The Forgotten Girl by SSHENRY

Index

Chapter 1: Back to Hogwarts
Chapter 2: The First People
Chapter 3: Avatar
Chapter 4: A Wesley Christmas
Chapter 5: REALIZATIONS AND RUMORS
Chapter 6: THE BOGGART
Chapter 7: THE DOPPLEGANGER EFFECT
Chapter 8: LESSONS
Chapter 9: BETS AND BETRAYALS
Chapter 10: BEING HARRY
Chapter 11: THE YULE BALL
Chapter 12: STAIRWAY TO PARADISE
Chapter 13: THE SECOND TASK
Chapter 14: THE HOWLER AND HAIR RIBBONS
Chapter 15: GIFTS AND GIVERS
Chapter 16: THE MAZE
Chapter 17: AFTERMATH
Chapter 18: SUMMER OF DEMENTIA
Chapter 19: HARRY ARRIVES
Chapter 20: HIGH EMOTIONS
Chapter 21: HOGSMEADE
Chapter 22: MIXED EMOTIONS
Chapter 23: DREAMS
Chapter 24: MIND GAMES
Chapter 25: ACCELERATION
Chapter 26: Mistress of Mayhem
Chapter 27: The Last Lonely Birthday

Chapter 1: Back to Hogwarts

CHAPTER ONE:  BACK TO HOGWARTS

September 2nd

Have you ever been so tired that you did something incredibly stupid, like squeezing the toothpaste onto your wand instead of your toothbrush?  It wouldn’t have been so bad, except for the fact that Parvati and Lavender saw the whole thing, and what do you want to bet that by breakfast tomorrow someone from Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff is making a joke about it?  That’s how it works at Hogwarts.  The Gossip Grapevine is alive and thriving.

If something like this had happened to me last year I would have been devastated.  I would have sobbed myself to sleep (first, of course, having poured out my poor, tortured soul out to Tom in that cursed diary).

This year I find it rather amusing, and just another proof of my stand theory that secrets are not kept at Hogwarts.  It is impossible.  Secrets are treated as communal property and are shared freely. 

All you would have to do is whisper the name of a guy you find rather attractive to one of my roommates and tomorrow morning he’ll know that you have a mad crush on him and sleep with a picture of him under your pillow — which is why I don’t confide in Mandy, Lisa or Laura. 

They’re good enough people, my roommates.  Well, maybe not Mandy Davenport (who’s a snob) but when she’s not with Mandy, Laura Marchbanks is actually quite nice and Lisa, Jamison in particular would give you the shirt off her back if she thought you needed it, but they just can’t keep secrets.  They tell each other everything.  So I don’t tell them much.

I have a lot of secrets you see, and they are not the kind that would simply be humiliating were they to be found out.  Some could be dangerous to myself and to others were they to fall into the wrong hands.

It is imperative, for instance, that no one know about my bond with Harry, or the fact that it was me that called up the Basilisk to attack all the Muggle-borns last year, or that I am a Natural Elemental Magician.

It is common knowledge among the student body by now that the heir of Slytherin abducted me at the end of last term and took me down to the Chamber of Secrets and that he would have killed me if Harry hadn’t come to my rescue (my hero).

No one, however, is too terribly clear on the details; such as who exactly the heir of Slytherin was, why they chose me, the precise location of the Chamber of Secrets as well as the bond that was forged between Harry and myself because of his having saved my life.

Harry told the whole story, well, as much of it as he knew, to Professor Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall and my parents, but none of them will be divulging details any time soon.

As for the four of us that were actually involved, one can’t and three won’t give anyone any information.  I can’t begin to tell you how much I appreciate Harry and Ron keeping their mouths shut and as for Professor Lockhart, if ever there was a person who deserved to have their memory erased it’s him.

But even those who think they know all of the details don’t have the whole story.  There is just no way.  They aren’t the ones who shared their soul — however unwillingly — with Tom Riddle.

There are those who suspect that I’m not being entirely truthful when I tell them that I’ve completely recovered.  But there is no recovering from having been mentally raped by the most powerful Dark Wizard in history.  There is no forgetting what he showed me, and even if I could, I don’t think I could bring myself to have it erased.  It is knowledge that I didn’t have before.  My payment for services rendered.  It is a part of me now, and there’s no going back.

So, I can’t talk freely to my roommates and my family would be devastated to hear what really happened to me, and I have no real friends to speak of.  So who can I talk to but my journal?

I know it probably sounds rather melodramatic to say that I don’t have any friends, but I don’t!  Not real friends.  I didn’t have the energy to expend on friends last year and now, now I wonder if I will ever be able to truly make friends with anyone.  How can I when I know that there are things I will never be able to tell them?  I envy Harry and Ron and Hermione their friendship.  They can always tell each other everything.

My journal has become an integral part of my life.  I was wary of taking it at first because of my experience with Tom’s diary, but Bill assured me that the only charm placed on it he put there himself.  No one except me can read what is written here unless I give them express permission.

My beautiful Bill has always understood me and while the specifics of what happened to me when Tom Riddle possessed me may not be something that I can share even with him, he knew that I’d need someone in whom I could confide.

Ginny sighed as she put down her journal and quill on the bedside table.  So many secrets, she thought glumly, letting her fingers caress the soft leather of the journal’s cover.  She had so many secrets and no one to tell them to.  She couldn’t even tell anyone about her first day back to school.  Even by her slightly twisted standards, it had been decidedly weird.

The double awareness — the ability to see what Harry was seeing, hear and feel what he was hearing and feeling — had been plaguing her all day.

She’d been in Herbology, her first class of the day, when an image of Professor Trelawny in her many shawls and bangles and big, buggy glasses had been superimposed over the flutterby bush she’d been attempting to prune.

It wasn’t the projection that had truly disturbed her (even though it appeared that her pruning shears were stuck up Trelawny’s left nostril), mainly because she’d been seeing through Harry’s eyes all summer, and was actually getting used to it.  It wasn’t even Professor Trelawny’s trademark scream that had left her shaky and sweaty (even though Ginny had nearly jumped out of her skin when the image of Professor Trelawny had screamed and clutched at her heart).  It hadn’t even been Trelawny’s prattle about the Grim, for she knew from Fred and George that Trelawny had predicted the death of a girl in their class too — Patricia Stimpson.  Trelawny had warned her that a red headed man would drown her just before Christmas.  According to George, Patricia had been snogging Gilbert Macintyre — a flaming red head — by Boxing Day and there had been a running joke that the only way the prophecy would come true would be if Patricia drowned in Gilbert’s saliva.

No, what had disturbed her most was Harry’s reaction to Trelawny’s words.  He was wondering if she could be right.  The dog he’d seen in the alleyway when he’d run away from his Aunt and Uncle’s house had shaken him up pretty bad.  Harry was afraid.  Harry was afraid that he might be destined to die.  Even worse, if Harry became convinced, what was to keep it from actually happening?

The grim would have explained the big black dog, but if what she’d read in Charlie’s old death omen book was right, Grim’s were spectral dogs, they weren’t supposed to be corporeal. 

And that had been just first period! Charms too had been more than a bit disturbing, though she doubted very much that it had anything to do with Harry.

Flitwick was teaching the second years a basic locomotion charm, which he warned them, was quite difficult.  Ginny was the only person to get it on the first try.  To top it off, she was also able to demonstrate how to reverse and change directions, even make the object rise up or down if necessary. Flitwick had been very impressed.

The ability, however, had given Ginny a chill. Even though she knew she’d never even read about the charm before, much less practiced it, it had felt as if she’d done the charm a hundred times before.  She had done it without even thinking about it. 

She wondered, of course, if this sudden ability could have something to do with her being in touch with Harry, but then decided that it was more likely that this was another residual effect of having had Tom Riddle in her head.  Some of his magical knowledge had rubbed off on her.  It was scary, true, but this at least, unlike speaking Parsletongue, was something she could use.

Ginny stole another glance at her roommates.  All three of them were currently sitting on Mandy Davenport’s bed and reviewing the day’s events.

“Can you believe it?” Laura Marchbanks marveled, her eyes huge.  “Andrew Kirke sat beside me in Charms and Astronomy!

A chorus of giggles followed this revelation.

“I mean, if it had been just one or the other I’d really have thought nothing of it,” Laura added, flipping her long, honey-brown hair over her shoulder with a practiced gesture.  “But both times?”

“Oooh!  He fancies you!” sighed Lisa Jamison, her cheeks pink with excitement, “that explains why he was watching you all through supper!”

“Andrew is just so dreamy!” gushed Mandy Davenport, giving a wriggle that set her golden curls bouncing.  “Such dark hair and those eyes!” she closed her own china-blue orbs, but then opened them wide a second later.  “But blondes are more my type.”

“Blonde Slytherins you mean,” said Laura with a knowing grin.

“Draco Malfoy has got to be the sexiest boy at Hogwarts,” said Mandy as she played absently with the tassel on her bed hangings.  “Have you ever watched the way he walks?”

“He doesn’t walk, he glides,” said Laura, her voice rather breathy.  “And his hands, the way he holds his wand!”

“Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?” said Mandy, her cheeks now rather pink.  She and Laura shared a knowing look.

“Wonder what?” asked Lisa innocently.  She was holding her cat, a large, gray tabby with white paws and a patch like a star over one eye.

“What it would be like to have him hold your hand,” said Laura dreamily.

“That’s not all I’d like him to hold!” said Mandy with a naughty grin, and all three of the girls burst into another chorus of giggles.

“Wonder away, Mandy,” said Laura at last, “he’s spoken for.  He and Pansy Parkinson, it was arranged when they were just kids.”

“What was arranged?” said Lisa curiously.

“They’re betrothed,” said Laura in a resigned tone.

“You’re kidding!” said Lisa incredulously.

“It’s something a lot of the old wizarding families do to keep the bloodlines pure.”

“Well I can look, can’t I?”  Mandy’s tone was pouty.  “I mean, it’s not like they’re married yet or anything.”

“Close enough,” said Laura darkly.  She turned suddenly to address Ginny.

“What about you, Ginevra?  Your family’s pureblood.  Have you been spoken for yet?”

“Six times actually,” said Ginny with an evil grin.

“Excuse me?” said Mandy haughtily.  “How can you be betrothed to six different men?”

“I’m not betrothed to anyone,” said Ginny evenly. 

“But you said-”

“I said I’d been spoken for, not that any of the offers had been accepted.  Before I turned two, six different pureblood families had approached dad with offers for my hand.  Dad turned them all down.”  Ginny shrugged.

“What do you mean, offers?” asked Lisa curiously.  Lisa was Muggle-born and had probably never heard about arranged pureblood marriages.

“They offered my dad money, land — one family even offered him a title in exchange for having me betrothed to their sons.”

“No way!”

“Which families?” said Mandy, interestedly.

“The Notts, the Sandersons and the Malfoys are the only three  Dad’s ever mentioned,” said Ginny, watching with satisfaction as  Mandy’s face turned a dark plum color. “But if he said there were six, I believe him.”

“Your father turned down an offer from the Malfoys?” she asked incredulously.

“Yes.”

“To be betrothed to Draco?”

“Unless there’s another son the Malfoys have been hiding in their coat closet,” said Ginny dryly.

Mandy looked stunned.

“But, no offense or anything, Ginny, but your parents aren’t exactly rich.”

“Actually, Mandy, we’re about as far from rich as any family can get.”

“It would have been a really good match!” said Mandy still sounding shocked.  “The Malfoys or the Notts, even the Sanderson’s would have been able to offer your parents a generous price.  My mom’s always saying it’s a pity that great-grandma Nancy was a Muggle-born because otherwise she could have married me off into one of the old wizarding families.”

Ginny gritted her teeth but couldn’t bite back the retort that sprang to her lips.

“Do you believe in slavery, Mandy?”

“Of course not!”

“Because that is what signing a contract like that amounts to — selling your daughter in exchange for money or land or whatever!  And do you really think that you would be able to choose which family your mother would have signed the contract with if you were pureblood?  Whichever offered her the most, that’s who!  You could easily have ended up with Crabbe or Goyle as Malfoy!”

Mandy opened her mouth, took one good look at the cold fury in Ginny’s face and closed it again.

Ginny storned out of the dormitory and down the stairs to the common room.  She didn’t need some snot-nosed, status-obsessed, curl bouncing-

CRACK!

The bolt of lightning and simultaneous clap of thunder stopped Ginny dead in her tracks.  A passage she had read just this morning in her Grandmother’s journal popped into her head.

“A Natural Elemental must maintain serenity of mind at all costs, for an outburst of emotion can be mistakenly interpreted as a request for elemental interference.”

“Damn!” said Ginny eloquently, putting one hand over her heart.

“It’s just lightning,” came a voice from the other side of the window.  It was Harry.

“Startled me is all,” said Ginny, attempting to keep her voice even.

“Yeah, well, it startled me too,” said Harry easily.  “Normally I like watching a storm roll in, but that came out of absolutely nowhere!” he said, grinning at her.  “I mean, there’s not a cloud in the sky.”

You don’t know the half of it, thought Ginny to herself.

“I don’t suppose that it has anything to do with your being in a towering temper?” said Harry, grinning even more broadly.

Ginny stared at him.  He knew!  He knew, but he didn’t realize that he knew.

Keeping her tone light, she decided to answer him in kind.

“Yep.  Whipped it up especially:  one medium sized Weasley special, extra voltage.  If you’d looked closely you would have seen Mandy Davenport’s name etched on the side.

Harry snorted.

“Don’t let her get to you, Ginny, she’s not worth the energy.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not the one who has to room with her, are you?”

“You’ve got a point,” said Harry, then added, “what did she say?”

“Come again?”

“To make you mad enough to hurl thunderbolts — what did she say?  Or was it something she did?”

“It was what she said.  She made a comment about not believing my dad wouldn’t have accepted one of the marriage offers.  She seemed to think that he actually would have considered it because of the money involved.”

“Whoa there, wait a minute!” said Harry, putting up a hand to stem her flood of words.  “What are you talking about?  What marriage offers? Who’s getting married?”

Ginny put a hand over her mouth, stifling a giggle.

“No one’s getting married, Harry.” Yet.

“Then why-”

“Give me a chance to explain.”

Ginny took his hand and led him over to one of the squashy armchairs by the dwindling fire.

“There are only a handful of pureblood wizarding families anymore, Harry.  And some of those, like the Malfoys, will do anything to keep their linage from being tainted by non-wizards.”

Harry nodded.  He’d heard this before.  He and Draco Malfoy were not exactly the best of friends after all and Malfoy was always calling Hermione a mudblood, which was a really foul name for someone who was Muggle-born.

“Well, for some odd reason the pureblood families tend to produce more boy than girl babies, so pureblood witches are considered a rare commodity.”

“Commodity?” said Harry in a low, dangerous voice.  His emerald-green eyes were sparkling, a sure sign that his temper was rising. “As in something you buy or sell?”

“Or trade for, exactly,” said Ginny.

“But-”

“It used to be an accepted custom,” said Ginny, cutting across him, “For pureblood families to arrange marriages between their children.  If purity of the race was important enough to you, you’d do anything within your power to ensure that your son ended up with a nice, pureblood witch.  But like I said, pureblood witches are rare.”

“How rare?” asked Harry, interrupting in turn.

“There are only sixteen of us at Hogwarts,” said Ginny.

“And your dad got offers from other pureblood families so that they could ensure their sons a pureblood wife?” asked Harry, sounding disgusted.

“Six different pureblood families came to dad before I was even two years old and offered him money, land, titles even in exchange for a signed contract between the parties.  Officially I would have been married to the boy right then and there — but it is accepted that arranged marriages are not, erm, consummated until the children reach the age of seventeen.”

“Damn,” said Harry, staring sullenly into the fire.

“Yeah, well, you probably could have guessed it, but nine of the sixteen pureblood witches are in Slytherin.”

“Figures,” Harry growled.  “Pansy Parkinson I bet, and Millicent Bulstrode.”

“Both of whom are already spoken for.”

Harry stared at her.

“Millicent?”

“Yep.  She’s betrothed to Theodore Nott.”

“Oh God!” said Harry with a shudder.

“Exactly!” said Ginny, grinning broadly.  “See how desperate they are?”

“But you’re not.”

“I’m not what?”

“Betrothed.”

“Merlin, no!” said Ginny, laughing outright.  “Can you imagine my dad doing something that snobbish?”

Harry shook his head, then looked up at her, his forehead creased.

“If it’s so important to them, this keeping the bloodline pure bit, then I’m surprised that they haven’t come up with a way to force a pureblood witch into a marriage contract.”

“But there is!  It’s really old magic. Blood magic, actually, and blood magic is considered to be just a step away from the Dark Arts.  You mix the witch and wizard’s blood and there’s some sort of incantation.  Anyway, once it’s been performed, if any man other than the wizard whose blood was used tries to, well, tries to have sex with the witch, she’ll die.”

“She dies?”

“Yeah, not real fair, is it?  First the girl is coerced into a match she probably didn’t want, and then she can be killed if someone else tries to take her.”

Harry shuddered.

“So, if someone could get a drop of your blood they could do this — this charm and bind you to themselves or their son?”

“Theoretically, yes.”

“Well, how do you know someone hasn’t already done that?”

“Well, first off, the charm only works if the girl —or woman — is a virgin.  Secondly, if the charm has been successfully performed, a mark that looks like a complicated knot appears on the inside of your left wrist.”

She held her own wrist out for him to see.  He took it in both of his hands, running his thumbs across the sensitive skin.  Ginny’s breath caught in her chest at his touch.  He’d never voluntarily touched her before and his hands on her skin felt so right somehow.  Ginny had to grin at the look of relief that crossed his face when he saw that her wrist was blemish free.

“Well, that would explain why your parents and brothers are so protective of you,” said Harry, grinning back at her and releasing her hand.

“Yeah, well, they don’t need to worry anymore,” said Ginny with a grimace.  “It wouldn’t work on me now anyway.”

“But you’re a pureblood.”

“Yes.”  Ginny waited, watching with amusement as comprehension dawned on his face.

“Are you telling me that your not a — a-” he swallowed hard, “virgin?”

“Right in one,” said Ginny.  She was trying hard now not to laugh outright as the heat began creeping up his neck.

“Ginny, I-” he paused, swallowed again, then said, without looking directly at her, “I don’t mean to sound like another of your brothers or anything, but aren’t you a bit. . .erm . . .young to be having . . .erm. . .sex?”

Then another thought seemed to dawn on him and this time his face reddened not in embarrassment, but in anger, “You’re not telling me that Tom-”

“No, Harry,” she said before he could finish the thought.  “That was bad, and I suppose it was rape, but it was rape on a purely mental level.”  Harry shuddered and she could feel his sudden pity for her, at what she’d gone through.  “But just for the record, Harry, I’ve never had sex.”

“But you said. . .” he paused, as if uncertain how to continue.

“I said that I’m not a virgin — technically.  Remember, Harry, that charm is ancient.  When it was constructed over a thousand years ago ,the only way that one could ensure that a girl was, well, pure, was if the hymen was intact.  If it wasn’t intact there was no way they could guarantee that she hadn’t had sex.”

She watched as Harry’s brow knit in puzzlement, then smoothed out as his primary school science lessons kicked in.

“You make it sound like a safety seal,” said Harry scowling.

“Well, to people like the Malfoys, that’s exactly what it is,” said Ginny, frowning herself.  “Just as long as the label doesn’t read shake well before opening,” she added with an evil grin.

Harry stared at her, then threw back his head and laughed outright.  “I forget that you have six older brothers,” he said, wiping his now streaming eyes.  “That was good.  So, you had some sort of an accident?”

“Yeah, you know that I dance, right?”

“No, I didn’t although, now that you mention it . . .” he looked her up and down critically, “you carry yourself like a dancer.”

“Thanks!” said Ginny brightly.  “Well, last summer I did something stupid.  I tried to go down into a full split without having warmed up first.”

Harry winced.  “Ouch!”

“Exactly.  And, well, that’s all it took.”

Harry remained quiet for several minutes, his face rather pink.

“Harry?”

“Hmm?”

“You can stop blushing now.”

“Sorry, Ginny, it’s just, well . . .” he shrugged.  “I’m glad you don’t have to worry about the charm thing anymore, anyway.”

“Yeah, me too,” said Ginny, grinning at him.  “And Harry, I don’t go around telling everyone about, well about all of this.”

“I should hope not,” said Harry dryly.

“Did I embarrass you?”

“Not much, and I suppose I did ask.”

“You did at that.”

“And it was a rather personal question.”

“That it was, but I did bring up the subject by storming down here and then going off about why I was mad at Mandy.  I should be the one apologizing.”

“Why?”

“Because you have enough on your mind without worrying about me too.”

“Ginny?”

She remained quiet, looking at her feet.

Harry took her chin between his thumb and finger and turned her face up so that she was looking him in the face. 

Ginny felt her breath catch again as his eyes met hers.  God, his eyes!  She could drown in eyes like that.  Right now they were deep and dark and filled with concern.  Concern for her!

