any other conclusion,” Ginny said, her expression hardening into a challenging glare.
The Headmaster raised his hands. “Please, Miss Weasley, listen to what I have to say. I appreciate that I have given you little cause to heed my counsel recently, but I hope that you will at least listen.”
Before responding to Dumbledore, Ginny glanced over at McGonagall, and they took a moment to study their professor’s face.
She looks . . . sad.
Resigned, maybe?
Yeah. But also sort of angry, like when she caught us with Malfoy.
McGonagall held their gaze in silence for a moment and then nodded. Ginny took a deep breath and let it out slowly before turning back to the Headmaster. “Very well then, we’ll listen to you.”
“Thank you.” Dumbledore stared at the ceiling for a few moments before facing Ginny again. “Do you, perhaps, recall my mentioning that the magic of life and death is very powerful?”
Cautiously, Ginny nodded.
“Excellent. As I told you, Lily Potter’s voluntary sacrifice created a very powerful force within her son. When I took Harry to live with his aunt and uncle, I harnessed a portion of that power to create a second, very special form of protection, in addition to that which you witnessed the other night. Harry and his aunt share his mother’s blood, and it is that connection to Petunia Dursley which allows this extra protection to work. As long as Harry and his aunt spend a certain amount of time each year inside the house at the same time, then it is impossible for Dark Wizards to enter or even approach number four, Privet Drive.
“That makes his aunt’s house a very safe place, indeed, and for that reason I hope you will agree that it is best for you, Mr. Potter, to spend at least part of the summer with your relatives.”
Ginny and Harry considered the man’s words for only a fraction of a heartbeat. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to actually live there, Headmaster?” Ginny asked, all but spitting in her ire. “Do you know what those people are like?”
“I have met them all, yes,” he replied. “They are not, perhaps, the most genial of people, but . . .”
“They don’t let him eat!” Ginny half-shouted, her frustration boiling to the surface. She took a deep breath and tried to speak more calmly. “He’s hungry all the time, and they treat him like a slave. Never mind all of the spiteful and horrible things they say to him. Nothing is worth going back there. Nothing.”
“I am sorry to hear that,” Dumbledore said. “I had not realised that they were quite so unpleasant.”
I don’t think he ruddy believes me! Ginny said.
He’s welcome to try it for himself, then.
The Headmaster held up a hand just as Ginny began to retort. “Voldemort is free once again, Miss Weasley, and Mr. Potter has now thwarted him twice. The protection which prevented Voldemort from touching Mr. Potter only applies to Voldemort himself. You know all too well that he has or can find people to aid him in his efforts to return to power. While the protections I created are in place, Privet Drive is completely safe from Voldemort and his followers. Surely you cannot deny the value of that.”
Ginny paused. The memory of Quirrell’s flesh dissolving was still fresh in their minds, and the lingering sensations of pain and loss had not yet completely faded. From what the Headmaster said, Harry would be safe from Voldemort’s touch at The Burrow or anywhere else, but he would not be protected from someone like Quirrell. They could not ignore the appeal of a place that was utterly safe, even if that place was also utterly unbearable.
“Consider this,” Dumbledore said, interrupting their thoughts. “Anyone with access to public records could determine that Petunia and Vernon Dursley are the legal guardians of Harry Potter, and anyone who cared to could locate the Dursley residence. After Voldemort’s defeat, his followers wreaked havoc upon magical society until they were captured or forced into hiding. They tortured and killed dozens of witches and wizards in that time. Why, then, is Mr. Potter alive at all?”
That probably does mean that this ‘protection’ works, Harry admitted grudgingly. I can’t imagine that they wouldn’t have come after me if they could.
That’s assuming those bigots knew how to look something up the Muggle way. But is it worth it? Ginny asked. After everything you’ve been through with the Dursleys, can you really imagine going back there?
They were quiet for a long moment. No, I can’t. Not if I have any choice at all.
Ginny nodded mentally and then shook her head for the Headmaster’s benefit. “It’s just not worth it, Headmaster. He spent ten years hungry, cold, uncomfortable, bullied, and . . . and even worse, a lot of the time. We can’t go back to that. We won’t. There are other ways to keep him safe. There have to be.”
The Headmaster sighed deeply as he gazed at Harry’s prone form, and his focus lingered on Harry’s bandages for a few moments. “It is about more than simply being safe during the summer, Miss Weasley,” Dumbledore replied. “Once recharged by Mr. Potter’s presence, the protections remain active for almost a full year. Given your method of transportation, that means that you will both have a safe haven whenever you have need of one. A place where Voldemort and any other Dark Wizards simply cannot follow you.”
He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers under his chin. “Now that I think about it, I believe that there are a few other measures we might consider to improve the quality of Mr. Potter’s life with his relatives. Firstly, since the two of you must be together to sleep anyway, I suspect that you will both be spending your nights at The Burrow. I can hardly imagine Molly wanting you, Miss Weasley, to sleep at Privet Drive.”
I don’t much like that idea, either, Harry admitted.
And it’s okay for you? Ginny retorted. Together, Harry. Remember?
I know, Ginny, and you know I do, he said. Together it is. I just meant that I’d rather we both slept at your house.
“Since Mr. Potter would be there each evening, I’m sure that he would be well-fed at least once each day,” Dumbledore continued. “Secondly, Miss Weasley, you yourself are the very best mechanism for ensuring that Mr. Potter is treated well. You will know instantly if anything untoward should occur. You could, if necessary, inform your parents of the problem, and they could take appropriate action.”
Ginny and Harry pondered that new suggestion for a moment, attempting to determine how it would change the situation at Privet Drive. “Suppose we agree to live with those horrid people for a part of the summer. We’d really rather not, but if we did, just what would we tell my parents?” Ginny asked. “I’m sure they’re expecting us both to be at home all summer.”
The Headmaster nodded. “A reasonable question, Miss Weasley. We will simply tell them the truth. There are wizards and witches in the world who are still loyal to Voldemort, even if they believe that he is dead. It is, and always has been, important to protect Mr. Potter from those people, and the Dursleys’ residence provides that protection during the summer.”
“They’ll want to know why it has to be the Dursleys’,” she said as calmly as she could manage, still hoping to find some firm reason that staying in Surrey would not be feasible.
“And I shall explain the wards.”
Ginny reached up and took Harry’s limp hand as they considered their options. You’d be safer, she said at last, as her thoughts settled into one pattern.
Yeah, maybe we’d both be safer. Any time we needed to, we could go to Privet Drive and not have to worry about Voldemort.
And we’d still be home at night . . .
Do you think your parents would accept the excuse and not ask why that protection can’t be moved? Harry wondered. Or why something just as strong couldn’t be made at The Burrow? Do we accept that something as strong can’t be made there?
Ginny shrugged. They trust Dumbledore, so they probably would believe it. Maybe we could get something almost as strong at The Burrow, but how would we be sure it was working? We know the Dursleys’ is safe.
How long would it take to make the wards there work for another year?
Dunno.
She looked up at the Headmaster. “How would we tell if the protections were working properly? How long would it take to renew them?” she asked. “How many days would he have to spend in that awful house?”
The old wizard stroked his beard thoughtfully. “I cannot say exactly, Miss Weasley, because Mr. Potter has always spent the vast majority of his time there in the past. I would guess that it might take as few as six weeks or as many as eight. I would, of course, notify you at The Burrow as soon as the process is complete.”
“And then he could be at home all the time?”
“Yes. Once the wards are renewed, he would not have to spend any time at Privet Drive.”
So, until shortly after your birthday, we’d spend nights at home and days with the Dursleys. In exchange, we get the protection for a year.
You wouldn’t have to be at Privet Drive, Ginny, Harry said. I don’t mean that I want to keep you away, he added before she could object. I just mean that it wouldn’t do any good. All I’d be doing is waiting in my room and working around the house. If you were there, that’s still all we could do, and my relatives would be even worse to both of us.
If I stay at The Burrow, though, she said with a tinge of sadness, I can do all the usual things, and we can have at least some fun.
Right. Aside from trimming the grass, anyway. I still want to go swimming, even if it’s only you in the water.
Ginny glanced up at the professors, but they seemed content to wait while she and Harry considered the matter. She closed her eyes and gave their conversation her full attention.
You could eat before bed each night, she suggested. I could keep dinner warm for you until you got there.
I’d have to eat breakfast with the Dursleys, though. There’s no way they’ll let me out of making their breakfast for them.
They will if I tell them to, Ginny said with a frown.
It’s not worth it, Gin. Making breakfast isn’t hard. I’m usually awake at that hour anyway, and I sort of enjoy it, sometimes.
What if they shove you into that awful cupboard again?
You could tell your dad.
He’d definitely do something about it, and you could just leave. She glared at him mentally. If anything like that happens, you will leave. Right away. Never mind what Dad or anyone else does. You leave when I want you to, right? You come to wherever I am.
Right. He was finally beginning to accept that taking care of her meant letting her take care of him.
After another moment, Ginny sighed. I think we just convinced ourselves.
Yeah. I don’t like it, but it could be a lot worse, and . . .
She knew exactly what he was hesitant to put into words. And you’re not sure how much time you want to spend around my mother, anyway.
I’m sorry.
Don’t be. She made that mess, not you.
Ginny opened her eyes and faced Dumbledore. “Okay, Headmaster, we’ll try it for now, but we’re not sure it will work. He’ll stay at Privet Drive during the day, and we’ll sleep at home at night. However, if they’re awful to him in any way, no matter how small, we will decide when to get away from them. We’ll tell Dad about it and let him handle it, but Harry’s not staying there while we wait for you or anyone else to decide whether or not we should go. It will be our decision.”