“Ginny, I’ll always be here for you, you know that, right?”

Sweet Merlin, does he realize what he’s saying? thought Ginny wildly, or is he just being nice to his best friend’s little sister?

“Except when you’re off rescuing Philosopher’s Stones or tracking giant spiders through the Forbidden Forest or killing Basilisk’s in the Chamber of Secrets,” said Ginny, her mouth very dry.

“It was only one Basilisk,” said Harry quietly.  “And I seem to remember that it was guarding a certain red-headed twelve year old.”

“Yeah, well. . .”

“I mean it Ginny, I don’t care what’s going on.  If you need me, I’ll be here.”

It may be only friendship, thought Ginny sometime later as she tried to go to sleep.  It may be just concern for his best friend’s little sister, but right now it was enough.

Back to index

Chapter 2: The First People

CHAPTER TWO:  THE FIRST PEOPLE

8 September 1993

You know what is really nice?  Bill and I can practice our dance routines in the studio that Dad built over the garage now instead of having to move around all of the furniture in the living room and risk mum’s mutterings.

Bill’s teaching me Latin Ballroom dancing now.  He says I’ve got the regular ballroom moves down pat.  He’s also got me practicing some really complex jazz moves for a solo piece I’m working on.

We practice on Sunday afternoons after my ballet classes with Ms. Benchley.  I have an hour of regular ballet instruction, and then ½ hour of Pointe lessons.  She says that as I get used to the Pointe shoes I’ll be able to do it for longer and longer periods of time.  Right now I’m up to thirty minutes.  That’s a definite improvement from when I started.  I was ten, almost eleven when I got my first Point shoes, and I was only able to manage ten minutes at a time.  God but my toes hurt for the first few months.  I almost gave it up.

I absolutely love dancing.  Only when I’m dancing do I feel absolutely free to be myself.  Well, O.K., when I’m dancing and when I’m meditating or calling the elements.

Anyway, now we can practice in the studio over Dad’s garage.  This is a good thing, because Mum doesn’t approve of the jazz or the Latin music.  She says it’s too suggestive.  But she bites her tongue because Dumbledore has given his express permission for me to Floo home for lessons every week.  This isn’t something every student is allowed to do, and I’m not supposed to spread it around, but he’s making an exception in my case and I think it has to do with something he’s cooking up with Bill.

Bill’s got a plan you see.  He wants to open his own dance studio someday.  He says it will be a studio where he can teach witches, wizards andMuggles all together.  He says it will help to ‘bridge the gap’ between the magic and non-magical worlds. 

Dumbledore seems to think it’s an excellent plan, and has given Bill his full support in making the initial arrangements.

First things first though, Bill needs to build up a clientele, and to do that he needs to be known.  You get known in the dancing circles by competing and getting your name out on the dance circuits. Bill has already won some medals as a solo dancer, but he really wants to compete in the ballroom dancing competitions, Latin dancing especially, and he wants me to be his partner.

I told him not to be ridiculous.  I’m only twelve for pity’s sakes, but he said that in four years I’ll be sixteen and old enough to enter the adult competitions and that it will take him at least that long to save up enough to start his studio anyway, and that he couldn’t think of anyone else he’d rather dance with.

That was really nice of him to say, but I watch Bill and he’s so smooth!  He comes across as incredibly masculine and, well, sexy.  I don’t see how I’ll ever live up to his expectations or be a credit to him, but oddly enough, when I mentioned Bill’s dream (well the part about the dance studio) to Ms. Benchley, she asked to see one of our routines.

So today after my regular lesson, Bill and I did one of our regular ballroom numbers for her, and then I did one of the solo jazz pieces I’d worked on last year.

Ms. Benchley was in absolute amazement.  She said that it was a fantastic idea, and that she thought I’d make Bill an excellent partner.

I have to admit that I find the idea of helping Bill with his studio to be an appealing idea, much more so than Mum’s assumption that I’ll go into healing.  She keeps talking about it as if it’s a given, but I honestly don’t think that I have the patience to be a healer. I mean, I feel sorry for people who get hurt and all, but I just can’t see myself fixing people day after day after day.  Boring! And I definitelydon’t want to be a teacher, which is Mum’s second choice for me.  I know just how obnoxious kids can be — I am one!  I go to school with hundreds of them.  I’d loose my temper so fast that it wouldn’t even be funny.  The poor kids would probably be scarred for life.  I’ve got years to decide, though, and I don’t even pick my supplemental courses until the end of this year.

Anyway, I met with Dumbledore before I Flooed back to the Burrow.  He sort of raised an eyebrow when I showed him the list of questions I’d drawn up about Elemental Magic, but he was very patient and explained everything as best he could.  I’ve written everything he told me down in my own ‘Book of Shadows,’ the one he gave me the first night back.

One of the items on my list was finding a place where I could practice calling the elements without all of Gryffindor finding out about it.  Dumbledore actually chuckled and told me that he’d talk to Hagrid about finding a suitable spot.

He also walked me through ‘drawing down the sphere, which is a process which creates an invisible, soundproof bubble in which I can meditate without getting distracted or being disturbed. It doesn’t make me invisible, so Dumbledore warned me that if I use it in my dorm room or in the common room I’d probably get some funny looks. 

He got a good chuckle over the incident with the lightning and seemed highly amused when I related what Harry had jokingly said about my towering temper having caused the storm.

Just as I was about to step into the fireplace he said something that is going to haunt me for the rest of my life.

“Don’t give up on him, Ms. Weasley.”

“Sir?”

“I know it may seem unfair to you right now, that he’s still getting to pretend that he’s just a normal boy, but there will come a day when he’s ready to listen to his heart.  When he does, he’ll find you already there.”

I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes.

“You’re right, it’s not fair,” I said finally.

“I’m not asking you to put your life on hold.  Have fun.  Make friends.  Date other boys.  It could be years before he comes around, but I have a disturbing premonition that before all of this is over he will need you,” Dumbledore paused and wiped surreptitiously at his eyes.  “In fact, you may be the only one who will be able to give him what he will need in order to make it through this.”

I’m not entirely certain as to what he meant by all of that, but oddly enough, it gave me hope.

September 18th

Professor Dumbledore was as good as his word.  Last Sunday he let me know that he had spoken to Hagrid and that Hagrid knew of a place where I could practice calling forth the elements and conduct the monthly renewal.  I’m supposed to meet Hagrid at his hut tonight after supper.  I’ve been given special permission to be out after curfew. 

I’m very excited.  I miss them already (the elements I mean) seeing as that I haven’t felt them properly since our first night back when Mandy nearly found me out.  That was something else Gran’s journal said.  Gran wrote about how, after she had become practiced in calling the elements, that the next step had been to learn to call them subtly.  There’s nothing different about it, about the calling.  It just involves lots and lots of practice and a determined focus of will.  Once one has learned to call the elements subtly, you can call them anywhere — even in a room full of people — and they will come, and no one else will be any the wiser.

Gran also mentioned that it took her three years to control her emotions to the point that she could call the elements subtly.  Three years?  I’ll be fifteen in three years! 

Gran noted all sorts of things in her journal.  One was about what she actually did with the elements once she had learned to call and control them (which took her many years).  She did big things, like saving people from certain death and bringing rain or sun when it was needed, but also smaller things, like finding her daughter’s lost cat and arranging it so that her flower garden became the most lush and well-known in the district and (I got a laugh out of this one) keeping her hair curled.

Anyway, I remembered what Dad had said this past summer, about only calling on the elementals for help when you really needed them, so I asked Professor Dumbledore and he said that what Dad told me is a commonly held belief which is encouraged by the Ministry because it keeps the average witch or wizard from becoming too curious about Elemental Magic.  Anyway, I’ve dallied long enough.  It’s almost time to go meet Hagrid.

Hagrid Answered Ginny’s knock almost at once.

“Hello, Ginny.  Would ya like ta come in, or go right to the spot I’ve picked for yeh?”

“Would you mind if we just — went?” she smiled up at him apologetically.

Hagrid grinned down at her.

“Cor, but ye remind me of Lily,” he said with a deep, grumbling chuckle.

“Lily?”

“Yeah.  Lily Potter, Harry’s mum.”

Ginny felt her smile fade a bit.

“W-why would you say that, Hagrid?”

Hagrid shrugged into his moleskin overcoat, picked up his crossbow and closed the door of his hut behind him.

“Yeh just do is all.”  He looked sideways at her and grinned.  “Spect it’s the independent streak in yeh, not just the looks.  The place I’m takin yeh, see, it was a favorite haunt of Lily’s.”

“Was she, was she a-”

“Nope.  At least not that I knows of.”

Hagrid took Ginny’s small hand in his massive one and patted it gently.  “There was just times she liked to be alone.  Spect you can understand that right enough.”

He was leading her along the edge of the forest now, past the paddock where the Care of Magical Creatures classes had their lessons.

“First time I found her there nearly scared me to death!”

“Found her where?”

They had come to a stop in front of a massive oak tree.  Ginny stared up into its branches, entranced.  She’d never seen any tree so big in her entire life.  Four Hagrids couldn’t have spanned the tree even with their arms outstretched.

So old.

“Ye need to see this first,” said Hagrid.  He tugged Ginny around the massive tree’s trunk.  “What do you see?”

Ginny looked around her.  It looked like an average forest (except for the giant oak’s impossible size) with dead leaves and needles, scrubby underbrush and small saplings.  A stiff breeze blew through the branches making Ginny shiver and pull her cloak tighter around her.

“I see trees, leaves, scrub brush . . .”Ginny shrugged.

“Right then, now come with me.”  Hagrid pulled her back to the front of the tree.

“Hagrid?”

“Hush now,” said Hagrid, “and watch.”

He reached out a huge hand and delicately touched a gnarled knot just above and to the left of Ginny’s head and then, grasping Ginny firmly by the wrist, he walked face first into the massive oak’s trunk, or would have if they hadn’t passed smoothly through it instead.

Ginny blinked.  They had emerged not into the woods she had seen behind the oak, but into a moonlit dappled clearing where the grass was thick and springy and the very air seemed to sparkle with power and anticipation.

“Where are we?” she breathed.

“This is a special place, Ginny.  It is protected by very old magic.  Have you ever heard of the First People?”

Ginny nodded, still staring around her.  The First People were just that, those who had come first.  There were stories about them, legends, even a few artifacts in the shape of standing stones and ancient ruins. 

It was said that the First People were powerfully magical that, for all intents and purposes they were magic.  Wizard kind may have worked magic through the use of wands and spells and potions, but it was said that the First people lived and breathed magic, that it was a part of their very souls.

There were those who believed that the First People were the reason for the existence of wizards, that wizarding kind was born when the First People had mated with humans and that, when they realized that the offspring of their unions with humans had a good bit of magical potential, that the First People had devised ways for those half-bloods to reach their potential; wands, spells, potions, divination tools.

Looking around her Ginny could believe that it was all true.

The clearing was perfectly circular.  Her best guess was that it was approximately one quarter of a mile wide.  The surrounding trees all grew up to the edge of the circle and then just — stopped — as if they had hit an invisible barrier.

In the very center of the clearing was a circle of standing stones which enclosed a hard-packed dirt area about twenty feet in diameter.  In the middle of this dirt enclosure was what would have been a perfectly spherical boulder if its top hadn’t been as flat as a tabletop.

Each of the standing stones (most of which were nearly as tall as Hagrid) were covered, top to bottom, with odd, runic looking script and bizarre symbols.  The only stone that was completely blemish free was the spherical table stone in the center.

“Wow!” Ginny breathed at last.

“Yeah,” said Hagrid.  “Amazin, isn’t it?  I tell you, the first time I found Lily here — nearly scared me out of my skin.”

“How on earth did you find it?”

“Accident, actually.  I was throwin sticks for Growler te fetch.”

“Growler?”

“Yeah, that was Fang’s mum.  Anyway, I threw a stick and it musta hit the knot, cause it sailed right into the oak.  Growler went boundin in after it.  She just diasappeared like.  Scared me nearly to death.  Well, I finally figured out the knot part, then went in after her.  What else could I do?  Found Lily, with her back against that there stone in the middle with Growler’s head in her lap.  Both of them looked really peaceful, almost dreamy.”

“But how did Lily find this place?”

“Dunno.  Never asked her.  Figured it was her business after all.”

“So how do you know it has anything to do with the first people?”

“I can smell it,” said Hagrid seriously.  “Sorta like when you take a quilt or a cloak out of a cedar cupboard.  The scent lingers like, very distinctive.”

“Does anyone else know about this place?” asked Ginny interestedly.

“Just me ‘n Dumbledore, an now you.”

“Unless Lily told someone.”

“I doubt it.  She may have been popular an all of that, but she was a loner in here where it really counts.”  Hagrid tapped his massive chest.

He was wrong though.  Ginny knew it.  Lily would have brought James here.  It was too perfect not to use.  Heaven knew if she had a steady boyfriend she’d bring him here.  She couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across her face as she wondered if she would ever have the opportunity to bring Harry here.  Like father like son?

“Did Professor Dumbledore tell you why I needed to find a place to be alone?” asked Ginny tentatively.

“Nope.  Just asked me to find ye somthin.  Oh yeah, forgot to tell ye, he also said that yer welcome to come down here anytime you want durin daylight, but that if ye plan to come down here after dark, to make certain ye let me know so’s I can escort ye here and back.  Lots of wild stuff in the forest.  Don’t want ye getting kidnapped by brownies now, do we?”

Not to mention running into Sirius Black, though Ginny grimly.

“And I’m taking it that I’m supposed to stay inside the circle?”

“Blimey!  That was the most important bit!” said Hagrid, clapping a massive hand to his head.  “The forest is enchanted ye see.  It’s one of the oldest bits of wild land in Britain. It’s two forests really, the forest that belongs to the First People, and the other one, the one we see everyday.  Bits of it, like this clearing here, are in both worlds at the same time.  There’s powerful protection charms on circles like these.  Its possible somethin or someone could stumble across this clearing, like me and Growler did, but once their in the circle they couldn’t hurt you even if they wanted to.

“The tree circle, or the stone circle?”

“Either.  Both.  But especially the stone circle.  How long do ye think ye’ll be?”

“I don’t know, a couple of hours maybe?”

“Tell ye what.  I’ll come back for ye at midnight.”

Hagrid gave her a smile and then disappeared into the oak.

19 September 1993

They came!  I was afraid they wouldn’t.  I was afraid that it had all been a mistake, a one-time piece of accidental magic.  I needn’t have worried.  I called them and they came, just like that, no offering or sacrifice needed. 

I wasn’t at all certain what I was supposed to do with them once they had arrived, but if felt good to just let them fill me up, like they did before when I called them at the Burrow.  They stayed longer this time, and instead of one mixed whirlwind of feeling I could feel, almost seem them separately this time.  I still think air is my favorite.

Finally they faded back into the void — all except for one sparkly bit hanging directly over the flat-toped sphere.  At first I thought it was residual elemental power like I’d seen in my room the first couple of days after the first time that I called them.  But it didn’t take long for me to realize that this was nothing like residual elemental power.  In fact, it was like nothing I’d ever seen before in my life.

For one thing, it started to change, to coalesce until there was the unmistakable form of a woman sitting cross-legged on top of the spherical table.  At first I thought that she must be a ghost because she sort of glittered.  But when she unfolded her legs and hopped off the table I knew she had to be real because in the next moment she had taken me by the wrists and had pulled me to my feet.  A ghost can’t do that.

“What are you?” I asked, staring at her gape-mouthed.

She threw back her head and laughed and her laughter was rich and melodic and, well, familiarsomehow.

“I’m as real as you are if that’s what you’re wondering,” she said pleasantly.  Her voice was pleasant, soothing.  It put me in mind of smooth, golden-brown honey and I found myself liking her instantly.  There was nothing to not like.  The way she moved was graceful, poised, as if she too were a dancer.  I tell you, I felt a sudden affinity for this woman whom I’d never seen before in my life.

She was a very pretty woman, probably in her early thirties (to judge from the tiny lines around her eyes and mouth) and she had long, luxuriant hair that rippled and shone in the moonlight.  It was impossible, however, to tell its exact color.  She was dressed in a loose tunic and leggings that looked at once both timeless and comfortable.

“Whoare you then.”

“You may call me Mira.  But a more appropriate question would be why am I here?”

“O.K. then, why are you here?”

“To be your guide,” said the woman simply.  She leapt lightly to the top of the spherical table and spread her arms out to the heavens and called, “come to me!”

The response was immediate.  The elemental powers flooded the clearing, swirling about us until Mira, her arms still outstretched, turned her palms down and lowered her arms to her sides.  The swirling vortex immediately slowed to a gentle breeze full of sparkles and shimmers.  I could still feel the crackle of power in the air, that was unmistakable, but it wasn’t as visible as it had been.

In quick succession she showed me how to calm the initial rush of power when one invokes the elements so that it isn’t visible to those around you.  She also told me that while the motions are not completely necessary, they can help to focus one’s mind on what one is doing.   She instructed me to practice calling them and to practice adjusting the power level and that next time she’d show me how to call them silently.

I tried it and turning down the level doesn’t stop the rush of power inside.  Mira warned me that I’ll have to learn to control my facial expressions and body language.

She was just about to demonstrate the silent summons when Hagrid stuck his head through the oak.  As soon as his head appeared, Mira dissolved into a cloud of sparkling dust which dissipated quickly.

“Blimey, Ginny, what was that?” he asked bluntly as he pulled the rest of his massive body through the oak’s trunk.

I told him that I wasn’t entirely certain, but that she had seemed to want to help me.

“Might have been an old one,” he said with something like awe in his voice.  “They appear sometimes ye know, when they take a likin to someone or they feel someone’s in need of help, specially in places like this.  Mind you, I thought it was just a legend, but if what I saw was real . . .”

Hagrid walked me back up to the castle.  It was near to one in the morning before I dropped into bed.  I’m going to be exhausted tomorrow, but it was worth it!

10 October 1993

O.K.  It’s official!  Professor Lupin is not only an excellent Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher he is also way cool!  The way he put Snape in his place today nearly knocked my socks off!

I mean, everyone knows now about Neville’s boggart turning into Professor Snape and how he got the better of it by forcing it to dress up in his grandmother’s clothes.  Well, a couple of weeks back, Professor Snape filled in for Professor Lupin (who was ill).  Snape had assigned us a whole role of parchment on ‘moon magic’. 

Snape came into class today to turn in the graded essays and his marks, to Professor Lupin. 

“Really, Severus, moon magic?” asked Lupin good naturedly as Snape stalked about handing out the graded work.  “Don’t you think that’s a bit — advanced — for second years?”

“They need to be prepared!” snapped Snape.

“For what, tidal surges?” retorted Lupin.

Snape looked livid, but his voice, when he spoke, was dangerously soft and icy cold.

“I’d be careful if I were you, Professor.”

“Yes indeed, can’t make myself look ridiculous in front of the students now, can I Severus?”

The reference to the boggart was not lost on us.  Snape was no sooner out of the room than the entire class burst out laughing.

I don’t know what sort of history Snape and Lupin share, but there is obviously some bad blood between them.  You can see it in the way they look at each other.

And speaking of Snape, I’ve been trying to avoid him as much as possible ever since I locked eyes with him during the first potions class of the year.  I usually avoid eye contact with that git.  He makes me feel unclean.  I always thought it had something to do with his greasy hair and skin, but this time I couldn’t avoid it.  Our gazes locked and I couldn’t tear my gaze away.

It was the contradiction of his very existence that had me stunned.  The man is pure, unadulterated evil and absolute goodness all at the same time!  It’s almost as if he were a chameleon who can change his core essence at will, meld himself to become exactly what a person wants or expects him to be.  He is absolutely honest, but can lie like a son of a bitch when the occasion calls for it.

Is there such a thing as an emotional shape shifter?  I tell you, the man scares me!  He shouldn’t exist!

Strangely enough, I found Professor Lupin to be equally confusing, but nearly as disturbing. Professor Lupin has a rock solid core of goodness with an equally strong core of potential evil, but this wasn’t the usual evil one finds in most humans.  This  was a natural sort of evil, sort of like an instinctive or natural behavior that is perpetually threatening to rise up and take control.  And, like Bill, he’s selectively honest. I know, I know, it’s like totally confusing, but it’s the best I can do.

16 October 1993

I’ve been to the clearing behind the oak six times since the last full moon.  It’s a great place to practice the things Mira taught me.  But tonight is the only time that Mira has put in an appearance since the last full moon.

To be perfectly honest, I was relieved to see her.  I had a million questions to ask, not the least of which was why she hadn’t come before this.  Her answer confirmed what I suspected; first, that her magic is more powerful at night and second, that the full moon makes it easier for her to breach the barrier between our worlds.

She wouldn’t go into specifics about this, but I have no reason to not believe her and I detect no malice in her.  She is another of those people, like my father and Bill who has a deeply buried vein of evil, the potential, the ability is there, but she’s buried it so deep that it hardly matters.  But there is something beyond that.  I know her.  I realize that sounds strange, but it’s true! 

She had me calling up the elements again and demonstrated the silent summons.  This is way cool, because if you control the power levels correctly, no one will have a clue as to what you have done!  I can see how this could be very disturbing to the Ministry; someone having all that power at their fingertips and the Ministry not only unable to do anything about it, but not realizing that they are facing a potential threat.

Hagrid got a better look at Mira than he did last time and told me that she looked rather familiar.

“I’ve seen her before Ginny, I know it!” he insisted, and he made me promise to tell Dumbledore about her, which I was planning on doing anyway. 

17 October 1993

Mandy got all “Noble” and reported to the 5th year prefect that I’d been out of bed last night.  She told me that she did it because she was “concerned” but I think she was jealous.  I know that she was deeply disappointed when Anjie told her that I had permission from the Headmaster himself.  Too bad Mandy. 

You know, I never thought of it this way but being tuned in to Harry like I am is almost like getting a second education.  I get to sit through all his classes as well as mine, makes life interesting when I’m taking quizzes though, or notes.  If I’m not concentrating on my own work I tend to write down what Harry’s hearing or writing.  I caught myself writing down potion ingredients in Professor Binns’s class yesterday.  Not good.

The real education, however, has been in the finer points of the male anatomy.

Now don’t get me wrong.  I have six older brothers, so I’ve seen plenty of naked men.  But how many other girls at Hogwarts would be able to tell you the physical attributes of nearly every male in Gryffindor house?  For example; Seamus Finnegan is (to put it bluntly) quite well-endowed for a thirteen year old and Mitchell Andrews, the good looking sixth year who nearly every girl my age or older drools over, is tiny by comparison!

I swear, guys have absolutely no sense of modesty!  They walk around their dorms in towels or skivvies or nothing at all, as unconcerned as you please.  I may see Mandy or Lisa in their bra and knickers, but they don’t normally go lounging about in them.  I may catch a glimpse of Hermione or Parvati naked in the shower, but they don’t walk around their dorm starkers.

Harry seems to be the odd fish out in this case.  He doesn’t feel comfortable being naked in front of the other guys and is always quick to be dressed.  Of course he wasn’t quick enough to stop me from getting an eyeful of Oliver in the showers in the Quidditch locker room the other day.  Not that was a sight plenty of girls would have paid dearly to see.

Of course Harry wasn’t paying Oliver’s body any mind (seeing as that Oliver’s mouth was bawling out the entire team for a lousy practice).  I didnotice, however, that Angelina, Katie and Alicia were paying very close attention ineed, although whether they actually heard a word he said or not is debatable, and who could blame them?  I was rather distracted myself, even if I am, by comparison, just a kid.

Harry’s modesty stems from living with his cousin, who is a real ‘let it hang loose’ sort of guy, which of course spurred Harry to be just the opposite, which is probably why I’ve never seen Harry’s body in it’s entirety.  He doesn’t give it much thought really, and while I catch glimpses he’s not one to, say, stand in front of a full length mirror.  I’m not certain if this is a good thing or a bad thing.

Another thing about adolescent guys is that they do a good bit of talking about girls’ anatomical bits and what they’d like to be doing with them and what they’ve heard that can be done with them, but they talk a lot more about Quidditch and football and Zonko’s latest merchandise.  At least the guys in Harry’s dorm do.

Harry talks with the best of them about Quidditch and classes, but when it comes to girls he sits back and listens and lets Seamus and Dean do most of the talking.  He seemed rather startled when Seamus claimed to have ‘done it’ (his words) with a fourth year Hufflepuff girl.  I noticed that Dean and Neville and even Ron were hanging on his every word as he went into sordid detail.  Seems kind of cheap, actually, to talk about it with your mates like that.

Damn.  I just thought of something.  What if I have to watch Harry ‘do it’ with some other girl?  I think I’d die, I really do.  Is that going to be a part of his being a ‘normal’ boy?

31 October 1993

This is going to be difficult.  Do you realize that today is the one-year anniversary of my first being possessed by Tom Riddle?  Talk about traumatic memories!  Imagine, if you will, waking up to find that the entire evening was just — gone!  Imagine waking up to find that Mrs. Norris had been attacked and to see the words written on the wall, and then to pull your robes out of the laundry and find them covered in paint?

There had been brief episodes before that night, fifteen minutes here or half an hour there (probably when I was killing the roosters for I’d usually wake up to find myself out on the grounds).  Being as overwhelmed with classes and everything, I thought I just must be falling asleep or something.

But after Halloween I knew that something had happened and when all the uproar was made about the attack on Mrs. Norris and the message left on the wall, I knew that somehow my missing hours had to be involved.

Call me stupid if you will, but I didn’t make the connection between the diary and my missing time until after Colin was attacked.  God I felt so guilty about Colin!  He’d never been anything but nice to me.  I’d look at his empty seat in Charms and begin to cry.

By that time I was so scared I could barely see straight!  What was happening to me?  I wrote those words over and over again in Tom’s diary.  God how he must have enjoyed my pain! 

Ginny slipped her journal, quill and ink back into her bag and rested her forehead against the common room window.  A miserable day to walk into Hogsmeade, sure, but that didn’t change the fact that she wished she were able to go to!  Instead she was stuck inside with all the other first and second years.  A group of them, her roommates included, were giggling uncontrollably by the fire and sending pointed looks towards a group of second year boys playing gobstones on a low table near the portrait hole. Immature gits! She pulled a face and turned back to the window. The sky was slate gray, threatening rain, and she knew it was cold from the way her breath fogged up the window.  Gray and dreary, exactly the way she felt. 

Ginny grinned suddenly.  It couldn’t be that simple!  Closing her eyes, she concentrated on Harry.  Yes, there he was.  He was having a cup of tea with Professor Lupin in Lupin’s office. 

She let herself feel what Harry was feeling; the smoothness of the porcalin cup in his hands, the fragrant steam snaking its way up from the cup, the way he and Professor Lupin had fallen into such easy conversation.

Ginny’s grin broadened as the familiar sensation of wholeness stole into her being.  God it felt so good, so right to be close to him like this, even if he didn’t have a clue. Ginny opened her eyes to see the clouds beginning to roll back to make room for a hesitant October afternoon sun.

“Wow!” she breathed.

When Harry climbed through the portrait hole ten minutes later Ginny was curled up with a novel Lisa had loaned her.  He still looked a bit out of sorts.  She couldn’t blame him, he seemed to be the only third year who hadn’t gone into Hogsmeade.  She knew why of course; his Aunt and Uncle had never signed the form because he’d run away from home.

Harry sat in an armchair by the fire for the longest time just staring absent mindedly into the flames.  Ginny was tempted to go say something to distract him, but hesitated.  She didn’t want him thinking she couldn’t stay away from him or that she was looking for attention. When Ron and Hermione swept in half an hour later all pink from the cold air and showered Harry with sweets and joke shop merchandise, Ginny felt a definite twinge of jealously. How come Ron, her own brother had brought Harry stuff, but hadn’t thought to bring her so much as a cockroach cluster? But in the next moment Fred and George had breezed in and were swinging a bag of Honeyduke’s sweets in her face.

“Can’t have our favorite sister moping ‘cause she didn’t get to go to Hogsmeade,” said George, grinning at her.”

“I’m not moping.”

“Well you’re not exactly a singing daisy now, are you?” said Fred.

“A singing what?”

“Professor Sprout’s latest crossbreed,” explained George.  “She had us repotting them in Herbology yesterday.  Nasty, shrill, singing things, she says they’re cute!” he said, sounding disgusted.

“It’s not all candy though,” warned Fred, rustling the bag.  “Some Zonko’s stuff, too.”

“Percy didn’t think you’d be interested, what with you being a girl and all,” said George sadly.

“What, in candy?”

“No, the Zonko’s stuff,” said Fred.  “He seemed to think you’d be too — sensitive — to appreciate it.”

Ginny snorted.

“But we know you’re made of sterner stuff than the average female,” said George, dropping her a broad wink.  “So use it well and make us proud, yeah?”

They were gone then, and a moment later Ginny could hear them giving someone a hard time on the stairway up to the boys’ dorms.  She grinned to herself as she rummaged through the bag.

“Cool!” she said appreciatively as she pulled out several no-heat, wet-start Filibuster fireworks, half a dozen dungbombs and a fanged Frisbee in addition to a wide variety of Honeyduke’s sweets.

She’d been feeling rather sorry for herself all day, what with Ron not paying her even an iota of attention and then him bringing Harry all those sweets and stuff but not giving her so much as Peppermint Toad “Git!” she whispered to herself as she opened a Chocolate Frog.  “Go ahead and play with your friends, Ronnikins, you’ll regret ignoring me one day, I guarantee it!” she whispered and fingered the dungbombs lovingly.

The Halloween feast was spectacular as always.  There was live entertainment and clouds of live bats (which always made Ginny cringe inside, though she tried not to show it) and huge carved jack-o-lanterns hovering above the tables, but something wasn’t right.  She could feel it, like a splinter in her brain, prickling at her consciousness with an indefinable feeling of dread.

1 NOVEMBER 1993

Now that was seriously creepy!  We, all the students from all four of the houses, spent the night in the Great Hall last night because someone attacked the Fat Lady’s Portrait.  Peeves claims that it was Sirius Black, and since he has no reason to lie (especially to the headmaster) I have to believe him.  But how on earth did he get in? 

Anyway, we were all herded down to the Great Hall and Professor Dumbledore conjured us sleeping bags and then he and the other teachers went out to search the castle.  We weren’t allowed back into Gryffindor tower until this morning.

I think Percy was a little disappointed when things calmed down, he loves being in charge.  He’s very ambitious, Percy. 

I’m certain that the teachers think that Black was trying to break into Gryffindor tower to get at Harry, but something about that assumption doesn’t sit right with me. I mean, how could he not know that it was Halloween?  Wouldn’t the noise in the Great Hall be a dead giveaway?  Hogwarts feasts aren’t known for their quietness.  Perhaps he was trying to get into Gryffindor tower to curse something of Harry’s, but that sort of subtlety doesn’t fit the personality of a man who blasted a whole street of people to kill Peter Pettigrew.  Why didn’t he just burst into the Great Hall and kill Harry, unless of course it’s not Harry he’s after, but something or someone else entirely?

7 November 1993

If Harry ever does that to me again I’ll kill him myself!  Scared me half to death that did.  I thought he was dead!  He might have beenkilled if Dumbledore hadn’t stepped in and waved his wand like that, slowing Harry’s fall.  And he got rid of the Dementors (there had to be over a hundred of them) with just one spell!  I was too far away to hear what he said, but a huge silver bird erupted out of the end of his wand (I think it may have been a phoenix) and charged the Dementors down.  They took off like great flapping bats.  Ugh. 

You know what makes me feel the worst?  I saw it all happen and I didn’t do a thing!  I couldn’t move.  I couldn’t think.  All those Dementors, the icy darkness filled my mind, and then I was reliving the night that Tom forced himself into my mind, but at the same time I was falling through a thick white mist, Harry’s mum’s cries for mercy ringing in my ears.

I could have done something to protect Harry and I froze!  That must never happen again.  I guess there’s a lot more to be a Natural Elemental than I thought.  I have to learn how to control them, how to use them.

Hufflepuff  won by the way.  Diggory caught the Snitch just as Harry fell.  It was a fair win, but that just added insult to injury because it was the first game Harry has ever lost!  And he lost his broom.  It got torn apart by the Whomping Willow.  Nasty bit of business, that, and it doesn’t like to be touched.  Anything that comes too close gets, well, whomped.  Harry’s Nimbus never stood a chance.

He’s been up in the hospital wing all day.  I know it’s not because he’s hurt physically.  He’s scared.  He’s scared of the way he lost control.  He’s embarrassed that everyone else saw him loose control and he’s humiliated by losing a game.  He’s so deep into his self-pity that nothing I say seems to be getting through at all and he won’t let Madam Pomfrey throw away what’s left of his Nimbus. At the rate he’s going he’ll be in there for the rest of the weekend. 

I spent this evening making Harry a get-well card.  It’s quite nice, tasteful, nothing fancy.  Nothing that will make him think I’m looking for attention or anything. 

Colin says I need to spice it up a little, perhaps add a singing charm or add feet so it can do a tap dance.  Colin means well, but he’s a geek.  A nice gee, but a geek nonetheless.

8 November 1993

I’m going to kill Colin!  The idiot must have added the singing charm when I wasn’t looking!  I go in to see Harry, and he’s actually being friendly and we’re actually talking like normal people and then he opens the card and the damn thing begins to sing!

I didn’t need to be able to read his mind, the look on his face said it all.  It was the stupid singing Cupid all over again (curse Fred and George for making me send that when I lost the bet!)  It doesn’t matter that it was Colin that added the charm and that I had nothing to do with the fact that the damned thing won’t shut up now unless you put something heavy on it.  It still points to me and says “See?  She likes you, and she’s too klutzy to even show it properly!” The damned Weasley complexion won out.  I blushed crimson and beat a hasty retreat.

I wish I could just sit Harry down and explain to him that it’s different now, that I’m not just looking for attention anymore, that I truly care about him, but that would take a lot of explaining.  A lot of explaining about things I’m not ready to discuss yet.  Even if I could, how would I possibly start?

“Oh yeah, by the way, Harry, I used to have the biggest crush on you, but ever since you saved my life in the Chamber of Secrets I’ve been able to get inside your head and I’ve come to see you as a real person, not just as a hero, but instead of killing any feelings I had towards you, its actually deepened them until I think I just might be falling in love with you and oh yeah, Dumbledore let it slip that he thinks you and I might be Soulmates.”

I’m certain that would go over like a ton of bricks.  Poor Harry would probably never be able to look me in the eye ever again.

No.  Much better to trust Dumbledore that it will all work out in the end.

Back to index

Chapter 3: Avatar

CHAPTER THREE:  AVATAR

5 December 1993

It is so unfair!  Mum’s letter came today.  She’s letting Ron stay at Hogwarts over Christmas, to keep Harry company no doubt, but says that since I am “only twelve” that she wants me at home.  She let Ron stay at Hogwarts last Christmas too, and he was “only twelve” himself then and the year before that, when he was an immature eleven. 

I knew this was going to happen, I just knew it!  She’s being way over protective and its either because I’m a girl or because of what happened last year, or because I’m the youngest and she just doesn’t want to let go - or maybe all three.

So back to the Burrow I’ll go.  It will be nice to be able to get out to my garden again, if Mum will let me out of her sight for even that long.  Watch, she’ll insist on coming along or something, or in sending someone with me to be on the safe side.

It’s not all because of me wanting to be able to call the elements.  I think that I could do that now, silently, while standing right next to Mum in the kitchen if I wanted to.  The thing is, I sort of like to let myself go.  It’s a much more intense feeling.  Mira says that is’ almost as intense as a sexual climax.

I’m not certain if mention of sexual climax should have embarrassed me, but to be perfectly honest, after some of the things Tom showed me the concept of having an orgasm seems almost tame by comparison.  But I’m certain it’s not.  I mean, if it were boring there wouldn’t be so many people wanting to get into each others’ knickers, and not just grown ups either.

Look at Mandy, she and my other dear roommates talk about boys all the time; what it would be like to hold their hand and kiss them and what they think it must be like to have a boy take their clothes off, and they’re only twelve!  It would make a logical sort of sense that it just gets worse (or better) as the years go by and the hormones kick us over the edge (sexually speaking).

So it doesn’t really surprise me when I see sixth and seventh years emerging from unused classrooms looking rather ruffled, or even to see my own brother, Percy, Mr. Perfect Head Boy Himself, come in after curfew with his shirt on front to back and love bites on his neck.

But Mira didn’t seem surprised at my taking the comparison of calling the elements to sexual climax in stride.  I think she knows more about me than she’s letting on.  She seems to know exactly how to put things so that I’ll understand what she’s talking about, but she doesn’t talk down to me, either, interesting concept for an adult.

11 December 1993

Well, I did it.  I finally told Dumbledore about Mira.  I thought he’d be upset, or perhaps concerned for my safety when I told him about how she appears and some of the things we talk about, but he merely seemed curious.  Like Hagrid, he probably believes that the double circle keeps me from harm, and it very well may, but even so, I don’t thank that Mira would ever attempt to harm me.  Anyway, he is going to come with me this evening when I go to the clearing to meet her.  I’m supposed to meet him in the Entrance Hall after supper.

“What are you writing, Ginny?”  Colin’s rather shrill voice made Ginny start and blot her page.

“What?  Colin!  You startled me!”

“Sorry, Ginny, but is it a story?  Is it?  Can I read it?”

“No, Colin, it’s not a story.  It’s my journal.”

“Oh.”  He looked rather crestfallen.  “but you like to write, Ginny, yeah?”

“Well yes, I do actually.”

“Oh good, because Professor McGonagall wants me to start a school newspaper.  She said I’m always taking pictures, and so instead of reporting me for the pictures of Flitwick and the pineapples she said that she was charging me with starting a newspaper so that I could make myself useful.”

“That sounds great, Colin, but I’m sure you can find someone who has more experience.”

“It’s a brand new thing, Ginny, no one at Hogwarts has any experience, so will you help me?”

Ginny stared at Colin.  Her mouth opened to tell him no, but at seeing the look of glowing anticipation on his face, she closed it again.

“I — I suppose so.”

“Oh, great!  That’s great, Ginny!  Meet me up in the Common Room right after supper, I’m going to make you Content Editor.  You can arrange for people to write the articles and maybe even write stuff yourself.  I’ll do the photos and the layout and production, oh, and circulation of course.”

“Colin, I-”

“It’s going to be so much fun, Ginny, you’ll see!  But we need to get started right away!”

“Coin, I-”

“We need to draw up a list of sections first thing and then-”

“Colin!”

He looked around at her, beaming.

“I’d love to help you, Colin.  I will help you, but not tonight.  I have a meeting with the headmaster.”

“Oooh!” said Colin, his eyes now blazing.  “Can you ask him if we could do an interview?  I thought one teacher and one student ‘spotlight’ a month.”

“Sure, Colin.  I’ll ask him.”

“But we need to get started, Ginny.”

“How about we meet in the Common Room tomorrow, Colin, right after supper? And we can start drawing up that list.”

“Cool!” said Colin, not positively bouncing in excitement.  “I really appreciate this, Ginny, you’ve got no idea!”

Still shaking her head over Colin’s enthusiasm, Ginny pushed back from the Gryffindor table and made her way out to the Entrance Hall.

“What seems to be the trouble, Miss Weasley?” said Dumbledore kindly.  He was standing by the double oak front door, his long silver hair and beard glowing in the torchlight.

“Well, It’s Colin, sir.  He, ah-”

“Enlisted you for his newspaper, did he?” said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling.  “I thought he might!”

“But sir, I don’t know how to write for a newspaper!  And I don’t think I could go around asking other people for articles!”

  “I think you’d do an admirable job, Miss Weasley,” said Dumbledore genially as he swung his midnight blue cloak over his shoulders.

“You suggested it to him didn’t you?”

“Me?  Certainly not!  Although I may have mentioned it to Professor McGonagall.”

Ginny stopped in the fastening of her own cloak and stared at Dumbledore for a full minute before throwing her head back and laughing outright.  Several students, including Harry, Ron and Hermione (who were headed up the marble staircase) stopped at the sound of her voice.

“What’s up, Ginny?” asked Ron bemusedly. 

“I’ve asked your sister to step outside with me so we could have a few minutes private conversation,” said Dumbledore smilingly.

Harry, who had turned so fast at the sound of Ginny’s laugh that he seemed to have cricked his neck, regarded her through narrowed eyes as Dumbledore spoke.

“Oh, well, have fun then,” said Ron.  He appeared rather startled.

The clearing was deserted when Ginny and the Headmaster arrived.

“Professor,” said Ginny as they approached the standing stones.  “How long have you known about these circles?”

“Hagrid told me about it years ago, after he stumbled across it by mistake.”

“But Lily Potter-”

“She was Lily Evans then.”

“Yes, of course.  Lily Evans.  How did she find it?”

“I never thought to ask.”

“But surely you investigated the circle when you found out about it.”

“When Hagrid suggested it as a possible location in which you could practice I came down and took a look around.  That was the first time I had set foot in it.”

Ginny frowned at the nearest standing stone.

“Lily Evans was a clever witch, Miss Weasley, but those were different times, and these are different circumstances.  Lily Evans was never in any danger when she used these circles as her own personal space.  There was no need for me to ensure her safety, for there was no threat on her in particular.”

“And there is a threat on me?”

“Several actually.  You are a Weasley, for one.  Your Father is influential in the Ministry, whether he believes it or not, and there is always the chance that someone could target you for that reason.  You are also a known friend of Harry Potter.  That alone makes you a target.  But now, well, you do realize how rare Natural Elementals are, Miss Weasley?”