Dumbledore gave Ginny a slight smile and nodded. “Agreed, Miss Weasley.”
Ginny thought the man had spoken far too casually, and her temper flared again. “I will make sure he’s treated properly. He’s been mistreated for too long, and nobody cared or even noticed. That stopped nine months ago. We’ll let you or Dad or whoever try to make them behave, but if that doesn’t work, we’re not going to just put up with it. If things even come close to how they were last summer, then we’ll leave and never go back. I think we all know exactly whose fault that would be.”
The Headmaster’s smile faded, but he nodded again. “I will ask your parents to meet with us after the end-of-year feast on Thursday,” he said. “I’m sure that we can make the situation perfectly clear to them, and I’m equally sure that your father will be willing to play his part. Is that acceptable to you both?”
It’s as acceptable as it’s going to get, I suppose, Harry said. Ginny nodded.
“Very well. I thank you for thinking carefully about my suggestion, and I do hope that our arrangements will proceed without any mishap.” He paused and cocked his head to one side. “Speaking of mishaps, I do hope that you will both remember that neither of you may do any magic at Privet Drive. Your method of transportation will not cause problems, but almost anything else you might do will be noticed by the Ministry. Keep your wands nearby, as always, but be very careful not to use them, even in anger.”
The Headmaster’s words unexpectedly raised a question that Harry and Ginny had previously been too distracted to consider. “Headmaster,” Ginny asked, before he could leave, “how did you know that Harry’s wand has a phoenix-feather core?”
“Quite simple, Miss Weasley,” he said. “The feather in Harry’s wand was donated by Fawkes. As a courtesy, Mr. Ollivander informed me when it chose its wielder.”
Harry and Ginny made the connection instantly. “Then you know what happened to the other feather?” she asked.
Dumbledore sighed briefly. “Yes, sadly, I do. I cannot imagine what led those two wands to choose so differently, but I am quite confident that Fawkes is far more pleased with the second than the first.”
He rose to his feet and Banished the armchair he had conjured. “With that, I will bid you good day. If you should have any questions, do not hesitate to find me. I look forward to seeing you up and about soon, Mr. Potter.”
Ginny nodded politely, and then the Headmaster turned, unsealed the doors, and left the room. McGonagall, however, had not moved from her chair, and Ginny looked back at her in unspoken question.
After a moment of silence, the professor asked in a quiet voice, “Do you understand the value of the protection the Headmaster designed?”
“Yes,” Ginny said, nodding. “But I’m not sure you understand what we really have to go through to get it. We’re not happy about this at all.”
“I don’t blame you for that,” McGonagall said, “but I have every confidence in your ability to ensure Harry’s health. You’ve done a marvellous job since his injury last week.”
“Harry won’t be getting any more injuries like that one, Professor,” Ginny said, her face tightening.
McGonagall looked confused for a moment, but then she nodded. “I see. I had wondered about that. Are you both . . . that is . . .”
“We learned something, Professor. Both of us. We’ll be okay.”
The older woman smiled. “I am very glad to hear it. I do hope that you are able to relax this summer. You’ve both earned it.”
“Thanks, Professor,” Ginny said.
“I will be on my way, then,” McGonagall said as she stood and moved her chair back to its place. “I hope that you will both find the time to visit my office once more before you leave.”
“We’d like that,” Ginny said. “Maybe on Wednesday, at the usual time? Harry should be out of here by then, if not earlier.”
“I shall look forward to it.” McGonagall crossed to the door and spoke over her shoulder. “Have a pleasant afternoon, Ginny and Harry.”
“You, too, Professor,” Ginny called as the older woman left the room.
The following day, shortly before noon, Madam Pomfrey removed the dressing from Harry’s back and inspected his injury. Ginny sat far enough away from the bed that she could not see the damage, but she thought that the lack of discolouration of the previous day’s bandages was a good sign.
At the matron’s instruction, Harry sat up facing Ginny and the infirmary doors. Slowly and carefully, he performed a series of movements with his arms and shoulders. Madam Pomfrey watched his back carefully and occasionally swept her wand across his healing flesh.
When he was finished, the mediwitch straightened. “Well, Mr. Potter, you seem to have avoided any undue strain on your back, so I think we can forego the Petrification and allow you to return to your dormitory. You will still wear bandages for another day or two, and you must avoid strenuous movements, but you should be able to function normally.”
Harry grinned in relief while Ginny looked up at the matron. “You mean it, Madam Pomfrey?” she asked, wide-eyed and hopeful. “He’s really going to be okay?”
“Yes, Miss Weasley. He will heal perfectly, and in fact he is well on his way to that point already.”
“May I . . .” Ginny swallowed heavily, almost disbelieving that their efforts had really been successful. “May we see?”
“Of course.”
Harry sat still, and Ginny gingerly crossed the room and walked behind him. When she saw his back for the first time, they both gave deep sighs of relief. The skin of his lower back was pink and oddly textured, but it was unblemished and healthy. Slowly, Ginny reached out and ran her fingertips down the length of his spine.
When her touch moved from the undamaged flesh of his upper back to the new skin below, they felt that the pink skin was much more sensitive, but her caress did not hurt in the least.
Harry carefully shifted himself off of the bed and stood up. For the first time in days, he was able to put his arms above his head and arch his back, stretching his entire body in the way it desperately wanted to be stretched. As he moved, he felt no pain and only the slightest bit of stiffness.
As Harry lowered his arms, Ginny ran around the bed and flung herself into his embrace, wrapping her arms around his ribcage and resting her chin on his shoulder. Harry gratefully put his arms around her shoulders and stroked her long tresses with one hand. They realised that, more than anything, they had missed the ability to be near each other without restraint or worry.
Oh, thank goodness.
Thank you, Ginny, he said. He hesitated for a moment and then pressed his lips against her hair. I’d have messed it all up without you helping. Ginny glowed with pleasure in their minds, and Harry knew just how much his simple gesture meant to her. He was slightly dismayed to realise that he had never before offered her such affection without her prompting. Ginny tightened her grip on him in return.
When they finally pulled apart, Madam Pomfrey spoke softly from the other side of the bed. “You will need to visit me each day at this time until the dressings can be removed permanently. Other than that, you are free to go once I replace the bandages.”
Ginny backed away, and Harry lay back down to allow the matron to work. As she began applying a new poultice and fresh bandages, Ginny sat in her chair and could not keep from smiling.
Unable to sit still, she jumped to her feet. “Madam Pomfrey, have you got clothes for him yet?”
Without looking up from her work, the matron replied. “No, Miss Weasley. It will only take a moment for . . .”
“I’ll get them!” A moment later, Ginny landed safely inside Harry’s bed. After a quick check to ensure that none of the other boys were in the room, she moved to Harry’s wardrobe. She pulled out a pair of jeans, a fresh pair of socks, and underwear. She contemplated his shirts, but other than his uniform shirts and his Weasley jumper, none of them suited her mood.
Your shirts are absolute rubbish. I’ve seen Dudley, and I still can’t believe he’s that big.
Harry shrugged mentally. They’re all I’ve got.
We’ll be fixing that at some point soon, I hope. For now . . .
After a moment’s consideration, Ginny transported herself to her own bed. Digging around in her trunk, she located an old red Gryffindor Quidditch t-shirt that Charlie had given her years ago. Then she went back to Harry’s room and added it to the pile.
What happened to your trainers? she wondered, not seeing them in their usual place.
“Madam Pomfrey, were my shoes okay when I got here?” Harry asked.
“Yes, Mr. Potter. They, your socks, and another . . . item . . . were the only things undamaged by the fire. I will return them to you before you leave.”
That means she found the Invisibility Cloak, Ginny said as she gathered Harry’s clothes into her arms.
“Thank you.”
At least it wasn’t burned.
Ginny reappeared in the hospital wing and put the clothes on the table next to Harry’s bed. They waited as patiently as they could while Madam Pomfrey finished, and then Harry went into the lavatory to get dressed.
A few moments later, he was fully clothed for the first time in days. Charlie’s old shirt was too large for him, but it fit much better than any of Dudley’s clothes, and Ginny thought that the colour suited him. Madam Pomfrey handed him his trainers and a small paper bag containing his socks and Cloak.
She gave him a tight smile as he put on his shoes. “I am glad to see you recovering well, Mr. Potter. May I offer you and Miss Weasley one more luncheon, or would you prefer to go to the Great Hall?”
I think I’d rather be around the rest of the House for a while before facing the entire school.
That’s fine with me.
“We’d like to eat here, Madam Pomfrey, if it’s no trouble,” he said.
“Not at all. Have a seat, and lunch will be along shortly.”
They sat together in the chairs near the entrance, holding hands and enjoying a contented silence. A few minutes later, Pomfrey returned from her office with two lunch trays.
After eating, they waited until Ron and Hermione came by for their afternoon visit. When their two friends entered the room, Ginny saw alarm flash across Hermione’s face before the older girl spotted them sitting nearby.
“Harry!” Hermione rushed over to them. “You’re out of bed!”
“Yeah,” he replied, rising to his feet. “Madam Pomfrey says I’m free to go, provided I come back and visit every day.”
She smiled broadly. “That’s wonderful!” Hermione stepped towards him and half-raised her arms, but then she stopped and looked past Harry at Ginny. Understanding her friend’s question, Ginny nodded her permission.