Ginny nodded, watching the Headmaster warily.

“Then you must realize that a true Natural Elemental could turn the tide in our favor in an all-out war against Lord Voldemort.”

“The thought,” said Ginny in rather clipped tones, “the thought had crossed my mind.”  The idea of anyone using her to achieve their own ends . . .

“Miss Weasley, let me make one thing perfectly clear.  I will not now, nor will I ever ask you to use your gifts against your will.”

“Sir?”

“But if you were to use them to protect those you — love — to give them strength in their battles, we would have a decided advantage.  But we digress.  I believe you were going to introduce me to your friend.”

“She never comes until after I have called up the elements, and then only during the full moon.”

“A trigger,” said Dumbledore softly, more to himself than to Ginny.  “Most interesting.”  He withdrew to the base of the giant oak.  “Now then, Miss Weasley, pretend that I am nothing more than a shadow and do what needs to be done.”

Ginny walked slowly into the stone circle.  Her wand, which she had been holding while they traversed the distance from the castle to the clearing, she now slipped into the pocket of her jeans.  She stood quite still for several minutes, her arms at her sides and her face turned up to the silvery orb of the full moon as she tried to clear her mind. From somewhere not too far away a wolf began to howl, making her shiver.

“Come all to me!” she cried, reaching her hands towards the sphere above them.  “All be with me!”  Then, without understanding why, she added, “All be in me!”

They came at once, in a vortex of raw power, enveloping her.  The faint tremblings of earth, the swirlings of air, the liquidy gurgling of water and, finally, the sensations of white-hot flames skittering across her skin.

As always, when she felt the raw power pouring through her, Ginny threw back her head and laughed outright.  But this time, this time the powers didn’t merely swirl through and around her and then stop.  This time they filled her.

Amazed and not a little scared, Ginny watched as the ground seemed to fall away beneath her until the Hagrid sized stones seemed only to come to her knees, and yet she knew that she still stood where she had been, still Ginny-sized.  On some deep level she realized that it was her awareness that was expanding.  And indeed, she could see everything; the fish leaping out of the nearly frozen lake, the eagle diving to snatch it up, the squirrel digging furtively beneath the pine, looking for the nuts it had buried in September.  She was the fish. She was the Eagle.  She was the squirrel and the nut and the pine.

She could hear everything; the mournful cry of the wolf, the answering growling groan of a werewolf, the distant shout of a student being taken by surprise, the hiss of the wick in Professor McGonagall’s lit oil lamp and the soft shushing of the snowflakes that had begun to fall.  But she didn’t just hear them, she was the wolf and the werewolf, the student and the oil in the lamp.

Her sense of taste, touch, even smell, all were amplified a thousand fold.  She knew then, from one heartbeat to the next, that while it was the Akasha that was allowing her to see things this clearly, that it was, in truth, the way things were.  This is what magic was; the tapping into the web of energy to which all living creatures contribute.

Even as she became aware of it, she realized that she could see it.  It was stretched out to infinity around her, the strands connecting pulsating spheres of energy, which she knew instinctively to be the living things surrounding her.  The strands themselves were softly glowing, vibrating, she could feel the connectedness of all things in her very blood.  She just had time to think “Oh my God!” before the power that had filled her began to drain rapidly, like water from a bathtub when the plug is pulled.  Darkness closed in around the edges of her vision and she knew no more.

Silence.

Darkness.

Absolute quiet and dark.

But then, at the very edges of her consciousness, she heard voices.

“It was that last bit at the end, wasn’t it? 

That was Dumbledore’s voice.  Professor Dumbledore, her Headmaster.

“Be in me.  Yes.  It was an invitation not only to the elements, but to their greater form.”

That was Mira.

“The Goddess, yes, the essence of all things.  Does this happen often?”

“No, never.  She’s only ever used the phrase “come all to me, come be with me” which is the formal request for the Elemental presence.”

Ginny tried to open her eyes, but they seemed to be glued shut.  Her arms and legs, too, seemed weighted somehow, as if she had tripled in weight or as if her body had been stuffed with cotton.  As sensation slowly came back to the rest of her body she realized that she was lying flat on her back, on the ground from the feel of it.  Her head was cradled on someone’s lap and someone else was holding her hand.

“If you must know, I’m worried about her.”

“There is nothing to fear, Professor.”

“The energy invoked tonight was too much, it could have killed her.”

“It didn’t though,” Mira pointed out.  “And it won’t.”

Ginny wasn’t certain whether she was more appalled at the way Mira was talking to Professor Dumbledore, or more in awe of her courage.  She’d never heard anyone speak so informally to the Headmaster before.

“I can’t take that risk.  She is too important to the entire operation.”

“Operation?” said Mira in a sneering voice.  “You make it sound so impersonal Albus.  Clinical even.  These are children’s lives you’re playing with!”

“And in the hands of these children,” said Dumbledore in an uncharacteristically fierce voice, “lies the fate of humanity!  It is they who will decide the future of all beings, both magical and non-magical!”

“But your main concern of course is what Harry means to the wizarding world.”

“Yes, of course, but I’m not stupid.  I know that without her he is just a shell, Mira, a husk.  He doesn’t realize it yet, but those two are Soulmates, one is not complete without the other.”

“Oh he knows, Albus,” said Mira softly.  “He’s always known.”  She paused.  When she spoke again it sounded as if she were choosing her words very carefully.  “He knows, but at this point in time he does not remember.”

There were several seconds of absolute silence.

“How do you know this?” whispered Dumbledore at last.

“Hind sight is 20/20 professor.”

“You mean-?”

“Don’t you recognize me?”

“Of course I do, but I thought it must be an old man’s mind playing tricks.”

“The only trick, Professor, is time.”

“Then it all works out, in the end?”

“Yes.”

“But how?”

“I can not tell you how,” said Mira softly.  Her honey-rich voice sounded incredibly sad.  “If I tell you how things come to be there would be the temptation to do them differently, or better, and then they might not happen at all.”

Dumbledore gave a deep, shuddering sigh.

“But I can give you a glimpse of what it is like — after.”

“Go on.”

“It is not until his sixth year that Harry comes to terms with what he feels for our Ginny.” 

Ginny felt a hand brush the hair back from her face and realized that it is Mira on whose lap her head is resting.

“Suffice it to say that they discover each other and, in fact, become heart-joined.”

“Not just hand-fasted?” Dumbledore said shakily.

“No.  Theirs is a marriage of souls.  But their love will be discovered — initially- in the usual way.”  Mira chuckled, then added, “Well, in as usual a way as Harry does anything.”  They both laughed at that and even Ginny felt herself suppressing a smile.

Since when did Harry do anything normally?

“But in the end, Albus, Harry does destroy Voldemort.  He destroys him, but at a terrible price.”

Ginny could feel Mira shudder beneath her.

“And it is his bond with our Ginny — a bond that will be forged deeper than anyone yet realizes - that allows him to make the ultimate sacrifice.”

“You mean-?”

“Not death, No.  Harry does not die.  What I speak of is an ancient magic, one that binds him to Tom Riddle’s essence and allows him to sever the connection between Tom’s body and soul.”

“But that was done before.”

“Yes, but this time, this time Harry uses the ancient magic to take the process a step farther.  He uses it to absorb Tom’s essence, incorporate his very energy into himself and thus render him harmless.”

“He becomes Tom?”

“No.  Tom becomes Harry.”

“How?”

“I can’t tell you how, Professor, or when.  But rest assured that Harry does indeed become your apprentice.  You will know when he is ready.  Teach him everything you know, Albus, all the ancient arts, even the forbidden ones.  He will need everything at his disposal.  Hold nothing back.  He will succeed,” Mira said softly, “but there will be great losses and — sacrifices — that will need to be dealt with.”

“He has already dealt with so much!” whispered Dumbledore.

“In the overall scheme of things, Albus, his trials have barely begun but here,” Ginny could feel Mira’s cool hands on her forehead, “here lies the key to his victory.”

“And he will have power the Dark Lord knows not,” said Dumbledore, his voice trembling.

“Love,” said Mira quietly.  “Love will fortify him Professor. Love will spur him to victory and will hone his senses, but it will also be his salvation, bringing him back from grave’s edge not once, but twice.”

“No one should have to deal with this,” whispered Dumbledore, and Ginnyc ould hear the tears in his voice.

“I wish you could see him now, Albus.  The work they are doing has brought great changes in the wizarding world.  Harry has taken the Order of the Phoenix public.”

Ginny could hear Dumbledore’s sharp intake of breath. Order of the Phoenix?  She’d never heard of such a thing before.

“The Order will be needed again?”

“Oh yes, I’m afraid so, but this time you’ll have an edge.”

“Severus, yes.”

“Anyway, the Order, as it stands in my time, is funded from Harry and Sirius’ combined estates.”

“Sirius Black?”

“You will understand in time, Professor.”

“I am sorry, please continue.”

Yes, please, thought Ginny to herself.

“The Order is now working to enlighten and educate selected Muggles to accept our presence as a first step to reuniting our world and rendering another Voldemort impossible.”

“Harry has done this?”

“With the help of his friends.”

They sat in silence for a full minute before Dumbledore spoke again.

“Is — is he Happy, Mira?”

“More happy than any mortal has a right to be,” said Mira, a smile in her voice.  “He and Ginny were married directly after his seventh year.  By that time there was no way to keep them apart.  It took five years to get the Order of the Phoenix up and running smoothly, and for awhile that took all their time and energy.  But now, now they have three children, all girls.  A pair of twins, they are eight years old now, and they look just like their mother, except for the green eyes, their names are Chandra and Mira — yes, she named her after me.  That of course was before she knew.  And then there’s the baby.  Well, she’s three, not exactly a baby anymore.  She looks just like her father, only her hair is curly and her eyes are hazel.  Her name is Syria.”

“I take it that we are going to find out something wholly surprising about Sirius Black,” said Dumbledore musingly.

“You could say that.  But you should know, Professor, that I’ve never known two people more deeply in love.  Theirs is a partnership for eternity, not just the physical plain.  And here’s something you might find of interest, all three of the Potter girls tested blue.”

“Incredible!”

“Yes, quite.  Even more interesting, both of George’s children did as well.”

“You’re kidding!  What about the other Weasley’s?”

“None of the rest tested positive, although I have to admit, I was certain that one of Ron’s children would test blue, there are six of them now you know, four boys and two girls.”

“I take it that he and Miss Granger finally settled their differences.”

“Hardly, they fight every day of the week, but seem happy for all of that.”

“Poor Hermione,” groaned Ginny, finally prising her eyes open.

“Ah!  Miss Weasley, you are awake at last.  Here,” Professor Dumbledore handed her a silver-engraved flask which he pulled from a pocket of his cloak.”

Ginny tipped the flask to her lips and swallowed, spluttering as the raw heat of what she assumed must be Firewhisky made its way to her stomach.

“How much did you hear?” asked Dumbledore as Mira helped Ginny to sit up.

“Something about George’s children testing blue,” lied Ginny smoothly.  “And then the bit about Ron and Hermione having six children.  Are you from the future then?”

Mira was silent for several moments, staring contemplatively at the hands folded in her lap.

“In a manner of speaking,” said Mira carefully.

“But you know how its going to turn out.”

“I have access to certain information pertaining to events which are in your future, yes.”

“But you won’t tell us anything about how those events come to pass I suppose,” said Ginny carefully, “that would make sense, because if you did, you could cause history to be changed.”

“Exactly.”

“Which means everything must turn out O.K. in the end, or you’d be trying to convince us to do something differently.”

Mira and Dumbledore were both staring at her now.

“I told you she was sharp,” said Mira at last, her smile was broad and all-encompassing.  “Now Ginny,” said Mira, turing to the younger girl and taking her by the shoulders.  “Do you realize what happened to you just now?”

“I — I saw everything!” said Ginny faintly.  “I was everything.  There was this web — this web of light and — and energy and — and . . .” her voice died away.  “I was Akasha,” she said finally, the wonder still apparent in her voice.

“You added the phrase, “be in me” to your incantation.  Do you realize what this did?” Mira asked her, her voice very calm.

Ginny shook her head.  She didn’t trust herself to speak.  She knew what she had done.  She had heard Mira tell Dumbledore what she had done, but she wasn’t quite ready to tell them that yet.

“You summoned the greater form of the elements.”

“The Goddess?”

“Yes.”

“You meant that she — she possessed me?  But if she possessed me, why do I remember it?”

“Well, she didn’t exactly possess you.  You invited her, so there was no coercion involved.  That is why you can remember.  You acted as a channel, or more precisely, like an avatar.”

“It was phenomenal,” said Ginny shakily, “but frightening at the same time.”

She wasn’t entirely certain that the experience was something she wanted to repeat any time in the near future.

“Channeling entities, calling forth the greater essence of the Goddess is not something common, Ginny, even among Elemental Magicians of any sort,” said Dumbledore seriously.  “Even if you do not choose to channel the greater essence again, you have left your calling card for the Others.”

“The Others?” asked Ginny weakly.

“Yes.  Others.  Other beings, or, more precisely, other powers.  These are beings — entities — that are not manifested physically but who wish to interact with physically manifested individuals.  These are lesser beings; well, greater than us, but lesser than the Goddess.  They are always on the lookout for a channel of communication.”

“You mean me?”

“Yes,” said Mira and Dumbledore together.

“So, because not they know that I am here they might try and possess me?”

“Yes,” said Mira softly.  “And I’m afraid it’s not a question of if, but more a question of when.”

Ginny shivered.

“If it is any consolation, they usually have humanity’s best interests at heart,” Mira added, chaffing Ginny’s now cold hands between her own.

“A Seer?” Dumbledore said softly, giving Mira a piercing look.

“It is one of the risks that come with being an Elemental Practitioner,” said Mira, shrugging.

“But what if I don’t want to be a — a  - Seer?” whispered Ginny.

“There are protection charms, spells, that might work for a time,” said Mira musingly.  “They might give you time enough to come to grips with your gifts, your powers.  But eventually you will have to learn to deal with the threat yourself, including acting as a channel if so required.”  Mira turned to Dumbledore, addressing him specifically now.  “I’m afraid, Albus, that given my apparent — situation — that it will have to be you who casts the protection charms.”

“Gladly,” said Dumbledore gravely.  “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

12 December 1993

I stayed in my dorm all day today.  Yes.  Ginny Weasley skipped all of her classes.  I had to!  I couldn’t sit through Charms and History of Magic and actually concentrate, not after everything that happened yesterday. 

Where do I start?  With the calling forth of the elements going, well, further than it ever had before?  In hearing the conversation between Mira and Dumbledore that spoke of Harry’s and my children?  To be honest, I was still trying to wrap my

brain around the bit about his getting his act together in his sixth year when Mira dropped the bombshell about our children.  Our children.  Harry’s and mine.  This is not merely a schoolgirl crush or wishful thinking on my part.  This is for real.   Harry is mine.  Mine!  No matter what happens between now and (for me) fifth year, we are going to end up together. 

Damn.  You know what the hardest part is going to be?  It is going to be acting normally around him — possibly while watching him make a fool out of himself over other girls.  You tell me.  How am I possibly going to be able to survive the two or three more years?  (Mira didn’t say when during Harry’s sixth year that we get together, simply that it was during his sixth year, so it could be as long as three years!)

I’ll tell you how I’m going to survive.  I’ll survive by pretending that I don’t know any more than Harry does right not and trying my damnedest to pretend that everything is happening naturally.

Back to index

Chapter 4: A Wesley Christmas

CHAPTER FOUR:  A WEASLEY CHRISTMAS

16 December 1993

I went to the library today to work on Snape’s essay and try to forget that it was another Hogsmeade weekend.  I failed on both counts.

I failed to get any work done on the essay because Colin tracked me down and then would not shut up.  He wanted to make certain that I had everything under control and that all the articles would be ready on time.

I mainly failed to forget about it being a Hogsmeade weekend because Harry managed to find a way to sneak past the Dementors and get into Hogsmeade.  Damn my smarmy brothers and their cursed map!

So there I was, sitting at the table, my essay and books all spread out around me and I suddenly realize that while I was watching Colin talk, I haven’t actually heard a word he’d been saying.  There was another voice speaking, I think it was McGonagall’s.  Actually, there were several voices.  McGonagall’s, Hagrid’s, Flitwick’s and two I didn’t recognize, a woman’s and a man’s.  (Turns out the woman’s voice I didn’t recognize was Madam Rosmerta’s, she’s the proprietor of the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade.  The man’s voice I didn’t recognize belonged to Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic).   Not only had I not heard him, but superimposed over Colin’s face I could see the branches of a huge Christmas tree.  Through the branches I can see another table and people’s feet.  I recognized Hagrid’s boots.  They had to be Hagrid’s, no one else has feet the size of sleds.

It didn’t take me long to realize that I (Harry) was crouched under a table, my shirtfront was damp against my skin where it had been drenched in butterbeer and there was a chair leg poking uncomfortably into my back.

Harry, what are you doing?  I asked it before I could get my thoughts organized properly, but like so many times before, he obviously thought he was talking to himself because he answered me back straightaway — and in his head nonetheless!

Keeping out of sight so I won’t get expelled!

And then I listened as the teachers and the Minister tell Madam Rosmerta the story of Sirius Black.

In a nutshell; Black was James Potter’s best friend.  When James, Lily and Harry went into hiding they performed the Fideleous Charm and Black was their Secret Keeper.  But he didn’t keep the secret.  He betrayed them to Voldemort and then when Peter Pettigrew (another friend of the Potter’s) cornered him, Black cursed him, blew him to pieces.  When the Ministry officials arrived he went with them — laughing!

It was a disturbing story to say the least, and I can’t even begin to tell you how deeply it has affected Harry.  I felt him, he went all quiet and cold inside.

I’ve heard Dad mention Peter Pettigrew being killed by Black, but he never mentioned why Black killed him and it’s obvious, at least to me, that everyone, the teachers, Fudge, everyone, believes this story to be true.  But I tell you, there’s something not right!

First off, James and Lily Potter were Aurors, two of the best ever (from all the stories I’ve heard) on an equal with Frank and Alice Longbottom and My Prewitt Uncles (the ones that were killed in the battle outside of Birmingham).  I can’t believe that two people with their level of professional expertise would use someone as obvious as their best friend to be their secret keeper.  It just seems to predictable, especially for Aurors!  You would think that they would have look perhaps as if Black were the Secret Keeper, but choose someone else to throw Voldemort off track, that would have made more sense somehow, seeing as that they had been targeted by Voldemort (and not for the first time, if the other stories are true).

Secondly, if Sirius Black really did curse Peter Pettigrew into oblivion, why didn’t he run . . .or at least dis-Apperate?  Even if he was working for Voldemort, you would have thought he’d at least have attempted to escape, but he didn’t even put up a fight! 

Thirdly, how in blazes did Pettigrew know where Black was going to be?  He cornered him, on a Muggle street, in broad daylight.  How did Pettigrew know that Black was going to be just there?  From what Hagrid said, Black had given Hagrid his flying motorbike.  The place where he cornered Pettigrew is a long way from Goddrick’s Hollow, so he had to have Apparated, but how did he know Pettigrew was going to be there?  I tell you, there’s more going on here than people think!

Well, I made a right fool out of myself, anyway, because I got so wrapped up in the story they were telling Madam Rosmerta that it took me a bit to realize that Colin had stopped talking and was now looking at me like I had grown an extra head.  He was asking me if I was O.K. and, from the sound of his voice, it wasn’t the first time that he’d asked.

I brushed him off with the excuse that I was really tired because I hadn’t been able to sleep very well, assured him that I’d have all the articles ready by the 15th, and escaped down to supper, and I know exactly why I didn’t have much of an appetite.

18 December 1993

There is nothing, I repeat, nothing better than one of Mum’s home-cooked breakfasts!  She made everyone their favorites, which meant that I had enough chocolate croissants to feed all of Gryffindor House and that Fred and George stuffed themselves to bursting on blueberry pancakes. 

Percy refused to eat more than two ham and cheese omelets, but seeing as that Mum only made three, it wasn’t a real tragedy.  Mum knows Percy.  She prides herself on being able to read each of her children like a book, and I must say that if that is the case, that she definitely has an eclectic taste in reading material.  Bill, you see, is an Action / Adventure — with a touch of Romance thrown in for good measure.  Charlie is pure Adventure.  Percy is an Accounting textbook.  Fred and George are a Science Fiction / Comedy  (in two parts), Ron is a suspenseful thriller and I - I am a mystery.

Mum hates mysteries.

It’s not that she doesn’t want to understand me, it’s just that — through no fault of her own — she can’t.  It isn’t for a lack of trying mind. 

Today for instance she tried to get all (what George calls) mummy chummy with me by getting me to open up while we made Christmas cookies.  (Just for the record, let it be known that I absolutely detest cooking!)  Anyway, she started asking me about my classes, my girlfriends (I have girlfriends?), what I thought of the latest robes that had been advertised at Madam Malkin’s, stuff like that.  It was perfectly obvious what she was trying to do, so I played along.  I went on in great detail about Laura Marchbanks’ boyfriend and Mandy Davenport’s new robes and Lisa’s cat, even about how Colin and I are putting together a school newspaper now.