Hermione hugged Harry quickly, keeping her arms above his injury but squeezing him tightly enough to threaten his air supply. When she released him, Harry faked a bout of mild choking. “It’s good to see you, too, Hermione.”
The brunette grinned somewhat abashedly, and then Ron stepped around her to shake Harry’s hand. “’Bout time, Harry. What took you so long?”
He shrugged. “What can I say? Ginny liked the food.”
“Oh, sure, blame it on me,” Ginny said with a grin. “You just didn’t want to have to start doing things for yourself again.”
“You two are incorrigible! You know that, right?” Hermione asked.
“Absolutely,” Ginny cheerfully replied.
Harry went to the door of Pomfrey’s office and knocked. A moment later, the door opened and the matron stepped into the room.
“We’ll be going now, Madam Pomfrey,” Harry said. “I’ll come back tomorrow before lunch. Thank you for all of your help.”
“You’re most welcome, Mr. Potter. Remember . . . no strenuous physical activity. For you, that includes flying.”
“I’ll remember,” Harry said.
Pomfrey raised an eyebrow at him and turned to Ginny. “Miss Weasley?”
Ginny smiled. “He’s learned his lesson, Madam.”
“Excellent. Run along, then, all of you. I sincerely hope that I don’t see any of you here next year unless you’re just saying hello.”
The four students exited the hospital wing, but before they left the corridor, Harry stopped and turned to Ron and Hermione. “Do you want to go outside with us for a bit? I feel as though I haven’t seen the sun in ages.”
Hermione furrowed her brow. “But you have, right?” she asked in a whisper.
“Well, yeah,” he said, remembering Ginny’s Quidditch practice and match. “But it doesn’t seem quite the same.”
“Fine by me,” Ron said, and Hermione nodded her agreement.
“Great. Let me just put these in my trunk first,” Harry said, hefting the bag in his hand. He ducked back into the hospital wing and then transported up to his bed. He left the brown bag on his pillow and reappeared in the infirmary a moment later.
Madam Pomfrey was standing in her office door, looking at him with a raised eyebrow.
“Sorry, Madam Pomfrey,” Harry said. “I just wanted to take my things back to my room.”
The matron nodded. “Do not become lazy, Mr. Potter. Walking is very good for you.”
“Yes, Madam,” he said before stepping back into the corridor.
The four of them walked down to the entrance hall and out onto the grounds. They located a secluded tree that was not already in use by other students and dropped to the grass beneath its branches.
“How long until you can fly again, Harry?” Ron asked.
“Dunno. Madam Pomfrey seemed to think the bandages would be off before we leave for the holidays, so maybe then.”
The red-haired boy nodded. “That’s good. Plenty of time for Quidditch this summer, even after Mum’s done with us.”
“Yeah, Ron, about that . . .”
Haltingly, and with many questions from Hermione, they told their friends about the previous day’s conversation with Dumbledore and the need for Harry to spend part of the summer with the Dursleys.
When they had finished, Ron shook his head. “Rotten luck, Harry, but at least you can come to our house later on. And Ginny can play Quidditch for you.”
Ginny grinned and then turned to Hermione. “Maybe you could come to visit, too, Hermione. I know Mum and Dad wouldn’t mind. They really seemed to like you.”
“That would be nice,” Hermione said, “but I’ll have to ask my parents. They’ve really not met any wizards other than the Headmaster. If nothing else, I’m sure that we can meet up in Diagon Alley before the start of term.”
The four first years spent the afternoon relaxing on the grounds, sharing their plans for the holidays and speculating about the next year of school. Harry and Ginny sat side-by-side, and as they talked, Harry idly toyed with the end of Ginny’s long ponytail, making their good mood even better.
After a short lull in the conversation, Hermione turned to face Ginny directly, and her face seemed to twitch with suppressed excitement. “Ginny, can I ask you a question?”
“Err . . . sure, Hermione.”
“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to yet, but . . .”
“Just ask, Hermione,” Harry said. “If we don’t want to answer, we won’t.”
“Right. Ginny, you said last week that Ron was using more magic to move the blanket, and that’s what he felt, rather than feeling the weight of the blanket directly.” Hermione stared at Ginny until the younger girl nodded. “What did you mean? How did you know that?”
“Oh, that,” Ginny said. “Sorry, Hermione. We’d have told you that anytime you wanted, really. Err . . . well, after the Malfoy incident, Professor McGonagall took us aside and showed us what can happen if we get really angry.” Ginny paused to determine the best way to explain what they had learned. “Basically, there’re three types of spells, and with our, err . . . our problem, we have to know which ones not to cast.”
Hermione nodded quickly, never moving her eyes from Ginny’s face.
She’s a great friend, but she’s still pretty scary sometimes, Harry said.
Agreeing silently, Ginny continued. “Some spells, like Lumos, always work the same no matter how much power you use. Everyone gets the same amount of light, so that’s the first type of spell. Then there are things like the Levitation Charm, which uses more power for heavier things, or to move them faster, or to make them go further away, but it still just makes things float around, no matter how much power you have. That’s the second type. Right?”
She paused to make sure that Hermione was following her, but the older girl simply nodded impatiently and gestured for her to continue.
“Then the third type of spells are the ones like the Bluebell Flames. The more power you have, the bigger the result. Those are the ones we can’t use right now, because we’re not sure what they might do. So, anyway, when you use a lot of power for one of the last two types of spells, you can feel it in your body, and that’s what Ron was feeling.”
Hermione nodded. “I see, so . . .” She trailed off, her eyes darting about aimlessly as her brain worked. With a quick, sudden motion, she whipped out her wand. She picked up a scrap of dried tree bark from the ground next to her and whispered an incantation, Transfiguring it into a small piece of parchment. Then she dropped her wand unceremoniously into her lap, pulled a Muggle pen out of one of her pockets, and began scribbling on the parchment.
“Nice spell, Hermione,” Harry said.
She looked up briefly and flashed him a grin. “Thanks. It won’t last long, but it will be long enough to get back to the Tower and copy the notes properly.”
Half an hour before dinner, they returned to Gryffindor Tower so that Hermione could copy her notes onto parchment. As they climbed the stairs, other students stared at Ginny and especially Harry before ducking their heads to whisper to their classmates. One older Gryffindor spotted them as he came from the other direction and then spun around to sprint back up the stairs.
I suppose it was pointless to hope that they wouldn’t do that sort of thing anymore, Harry said.
Probably. It would’ve been nice, though.
When they entered the tower, hand in hand, half of the House seemed to be waiting for them in the common room. A loud cheer went up, and then the students all rushed to greet them. Everyone whose name Harry and Ginny knew wanted to shake his hand. Alicia and Angelina hugged them both, though they were all careful not to touch Harry’s lower back.
Ginny saw Hermione skirt the edges of the room and climb the girls’ staircase, ignored by the other students. Harry and Ginny, attempting to find some breathing room in the throng, backed towards a wall. The other students crowded around them and began asking questions all at once, until finally the twins stepped in front of them, waving their arms. Fred whistled shrilly as George yelled.
“Hey, you lot! McGonagall said not to ask them questions, remember? So pipe down.”
The other students settled somewhat, but Ginny could not resist answering one of the last questions she had heard. “No, I didn’t eat a giant Flobberworm. Yuck!” The group laughed, and their voices started to rise again with comments and questions.
Percy pushed his way through the crowd and stood with his back to Harry and Ginny, in front of the twins. “That’s enough! We’re all pleased to have Mr. Potter back, I’m sure, but we all have other things to do. Everyone clear off.”
The milling students began to disperse, and when the room was relatively calm again, Percy turned around to face them. “Harry, it is indeed good to see you. Professor McGonagall implied that you did something quite suited to our House, so I would not wish to see you suffer for that.”
“Err . . . thanks, Percy.”
The older boy gave a sharp nod and walked across the room to a table littered with books and pamphlets. Moments later, he was completely absorbed in his reading.
Hi, Percy. How are you? So lovely to see you again! Ginny said. Remember me? Your only sister?
I think you’re not enjoying the moment properly. All things considered, I’d much prefer it if he ignored me.
Too right.
Hermione returned from her errand, and Ginny scanned the room. “Do you mind heading to dinner a bit early?”
“Fine by me,” Ron said. “It’s far too stuffy in here, anyway.” Harry and Ginny were confident that her brother was not referring to the quality of the air in the tower.
The next two days provided a short but peaceful holiday for Harry, Ginny, and their friends. On Tuesday, before noon, Harry and Ginny visited the hospital wing for Madam Pomfrey to check Harry’s back. She reported that the wound was still healing quite well, but because he would be away from Hogwarts for the summer, she wanted him to remain bandaged for another day.
That afternoon, using a school broom, Ron joined a pickup Quidditch match with other first years. Ginny initially wanted to play also, but Katie told her that members of the House teams traditionally did not join the pickup games. Once she thought about it, Ginny agreed that it seemed only fair to give everyone else a chance to play. So while Ron was on the pitch, Harry, Ginny, and Hermione sat in the stands watching and passing time.
On Wednesday, Madam Pomfrey finally removed Harry’s bandages permanently, revealing healthy and mostly normal-looking skin beneath. That afternoon, Harry and Ginny had their last meeting with McGonagall. Rather than focusing on academics of any kind, the professor offered them tea, and they spent a pleasant hour in conversation about Quidditch and both sets of their parents. Harry was thrilled to hear about some of his father’s antics as a first year, and Ginny knew that someday she would have reason to use a few of the stories she had heard about her mother.