I didn’t bother telling her that apart from Colin I’m really not involved with any of the people I was talking about.  She seemed satisfied though, enough so that she went on about her two best friends from Hogwarts and some of the ‘adventures’ they had.  (If you can call sneaking into the kitchens for chocolate éclairs and staying out past curfew with your boyfriend adventures).

I could be friends with Colin.  I mean, I know he’s klutzy and he talks incessantly and is obsessed with photography, but he really is a nice person.  So is Lisa Jamison.   She really seems too nice to be friends with Laura and Mandy.  She seemed genuinely shocked when I told them about arranged marriages and actually told me the other day that she had always wished that she had red hair.

And then there’s Melissa Bones.  She’s in Hufflepuff, just like her older sister Susan.  I worked with her on repotting Bouncing Bulbs the other week.  We got so involved in our conversation that Professor Sprout actually scowled.

And then there’s Neville.  Poor Neville has the biggest crush on Hermione.  I caught him writing a poem about her and he made me swear not to tell.  It was a really good poem.  He’s written lots more, a whole notebook full and seemed rather pleased when I told him how good they were.  He’s even agreed to be ‘Hogwarts’ Mystery Poet’ and have a column in the paper every month and it was his suggestion to ask Dean Thomas to do a monthly comic strip.

22 December 1993

I had the weirdest dream last night!  It wasn’t my usual dark dreams, or Harry’s nightmares.  This one was relatively benign, if bizarre.  In my dream George was standing on the bank of a lake  (I’m fairly certain that it was the Hogwarts lake).  He was watching as a young girl (she couldn’t have been older then eight or nine) was pulled — sopping wet — out of the lake.  An older girl rushed to the younger girl’s side, pulling her into her arms in a fierce hug.  (The girls looked so much alike that they had to be either mother and daughter, or sisters, I’m leaning toward sisters).  Anyway, as the younger girl looks over the older girl’s shoulder, her eyes meet George’s and their gazes lock.  They connect — there’s really no other word for it.  It’s as if they recognize each other; two friends who haven’t seen each other in a very long time, except that in my dream I know for a fact that they’ve never met before in their lives.

I don’t know what the dream means — if anything, but it was definitely a welcome switch from the usual!

On a happier note, Charlie arrived today.  He was the last of the lot, and Mum is in her glory because excepting Ron, now all her chicks are back in the nest.  I swear, she’s been absolutely clucking over the state of Charlie’s socks and the fact that Fred has worn out the knees of every pair of trousers he owns and that George’s robes are all too tight across the chest.  And poor Bill!  Bill hasn’t had a moment’s rest since he got here.

He arrived just before supper yesterday, and no sooner had he walked in the door than Mum started in on him.  First she yammered on about his hair, how it was getting absolutely “atrocious, Bill, really!  Don’t they have any sort of regulations at the Bank?”

Bill explained (once again) that his position was as a curse breaker, not a teller or account manager, and that he spent most of his time rummaging about in the tombs, not meeting the public.  As usual, Mum didn’t listen.  Then she started in on Jennie.

“Where’s Jennie?” she asked before Bill could even take his bags upstairs.

“Who’s Jennie?” asked silly me, all innocence.

“Jennie.  Jennie Albah.  Lovely girl, daughter of one of the Egyptian Minister’s under secretaries,” mum explained before Bill could so much as open his mouth.  “Bill owled me last week to ask if he could bring her home for the holidays.  I’ve decided to set up the camp bed in Ginny’s room.”

That was a nasty shock.  I hadn’t expected anyone but family for the holidays for starters, and I definitely hadn’t been planning on sharing my room!  I shot a glance at Bill, but he merely gave me his trademark quirky half grin; one eyebrow raised. 

It’s a well-known fact that any girl he directs that grin at goes weak in the knees.  It works on me, for pity’s sakes, and I’m his sister!  I’ve heard plenty of stories about the girls who couldn’t say no to Bill’s irresistible mixture of sexiness and adorable goofiness. 

I overheard Bill and Charlie talking once about the girlfriends they’d had at Hogwarts.  Bill admitted to having shagged eight different girls during his Hogwarts career.  The thing is, Bill’s not one to lie, so if he says it was eight, I have to believe him.  Randy bastard.

Charlie’s response was to say that bill was “one smooth mother” seeing as that he’d only bagged four birds during his seven years at school.  Bagging birds!  Makes girlfriends sound like hunting trophies!  Well, I suppose that for some guys, that’s all they are.

“So, Bill, when’s she coming?” Mum asked again.

Bill shrugged.  He actually shrugged!  You don’t shrug when Mum asks you a question.  It just isn’t done!  I think it must be written down as a law somewhere, probably in stone.  “Thou shalt not shrug in response when Molly Weasley asks you a question.”

Well, as you would expect, she lit into him something fierce — chewed him up one side and down the other.  Nobody else dared come into the kitchen.  If I hadn’t already been there, I would have avoided it myself.  As it was I tried to make myself as inconspicuous as possible so that she wouldn’t start in on me.  I could see Fred and George standing well back from the door looking wary.  Behind them, Percy  was standing in the shadows, his face all twisted up in a scowl.  Even Dad was avoiding the kitchen.  I could see him skulking out by his shed.

Partway through her tirade I chanced a look at Bill.  The bastard was sitting there — calm as you please — this big grin plastered all over his face. Now nobody, I repeat, nobody grins when Mum’s dressing them down.  It’s law number two I think.  Punishable by a fate worse than death:  icy silence.

I stared at him.

Still grinning, Bill took a piece of purple parchment out of his pocket and shoved it across the table at me.  “Read it,” he mouthed.

Dearest Bill,

This has got to be the hardest letter I’ve ever had to write.  (Talk about bad beginnings!)  I want you to know that I’ve really enjoyed these last three months, but it is obvious to me that you’re just not ready for any sort of serious relationship.

I’ve had an offer of marriage from Eban Mustafa (you know, the Minister’s son) which I have accepted.  Just so you know, he asked me before, but I turned him down because I didn’t feel I was ready at that time.   Now I am, and while we seemed to enjoy each other’s company, you and I both know that we are far too different for it to have worked between us.

Please don’t hate me, Love, but it is a most advantageous match and will more or less secure my father’s future with the Ministry

I remain now, and always will be,

Your friend,

Jennie.

“Mum,” I said at last, and I must have spoke louder than I realized, because she stopped in mid-sentence, her finger still poking into Bill’s chest.

“The great sex God has fallen,” then I remembered that I was talking to my Mother and had the good sense to blush crimson.    It didn’t help that I could distinctly hear sniggers coming from the hall and a “bloody hell!” that sounded like Charlie.

“What a crude thing to call your own brother, I’m surprised at you!”

“What I meant to say, mum, is that she won’t be coming.”

“Who won’t be coming?”

“Jennie.”

“Not coming?  Why in heaven’s name not?”

“Because she’s getting married.”

“Oh Bill!” Mum cried rapturously.

“Not to me!” Bill said hastily.  “She’s marrying the son of the Egyptian Minister of Magic.”

“She dumped you?” said Charlie’s incredulous voice.

“Lo how the mighty have stumbled,” muttered Fred.

“Have fallen, moron,” corrected George.

“It’s the end of the world, George,” added Fred solemnly.  “I never thought I’d live to see the day that Bill Weasley would be on the receiving end of a ‘Dear John’ letter.”

“Enough, you three!” said Mrs. Weasley fiercely, then, turning to Bill she said, sadly, “Oh, Bill, I’m so sorry!”

“I’m not,” said Bill calmly.  “It wouldn’t have lasted much longer anyway, she just beat me to the punch.  He shrugged, but I could tell from the set of his shoulders that there was something else bothering him, but from the warning look he shot me when I opened my mouth, I knew that it wasn’t something he was willing to discuss in front of the others.  He’ll tell me eventually though, he always does.

Odd really, when you think about it, that the oldest and the youngest in a family as widespread as ours (Bill is twenty-six, I’m twelve, that’s a fourteen year difference) would be such good friends.

“Hey Ginny, have you seen George?” said Fred’s voice from just behind her left ear.

Ginny shrieked and spun about, splattering ink across the pages of her journal.

“Why the hell didn’t you knock!” she asked angrily.

“Never learned how,” said Fred, shrugging.  “Besides, you never learn anything interesting if you announce your presence when entering a room.  For instance, why is little Ginny all holed up in her room when the rest of the house is in an uproar?  Writing love letters to the famous Harry Potter?” asked Fred, snatching the journal up off the desk.

“Give it back, Fred,” said Ginny in a low voice.  Of course she knew the house was in an uproar.  George hadn’t turned up for supper and Mum had the rest of them turning the house upside down.  Ginny, who had seen George sneaking through the hedge earlier that afternoon, was certain that he had just wanted to be alone for awhile and so had snuck off to her room while the rest of the family turned the house upside down searching for George.

“Why should I?” said Fred, leering evilly.  “What’s so special about it, anyway?”  He turned it over in his hands, thumbing through the pages.

“I said, give it here!”  Ginny could feel the heat rising in her cheeks.  Not good, if she kept this up, she’d be directing Elemental power against her own brother unintentionally.

“For Merlin’s sake, Gin, don’t get your knickers in a twist!  I only-” But he had gone too far.  Ginny felt the anger spike and suddenly, Fred’s mouth was still moving, but no sound was coming out.

“How many times do I have to tell you, Fred,” she said, her eyes still flashing dangerously.  “Don’t call me Gin!”  She turned on her heel and stormed out of her room, feeling the Elemental force draining out of her as she went.

Damn but she was in trouble now!  She hadn’t meant to do that, but Fred could be so annoying!  And being called Gin . . .it had reminded her all too vividly of the time when she was seven and Fred and George had laced her pumpkin juice with gin and when she had stumbled away from the table, lurching like some drunk old man, they had gone around singing that stupid song:

She says her name is Ginny

But I bet it’s just a ploy

To make all of us ignore the fact

That bottles are her favorite toy.

Bottles that she’s drunk from

That she’s drained from every drop.

She says that she’s our sister

But we know she’s just a SOT!

Mum, of course, had been livid and had taken away their flying privileges for a month, but it had still stung, and after several instances where she had flown into tantrums when one or another of her brothers called her Gin, Dad had forbidden anyone to use that particular diminutive.

The only person she’d ever allowed to call her Gin after that was Bill, and that was only because he never used it in a degrading or condescending manner.  When he called her Gin, it was usually a form of endearment.

Ginny rushed downstairs, grabbed her cloak off the hook and sped out of the back gate and down the trail to her garden.  Why couldn’t she get a handle on her temper, why?  First Mandy, now Fred.  She was going to really hurt someone one of these days.  And then what would happen?  What would the Ministry do to her if they knew that she was practicing Elemental Magic?  According to Dumbledore, the practice of Elemental Magic had been banned by the Ministry of Magic ages ago because there was no way they could control it.  But what was she supposed to do?  She was a Natural Elemental, like it or not.  She had to learn to control her powers.  Damn but she needed to talk to Mira.  Maybe Mira would have some suggestions.  But Mira only appeared at the full moon.  Maybe calling the elements, intentionally, would have the effect of calming her ruffled temper.

So intent was Ginny on her plan that she didn’t see the figure sitting slumped beneath the willow tree until it spoke.

“Hey, Ginny,” it said.  Ginny started.

“George?  Merlin, what are you doing up here!  Mum’s going frantic and Fred . . .”  she shut her mouth quickly.

“What about Fred?”

“Answer my question first.  What are you doing up here?”

“I — I needed someplace to think,” said George, his tone uncharacteristically grave.  “And there’s really no place to be alone in the house.

“Don’t I know it.”  Ginny sat down cross-legged beside George.   “The house is packed to the rafters and Percy’s pissed that he has to share his room with Charlie.”

“Yeah, well, Bill’s in Ron’s room and you don’t hear either of them complaining.”

“That’s because Ron’s still at Hogwarts.”

“Oh yeah, right.  Well then, you don’t hear me complaining, and I’ve been sharing a room with the twin from hell all of my life.”

Ginny chuckled.  She’d forgotten how different George could be when you got him apart from Fred.  They sat in companionable silence for several minutes. 

“So, what are you doing up here?” George asked finally.

“It’s my garden, remember?”

“Well, yeah, I suppose, but it’s almost Christmas.”

“And that means what, exactly?”

“Well, shouldn’t you be baking cookies or fruit cake or something with Mum?”

“Honestly, George, you should know by now that I hate cooking!  Besides, do I really look like the domestic type to you?”

George looked her up and down appraisingly.

“Do you have a boyfriend yet, Ginny?”

“Where did that come from?”

“Well, you’ve sort of — oh I don’t know — grown up during the last year or so and if I’ve noticed I know other blokes have.”

“What would you do if I said yes?” asked Ginny, grinning broadly.  “Knock the guy senseless?”

“It would depend on the guy,” said George, smirking slightly, “and on what all you were doing together.”

“Well, not that it’s any of your business, but I barely have any friends at all, let alone boyfriends.  What about you?”

“Well, the rumors about Flint and I in the greenhouse were greatly exaggerated.”

Ginny snorted.

“No, I don’t have any boyfriends,” said George, sniggering.

“George!”

“Or girlfriends.”

Ginny raised her eyebrows.

“Currently anyway,” George amended.

“What happened to Alicia?”

“She’s dating Lee now.”

“And Katie?”

“We just went out the one time.  It was too weird.  I kissed her and it was like snogging my sister or something.

“What about Cho?”

“Bloody good snog, that one,” said George contemplatively.

“I bet you did more than just snog her senseless,” said Ginny musingly.  “From all accounts she works fast and you too dated exclusively for two months!”

“Where did you hear the bit about her working fast?” asked George curiously.

“Around.  So, how was she?”

George wrinkled his nose.  “I told you.  She’s a bloody good kisser.  I didn’t shag her if that’s what you’re on about.”

“Wouldn’t bother me if you had,” said Ginny, shrugging, but I don’t believe that you went out with her for two months and never did more than snog her.  I mean,” she raised an eyebrow at him, “hot, ready and willing?  Why wouldn’t you?”

“Because she’s not the one, Okay?” snapped George unexpectedly.  “We almost did, once, but it just wasn’t right.  I can’t explain it any better than that, so don’t make me try.”

“So you did do more than snog her!” said Ginny triumphantly.

“Of course I did!  Do I look like I’m dead?  You’re right, she’s damned hot, but we never went all the way — and it wasn’t because she didn’t want to.”

“Have you ever?” asked Ginny curiously.

“Have I ever what?”

“Gone all the way with anyone.”

George was quiet for several minutes.  Ginny watched as the heat crept his face, turning his ears to curls of raw beef.

“No,” he said finally in a low voice.

“Because you haven’t found the one?”

“Yeah, I guess,” said George gruffly, then groaned and buried his face in his hands.  “I can’t believe I’m discussing my sex life-”

“What sex life?”

“Okay, my lack of a sex life with my twelve year old sister.  If Fred ever finds out . . .”

“He thinks that you and Cho-”

“He assumed and I didn’t bother to correct him,” said George shortly.

“Has he ever?”

“Yeah, Patricia Stimpson, end of last year.”

“But they’re not dating now.”

“No.  It was a one-time thing.”

They lapsed into silence.

“It’s not that I didn’t want to,” said George finally, his face still buried in his hands.  “It’s just that there’s always something holding me back.  Something or. . .or . . .”

“Someone,” finished Ginny.

“You know, don’t you,” said George finally, still speaking from between his fingers.

“About us testing blue?  Yeah.  I just found out in September.  How about you?”

“Found the certificate in a box of papers in the attic two years ago,” said George.  “Ruddy hell of a shock, that.  Wonder why Mum and Dad never told us?”

“Maybe they didn’t want us to feel pressured,” said Ginny thoughtfully.  “You know, maybe they wanted us to meet someone and fall and love and think that we were really falling in love, you know, like normal kids do, and not . .not . . .”

“Following the whims of fate?” said George bitterly.

“Something like that.  Is that why you’re up here?”

“Sort of.  Actually, I’ve been having this dream . . .”

“About a girl?”

“Yeah.”

“The girl?”

“Feels like it, yeah.  I my dream she’s young, younger than you, and she’s in the arms of another girl, an older girl who looks just like her.  They have to be mother and daughter — or sisters maybe.”

“And you feel drawn to the younger one?”

“It’s weird, but yeah.  And it’s not a — a sexual thing really,” George gulped, and swallowed.  “It’s more like — like a recognition.”

“In your dream, is she all wet?  Like she fell into a pond or something?”

“Soaked, yeah.

“And her hair’s all plastered back so you can’t really tell the color?”

“Yeah!  Ginny, how . . .?”

“But then your eyes meet and hers are a really clear, sapphire blue, but they are scared, she’s scared, and your gazes lock . . .”

“And it’s like I know her . . .I’ve always known her . . .even though I know that I’ve never seen her before.   And we look at each other for the longest time and suddenly — suddenly she’s not afraid and I know that she — that she is the one,” whispered George faintly.  “And in my heart I know that I’ll have to wait for years for her, but it doesn’t matter because she belongs to me.”  His voice was gruff and awestruck.  They stared at each other for several minutes.

“That’s exactly what I felt when I saw Harry for the first time,” Ginny whispered finally, surprising herself by confessing something that she had never told to anyone, not even to Bill.

“Shit,” said George eloquently.

“You can say that again.”

“Ginny?”

“Hmm?”

“How — how did you know what I dreamed?”

“Cause I dreamed it too,” she said softly. “Only I was watching you two connect.”

“Weird.”

“Welcome to my life,” said Ginny dryly.  “But we’d better be getting back.”

“Before Mum goes ballistic,” agreed George, getting to his feet and holding out his hand to help her up.

19 December 1993

Mum and Dad are still in shock.  I, Ginevra Weasley, model student and obedient daughter, received an offical warning from the Ministry of Magic for performing underage magic outside of school.  The owl was waiting for me last night when George and I got back.

Mum was more upset than I’ve ever seen her.  I’m not certain as to what had upset her most, George disappearing, me taking off without telling anyone where I was going, Fred’s condition not responding to anyone’s counter charms, or my getting the reprimand.

Dad (all grave-faced and serious) gave me a talking to about how I needed to learn to control my temper and not use magic on my brothers just because they annoyed me.  I let him talk.  I didn’t dare to tell him that it hadn’t been regular magic, but that I’d misused my Elemental power.

Percy was as grave-faced and serious as Dad.  He gave me his own lecture (can you believe it?) about my responsibility to my family’s reputation etc.  Unlike Dad, I told Percy to sod off.

George and Charlie have been in their glory, teasing Fred mercilessly about being hexed by a girl three years younger than himself and half his size.  Fred himself seems to be taking it in stride and even appears rather amused by the entire situation.  It’s been twenty-four hours since it happened, and nothing they’ve tried has been able to reverse the spell.  Mum’s actually considering taking Fred to St. Mungo’s tomorrow if it hasn’t cleared up by then.

20 December 1993

“What spell did you use, Ginny?” asked Bill as they stretched out at the barre in the studio over their Dad’s shed.

Their parents, now mildly concerned, had taken Fred to St. Mungo’s by Floo powder that morning.  It had now been forty-eight hours since Ginny had silenced him and the spell had still not worn off.

Ginny stopped in mid-stretch to look up at her favorite brother.

“Well, it wasn’t a spell, exactly.”

“What do you mean, it wasn’t a spell?”

“I — I didn’t use my wand,” Ginny admitted.  “My wand was in my pocket the whole time.”

“You did wandless magic again?” asked Bill.  He was referring, of course, to the outburst she’d had at their hotel in Cairo the previous summer. 

“Not exactly.”

Bill took her by the shoulders and turned her around so that she was facing him.

“What is it, Gin, what aren’t you telling me?”

Ginny took a deep, shuddering breath.  She had been meaning to talk to Bill for ages about her being an Elemental Magician, but she just hadn’t been able to find the right time.

“I — I used the elements.”

“You used the — what?”

“I’m an Elemental Magician, Bill, a Natural Elemental.  Dad and Dumbledore, they’ve both told me that Natural Elementals are really rare. Gran was one you know.”

“Yeah, I knew,” said Bill faintly. He looked stunned, but slowly a frown crept over his face.  “Dad knows?”

“Yeah.  He saw me, the first time I called them.”

“Called who?”

“The elements.  He saw me and he recognized what was happening immediately and then he talked to Professor Dumbledore.”

“You called the elements?”

“Yeah.  It has something to do with me having high levels of Akashaic power and the elements responding to it.

“Akashaic power.  Wow, Gin, are — are you certain that’s what it is?”

“I’ve been calling them regularly since August,” said Ginny patiently.  “Of course I’m certain.  Here . . .” she took Bill’s hands, which had dropped to his sides in shock, and put them on her own shoulders.  Ginny closed her eyes and raised her arms above her head, palms up.

“Come to me!” she called, not bothering to tone down the power levels.  “Be with me!”

they came in a whirling vortex of light and sound, filling the studio, swirling about them, around them through them.  She could hear Bill’s sharp intake of breath.  She turned her palms over, lowering them towards the floor.  Immediately the power levels decreased until she could be heard above the roar.

“I’ve learned to control the power levels,” Ginny explained.  “I’ve even learned to call them silently, and I’m learning to call the individually.”

“Ginny, I . . . wow!” breathed Bill again as Ginny opened her hands up and made the gesture of dismissal that released the elemental power.

“Sort of overwhelming, isn’t it?” asked Ginny, grinning at the dazed look on his face.

“But Gin, what — what do you do with them?”

“Anything I want,” said Ginny, grinning even more broadly.  “Although I haven’t actually gotten around to practicing using them for anything yet.  I’m just now learning how to master calling and dismissing them.”  Mira says that once I’ve got the hang of calling them individually, I can start practicing using them to actually do things.”

“Who’s Mira?”

Ginny explained all about the woman in the clearing and how Hagrid thought that she was one of the First People and about the conversation she’d overheard between Mira and Professor Dumbledore, and even the bit about her and Harry being Soulmates.

“Merlin, Ginny,” said Bill at last.  He sounded awed.  “How come you didn’t tell me before about — about all of this?”

“I — I was going to,” said Ginny, shrugging, “but there were always other thing going on, or other people around.”

“Well don’t wait so long to tell me next time!” said Bill almost angrily.  “To think that you’ve had to deal with this all on your own for the last four months . . .” he looked at her sideways.  “Are you upset?”

“About what?”

“About the fact that you’re bound to Harry?”  He was looking at her intently, a worried crease between his eyebrows.  “I mean, hell, Gin, after having Riddle take you over without so much as a by-your-leave, I’d think that the last thing you’d want would be for someone to tell you that you had no choice in a mater as important as who you’ll be spending the rest of your life with.”

“I definitely don’t like the idea that I don’t have a choice when it comes to the things that Mira says are part and parcel of being an Elemental Magician.  I don’t want to have to fight for control of my own body with those — those beings, those Powers Mira was talking about that she said will be drawn by my high levels of Akashaic power.”  Ginny shivered.  “It sounds too much like possession to me.  But Dumbledore is supposed to be protecting me until I can learn to deal with them on my own terms.”

“Dumbledore?”

“Yeah, he’s an Elemental Magician too.  Not a Natural Elemental,” Ginny added as Bill opened his mouth.  “There’s the other kind, the kind that are trained.  They have to have high levels of Akashaic power too, but they learn from a master the incantations that can control the elements.”

“What’s the difference?”

Ginny grinned.  “An Elemental Sorcerer, like Dumbledore, learns the incantations to force the elements to do his bidding. Someone like me,” Ginny shrugged.  “The elements chose me personally, they want to interact with me.”

“What you told me about Harry having high levels of Akashaic power too, does this mean that he’s also an Elemental Magician?”

“Dumbledore seems to think so, or rather that he has the potential to be trained as one.”

“But he’s not a Natural Elemental, like you?”

“No.  It would have surfaced long before this if he were.”

“And Dumbledore thinks that you two are . . .Soulmates?”

“It doesn’t matter what Dumbledore thinks,” said Ginny softly, taking Bill’s much larger hand in her own.  “I can feel it, Bill, right here,” she added, putting her other hand over her chest.

“But not to have a choice . . .!”  Bill looked rather frustrated.

“My beautiful Bill,” said Ginny, reaching up to rub away the crease that had appeared between his eyebrows.  “Believe me when I say that it honestly doesn’t bother me.  If it if were anyone but Harry . . .”  she sighed heavily.  “Since the first time I saw him — it was on the platform at King’s Cross Station when I was ten, we were putting Ron on the Hogwarts Express — the moment our eyes met I knew.”

“Knew what?”

“That we were meant for each other.”

“I don’t buy it.”

“You don’t have to, just trust me on this.  Even now, when I know that he doesn’t think of me as anything more than Ron’s little sister, even now, all he has to do is look at me — and I’m home!”

“Ginny, even if it’s all true — all of it — what if he never comes around?  What if he never realizes just how special you are?  What if-”

“What if the ocean explodes and my arse falls off?” retorted Ginny bluntly.  “He’ll come around, Bill, you’ll see.  It might take awhile, but he’ll come around in the end.”  She patted the hand that she still held.  “But I don’t want you worrying that I’ll be sitting around pinning over him,” said Ginny comfortably.  “I’ve got too much to do, Bill, too much to learn.”

“Like the Cha Cha,” said Bill brightly.  “Want to give it a try?”

“Why not?  We’ve got all afternoon.”

23 December 1993

Fred came home today — in full command of his voice (drats).  And while he gave me a hug and said that there were no hard feelings, there was a glimmer of respect in his gaze that I don’t believe will die out anytime soon.

Dad says that the healers at St. Mungos worked on him for three days - can you believe it?  Anyway, the healers finally had to ask for help from one of the unspeakables from the Department of Mysteries.  According to Dad, the unspeakable was quite impressed with the power of the spell and was quite curious as to what sort of a curse had been used.

The Ministry officials told him that it had registered as a standard silencing spell, but according to the unspeakable (his name is Mr. Bode), he had never seen any sort of silencing spell that powerful and expressed a keen interest in meeting the one who had cast it.  I guess he was rather taken aback when Dad told him that his twelve-year-old daughter had cast it.

You know, it makes me wonder . . .if I can throw that powerful of a curse unintentionally with the Elemental’s help, what could I do if I were in control of them?  If I could direct their power . . .?

Dad and Charlie brought in the tree today, it’s roots all wrapped up in brown canvass (we always plant the tree out back after we use it for Christmas).  Anyawy, with the roots it’s at least twelve feet tall, but after Mum did a shrinking spell on the roots so that they’d fit into a washtub, it was down to a manageable ten feet.  Dad still had to expand the height in the living room to make it fit (the ceilings are only eight feet high in there). 

I asked Dad once why he doesn’t just magically increase the space inside of our house.  I mean, he does it at Christmas in the Living Room.  He used to do it on the car so we could all fit in, and it’s not like it’s actually breaking the law, but Dad said that it was like stretching the truth, “too close to breaking the law for comfort.” And left it at that.

I can understand, maybe, why he would be uncomfortable magically stretching the space inside the house, but if he could at least do the closets!  I broke three pieces of china today trying to pull out the copper kettle Mum uses to make her Christmas fudge in out of the china cupboard.  It would save a lot of time and effort if there was space enough for all the stuff she keeps in there. 

Mum packed up her Christmas gifts for Ron, Harry and Hermione today.  To my surprise she actually used a shrinking spell to get them all into a box that Errol could easily manage.  She put a note in it for the house elves to bring everything back up to its proper size before putting the fits in their owners piles.  I used to wonder how she managed to send us all stuff at Hogwarts when all we had was poor Errol. 

Errol is ancient.  He was Bill’s familiar just as Mr. Chubbs was mine.  But before that, he was Dad’s familiar, and before that, my Grandfathers if you can believe itf!  He must be powerfully magical to have lived so long.  But even so, I don’t see how he can go on much longer.  He’ll be lucky to get the box there in time.  He’s nearly blind you know, but he’s as sweet as can be and Mum adores him.  I think that is mainly why she refuses to get another owl.  She doesn’t want to hurt his feelings.

We’re going to decorate the tree tonight.  Mum makes a big deal out of it, having us string cranberries and popcorn and even making spiced cider and donuts as a treat.  The tree’s up and Bill magicked down all the boxes of ornaments from the attic this afternoon.  I’m not certain as to whether or not I’m looking forward to it, especially hanging our seven special ornaments.  There’s one for each of us (excepting Mum and Dad).  Each one is charmed so that when we take it in our hands and say “remember” it changes to reflect the three most important things that happened to us during the previous year.

When I was little I used to love trying to guess what three things the bulb would tell me had been the most important.  I can’t tell you how embarrassed I was when during the Christmas I was ten, one of my symbols was a lightning bolt!  Ron and the twins teased me mercilessly for ‘crushing’ on Harry.    This year I’m afraid to touch it.  So much has happened to me and I can’t entirely shake the thought that my ornament might very well explode.

When Bill took his sky-blue bulb in his hands and murmured “remember” the pictures (which last Christmas had been a sack of gold coins, which he said represented his significant pay raise, a tiny ‘first place’ trophy for the dance contest he’d won in May, and a tiny, black-haired witch, who Ginny could only assume had been Marie, the girl he’d brought home for Christmas last year) slowly shimmered and shifted until they had become an owl with a purple scroll in it’s beak (undoubtedly the letter from Jennie, Mum actually had tears in her eyes when she saw that particular image), the second, a replica of what looked like some sort of convoluted maze that Bill said was part of a particularly complex curse he had broken back in April (and which had been responsible for his promotion to chief curse-breaker).  The third image was a tiny, amber-eyed sphinx.  Bill refused to comment on the sphinx in spite of his mother’s comments about it being tradition to tell the family about all three images.  His final comment was that since it involved someone else’s secret he couldn’t possibly be expected to comment on it.  He had only given Ginny the merest half glance when he’d said, but she’d known at once that the sphinx was supposed to represent her.

Charlie’s images came out as a bright-red Chinese Fireball Dragon breathing its odd, mushroom-shaped fire-could (his explanation being that he had finally managed to bring one under control using nothing but his bare hands), a gently smoking boot (it seems he had a run-in with a firecrab while sleeping in the woods) and an arrow dripping blood. 

It took the combined efforts of her husband and two eldest sons to calm their mother down after she saw the arrow, but she got a good laugh when he explained that it had been a brownie arrow (which are no bigger than pins) although Ginny heard Charlie talking to Bill later about how it had been tipped with fairy dust potion that had caused him to go Underhill for six straight days.

Percy’s was typical.  It showed his head boy badge, the logo from the Ministry of Magic (Percy’s been asked already to submit his application for employment) and, of course, Penelope.

Fred’s was, as usual, bizarre. It showed a double-ended zebra (which he claims was a joke that he and George pulled on Professor Sprout, though he wouldn’t go into details), a wand that was halfway through transforming into a rubber chicken, and an object that he claimed was a shooting star, and that represented a particularly memorable astronomy lesson (although Bill and George and I all agreed that it bore a peculiar resemblance to Angelina Johnson flying straight toward one on a broomstick — her dreadlocks all streaming out behind her).

For the first time ever (that I can remember), Fred and George’s ornaments were completely different.  This year, George’s had a tiny weeping willow tree (Ginny had to wonder if their talk in his garden had really meant that much to him) a perfect replica of a red rose with several prominent thorns on it’s stem, and a pair of sapphire blue eyes.  George refused to comment on any of his images, which had Mrs. Weasley steaming mad until she saw Ron’s (which she had sent to him weeks earlier so that he could change it and send it back to be hung with the others).  When she saw Ron’s, her eyes actually filled with tears.

In place of the three-headed dog, the black knight from a wizard’s chess set and a replica of the Anglia, Ron’s now reflected a huge, hairy black spider, a tiny figure with busy brown hair which was lying at an oddly stiff angle, and a towering figure in a black robe which could only be a Dementor.

Her father held Ginny’s ornament in both hands for several minutes looking almost sad.  Last year, the cotton-candy pink ornament had been the only one to reflect four images.  The telltale lightning bolt (guess who?) which had appeared for the second year in a row, the Hogwarts sorting hat (because of her being sorted into Gryffindor), a breathtakingly beautiful unicorn (which she had stumbled upon the summer before in her garden) and a small, non-descript brown book with the word “Diary” inscribed across the front.

Everyone was staring at her as she took the fragile glass ornament in her hands.  She nearly dropped it when it gave a faint hiss and turned instantly warm in her grip.  The background had gone from hot pink to blood red, but it didn’t stop there.  The colors were mixing, changing, blending into each other like spilled paints; peach, yellow, blue, green, orange, purple, white, black, violet and, surfacing briefly before popping like soap bubbles, were images, glimpses; the pyramids, an poisonously green serpent, a dark-haired boy with cruel eyes, another whose emerald green gaze was clear and concerned, a silver sword glittering with rubies and dripping with blood, a scarlet and gold bird the size of a peacock, a singing cupid, a circle of standing stones, a flat-topped spherical stone table, Hagrid’s head poking out of an oak tree, Harry back lighted by lightning, Bill and herself dancing across a room, her gifting ring, Mira’s face, Dumbledore’s penetrating blue eyes and other things . . .glimpses of ancient secrets. . . Dark knowledge . . .

Ginny’s hands, her knees, were shaking, she was going to drop the damned thing, she just knew it.  She would have, too, if Bill hadn’t taken it from her gently and hung it almost reverently in its accustomed spot near the bottom of the tree where it continued to pulse out it’s random images and colors.

Everyone was staring at her now.  She could feel the weight of the eyes on her as she stood there, and their eyes had weight.  Slowly she lifted her eyes to meet those of the people she’s always loved best in the world.  She’s met with grief (her mother), pity and worry (from Dad), Revulsion, from Charlie, disgust from Percy and concern from Fred and George. 

She stood there, silently, feeling the tears welling up in her eyes, but was Percy’s disgust and Charlie’s revulsion that kept her from breaking down entirely.  In fact, she could feel the slow, cleansing burn of anger welling up inside her.

“What did you expect?” she asked at last, her voice nearly dripping with sarcasm.  “Hearts and flowers?  A rainbow?  Or another unicorn — yes!  Oh yes!”  She laughed outright then, a mirthless laugh that made nearly everyone in the room cringe.  “That’s right!  Purity and innocence conquers all!  Little Ginny can share her soul with the most powerful Dark Lord in history for ten solid months and emerge unscathed.”

She took a deep breath and let her gaze travel back across the beloved faces.  No one would meet her eyes.  No one, except Bill.  Beautiful Bill.  He met her gaze squarely and there was no pity, no disgust or revulsion in his eyes.  Instead, she saw a deep love, bordering almost on respect and a fierce sort of pride.  She gave him a small smile and the briefest of nods.

“Look at me!” she said quietly and stood there, waiting.  One by one the rest of her family’s eyes met hers.

“This is who I am!” she said fiercely, her eyes now blazing.  “I am not a unicorn!”  Her mother was crying into her dad’s shoulder, Percy looked sickened and Charlie looked stricken.  But she didn’t stop.  She couldn’t stop.  “That purity, that innocence, that was taken away from me.  You little girl is gone!  If anything, I’m more like a phoenix,” she said, her voice softer now, her fingers traveling gently over the swirling mass of colors and images that her ornament had become.  As if in response to her thoughts the image of a phoenix rose up to the surface, hovering like a bird in flight.  “Pure, innocent little Ginny may be gone but I’m still here!  I survived!”  Ginny laughed again, and this time there was real humor in her tone.  “He may have left me — my life — in ruins,” she whispered, “but like a phoenix I’ve been reborn from the ashes.  I’ve had to learn how to be me all over again!  And I refuse to apologize for the person that I’ve become.”

She shot a dazzling smile at Bill, then, turning her back on the rest of her family, left the room.

Back to index

Chapter 5: REALIZATIONS AND RUMORS

CHAPTER FIVE:  REALIZATIONS AND RUMORS

I hope I didn’t ruin everyone’s Christmas by speaking my mind last night.  I know I made some of them uncomfortable.  Mum for one.  She moved my ornament.  I heard her tell Percy that it gave her shivers.  It’s now hanging at the back of the tree and Percy hasn’t been able to bring himself to meet my eyes all day.  Fred and George have been acting normally, well, Okay, maybe George is a bit quieter than I’m used to, but I don’t think I can take all the blame (or the credit) for that.  And Charlie’s been far too wrapped up in discussing the finer points of his new Dragon-keeping job with Dad to pay any attention to me one way or the other.

Bill on the other hand, Bill cornered me after breakfast and dragged me up to Ron’s room to tell me how proud he’d been of me sticking up for myself like that. 

Ginny leaned back in her chair, quill in hand, remembering their conversation.

“There I was, all ready to come to your defense, but you handled the whole thing like a pro!” said Bill, Beaming.  “But what on earth possessed you to speak out like that?”

Ginny shrugged.  “It seemed like the thing to do at the time.  I couldn’t stand it, Bill, especially the look on Percy’s face.  He was disgusted by what he saw — of what I’ve become.”

“God I wish I could be there when Harry comes to his senses!” said Bill musingly.

“Excuse me?”

“He’s going to wake up one day and wonder why the hell he never noticed you before.”

“You think so?”

“Well, that’s a switch!  What, no blushing denials?”

Ginny grinned and shrugged.  “Just accepting my fate is all.”

I don’t know what I’d do without Bill.  Probably curl up and die or some such rubbish.  Having at least one person treating me normally has done wonders I think, and, if you will, that is what Dumbledore has been trying to do for Harry.

And speaking of Harry, he got a Firebolt for Christmas!  Can you believe it?  Fred and George are going to simply shrivel up with jealousy, and Malfoy!  Bloody hell, I’d give ten galleons (if I had it) to see Malfoy’s face when he sees this.  The Firebolt is an international standard broom!    Pity McGonagall confiscated it.  He’ll get it back though, McGonagall cares about Harry’s safety, but she wants Gryffindor to win, too.  I bet he gets it back before the first match of the New Year!

Harry’s getting a new broom inspired me. I coerced Bill into letting me take his broom up to the clearing at the top of the hill (being under the same charm as my garden, it’s never too cold up there) and practiced my flying to let off some steam.

Bill came up to watch and brought Charlie with him.  Charlie seemed rather skeptical at first, but after watching me for half an hour, he seemed quite impressed and told me I was getting really good and that the first opening there is on the Gryffindor house team that I should try out for it.  Coming from Charlie, that was quite the compliment.  He even took the time to show me a few new moves.

3 January 1994

Happy New Year!  And here’s to a better year than the last one turned out to be.  Hey, look on the bright side . . .it can’t get much worse!  1993 is definitely a year I won’t be able to forget easily.  You can’t deny that it was definitely a year of changes and revelations.

In review:  first, Tom Riddle uses me to attack Muggle Borns in the school, then he forces himself into my mind, clearly aiming to drain away my life in order to allow him to become real again.  Thirdly, I’m rescued by Harry (my hero) and wake up the next morning to find that I’ve started my period.  I go home and have nightmares every night for a solid month.  Over the summer I not only discover that I am a Natural Elemental, but that in rescuing me, Harry has forged a bond between us that allows me to see what he’s seeing and feel what he’s feeling.  Then, to top it all off, Dumbledore informs me that not only am I destined to have a Soulmate, but he practically tells me that it’s Harry.

Damn.

Well, school’s back in session.  I was able to fend Colin off for a bit.  He wanted to start work on the setup of the paper tonight, if you can believe it.  But I managed to talk him out of it.  I told him we could start work on Thursday night around sevenish.  Professor McGonagall said that we could work in the Transfiguration classroom, so we’ll have a place to spread out.  That also gives me a couple of days to remind everyone who agreed to write articles for the paper that their contributions are due.

I came back from break to find that Harry and Ron are barely acknowledging Hermione.  To my chagrin I realized that I didn’t have a clue as to why.  I finally broke down and asked Hermione.  She told me the story of the Firebolt and how she’d reported it to Professor McGonagall, and how McGonagall had confiscated it.  She said that she felt horrible doing it, but that she couldn’t let Harry take chances like that, then she broke down and cried on my shoulder for about ten minutes.

I let her cry (she kept going on about Crookshanks and Scabbers and Buckbeak) and I realized that I’d known what was wrong all along, it was there in the back of my head.  I just hadn’t paid what had happened much mind, seeing as that I’d been too busy passing out gifts and listening to Mum and Dad gossip with their friends.

There’s something else going on though.  She kept saying how tired she was.  How she’d just like to curl up and sleep for a year, things like that. 

And as I listened to her, I realized that for the past twelve years I’ve been a selfish and insensitive prat.  I’ve been so wrapped up in my own concerns, my own pitiful hopes and plans, that I put my friends and my family in danger!  If I hadn’t been so wrapped up in how miserable I am, I wouldn’t ever have spilled my soul to that cursed diary.  That ends now!

From today on I am going to make it a point to keep in touch with and to notice the moods of those who are most important in my life.  From now on I am going to notice them, listen to them, help them if I can.  Heaven forbid that anyone ever has to go through what I did just because they are lonely and feel that nobody cares.

14 February 1994

Sweet Merlin, the things I saw today!  I can’t even begin to describe . . .well . . . suppose I can, and you know of course that I will try. 

I blame it all on Colin.  I was sort of hoping that the paper would flop so that I wouldn’t have to work on it any more, but it was a great success of course, and so Colin asked me to have an updated assignment list by the end of the day.  It was supposed to list everyone who has agreed to do articles for the March edition of the HOWLER, the tentative title of their article, and how soon they say it can be done.