At the end of their tea, McGonagall produced the Nimbus out of her cupboard. “I trust that you will take care of this,” she said, handing it to Ginny. “It is, of course, for both of you to use, but I suspect that it would merely gather dust in Harry’s direct possession.”
“We’ll take good care of it,” Ginny said.
They went to the door but paused with Harry’s hand on the heavy latch. “Professor?”
“Yes, Harry?”
“Do you . . . err . . . do you happen to know my middle name?” he asked, thinking of all the stories she had told them about his parents. “I know it starts with a ‘J’ because of my Hogwarts letter, but . . .”
McGonagall’s face softened more than they would have thought possible at the beginning of the year. “James,” she said quietly. “Your middle name is James. Your father was so proud.”
Smiles spread across their faces. Harry James Potter, Ginny said. It fits you.
“Thank you, Professor,” Harry said.
She nodded slowly. “You’re welcome, Harry.”
Late that afternoon, the four first years visited Hagrid as they had promised. Somehow, they found themselves listening to his plans to someday attempt to breed his own magical creatures. Harry suggested a giant Flobberworm in jest, but Hagrid seemed to take the notion quite seriously.
Exam results were announced on Thursday morning. As expected, Hermione was top of their year in everything, but Ginny achieved a surprisingly close second in Transfiguration, and Harry’s mark was only fractionally lower than Ginny’s. They did well in Defence and Charms, and they passed their other subjects with decent marks.
Much to his chagrin, Ron placed within the top third of the first years overall, and he very reluctantly thanked Hermione for her help in revision. Neville did not share his marks with Harry or Ginny, but Hermione later told them that he had the second-highest mark in Herbology, which had made up for his disappointing Potions mark in his own eyes.
Harry and Ginny spent most of that afternoon gathering their belongings and packing their trunks with all but the most essential items. Harry did not want any of the Dursleys to discover his photo album or the Invisibility Cloak, so he passed them to Ginny to be kept at The Burrow.
When they were finished, they climbed up to the Owlery. As soon as they entered, Hedwig flew down from one of the highest perches and landed gently on Harry’s shoulder. Ginny reached up to scratch the snowy owl’s crest while Harry petted the soft feathers of her neck.
“Hedwig,” he said. “I’m going to be spending a lot of time with my relatives this summer, and I’m not sure they’d like it if you were there.” She fluffed her feathers indignantly. “I know you don’t care what they think, but it wouldn’t be very nice for you, and I’d have almost no letters for you to carry.”
“Would you mind coming to stay with me for the summer, Hedwig?” Ginny asked. “There will be lots of mice near my house for you to catch. And our owl is very old, so you could carry some post if you wanted.”
“I’ll be there every night,” Harry said. “So we can see each other often. What do you say? Would you like to stay with Ginny?”
Hedwig looked down at him with unblinking yellow eyes and then cocked her head abruptly to one side. After a moment, she hopped daintily from Harry’s shoulder to Ginny’s and nipped affectionately at the girl’s ear.
“Thanks, Hedwig,” Harry said. “I really think you’ll like it there. Meet us outside the castle tomorrow when it’s time to go, okay?”
Harry held up a finger, and Hedwig rubbed her head against it. Then, with a strong flap of her wings, she launched herself back into the rafters of the Owlery.
At six o’clock, Harry and Ginny entered the Great Hall with Hermione and Ron close behind. The hall was decorated with green Slytherin banners in honour of their winning the House Cup. The four Gryffindors sat down and waited for the feast to begin.
“Malfoy looks like he won all of those points single-handedly,” Ron said with a dark scowl.
“He might as well have,” Harry said. “Snape was handing them out like sweets at a fair.”
Neville entered the hall, and Ginny watched as he walked up the table towards them. Without a word, the quiet boy dropped into his usual seat next to Ginny, and then he immediately turned towards the high table with an expression of close attention.
“Hi, Neville,” Ginny said carefully.
“Hullo,” he replied without looking at them.
I wish he’d forgive me already, Ginny said with a sigh, but I can’t blame him, really.
He’ll come around, Ginny. Harry patted her hand in reassurance.
At that moment, Dumbledore entered the hall from the side door near the high table. He was the last to arrive, and when he reached his chair he raised his arms. The hubbub in the room fell to near-silence.
"Another year gone!" Dumbledore said cheerfully. "And I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were. You have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts.
"Now, as I understand it, the House Cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus. In fourth place, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two points. In third, Ravenclaw, with three hundred and seventy-six. Gryffindor, thanks to their recent Quidditch victory, has four hundred and twelve points, and Slytherin is in first place with four hundred and seventy-two."
A low, rumbling sort of cheer rose from the Slytherin table as the students there all began stomping their feet in rhythm.
“Yes, indeed, very well done, Slytherin,” Dumbledore said, motioning for quiet again. “However, recent events must be taken into account.”
His words were far more effective than any gesture, and the hall became utterly silent as the students held their breaths in anticipation. Ginny looked over her shoulder and saw Malfoy become paler than he usually was.
“I have a few last-minute points to distribute,” Dumbledore announced. “Let’s see . . .
“Ah, yes. First, to Mr. Ronald Weasley, for stunning conviction and the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor House ten points.”
The other Gryffindors’ applause was subdued, as though they were not yet prepared to be hopeful, but Ron blushed profusely as Hermione patted his shoulder and Ginny and Harry grinned at him.
“Next, to Miss Hermione Granger. For the use of cool logic in the face of mortal peril and for a thoroughly astounding display of intellect all around, I award Gryffindor House ten points.”
The applause was louder this time. Hermione coloured delicately and ducked her head as many of the Ravenclaws stood and peered across the hall at her. Fred and George leaned towards the centre of the table and gave her the thumbs up. Ginny leaned forward, grinning happily, and whispered, “Too right!”
From further up the table, Ginny and Harry heard someone say, “ . . . two more. There’s got to be two more!”
“Third, to Miss Ginny Weasley. For contributions to her House and its members that hardly require explanation, I award Gryffindor twenty points.”
This time, the cheers of their housemates were nearly deafening, and calls of “Good show, Ginny!” and “Well done!” floated to them from both ends of the table. Distantly, Ginny heard Percy loudly proclaiming, “My younger siblings, you know. Following in their brother’s footsteps!”
Ponce, she said, though she too was blushing happily.
I don’t think Dumbledore was talking about Quidditch, you know, Harry said. He reached under the table and squeezed her hand gently in congratulations and gratitude. Unconsciously, he entwined his fingers with hers and left their hands resting on her knee.
You just wait, Ginny said, smiling and looking up at the head table expectantly.
“And, fourth, to Mr. Harry Potter,” Dumbledore said. The Gryffindors went silent once again, and the other houses matched their expectant looks. “For a dedication to the cause of goodness that cannot be denied, regardless of the form it takes, and for an unprecedented display of courage, I award Gryffindor House twenty points.”
And if you ever do it again, I’ll never forgive you, Ginny said, but she grinned and leaned against Harry briefly anyway as the rest of the House raised a new cheer.
“We’re tied,” Hermione said in wonder. “He wouldn’t . . . would he?”
Mutters ran the length of the table as other students reached the same conclusion. Dumbledore raised his hands again, but this time it took almost a minute for the hall to quieten again.
“Courage is, indeed, a hallmark of Gryffindor House. There are many kinds of courage, however, and they do not all necessarily involve adventures and obstacles. It takes just as much courage to stand up for what you believe is right, in a calm and rational manner, even when opposed by greater numbers and equally strong convictions. Therefore, I award twenty points to Gryffindor on behalf of Mr. Neville Longbottom.”
The Great Hall erupted in shouts and cheers. The Gryffindors were loudest, by far, but the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs also rejoiced loudly at Slytherin’s defeat. Harry turned carefully in his seat to see Draco Malfoy slam his fist into the table. The blond boy then shook his hand in pain even as he sneered at the rest of the students.
Ginny released Harry’s hand, leaned over, and hugged Neville around his shoulders. “Well done, Neville,” she said, trying to say more than she could put into words. Her sentiments were echoed in loud voices by the rest of the house. Neville blinked at his house-mates, and then he turned and gave Ginny a shy smile. Harry reached behind her to clap Neville on the shoulder as she released him.
Dumbledore’s voice thundered over the din in the hall. “I believe that a change in decoration is in order!” He clapped once, and the green of the Slytherin banners faded to crimson. Golden lions leapt onto the surface of each banner from the side, forcing the silver snakes to vacate the fabric. The lions then reared and gave voice to a chorus of very realistic roars, which were echoed by the Gryffindors below.
Harry and Ginny looked up at the high table and spotted McGonagall, who was smiling in their direction. As they watched, she nodded and mouthed, “Thank you.” The two students grinned, and then Harry shifted his gaze to Professor Snape. The sallow man was staring in their direction with his face locked into a malignant glare.
Yep, he hates me. It’s official.
I think now he hates us.
You mean ‘us’, you and me, or ‘us’, Gryffindors?
Both. But especially you and me.
“Congratulations, Gryffindor!” Dumbledore shouted, drawing attention back to himself. “And now, let us commence our consumption!” He clapped again, and food appeared along the centres of each long table.
Harry and Ginny helped themselves to almost everything in sight. They ate and laughed and celebrated for over an hour, rejoicing in the newfound goodwill and camaraderie of their house-mates. For once, Neville received just as much attention as Ginny and Harry did, and he smiled even as he ducked his head modestly.