He’s going to have to take a rain check.  Half of the people on my list couldn’t be found.  Most of the ones I did find were in no position to care about the bloody HOWLER.

I found Percy (who is supposed to be doing an article on the Duties and Responsibilities of Hogwarts’ Prefects) in the Head Boy’s room, and he wasn’t alone.  (Neither was he dressed, but at least he had the courtesy to put on a robe before he came to the door).

I found Cedric Diggory (who’s supposed to be doing an article on the historical origins of Quidditch) in the empty Charms classroom snogging Marissa Ashton senseless. (Actually they were doing a bit more than snogging, judging from the fact that neither of them had shirts on).

I found Sharron Crandler by mistake.  She’s supposed to be doing a piece on inter-house unity and school spirit . . .and I took a wrong turn on the way to the Ravenclaw tower and ended up opening a door that led not into the 5th floor corridor as I’d thought it would, but into a rather spacious broom closet — where Sharron was being fed chocolate covered strawberries by 6th year Slytherin Prefect Mitchell Owens.  It would have been a completely innocent situation if they hadn’t been in a very compromising sort of position.

And then there was Dean Thomas — he does our comic strip.  Well he was too busy pinning Lavender Brown against the wall behind a suit of armor halfway down the Fat Lady’s corridor.  Their hands may have been roving, but at least those two were dressed!

And Neville.

Neville (pick a god and praise him) was exactly where he was supposed to be, in the common room, working by himself on his potions essay.  He had his poem already printed out on a slip of parchment and rattled on for a good fifteen minutes on how he hopes that Ravenclaw beats Hufflepuff in the match tomorrow so that Gryffindor will at least stand a chance of winning the Quidditch Cup.

18 February 1994

Well, Ravenclaw steamrolled Hufflepuff in Saturday’s game!  It was almost painful to watch.  Hufflepuff’s got an extraordinarily good team, but Ravenclaw is just that much better.  It was no contest, really!  Which means that Hufflepuff is out of the running for the Quidditch cup.  This means that if Gryffindor beats Ravenclaw in April’s match, they will play Slytherin for the cup.

I love Quidditch.  I may not be quite the fanatic about it that Charlie is, he can tell you the key events of nearly every game for the past two hundred years, who won, who lost, the names of the best players.  And Ron!  Ron’s even worse.  He can tell you what particular moves each player used to win any particular game.  You should hear it when he and Charlie get going!  But I find it fascinating just the same — and I love to fly! 

I still remember last year when Madam Hooch was supposed to be ‘teaching’ us to fly.  I was so bored, but I put up with all her baby step stuff because it was great to be back in the air again.  I begged mum to let me have my own broom at school this year, but she kept brushing me off, saying that I wasn’t on a team, so why would I need one, stuff like that.  I’m not asking her to buy me a new one, we have three old ones in the shed in the garden.  I’d bring one of them.  But she said no, she didn’t think it “appropriate” for a young girl to be flying off unsupervised.  Get real!  Where, exactly, does she think I’m going to go?  With Dementor’s guarding the gates and all I’d have to stay on the Hogwarts’ grounds anyway (unless I took a leaf out of Harry’s book and used that tunnel he took the last Hogsmeade weekend).  I have to admit . . .the idea has merit . . .except that it’s not a Hogsmeade weekend.  I, unlike Harry, don’t have an invisibility cloak.  Therefore I’d be seen.  And if I went on a Hogsmeade weekend I’d probably be spotted by one of my brothers.  With my luck it would be Percy, and Percy would have no qualms about reporting me and writing home to Mum.  Lovely.  So, I guess I’m stuck.

11 April 1994

I was in the common room playing exploding snap with Lisa Jamison and Colin when Professor McGonagall came in with Harry’s Firebolt.  (I told you she’d give it back, the match against Ravenclaw is this Saturday!)  Anyway, nobody in the common room knew where he was, except me of course, and how do I volunteer that I know where Harry Potter is when he doesn’t exactly announce his agenda to the general public?  I told her that I thought he’d said something about going to talk to Professor Lupin, and she climbed back out of the portrait hole.  Ron came bounding down the stairs just as she was leaving. 

“What the ruddy hell did she want?” he asked, staring after Professor McGonagall’s retreating back.

“To give Harry his broom back.”

“Really?  Wicked!” and he was gone like a shot. 

Five minutes later he and Harry (who was now clutching the Firebolt) climbed in the portrait hole and immediately collected a crowd.  People were cheering if you can believe it!  I guess they’re convinced that with a Firebolt on the team, Gryffindor will beat the pants off of  Ravenclaw or, as one 6th year put it, “With our Seeker on a Firebolt, we can’t loose!”

And speaking of loosing . . .Ron seems to have lost Scabbers.  He found blood on his sheet.  Everyone knows he found blood on his sheet, he came barreling down the staircase to the boy’s dormitory waving the damn thing like a bloody war banner and yelling at Hermione about how this is proof that Crookshanks has finally eaten Scabbers.

Good riddance if you ask me.  I never could stand that rat, especially not being alone in the same room with him.  He gives me a nasty feeling in my stomach, but he was Ron’s pet and Ron is taking his loss very badly.  He blames it on Hermione and is convinced that if she had kept better track of Crookshanks that this would never have happened. 

13 April 1994

Spring was definitely in the air and Ginny was glad.  Winter had its fun points (sledding, ice-skating on the lake, Christmas and having furious snowball fights in the courtyard during break) but enough was enough.  There was only so much cold a body could take.  It was days like this, with the sky a clear, cobalt blue scattered with puffy white clouds and softly scented breeze wafting in across the lake that made he insides very glad indeed that winter was over.

No one else seemed to care whether it was spring or winter or some as of yet unnamed season, they were far too excited about the match that was about to take place between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw.  The winner of today’s match would take on Slytherin for the Quidditch Cup next game.

The cheers when the teams took the field would have raised the roof (had there been one) and Ginny found herself cheering with the rest.  The shout of “Go Gryffindor” died in her throat, however, when she felt Harry’s reaction to the Ravenclaw Seeker Cho Chang.

Damn.

She tried to be reasonable.  She’d known that he was bound to start noticing girls sooner or later.  She’d just hoped that it would be her he’d notice.  Remember what Mira said — she told herself sternly as she felt Harry’s gaze being drawn back to the petite, dark-haird beauty.  His sixth year, my fifth.  That’s when he’ll finally get his act together.

“I can’t stand it!” she moaned out loud as Harry took off down the pitch, Cho hot on his heels.  Anything could happen in three years, anything.  Anything could happen, and there was no way she would be able to ignore it if it did.

In desperation she tried to focus on the game.  Both teams were excellent and Lee Jordan, who was commentating, sounded like a salesman for the Firebolt.  She couldn’t help but grin as Professor McGonagall told him to stick to what was going on in the match. 

Twice Harry spotted the Snitch.  Both times he was prevented from catching it, first by a Bludger and the second time by Cho, who had cut across him.  Harry, unwilling to run her down, had swerved and lost sight of the Snitch.

“HARRY, THIS IS NO TIME TO BE A GENTLEMAN!” Wood was roaring.  “KNOCK HER OFF HER BROOM IF YOU HAVE TO!”

Harry turned and caught sight of Cho, who was grinning, and he felt that odd, lurching sensation in his stomach again.

Ginny clutched her own stomach and groaned.  Harry, why her?  Why Cho?

No bloody idea — came Harry’s immediate response.

“It’s Okay, Ginny, Gryffindor will win!” said Ron from somewhere in the row behind her. 

“Yeah, Harry won’t let us down,” said Dean from somewhere to her left.

I wouldn’t be so certain about that —

Her thought was cut short by a shriek from Cho.  She was pointing down to the Quidditch field where three tall, black-hooded Dementors stood looking up into the air above them.

“Not again!” Ginny moaned, her eyes cutting wildly to Harry.  He took one look, thrust his wand over his shoulder and a huge, sivler stag shot out of the end of his wand and charged down the figures on the field.

A Patronus.

A moment later Harry was clutching the struggling snitch in his hand; Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle and Marcus Flint were disentangling themselves from the black-hooded robes and hosts of cheering Gryffindors were streaming across the field.

“Incredible!” said a voice from behind her.  Ginny spun in her seat to find Professor Lupin staring, open-mouthed at the scene before him.

“Professor?”

“Hmm?” still looking slightly startled, he turned his attention to Ginny.

“Professor, was — was that a Patronus?” said Ginny rather shakily.

“Indeed it was,” murmured Lupin, still wide-eyed.  “A powerful and corporeal Patronus cast by a thirteen-year-old wizard,” he added softly.

“Is that unusual?”

“It is unprecedented,” said Lupin, more to himself than to Ginny.  “I wonder what memory he used?”

Gryffindors were flooding the field and Professor Lupin joined the throng.  Ginny gripped the edges of her seat, staring down at the black-haired, green-eyed figure at the center of the maelstrom. 

How powerful did a witch or wizard need to be to cast a corporeal Patronus without concentrating on any specific memory?  Harry hadn’t been thinking about anything in particular, well, nothing other than getting to the Snitch (and that wasn’t a memory so much as an obsession).  There was definitely more to Harry than met the eye.  She’d seen his memories, Harry’s memories.  Some how he had realized that the only way to keep Quirrell from killing him was to hang on, touching his bare skin, and he had, nearly killing himself in the process. She’d experienced the Chamber of Secrets from Harry’s point of view in her dreams. He’d killed a Basilisk, he’d called another wizard’s Phoenix to his aid, and how had he known to destroy Riddle by destroying the diary? Oh yes, indeed, she would find it most interesting to watch Harry grow into his powers. She doubted very much if anyone other than, perhaps, Dumbledore, or maybe Lupin, knew just what Harry was capable of, but she had to smile when she realized that neither of them were better placed to experience it than she was.

Cho be damned.  Harry was hers. 

“Do your worst, sweetheart,” she whispered, not bothering to check the grin spreading across her face. “But the boy is mine.”

14 April 1994

Sirius Black is definitely not after Harry, not after what happened last night!  (Or this morning rather).  The victory party in the Gryffindor Common room lasted all day and well into the night.  Fred and George disappeared for a while and came back with armfuls of sweets and bottles of butter beer.  My guess is that they stole it from Honeydukes’ basement. (Hope they don’t get in trouble for it).  It took McGonagall coming in around one in the morning to get the party to dissipate. 

Not an hour later I was startled out of a sound sleep by a hideous scream that sounded like Ron.  The scream was in stereo, I was hearing it myself, and also through Harry, who was half convinced that someone was being murdered.  Turns out that Ron claims he woke up to a ripping sound and found Sirius Black standing over him with a knife.

No one believed him at first, even Harry was convinced that it had just been a particularly vivid dream (and he should know, he’s had some doozies!)  But I know Ron, and one thing he is incapable of is lying convincingly.  No one believed him until Sir Cadogen verified the fact that Sirius Black had entered Gryffindor tower.  By that time all of us were back in the common room.  I swear, you could have cut the tension with a knife when McGonagall asked Cadogen if he had let a man in.  When Cadogen said of course he had, that the man had read the password off a little piece of paper, I thought that the collective intake of breath would implode the Common Room.

Turns out that Neville had written down the week’s passwords on a slip of parchment, which he swears that he left on his bedside table.  Poor Neville, he looked like he wanted to disappear right then and there.  We stayed up all nigh , all of Gryffindor House, in the Common Room.  How could we sleep?  Sirius Black, in our Common Room!  He almost killed Ron, he could have killed any of us!

Sir Cadogen has been fired.  The Fat Lady is back.  She looks great, but has insisted on there being security Trolls to guard her.  You should have seen Hermione’s face when she first saw them!  Sir Cadogen’s been fired, and Neville’s been grounded and the Trolls are making everyone nervous.  But something more than the fact of Trolls is bothering me.

If Sirius Black were truly after Harry, why didn’t he simply stun Ron and move on to the next bed or, if he didn’t have a wand, just kill him, or at least knock him out?  Why did he give up so easily?  Everyone assumes that Sirius Black is after Harry, but what if he’s after somethingand not someone?  What if he was looking for something and when he broke into the dorm he saw that it (whatever it was) was no longer there, perhaps that’s why he left so quickly.

But that doesn’t make any sense either.  What could Sirius Black have possibly been looking for in Ron’s bed?  He didn’t riffle through his wardrobe or his dresser or bedside cabinet or his trunk, he tore down the curtains of his bed.  Why his bed?  Unless he was looking for something that Ron keeps in his bed and the only things that Ron keeps in his bed are bedclothes, pillows, the occasional chocolate frog, sometimes yesterday’s P.J.’s and Scabbers.

Scabbers!

Ginny’s quill paused above the page and she wateched as a drop of emerald green ink dripped off the end of the Quill and blotted the blank page below.

And Scabbers was gone.

But what would a mad killer like Sirius Black want with a rat?  Ginny’s eye traveled from the ruined page to Hermione, who was sitting across the table, half hidden by a stack of tottering rune books, to Mandy Davenport who was curled up in the chair behind her, absorbed in another of Lisa Jamison’s Muggle novels.

This one was a mystery.  Ginny had read it last week.  It was about a man who had been accused of murdering his wife and who had been sentenced to death.  But he’d escaped and led the Muggle authorities on a merry chase from clue to clue that proved him, beyond a doubt, innocent and even discovering the name of the real killer.

Black had been accused of killing Peter Pettigrew and twelve Muggles, earning him a life-sentence in Azkaban.  He had then escaped from Azkaban (something no one else had ever managed to do) but instead of running away — far away (as anyone with any sort of brains would do).  But instead he comes straight to Hogwarts and attempts to get int Gryffindor Tower, nearly destroying the Fat Lady in the process.  But even after he is identified and the whole school, not to mention the village of Hogsmeade, is on the lookout for him — he comes back!  He tries to get into Gryffindor tower again (this time succeeding) and Ron wakes up to find Black standing over him with a knife.

But instead of killing Ton, or simply realizing his mistake and moving over a bed and killing Harry, Black bolts.  After spending so much time and effort to get in, why would he run? Unless what he was looking for wasn’t there.

Scabbers.

If she didn’t know any better, Ginny would have to say that Sirius’s actions are saying that he tthinks Scabbers is the killer, or that Scabbers holds the key to finding the real killer and clearing his name.

Weird.

18 April 1994

“Damn it!”  hissed Ginny as she hitched up her bag so it hung more securely on her shoulder.  She had to go, and she had to go now.  She doubted very much if she could wiat to get to the toilet on the third floor, which meant . . .

Ginny shivered and flushed the toilet, trying to ignore the burbling sobs coming from the last cubicle in the row.  For must a moment Ginny thought she could hear two people crying.

Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom hadn’t improved any since the last time she’d been in here.  It was still damp and dark and cold.  It reminded her . . .reminded her to much of. . . Tom.  Ginny found herself staring, entranced at the sink behind which, she knew, was the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets.

Had it actually been just last year that she had stood just here and . . .he had told her what to say . . .would it still work? . . . “Open,” the word rolled out of her mouth in an undulating hiss.  Ginny let out a soft shriek and leapt backwards as the sink began to sink rapidly into the floor.

“Oh my God!” came a strangled voice from behind her.  Ginny spun and had to grab onto Hermione’s shoulders to keep from knocking her down.

“It’s Okay, Hermione,” said ginny quickly, for Hermione looked close to panic.  “Look, it’s sealed, see?”

Sure enough, the wall behind the sink was devoid of large, open pipes.  Someone had done a good job of making it look as if there had never been anything behind the sink at all.

“Ginny . . .what were you . . .why were you . . .” Hermione looked very frightened, her eyes huge.

“I  - I don’t know, really I don’t, Hermione.  I haven’t been in here sinc . . .since then . . .I had to pee.  I couldn’t hold it!  And then — then I was remembering.”

“But you’re not-he’s not -“

“No.  It’s just me.  I — I just wondered you see if . . .if it would still work . . .if I could still speak Parsletongue . . “ Ginny shrugged.

The cold . . .the dark . . .the voice in her head . . .

Knees shaking Ginny slid to the floor as the memory of what had happened that last night when he had forced himself into her mine.

“Oh Merlin, Hermione, sometimes — sometimes I just want to scream!”

“Was it — was it really bad?” said Hermione tentatively, putting a hand on Ginny’s shoulder.  “I mean, when he — when he took you over.”

“It was the worst that last night,” Ginny whispered, her voice shaking.  “And then, when I woke up and everyone . . .” she let out a sob, “And Harry was standing over me all blood and slime . . .I knew then . . .I knew it had been me . . .Damn, Hermione, if you had died!  You and Colin and Justin . . .I don’t know what I would have done!”

Hermione knelt down beside her and pulled the younger girl into her arms.

“I wish I’d known,” she said, and when she pulled away, Ginny was amazed to see that she was crying.  But from the look of her puffy, red-rimmed eyes she’d been crying for quite some time.

“It’s — it’s all over with now,” Ginny managed, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her robes.  “I still have nightmares, you know?”

“About — about Him?”

“Yeah.  Say, Hermione, what are you doing in here, anyway?” Ginny asked concernedly.  “And don’t tell me its nothing, cause it’s obvious you’ve been crying.”

“I-”  Hermione pulled some tissues out of her pocket, handed one to Ginny and blew her nose with another.  “I needed to think,” she said finally, wiping at her eyes and tossing the used tissues into the sink.  “I needed to think about why I’m doing this . . .” her voice trailed off and Ginny noticed that Hermione had pulled what looked like a small, gold hourglass on a chain from beneath her robes and was fingering it with an odd, contemplative look on her face.  “Why do I bother?”

“Bother with what?”

“Tell me, Ginny, do you ever feel like you’re doing too much?” Hermione asked suddenly.  “Like you’re stretched so thin you’re going to snap?”

Ginny nodded, watching as Hermione gazed at the tinket in her hands with something very like revulsion.

“Do you ever want to just say to hell with it all?”

Ginny nodded silently.  Hermione looked exhausted.  There were great purple bruises under her eyes and her robes appeared to be hanging off of her already thin frame.

“You’re working too hard, Hermione.”  Hermione responded with a strangled sort of laugh.  “How many classes are you taking, anyway?  I mean, besides you’re regular ones?”

“Divination, Care of Magical Creatures, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes and Muggle Studies.”

“That makes twelve courses with your regular classes!” said Ginny incredulously.  Hermione nodded miserably.  “You know, Hermione, you don’t have to attend the classes to take the O.W.L.’s.

“But how will I know what to study for?”

“Oh come on, Hermione!  I bet you could take your O.W.L.’s right now for all your classes and pass every single one.  There are O.W.L. study guides, practice papers even.  The homework, that’s what’s killing you, face it!”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“So just drop a couple courses!  Which one do you like the least?”

“Divination,” said Hermione promptly.  “Useless subject and Trelawney!”  She gave a harsh laugh.

“Colin calls her the bug lady,” said Ginny, grinning and holding up her thumb and index fingers to form the shape of spectacles and held them up to her eyes.  She was rewarded by a snort of amusement from Hermione.  “So, that’s one down.  Now, which one are you the best at? Not the one you like the best, but the one that comes the most naturally?”

“That’s easy, Muggle studies.”

“Imagine that!”

“”Yeah, well, I thought it would be interesting . . .” Hermione’s voice died away into the emptiness of the bathroom.

“So there you go.  Just do some reading in your spare time.  Sit for the tests.  Who knows, you could end up like Percy, twelve O.W.L’s and the Head Boy badge.”

“Head Boy?”

“Head Girl then.”

“I suppose I could, couldn’t I?”

Ginny, seeing the glint in Hermione’s eye didn’t have the heart to tell that she’d been joking.  Finally she got to her feet and reached out a hand to the older girl.

“You hungry?”

“Hermione nodded.

“Well, if we hurry, I think we could still make supper.”

20 April 1994

Another Hogsmeade weekend!  Is it my imagination, or have there been more than the usual number this year?  None of the other second years seem to chafing as much as I am at the idea of not being able to go to Hogsmeade.  Then again, maybe its because I’ve got six older brothers, four of whom are still in school and all of them able to come and go as they please.  Why didn’t being cooped up in the castle bother me at all my first year?  Come to think of it, I don’t remember a whole lot about my first year . . just bits and pieces, and none of them good.

Or maybe it’s the fact that Harry’s gone off and snuck into Hogsmeade without permission again!  Here he is with a convicted killer after him, and he still goes out and risks his life to be able to see Zonko’s.  Or maybe I’m just jealous.

“Ginny, is that you? Oh good!  I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”

Ginny looked up from her journal and bit back a biting comment.  She had purposefully chosen the most out-of-the way corner of the Common Room in the hopes of being left alone, but Colin, it seemed, had a sixth sense when it came to finding people.

“Hey, Colin,” she said warily.

“Yeah, Ginny, I was just down in the library, Dora Henderson is looking for you, something about the piece she’s supposed to be writing for Historical Highlights.”