At last, students began drifting out of the Great Hall in groups. As they had at the beginning of the year, Harry and Ginny stayed at their seats and waited for everyone else to leave, already speculating about how long the upcoming conversation with her parents might take. When no other students were left, Hermione and Ron flashed them encouraging smiles and went back towards Gryffindor Tower.
Harry and Ginny stood up and waited as Dumbledore and McGonagall walked down from the high table. Then the four of them began the journey to the Headmaster’s office.
As they walked, Ginny and Harry had time to think about what had happened in the Great Hall, and at last Ginny tugged gently on the Headmaster’s sleeve. He looked down at her with a raised eyebrow as the small group came to a halt.
“I just wanted . . .” Ginny stopped, trying to frame her thoughts. She knew that the Headmaster was, indeed, responsible for many wrongs, but she had to admit that he had just done something that was clearly right. She sighed and tried again. “I wanted to say thank you, Headmaster. For Neville. I know you didn’t really do it for us, but . . . thanks anyway.”
The characteristic twinkle returned to the Headmaster’s eyes, and Harry and Ginny realised that they had not seen it since their encounter with Quirrell. “You’re most welcome, Miss Weasley,” he said. “I always appreciate the opportunity to recognise exceptional performance in whatever form it may take.”
Ginny rolled her eyes, fighting a small grin. “You could have just said the first part, Headmaster.”
The Headmaster stroked his beard thoughtfully and then winked. “I suppose I could have, yes, but where would be the fun in that?”
They continued on their way, and in a few minutes they walked through the door of the Headmaster’s office. As before, Ginny’s parents were sitting in two of the armchairs facing the large desk.
Mr. and Mrs. Weasley rose to their feet as Harry and Ginny entered the room. After a moment’s hesitation, Molly stepped forward and hugged Ginny, and her embrace quickly tightened into a familiar, breathless grasp.
Arthur patted Ginny’s back and then stepped forward to shake Harry’s hand. “Hello, Harry. It’s great to see you up and about. How’s the back?” he asked.
“Much better, Mr. Weasley, thank you,” Harry said.
Ginny pulled away from her mother and moved to her father, who picked her up and hugged her tightly. “Hello, Firefly,” he said softly into her ear. “It’s wonderful to see you.”
“Hi, Daddy.” Even though their ordeal was almost a week behind them and she had seen her father since then, she still took a special sort of comfort from his embrace.
Arthur put her back on the ground and grinned at her. “What’s this I heard about the last Quidditch game? Someone at work claimed that my little daughter was the heroine of the hour!”
Ginny felt her cheeks heat even as she smiled. “Well, I don’t really know about that, but I did get to play Seeker.” Her smile broadened in spite of her best efforts. “I caught the Snitch, and we won the game. Gryffindor won the Cup.”
“Sounds like a heroine to me!” Mr. Weasley said. “I hope Harry wasn’t too jealous.”
“Ginny was just spectacular,” Harry said, grinning. “We had loads of fun.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear that,” her father replied. “It’s wonderful that Ginny got to play, but I’m sure we all wish that you’d been able to, Harry. You’ll both have to tell us all about the game.”
“Shall we sit down?” Dumbledore asked. He stood next to McGonagall by the door, forgotten in the impromptu family reunion.
“Of course, of course,” Mrs. Weasley said. She and Arthur went back to their chairs. With a flick of his wand, Dumbledore widened one of the remaining chairs, and Ginny and Harry sat in it together. McGonagall sat next to them and turned slightly to watch everyone else in the room.
Dumbledore cleared his throat. “I’ve asked you all here to discuss Mr. Potter and Miss Weasley’s living arrangements for the summer.”
Mr. Weasley’s face tightened in a way that reminded Harry eerily of the man’s daughter. “I honestly don’t see what there is to discuss, Albus,” he said in a very neutral tone. “Harry is more than welcome to stay with us. In fact, I would go so far as to say it’s rather necessary.”
The Headmaster nodded. “It is, indeed, necessary that the two of them spend their nights together, and I agree that The Burrow is the best place for that. There are, however, other factors to consider.”
“Oh? What factors might those be?” Mr. Weasley asked, one eyebrow raised.
“The year’s events have taught us a lot about your daughter’s special relationship to another student,” Dumbledore said, leaning forward slightly. “It has been, as I’m sure you will agree, both eventful and educational. With all of that going on, however, we may have lost sight of exactly who that student is.
“He is not just any boy, Arthur. He is Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, if he will forgive my use of that designation. You know as well as I do what that means.”
Mr. Weasley was quiet for a moment, and Ginny could see the tension forming in his hands and face. “You’re thinking of Frank and Alice,” he said at last in a controlled voice.
“Among many others, yes.”
“Arthur, what . . . ?” Mrs. Weasley wrung her hands in agitation.
Mr. Weasley closed his eyes and sighed heavily. “There may be people out there who still want to kill him, Molly,” he said in a low voice. Then his eyes snapped open, and his expression became determined. Harry was once again reminded forcefully of Ginny. “How do we prevent that?” Mr. Weasley asked bluntly.
“There is a special form of protection around the Dursleys’ house, and it is tied to Mr. Potter and his aunt,” Dumbledore said. “As long as he spends a certain amount of time there with her each summer, the house and its immediate surroundings will remain impregnable to any Dark Wizards or creatures for the entire year.”
“So you want us to send them both to live with those people?” Arthur asked in a clipped tone. Mrs. Weasley stiffened at the idea and opened her mouth to protest, but Dumbledore held up a calming hand.
“That is not the only answer,” he said. “Mr. Potter does need to spend a certain amount of time there, yes, but we are not limited by the constraints of normal transportation. I propose that Mr. Potter and Miss Weasley sleep at The Burrow. Each morning, he can transport himself to Privet Drive and spend the day there. Given sufficient time, that will be enough to recharge the protections.”
“Are you certain Harry will be safer there than at The Burrow?” Mrs. Weasley inquired. “Surely we can put up wards there to keep him safe.”
“I’m afraid not, Molly,” Dumbledore said. “The protection at Privet Drive cannot be re-created elsewhere, and it is the strongest barrier in existence. Wards at The Burrow could be broken. We will, of course, do what we can to safeguard your home, but we must not let the protection at Privet Drive lapse.”
“What about Ginny?” Mrs. Weasley asked. “Will the protection apply to her as well as Harry?”
“Of course,” Dumbledore said. “That is a long-term benefit of the wards at Privet Drive. If, at any time, either of the children is in danger, they can both go there and be completely safe. In fact, anyone in your family could go there if needed.”
Mr. Weasley leaned back in his chair and stared at his feet, obviously in deep thought. After a few moments, he looked up again. “Those people are not fit to raise children, Albus. How can we send him there, even part-time, knowing that?”
“The very same point your daughter made, although you have stated it much more succinctly,” the Headmaster said with a hint of sadness on his face. “Miss Weasley?”
“Nothing can happen to Harry without me knowing about it, Dad,” Ginny said. “The instant the Dursleys try to do anything awful, Harry will leave them and come home. We hope that you or Mum would be willing to go and straighten out his relatives if that happens.”
“So you’re not going to confront them yourselves?”
“No, Daddy,” Ginny said. “He’s just going to leave. We don’t want to hurt them or get in trouble with the Ministry.”
He nodded. “And you’re going to tell us what happened and let us ensure that it doesn’t happen again?”
“If you don’t mind, Daddy, we’d rather do it that way.”
“Of course I don’t mind, Firefly,” Mr. Weasley said. “What kind of person would I be if I did?”
“You’d be just like them, Mr. Weasley,” Harry said.
The older man’s gaze shifted to Harry, and he nodded grimly. “Just so, Harry.” He turned back to Dumbledore. “Alright, Albus, it sounds as though that’s how it’s going to work. Are you going to use your authority to back me up, if necessary, to avoid trouble with the Ministry?”
“I am,” Dumbledore said. “Provided that I am at least consulted, I can legally and fairly instruct that certain actions are taken on my behalf as Head of the Wizengamot. If more direct intervention is required of me, I will, of course, be happy to become involved.”
Mr. Weasley looked at Ginny and Harry. “How do the two of you feel about this?”
Ginny shrugged. “It won’t be much fun, but it won’t last all summer.” Ginny laced her fingers tightly with Harry’s and met his eyes before turning to face her father. “And some things are more important than fun.”
With a sad smile, Mr. Weasley reached between their chairs and tucked a lock of Ginny’s hair behind her ear. “Oh, Ginny. I wish you had not yet learned that lesson.” He shifted his gaze to Harry. “What about you?”
“I can manage, Mr. Weasley,” Harry said. “If they try anything I can’t -”
“- or shouldn’t -” Ginny interjected.
“- handle, I just won’t be there anymore.”
“Very well,” Mr. Weasley said. “It seems that this arrangement is acceptable to everyone. How long will it take, Albus?”
“It is difficult to estimate, but I suspect that the protections will be renewed within six to eight weeks.”
“Alright, then,” Arthur said. “Harry, we’ll look forward to having you around full-time just as soon as possible. In the meantime, I know that Ginny will make sure that nothing happens to you.”
Professor McGonagall, who had been silent thus far, said, “Molly, I trust that you will see that Harry eats well? His relatives are not known for their generosity.”
Mrs. Weasley gave Professor McGonagall a withering look and then sniffed indignantly. “He’ll be too fat to fly, if he wants to be.”
At least she understands that much, Ginny said.
And even I have to admit that she’s an amazing cook.
“If there is nothing else,” Dumbledore said, “I will let you return to your home. The Hogwarts Express, as I believe you’ve been told, will arrive at King’s Cross tomorrow at four thirty.”
Mr. Weasley nodded. “Will your relatives be there to pick you up, Harry?” he asked.
“I suppose so,” Harry answered, “but I haven’t spoken to them since September.”
“They will be there,” McGonagall said. “I received confirmation recently.”
“Excellent,” Mr. Weasley said. “Perhaps that will be an opportunity to stop this problem before it starts.”
I can’t wait to see that, Ginny said.
Don’t tell the twins, Harry added. They’d sell tickets.
The Weasley parents chatted with everyone for a few more minutes, and then they said their goodbyes and went back to The Burrow via Floo. Once they had left, Harry and Ginny excused themselves and returned to Gryffindor Tower.
The next morning, after a chaotic breakfast, Harry and Ginny packed their toiletries and levitated their trunks down to the entrance hall. Hermione had gone ahead, and Ron had promised that he would catch up as soon as he had finished packing.
After leaving their trunks just inside the doors with the rest, Harry and Ginny emerged into the sunlight and walked down the steps to the castle lawn. Turning to the castle wall a few yards away, they found the door to the subterranean passage open, so they walked down the dimly-lit ramp into the underground harbour.
Hagrid greeted them as they arrived, and Hermione waved at them from one of the small boats. They climbed into it with her, placing the Nimbus and Hedwig’s cage on the bottom of the boat between the two benches.
As the rest of the boats filled and the students settled, Ron came barrelling down the passageway and clambered into the boat.
“Honestly, Ron, could you have been any later at all?” Hermione asked as she gripped the side of the small craft.
Ron dropped onto the bench next to her. “Probably, yeah. Want me to try?”
She rolled her eyes and looked pointedly out towards the lake.
Hagrid ordered the boats to move, and they drifted silently over the water. As soon as they were outside, Hedwig flew down from the castle wall and hopped into her cage. Ginny latched it carefully and gave the snowy owl a treat from her pocket.
“Is it okay for you to get owls, Hermione?” Ginny asked. She had not considered any other possibility before, but they knew that some Muggle homes would have difficulty receiving owl post.
“I think so,” Hermione said after some thought, “provided that you can teach Hedwig to only arrive after dark.”
Ginny watched as Hedwig raised her head and stared directly at Hermione. Even from the side, they could see the accusation in the owl’s eyes.
After a few long moments, in which Hedwig did not blink, Hermione shook her head and looked away. “Alright, fine, that won’t be a problem. Harry, Hedwig is frighteningly clever.”
Harry shrugged. “Provided you remember that, it’s not so frightening. The same is true for some other clever people we know.”
After a short, relatively smooth ride, the boats stopped near Hogsmeade station. The four friends climbed up the hill, claimed their trunks, and found an empty compartment on the Hogwarts Express. After a short wait for the older students to arrive from the castle and stow their belongings, the train pulled out of the station.
Ginny sighed mentally. I guess Neville decided to sit somewhere else.
Harry put his arm across her shoulders and gave her a gentle squeeze. We’ll try again next year, Ginny. Tiny steps, right?
She leaned her head against him for a moment and then nodded. Tiny steps.
Less than an hour later, the door to their compartment was flung open, interrupting their light conversation. Fred and George leapt into the space between the seats and struck dramatic poses, back to back, with their wands out as if they were about to duel someone.
Harry and Ginny had started when the door opened, but they relaxed when they saw the twins. As the two brothers continued to pose in the middle of the compartment, they became puzzled. A glance at Ron and Hermione showed that their friends were equally confused.
After a moment of silence, Ron successfully summarised their feelings. “What the hell?” he asked.
Fred and George deflated visibly, dropping their arms and roughly stuffing their wands back into their pockets. They assumed identical expressions of disappointment and frustration. “Not this time, Fred,” George said.
“Chin up, old bean,” Fred replied. “Perhaps another day.”
“Another day for what?” Ginny asked cautiously.
“Well,” George said, “all kinds of interesting things seem to happen to the four of you, but always when we’re not around.”
Fred nodded. “We’ve decided that if we keep showing up at random moments, ready for action, then eventually we’ll probably arrive right in the middle of things.”
“We can save the day,” George said in what he probably thought was a heroic voice.
“No challenge too great, no Firstie too small,” Fred continued, bracing his hands on his hips. “The Weasley Brothers Abridged are up for the task!”
Ginny rolled her eyes. “Hermione, would you mind hexing them for us, please? If we do it, it’ll make a huge mess, and I’m sure you must have found a handy hex or two in your books.”
Hermione grinned. “I did find a really interesting spell called The Curse of the Camel Fleas, but I’ve not yet had a chance to try it.”
“Hey, yeah, do that one, would you?” Harry asked eagerly. The twins, though they did not seem to be aware of it, had taken a half-step back towards the compartment door.
The bushy-haired witch turned her gaze to Fred and George, and her eyes brightened. “Perhaps another day.”
The twins’ slightly nervous expressions shifted to their usual grins, and Fred bowed extravagantly at Hermione. “We look forward to it, Miss Granger.”
“Speaking of which,” George said, “I hope you lot weren’t looking forward to a visit from young Master Malfoy. We saw him heading this way in the corridor, but he seemed to change his mind.”
“Might’ve had something to do with that severe case of chafing he mysteriously developed.”
“Can’t imagine where he got that.”
“Pity,” Ginny said. “But I suppose we’ll survive without seeing him.”
Ron snorted. “Yeah, real hardship, that.”
“We’ll leave you all to your suffering, then,” Fred said.
The twins left the compartment, but their voices floated back to Harry and Ginny from the corridor.
“Do you suppose she meant camel-sized fleas?”
“Or a camel’s worth of fleas?”
Around noon, when the trolley came by, Harry bought a large selection of snacks for them all to share. Not long after that, there was a quiet knock on the door to their compartment.
Harry looked up from the chess game he had just started with Ron, and Ginny interrupted her conversation with Hermione. Together, they saw Neville standing on the other side of the door.
Hermione rose from her seat and opened the door. “You don’t have to knock, Neville. Come in and sit down.”
When Hermione sat back down, Harry and Ginny were able to see Neville’s face clearly. His eyes darted around the compartment, never resting on any one person, and his hands were pushed deep into the pockets of his trousers.
“Ahh . . . no, thanks,” Neville said. “I just . . . err . . . I wanted to say, you know, have a good summer.”
“Thank you, Neville,” Ginny said with an encouraging smile. “Do you have plans for your holiday?”
Neville’s eyes darted up to hers for a moment and then dropped to the floor as he shrugged. “Nothing too interesting.”
“’Nothing’ sounds like a pretty good holiday plan to me,” Ron said, still studying the chessboard in front of him.
“Are you sure you don’t want to sit down, Neville?” Harry asked. “We’ve got some leftover things from the trolley.”
Neville looked at Harry with a slightly more open expression. “Thanks, Harry, but . . . maybe next time?”
Harry nodded. “Any time you like.”
“Well, I’ll see you all next term, then,” Neville said, his eyes flicking to Ginny again. Then, with a half-hearted wave, he turned and left the compartment.
“Bye, Neville!” Ginny called after him, her words echoed quickly by the other students.
When the sound of his footsteps had faded away, Ginny shook her head. “I shouldn’t have hexed him.”
“What’s done is done,” Hermione said sagely, “and you never know what might have happened if you hadn’t.”
“I know,” Ginny said, “but I still wish things could be different now.”
“Just give him some time.”
The rest of the ride passed uneventfully. After a while, the four friends began to talk and laugh just as they had before Neville’s visit. Harry and Ginny got the feeling that all of them were trying their hardest to enjoy every last moment of the ride before they had to be separated, in one way or another, for the summer.
All too soon, the train entered King’s Cross Station. They sat in their compartment, watching other students exit the train. As they passed in the corridor, other Gryffindors shouted farewells to Harry or Ginny.
Ron snorted jovially. “My sister, the celebrity.”
“It’s Harry’s fault,” Ginny protested.
“Well, yeah,” Ron said. “But everyone knows he’s famous.”
“Not for long, I promise you,” Harry said. “The minute I go through the barrier, I’ll be ‘that Potter boy’ again. At best.”
“Don’t let them get you down, Harry,” Hermione said.
“Not likely, with Ginny around,” he said, smiling as he dropped his arm over Ginny’s shoulders.
She smiled warmly up at him. Smooth, Harry.
True, Ginny.
When most of the students had left the train and the platform had become a bit less chaotic, Harry and Ginny led their friends off of the train. The Weasley family was readily identifiable in the crowd, and Mr. and Mrs. Granger were once again standing off to one side.
“Hermione, can we introduce your parents to mine?” Ginny asked. “It might make things easier later on.”
Hermione nodded and led them all towards her parents.
“Hello, Hermione,” Mr. Granger said as he hugged his daughter. “Are you travelling with a pack now?”
“No, Dad, stop being silly. You remember my friends,” Hermione said as she moved to hug her mother. “I thought you might like to meet Ginny’s and Ron’s parents.”
“We’d be delighted,” Mrs. Granger said.
Hermione led the entire group over to the Weasleys. When they came to a stop, Ginny stepped in front of everyone else. Her parents were already looking at her curiously. “Mum, Dad, you remember Hermione. These are her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Granger.”
Arthur stepped forward and stretched a hand out to Mr. Granger. “I’m Arthur Weasley,” he said. “This is my wife, Molly, and our sons, Percy, Fred, and George. It looks like you’ve already met Ron and Ginny.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Mr. Granger said. “I’m Jason, and this is Helen.”
Mrs. Weasley looked almost ecstatic as she shook hands with Helen Granger. “Our children have said so many wonderful things about your daughter,” she said.
“Likewise,” Helen said. “To hear Hermione tell it, your children are some sort of saints. Though I suppose Harry isn’t yours.”
“He might as well be,” Arthur said. “We’re quite proud of them all.”
“We thought that Hermione might be able to visit later this summer, Dad,” Ginny said.
“I’m sure we can at least discuss the possibility,” Mr. Weasley said, glancing at Mr. Granger.
The dark-haired man nodded. “Perhaps we can all meet for lunch at some point to talk about it.”
“The kids can write letters, and we’ll work something out that way at first,” Arthur scratched his chin. “Too bad I don’t have one of those fellytones. Have you received owl post before?”
“Ahh . . . just the once, actually,” Mrs. Granger said.
Ginny lifted Hedwig’s cage in her arms and turned to the Grangers. “Mr. and Mrs. Granger, this is Hedwig. She’ll carry our mail for us. All you have to do is tie a letter to her leg and tell her who you want it to go to.”
Harry pulled the package of owl treats out of Ginny’s pocket and handed it to Hermione, who tucked it away in her bag.
“Oh, well . . .” Helen hesitated and then spoke in an indulgent voice. “Hello, Hedwig. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Trust me, Mother,” Hermione muttered. “Hedwig can understand you perfectly.”
Mrs. Granger straightened abruptly and looked to Molly, who nodded with a gentle smile.
“Well, that’s not the biggest surprise I’ve received,” Mrs. Granger said. “I’m happy that you’ve agreed to help us with the post, Hedwig.”
Hedwig, to everyone’s surprise, nodded.
“Alright, then,” Jason said, blinking rapidly. “Hermione, we’d best be on our way. We’ve a long way to go.”
Hermione nodded and stepped forward to hug Ginny. Then she moved to Harry and squeezed him a bit more tightly. “Good luck, Harry,” she whispered. She moved towards Ron, but the red-haired boy held out his hand, so Hermione stopped and shook it with a wry smile.
“Write to me soon!” she said as she walked away with her parents.
“We will, Hermione, don’t worry!” Ginny said, waving after their friend. A moment later, Hermione pulled her parents through the barrier, and they were gone.
“Harry,” Mr. Weasley said, “let’s go find those relatives of yours. Ginny, will you stay with your mother for this part? I’d rather they didn’t know anything about you so that they won’t suspect anything.”
“Alright, Dad. But you’ll make sure those people understand, right?”
“Absolutely, Firefly.”
Knowing that they would not see each other again before Harry had to leave, Harry and Ginny stepped into a brief, close embrace.
We can do this, right? Ginny asked.
Sure we can, Harry said, summoning his confidence. After a whole year with Snape, Uncle Vernon’s no worse than a fat fly at a picnic. A really ugly one, maybe.
Ginny gave Harry a final squeeze, and then they reluctantly let each other go. Looking around, Ginny saw that her brothers were all pointedly looking in other directions. Her mother was staring at her with a conflicted expression, but her father wore an odd sort of smile.
Mr. Weasley put a hand on Harry’s shoulder and guided him towards the barrier, and Ginny closed her eyes to pay attention to what was going to happen. A moment later, she felt a hand on her own shoulder, and she looked up to find Fred there to help her stay upright. She smiled briefly at him and then closed her eyes again.
Just before they reached the barrier, Harry stopped. Pulling his wand out of his pocket, he bent over and tucked it securely into his sock so that it was completely hidden by his oversized trousers.
Good thinking, Ginny said. They’d probably try to take it away from you.
Mr. Weasley nodded his approval and then started forward again. When they pushed through the barrier, Harry immediately spotted the Dursleys waiting further down the corridor. The three Muggles were doing their very best to look nonchalant and calm, but for the most part they looked out-of-place and nervous. Harry nodded towards them, and he and Mr. Weasley started walking in their direction.
“Ironic, isn’t it?” Mr. Weasley whispered. “If they weren’t so disagreeable, someone might have shown them how to get through to the platform. Since they can’t, they have to stand out here looking lost. I’m sure they hate that, and it’s their own fault.”
“Oh, they hate it alright,” Harry said, fighting a grin. “They really hate it.”
Arthur stepped in front of Harry and his trunk and approached his uncle directly. “Vernon Dursley? I’m Arthur Weasley,” he said, extending his hand.
Uncle Vernon looked down at Mr. Weasley’s hand as though it were leprous, and then his eyes ran across the other man’s clothes. Scowling fiercely, he snorted. “What do you and your type want?”
Stupid man, Ginny said. Dad only gives people one chance to be polite.
“I see,” Mr. Weasley said. “I’ll be blunt, then. Harry here is good friends with several of my children, and that makes me responsible for him in a lot of ways. I’ve heard that he’s been mistreated at your home in the past, and I’m here to tell you that, as of this moment, such things will no longer occur.”
Vernon spluttered, his face purpling rapidly, as Petunia sniffed disdainfully and Dudley sneered at Harry. “I have no idea what you’re talking about!” Vernon finally said loudly. “That boy gets just what is proper for him, the same as any boy would!”
“That boy is a far better person than he has any right to be, considering that he was raised by you and yours.” Arthur stepped closer to Vernon and loomed over the shorter man. “You listen to me, Dursley. There is more to our type than you will ever understand. I will know what is happening to Harry at every moment he is in your care. The instant he is unfairly dealt with in even the slightest way, I will be at your door.”
Vernon glanced furtively around, clearly ensuring that they were not being overheard by any of several people who were glancing their way. “If you’re so bloody well worried about him,” Vernon’s face was red and spittle flecked his jowls as he half-shouted, “then you take him. We don’t want him! We’ve never wanted him!”
“That isn’t possible yet, and you know it,” Mr. Weasley said, glancing at Petunia’s pale face. “The moment it is, you can be sure that he will be removed from your care.”
Vernon’s eyes narrowed. “Right, then you stay away from my house,” he growled. “You and all the other freaks. One is more than enough for me!”
It had been a long time since Harry had heard that word, but it still affected him. He now knew precisely why Vernon and Dudley were starting to sweat.
“Be careful, Dursley,” Arthur said in a harsh whisper, blindly reaching out and patting Harry’s shoulder comfortingly. “If you poke a dog long enough, it will bite you, and this dog has very, very big teeth.”
Vernon held the taller man’s gaze for only a moment before looking away. His eyes darted around the station for a moment, and then he cleared his throat loudly. “We’ll be going, then,” he said.
“It was so interesting to meet you, Mr. Dursley,” Arthur said. “I do hope that we will see each other again soon.” His glare clearly showed the falseness of his last statement.
“Come along, boy,” Vernon said. “We’re wasting time standing about.”
Mr. Weasley turned back to Harry and leaned down to speak in a quiet voice. “You’re in the best of hands, Harry, and I don’t mean theirs.”
I love you, too, Daddy.
Harry nodded. “I know.”
Arthur put a gentle hand on Harry’s shoulder for a moment, and then he straightened and nodded. Harry pushed his trolley forward, and as soon as he moved, the Dursleys set off at what they considered to be a brisk pace. They did not look back, but Harry supposed that the rattling wheels of the trolley told them that he was following.
When Harry was out of sight of the barrier, Ginny led the rest of her family out into the station and took her father’s hand. “Thanks, Daddy. I don’t think it will work, but nobody can say you didn’t try.”
Mr. Weasley looked down at her fondly. “If it doesn’t work, Firefly, we’ll make it work.” He sighed. “I hate behaving that way, but I’m afraid it’s the only way to get through to people like him.” He shook his head and then glanced around at the rest of his family. “Let’s walk slowly, now, and take in the sights. We don’t want to get to the car park until they’ve left it.”
Mrs. Weasley looped her arm through her husband’s, and the Weasleys meandered around the station. Ginny directed them to things that were more normal to look at, even though her father genuinely did want to inspect a turnstile.
Outside, Harry pushed his trolley across the car park until he reached Vernon’s gleaming sedan. Vernon lifted Harry’s trunk into the boot with a glare and a deep grunt.
Good thing we didn’t leave everything in there, Harry said.
It would have been fun to watch, though. Next year, you can keep all of our spellbooks and the new rock collection I’ll have.
The Dursleys climbed into the car, and Harry got into the back seat with Dudley. Even in the large sedan, the huge boy’s bulk spilled over onto Harry’s side of the seat, and Harry could smell the mixture of sweat and greasy food that was unique to Dudley Dursley.
Vernon pulled out onto the highway, and Ginny signalled to her family that they could leave. They left the building and all piled into the Anglia, with Ginny once again sitting in the front seat with her parents.
Harry and the Dursleys drove to Surrey in tense silence, aside from Vernon’s sullen muttering and occasional swearing at other drivers. At one point, Harry caught the man watching him in the rear view mirror, after which he clearly said, “Some school. Nine months of ‘education,’ and he’s still so moronic he just stares out the window.”
After an hour, they pulled into the drive of number four, Privet Drive. Vernon lifted Harry’s trunk out of the boot and left it on the concrete. “Hurry up, boy,” he said as he crossed to the door of the house. “The neighbours don’t need to see you lazing about out here.”
Harry rolled his eyes and dragged his trunk towards the door. As soon as he had it inside, Vernon locked the door and moved to block Harry’s path into the rest of the house.
“Open it up, boy.” Vernon stabbed a fat finger at Harry’s trunk. “You’ll not be needing anything but clothes while you’re here.”
Ginny stiffened but then relaxed as they considered the prospect. It doesn’t matter, I suppose, she said. All of the important things are in my trunk.
Harry lifted the lid of his trunk and began pulling out his clothes and piling them on the floor. Vernon spotted the red shirt Ginny had given him and snatched it up in his fist, causing Harry to bristle.
“What’s this? Doors and ditches? What sort of rubbish is this?”
“It’s just an old shirt,” Harry said, trying to conceal his concern. “Someone gave it to me because it was too old and ragged for them.”
I love that shirt, Ginny said.
Me, too, but I’m not about to tell him that. He’d bin it.
Vernon threw the shirt back into the trunk. “Leave it in there, then. I don’t want to see it.”
Harry nodded and sighed mentally. I’ll get it back later and keep it at your house, he said. They were very glad that he had thought to hide his wand before leaving the platform.
When Harry had removed all of his clothes from the trunk, other than his uniforms and robes, Vernon slammed the lid closed. He dragged the trunk to the cupboard under the stairs, shoved it inside, and locked the cupboard door with a heavy padlock.
I bet the twins know how to open those, Ginny said.
If not, I’m sure they’ll be glad to learn how. It’s just the kind of thing they’d want to be good at.
Harry gathered his clothes into his arms and carried them up the stairs to the smallest bedroom. It took him only a few minutes to put them away. He placed his wand beneath the pillow and then sat on the broken mattress, trying to ignore his surroundings.
Ginny had been half-listening as the twins and Ron recalled every detail of Gryffindor’s victory over Ravenclaw. When she and Harry started paying active attention, Ron was finally describing her climb in pursuit of the Snitch.
“What happened up there, Ginny?” Fred asked. “We saw you go up, and we saw you come down with the Snitch, but we couldn’t tell what you had to do to finally catch it.”
“Honestly, nothing, really,” Ginny said, shrugging. “The broom was faster than the Snitch, and I just caught up with it and grabbed it. I’d have been back a few seconds sooner, but the view from up there was amazing. Harry says it was what he imagines flying in an airplane would be like.”
“How’s he doing, Ginny?” her father asked.
She sighed. “Better than we expected, I suppose. They took away his school things and locked them under the stairs, but other than that they’re just leaving him alone.”
The Weasleys continued their long drive and their endless conversation. Half an hour later, Petunia’s voice penetrated Harry’s door. “Get down here and eat your dinner!”
Obediently, he went downstairs and took his place at the table. Petunia had made something, and Vernon and Dudley made noises that Harry assumed were appreciative, but he hardly noticed what he ate. After meals at Hogwarts and The Burrow, whatever Petunia was serving was very disappointing. Harry ate his smaller portion dutifully, already looking forward to getting something better later in the evening.
When Dudley had finished his fourth helping of pudding, Harry cleared away the dishes and began washing them in the sink. When he finished, he started back up the stairs, but Vernon blocked his ascent with a beefy arm.
“You’ll be up at dawn tomorrow to make breakfast, boy, and then your aunt will make sure you’re useful. Never mind what those freaky friends of yours say, you’ll earn your keep in this house.”
Harry fumed silently, but he nodded. He and Ginny had known that he would still have to do work around the house.
If he calls your family that one more time, though . . .
I’d rather think of it as his having a very limited vocabulary.
Having nothing else to do, Harry changed into his pyjamas and lay back on the least-uncomfortable edge of the bed. After only a few minutes, Dudley barged into the room with a cruel grin on his face.
“How’d you like that stupid school, Potter?” he asked. “Was it fun to meet all the other sad losers and compare how pathetic you all are?”
Malfoy would eat him alive, Ginny said.
Wow, do you think we could arrange for them to meet? Malfoy might finally be useful.
“It’s a school for magic, Dudley,” Harry said. “Go away, or I’ll turn your hair pink.”
Dudley paled, and Harry saw him draw a breath to shout down to his parents.
“If you say one word to Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon, I’ll turn your skin pink, too. It’d go well with your tail.”
Harry raised his hands and waggled his fingers menacingly, and the rotund boy’s mouth snapped shut as his close-set eyes widened. He backed out of the room, both hands covering his backside, watching Harry’s hands carefully. When Dudley had wedged himself through the doorway, he reached out and pulled the door closed behind him. Just after the door clicked shut, Harry distinctly heard the word ‘freak,’ followed by rapid, heavy footsteps away from his door.
Harry, you forgot to tell them you can’t do magic during the holidays, Ginny said with a laugh in her voice.
Did I? Oops.
A while later, the Weasleys arrived at The Burrow. Mr. Weasley levitated Ginny’s trunk up the stairs for her as the boys carried their own. When everyone was settled, they returned to the kitchen, and Mrs. Weasley pulled one of her huge platters of sandwiches out of the refrigerator. Ginny ate two by herself, reassuring them both that even a sandwich from her mother’s kitchen was far superior to whatever Petunia had recently attempted to produce. When she was finished, she waited at the table while the rest of the family ate their dinners, but she placed two more sandwiches on her plate to save them from Ron.
Finally, the light in the hallway outside Harry’s door vanished, and he pulled out his wand and tucked it into the pocket of his pyjamas. Ginny smiled and pulled the chair next to her away from the table, and a moment later Harry was sitting in it.
Welcome home, Harry.
“Hiya, Harry,” Fred said.
“Long time no see,” George added.
“Tuck in,” Mr. Weasley encouraged him.
Ginny pushed her plate towards him, and he ate the two sandwiches in short order, washing them down with cool pumpkin juice.
“Would you like any more, Harry?” Mrs. Weasley offered politely.
“No thanks, Mrs. Weasley,” he said. “They’re excellent, but I would actually like to be able to fly this autumn.”
She smiled slightly and crossed the kitchen to begin her routine of cleaning.
Did you see that, Harry? Ginny asked. Mum smiled at you!
Yeah, she did, he said. That’s a start, right?
Definitely.
After another half hour of conversation, Ginny yawned. “We’re going to bed,” she said. “Goodnight, everyone.”
The rest of the family wished them both a good night as they climbed the stairs to Ginny’s room. Hedwig hooted at Harry in greeting from her perch atop the wardrobe. While Ginny went to the lavatory to prepare for bed, Harry paused to stroke the snowy owl’s crest. Then he set the alarm on his wristwatch and lay down. When she returned, Ginny pulled her Hogwarts towel from her trunk and held it out to him.
“Brunesempra,” Harry said dutifully, pointing his wand at the towel.
With Bun-bun in hand, Ginny curled up next to Harry and slid her arm under his pyjama top.
Handy spell, that, she said.
All sorts of uses.
They lay quietly for a few minutes, listening to the sounds of the nearby wood as they mixed with the muted voices of the Weasleys drifting up from below. Harry took a deep breath and released it in a long, slow sigh. After only a few hours in his relatives’ house, The Burrow was a welcome refuge.
It’s going to be a long summer.
I’ll be with you all the time, Ginny said.
I know. That’s the only thing that’ll make it bearable.
Ginny smiled against his stomach and squeezed him gently with her arm. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Harry reached down and stroked her hair with his palm. Me either.
The repetitive caress on Ginny’s hair relaxed them both, and Harry’s hand slowed as they approached sleep.
I love you, you know, Harry, Ginny whispered into their minds.
I love you, too, Ginevra.
A/N: This marks the end of Part One: The Philosopher’s Stone. Look for Part Two sometime in the near future. If you’d like to receive a notification when the first chapter is posted, remember to set an “Author favourite”.
In my system, winning a Quidditch match earns the house fifty house points. Winning the Quidditch Cup earns the house an extra fifty points. So Gryffindor’s victory in the final match of the season earned them one hundred points (fifty for the game and fifty for the cup), and their entire Quidditch season earned them two hundred points (fifty for each of three games plus fifty for the cup). As best as I can determine, this fits canon, because Percy mentions that Harry earned Gryffindor fifty points at one of the matches.
I have deliberately moved the end-of-year feast and the train ride from their apparent dates in canon. The long gap in the Lexicon’s timeline doesn’t seem to make much sense, and it doesn’t match well with the events from the other books. So I adjusted everything to eliminate the incongruity.
I must, at this point, offer extended thanks to the people who help to make this story possible. Moshpit, more than anyone else, contributes his time as a pre-beta, ensuring that what I say matches what I want to say. Jonathan Avery is invaluable as a ‘real’ beta, and his dedication to quality writing (his or others’) is unmatched. Treecat and regdc have both done their parts as brit-pickers, and Parakletos has answered a question or two here and there, also. The inestimable Chreechree proofreads the story and helps me with some of the bits I’m less confident about. Sherylyn does formatting and canon nit-picking work to keep the polish level high. I would also like to thank several of my ‘real-life’ acquaintances who have put up with my asking odd questions. Foremost among those is my wife, who does a thoroughly wonderful job of putting up with me in general. Thank you, all of you, for your help as I pursue this diversion of mine.
If anyone would like a complete PDF version of Part One, please email me or PM me with your email address, and I'll be happy to send it to you.