“She didn’t turn it in?”  Colin shook his head.  “She was supposed to turn it in on Monday!   She said she finished it and just needed to copy it out neater. We delayed our deadline twice just to allow her more time!”

“Yeah, well, she just told me that it was almost done and she just needed to check some of her references, that you’d be able to help her.”

“So she isn’t done.”

“I guess not.”

“So she lied. She lied to both of us.”

Colin, who looked rather taken aback by Ginny’s uncharacteristic abruptness nodded silently.

“We’re supposed to go to press tomorrow, Colin.”  Ginny could feel the anger welling up inside of her.

Not good.

She didn’t understand why she was so angry; whether it was Harry sneaking off to Hogsmeade and getting away with it when she wanted to go herself so very badly, or perhaps it was having to work on this damned paper when she could really care less about any of the subjects they were writing about, or maybe it was Dora Henderson with her “I’m Miss Perfect” attitude which set Ginny’s teeth on edge.  There was a tingling in her fingers now, a definite sign that the elements were about to respond to her fluctuating temper, a temper that she could no more control then-

That was it!

Ginny closed her eyes and took a deep breath.  She turned her palms up and said the silent invocation and even as she felt the first rus of power she turned her palms down to control the flow. 

Control!  Help me to maintain control!

Still tingling with the power of the elements’ presence, Ginny opened her eyes to find Colin staring at her, gape-mouthed.

“Colin?”

“You . . .I thought I saw . . .” Colin abruptly shut his mouth.  “All right then, Ginny?”

“Yes, Colin,” said Ginny.  “Let’s go talk to Dora, shall we?”

“Are-are you upset, Ginny?” asked Colin as Ginny led the way out of the portrait hole and down the stairs towards the library.

“No, Colin, I’m not upset,” said Ginny calmly.  And indeed, she wasn’t angry anymore, at least she wasn’t angry in the way she was used to being angry.

The Weasley’s were a hotheaded bunch.  Ginny had known that all her life.  Of the entire lot only Bill and her Father had ever seemed to have any sort of control over their tempers.  As for herself, always before when she’d been upset about something she had felt flushed with her anger, her fair Weasley skin betraying her with fierce blushings, her emotions so stirred up that she couldn’t think straight, but not now.

She was still upset, oh yes.  But this was a cool anger, a purposeful anger, an anger chilled to a sharply brittle point.  This was an anger that a girl could use to get things done. 

They found Dora with a group of giggling Ravenclaw 5th years.  She didn’t appear to be working very hard on anything at all.

“Oooh, Ginny!” she said as Ginny strode up to the table, Colin trailing in her wake.  “I’m so glad you’re here, I just can’t seem to get this right.”

“I’ll take what you’ve got then,” said Ginny coolly.

Dora exchanged glances with the girl beside her and both of them broke out into giggles.

“But it’s not finished, I’m sure that I can have it done by tomorrow.”

“You told me you just needed to rewrite it.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been sort of busy.”  The entire table full of girls giggled aloud at this.

“I need it now, Dora.”

“I can have it to you tomorrow, Ginny.”

“I suppose that would be Okay . . .” began Colin.

“No actually, it wouldn’t.  Let me see what you have, Dora.”

Dora opened her bag and pulled out a folded-up piece of parchment, which she handed over to Ginny rather reluctantly.  It was completely bland except for the title, which read:

The Four Founders Flounder;

A historical Perspective of the Split Between the Four Founders of Hogwarts

By

Dora Henderson

“Perfect?” said Colin incredulously.  “Ginny, she hasn’t even started.”

“I told you, I’ve been busy,” said Dora, her lips forming a moue.

“With what!” shouted Colin sudden, “your nails?”

“Now, Colin, just look at this as an opportunity, not as a setback,” said Ginny, giving Dora an icy smile.

“An opportunity?” spluttered Colin incredulously.

“Yes, an opportunity to find a new writer for the Historical Highlights column,” said Ginny smoothly, turning her back on Dora and her table full of Ravenclaws.

“But Ginny, what about next month’s column?” said Dora plantitively.

“Look at it this way, Dora,” said Ginny brightly.  “Now you can devote yourself to getting Roger Davies attention full time.  She turned on her hell and, Colin still following her like a faithful shadow, walked out of the library, leaving a gape-mouthed Dora behind her.

I’m going to pay for that little interlude. I know it.  Dora Henderson is not a person to let someone embarrass her in front of an entire group of people without getting even.  Ah well, I suppose I’ll have to deal with that when I come to it.  In the meantime there are other things to worry about.  The primary one being that Buckbeak lost his case.  The execution date is going to be fixed.  The second thing I have to worry about now is that Harry nearly got caught!  He was giving Malfoy ‘payback’ (at least that is how he thought of it) for making disparaging comments about Ron and his family.  He was throwing mud at Malfoy and his cronies, and then the invisibility cloak slipped and Malfoy saw his head! 

Harry had to run for it.  He barely made it back to the castle before Snape came looking for him, determined to get Harry to admit that he’d snuck out to Hogsmeade.  He found the Marauder’s Map and called Lupin in to take a look at it.  You want to know the oddest thing?  Lupin knew what it was!  You could see it in his eyes!  Anyway, Lupin rescued Harry, but confiscated the map after a severe talking to.  He won’t be sneaking off to Hogsmeade again anytime soon, I can tell you!

24 April 1994

It’s called a turning point. We all have them.  Hermione seems to have come to hers at last.  Not only did she walk out on Trelawny, but she hauled off and slapped Malfoy for making fun of Hagrid and then missed her Charms class! 

Hermione’s walking out on Professor Trelawny is the talk of the school!  Interesting that it happened so soon after we had our little chat in Moaning Myrtle’s toilet.  Who knows, maybe it was our walk that gave her the incentive to walk out like that.  Good on her, I say!

As you might expect, a good number of the girls are shocked at Hermione’s behavior.  They seem to think that Professor Trelawny is some sort of high and mighty goddess or something. 

Last night Mandy was going on for ages about how she couldn’t wait to take Divination, how she was certain that Professor Trelawny would tell her that she had the makings of a true Seer.  The way she was talking, she made it sound as if it would be some like being some sort of cosmic cheerleader or something.  

Personally, I think it would be dreadful to have knowledge of future events.  From what I understand a true Seer isn’t given a choice, she (or he) is simply shown what the Powers want them to see. 

Anyway, this morning at breakfast, Parvati and Lavender were talking about Hermione’s “shocking” behavior and her lack of respect for Professor Trelawny.

“Sort of hard to respect someone who believes an Eight-Ball Oracle,” muttered Colin and we both burst out laughing.

Colin, as you know, is Muggle -born.  His Dad’s a milkman and until Colin got his letter, he had no idea that magic was real (although he has told me a story about his Dad that makes me think he must have had a run-in with a wizard.  There was something about a botched delivery where these letters appeared magically out of the eggs that he was delivering. Colin swears it’s perfectly true, but I have to wonder).

Anyway, there’s a sort of novelty toy sold in Muggle shops called “The Magic Eight-

Ball.” It is a big black plastic ball with the number 8 stenciled on the top.  It is flat on the bottom where there is a circular transparent window.  Inside the ball, suspended in a sort of liquid, are two pyramid shaped die.  On each of the pyramid’s faces are written things like Yes, No, Go For It, In Your Dreams, I Wouldn’t Recommend It, and Ask Me Again Later.

The point being is that you ask the “Oracle” a yes or no question, shake the ball and turn it so that the transparent window faces up.  Whichever response shows up in the window is supposed to be your answer.

On a lark, Colin convinced George to Charm his Eight-Ball so that the outside appeared to be granite and then presented it to Trelawny as an heirloom he had found among his Great-Grandmother’s things and explained how it was supposed to work, asking Trelawny’s opinion on whether she thought it was any good.

Evidently Trelawny went into raptures over it saying that it was “a wonderful piece of history and “a tribute to a noble art which should never have been allowed to die out in the Muggle world” and then went on to tell Colin that it would be a joy to teach someone as perceptive to the nuances of “the Noble Art” as he obviously was.

Colin was nearly dying with laughter when he finally escaped Trelawny’s office (insisting of course that she keep the Magic Eight-Ball).  George swears that it’s still there, holding a place of honor on her desk!  Silly people don’t even know their own silly business. I don’t think I’ll go for divination.  Ancient Runes looks much more interesting.

I suppose thought that it all depends on what you’re interested in doing after school.  I asked Hermione what Muggles do when they’re done with school. She said that a lot of them go on to Universities and such to get more education, usually for another two to six years - depending on the kind of work they want to do eventually.

That makes a weird sort of sense.  After all, they aren’t born with the same abilities we have.  A lot of things we do instinctively they have to learn to do.  And a lot of the time they could spend learning skills, they have to spend on mundane stuff, like housework or repairs or cooking, (stuff Mum and Dad do with a wave of their wands) or commuting to and from work (we have Portkeys and Apparition and Floo Powder).

We don’t have universities as such in the wizarding world.  But if you choose to be an Auror, or a Healer or something that requires a lot of specialist knowledge, there are usually training programs involved.  Keeping in mind the fact that going into specific programs involves getting O.W.L.’s in specific courses, you’d think that they’d offer career advice before you choose your new classes.  Luckily I’ve got six older brothers, two of which have already left Hogwarts and are working.  I’m certain that everyone involved will have plenty of advice to give me.  Including Mum, who is dead set on me becoming a healer.

28 April 1994

Which course to choose?  We have to choose at least three.  I’ve been thinking about it all Easter break.  Couldn’t help thinking about it, actually, when Mum, Dad and Bill all sent me letters of advice and Percy kept putting in his two-cents worth (he tends to agree with Mum of course, and Mum wants me to be a healer.  She recommended that I concentrate on my Potions, Herbology and Charms and choose extra courses that wouldn’t be too demanding on my time).

Dad was very nice about it.  He says that I’m an “An intelligent girl who could do anything you put your mind to,” but then, as an afterthought, said that he’d always enjoyed Muggle Studies.  Typical Dad.

Bill had the best advice of all.  He suggested that in the light of my special talents that I might want to consult Mira and Professor Dumbledore and ask them their opinions.  I’ll be able to talk to Mira tonight, seeing as that it’s full moon.  I wonder what she’ll be showing me tonight?  Last month she was explaining how daily meditation can be effective in keeping my temper on an even keel so that I don’t have those unexpected bursts of unwanted emotion that could (and have in the past) inadvertently triggered elemental reactions.

*    *     *

Well, she didn’t have a whole lot to say about the courses I should take . . .in fact, she was unusually cryptic, saying that I should take what ‘felt right’ to me.    But she did get a good chucle out of the latest Ice Queen rumors and told me not to worry, that it would all blow over soon enough.  Ice Queen, byt the way, is the nickname that Dora Henderson has been using for me ever since our confrontation in the library ( I knew she’s be getting even!) 

She’s inflated the story of course.  Now I’m supposed to have threatened her with Dark Magic that I supposedly learned from the Heir of Slytherin himself.  Oh yeah, and somewhere along the line I’m supposed to have encountered an inccabus in the Chamber, that’s why I went to Egypt you see, to have the Demon Spawn removed, only when they removed the baby, it took some of my soul too, and that’s why I no longer have any ‘natural feelings.’

Percy herad this latest edition and promptly threatened detention to anyone who so much as mentioned the rumor in his hearing.  Colin volunteered to run a reguttal in the editorial column.  Nice of him to offer, but the last thing I need is anyone thinking that I’m taking this rubbish seriously.  Neville told me to ignore it since anyone who actually knew me would know that it was just a ‘rubbishy rumor.’

The thing is, I don’t think anyone will ever know just how close to the truth Dora came out of pure vindictiveness.

I did encounter a demon in the Chamber of Secrets, a demon in the guise of a handsome, sixteen-year-old boy who flattered me with his friendship and then used me as if I were nothing more than a puppet.  He in fact a succubus, draining me not only of my sexual energy, but of my very soul to give himself life.  But he was also an incubus (mentally speaking) for he did fill me up, not with his seed, but with the twisted depravity that passed for his soul.

She was wrong about Egypt though.  There was no baby.  No.  The fruit of Tom’s labor didn’t leave me full of live — demon or otherwise — but empty -empty and cold.  God, I don’t ever want to be that cold again!  I can still feel the heat from Harry’s hands as he helped me to my feet, how I felt as if I were burning.

At least the incident with Dora in the Library taught me one thing, there are things I can use the elements for, and controlling this damned Weasley temper is one of them.

Back to index

Chapter 6: THE BOGGART

CHAPTER SIX:  The Bogart

18 May 1994

Ignoring the way her stomach had plummeted when Cho had wished Harry good luck in the match, Ginny cheered with the rest when the Gryffindor Quidditch team marched out onto the pitch.

“Come on, Harry, you can do it!”  called Cho from somewhere above and to the right of her.  It was all Ginny could do not to pull a face.

“Sixth year he’s mine.  Sixth year he’s mine,” Ginny muttered under her breath.  Those four words had become her own personal mantra.  She unconsciously fingered the silver spiral pendant she’d taken to wearing.  She’d found it in a second-hand junk shop in Diagon Alley last summer.  It had originally been a cloak fastening, but for some reason Ginny had felt compelled to buy it.

My talisman.

After she’d heard the conversation between Mira and Professor Dumbledore she’d realized why she’d been drawn to the piece.  Held with the open end of the spiral up the piece resembled nothing so much as an ornate number six.  At Christmas she’d asked Bill to put a hole through the end and then she had strung it on a thin silver chain that she’d bought with the last of her summer wardrobe money.

There was something about having the solid weight of it nestled in the hollow of her throat that made Ginny feel stronger, stand straighter.  Let him have his crush.  It would all work out in the end.

Besides that — said a nasty voice in the back of her head — I can’t compete with Cho.

Then don’t

The second voice had sounded, oddly enough, like something Mira would say, and Ginny had to grin at the thought of what Mira would have to say about her moaning over Harry like a toddler who’s been denied a lollypop.

“Oooh, Harry!” shrieked Cho, and Ginny was pulled back to the present with an uncomfortable lurch.  Malfoy was just letting go of the tail end of Harry’s broom, obviously having tried to slow Harry down to keep him from catching the snitch.  It was quickly turning into the dirtiest games Ginny had ever witnessed — short of a professional match.  Flying arms and knees and elbows, fouls every few minutes.  But the Firebolt (and it’s owner of course) lived up to their reputation, and as Harry rose gently into the air, his raised fist clutching the struggling snitch, Ginny couldn’t help but grin at the pure joy flowing through him.  Let him have his moment.  It would all work out in the end.

28 May 1994

I just heard the news today.  Buckbeak’s Appeal is set for Thursday the 6th of June, and they’re brining in an executioner!  Hermione’s right, it does sound as they’ve already decided.  What it sounds like is that the Appeal is merely a formality.

Poor Hagrid.  He’s going to be inconsolable.  Perhaps he went a bit far, bringing in Hippogriffs to a third year lesson and all, but it seems rather harsh, for all that Draco doesn’t appear to be any the worse for wear (judging from last weekend’s performance). 

Speaking of Malfoy, I saw him arguing with Pansy Parkinson.  It seems she caught him fooling around with one of the Ravenclaw gigglers in one of the dungeons and was rather put out about it. 

That would have to be the weirdest thing, being betrothed to someone against your will — and theirs!  Cause I don’t think that Draco likes her so much more than he does anyone else.  In fact, he seems rather taken with Cho.  You should have seen his face when Cho came up to Harry on the way back to the castle and praised his performance.  Draco was absolutely livid.  (Now whether that was because she was praising Harry and not him, or because it was her doing the praising, I don’t know). 

2 June 1994

Well, I’m officially a teenager, and I celebrated my thirteenth birthday by taking my History of Magic exam, followed by Charms, and then sprawling limply on a sofa in the Common Room for an hour to recuperate before I immersed myself in studying for Potions tomorrow morning.  I’ve been at it for two straight hours now and HAD to take a break.  I don’t mind potions actually.  The work is easy enough, it’s the teacher who gives me the collywobbles.

It’s also official that having Harry in my head can be disastrously distracting, note my answer to 34B on my History of Magic exam, I answered “Willow Patterned Tortoise Shell” in answer to the question “What was the weapon of choice in the Goblin Rebellion of 1483?”  I got some questioning looks from Professor Binns as I sniggered at the thought of hosts of tortoises in Willow Patterned Shells being hurled at advancing ranks of wizards by crazed goblins.

You do know how hard it is to concentrate on bone dry dates when you are watching doomed tortoises being turned into teapots by inept Transfiguration students?  I wonder if McGonagall will ever turn them back or if they’ll be doomed to wander the world forever with spouts for tails and breathing mint-scented steam.

Ginny sighed deeply and put away her journal.  It was time to get back to studying for potions.  It beat the alternative; finding someplace where she could curl up in a miserable and feel sorry for herself.

You would think that in a family as large as hers at least one person would have remembered her birthday — and her thirteenth birthday at that!  Evidently they all had other things on their minds.

Bill probably had a new girlfriend.  She’d get a gift from him three days from now all apologetic and sincere, and she’d have to forgive him, either that or he was waiting to surprise her during their next dance lesson, which seemed more likely. And Charlie.  Charlie was always too busy.  The last time she’d gotten a card from him was when she’d turned nine.  Percy she could understand.  Percy was immersed in taking his N.E.W.T’s and Fred and George were taking their O.W.L.’s.

She knew for a fact that her parents hadn’t forgotten.  They never forgot a birthday or holiday.  That, she knew, she could blame on Errol.  He’d show up tomorrow or the day after, so exhausted from his trip that he’d need most of a week to recover.  That left just Ron.

Ginny glanced sideways to where he, Harry and Hermione were drilling each other on Potion ingredients for tomorrow afternoon’s exam.  Must be nice to have friends no matter what, Ginny thought miserably.  Two tables away Colin and Lisa were going over their own Potion notes (second years would be tested in the morning).  She could join them she supposed.  They wouldn’t mind.  She should join them.  In fact, she was on the point of picking up her work and making her way over to their table when she was arrested by Mandy’s affected laugh and saw her bobbing curls now leaning over Colin’s shoulder.

Well.  Not now.  Ginny would rather prostrate herself at Harry’s feet than subject herself to Mandy’s perpetually brainless company.  Why was it that all the second year guys lost all coherent thought whenever Mandy was around?  Even Colin — usually so task oriented — was laughing breathlessly as Mandy insinuated herself into his and Lisa’s conversation.  To give Lisa credit, she looked a little sickened by Mandy’s behavior.  Not for the first time Ginny wondered over how the sorting hat had ever seen it’s way clear to putting Mandy Davenport in Gryffindor.

Ginny pulled open her Potions text and flipped to the pages she was supposed to be studying, but it was no good, she couldn’t concentrate.  Just as she was about to head up to her dorm, a beautiful snow-white bird flew in through the open window and fluttered down to land gracefully on the table beside her.

“Hedwig?” said Ginny incredulously and reached out a hand to stroke her silken feathers.  Hedwig , moving rather stiffly, reached out her scaly leg to which a letter had been attached.

“I’m over here, you!” said Harry, laughing as he approached Ginny’s table.

Ginny looked up.  Harry’s emerald green eyes were sparkling with real amusement and affection.  She felt her heart turn over at the look on his face. If only the look were meant for her and not for the owl. He reached for Hedwig, his eyes narrowing with concern as he did so.

“You Okay, girl?” he asked concernedly. Hedwig hooted softly and nipped affectionately at his fingers.

“She’s flying Okay, but she’s walking sort of stiff,” Ginny told him, her hand still on Hedwig’s back.  “Maybe she hurt her leg.”

“Maybe.”  Harry reached out for the letter, but Hedwig hopped instead onto Ginny’s shoulder and nuzzled her head against Ginny’s cheek.

God, the feathers were so soft!  Like silk!  Luxuriating in the feeling, Ginny closed her eyes and turned her face into Hedwig’s feathers.  She felt rather than heard Harry’s breath catch in his chest.  Behind her closed eyelids she could see herself as he saw her; Hedwig’s white feathers highlighted against the vivid mane of her hair, the way both she and Hedwig had their eyes closed, faces turned in toward each other.  The word — exquisite - passed through Harry’s mind, followed closely by - intimate- and then the thought - I wonder what it would feel like to get lost in Ginny’s hair?

Ginny couldn’t help it, her eyes snapped open and, for just a moment, their gazes locked.  They locked and the intensity of looking into his eyes and seeing herself gazing back at him through his own was so nearly overwhelming that for a moment there was nothing else . . .no one else but themselves and in that instant Ginny knew, and the realization was unexpected and unbidden.

S(He)’s mine. 

S(He)’s mine and s(he) knows it.

It hadn’t been only her thinking it, either.  They had thought it together.

Sweet Merlin!

His hand was reaching out.  She knew exactly what was going through his head.  He wanted to see for himself if her hair was really as soft as it looked.

“Who’s it from?” came a voice from behind them.  The hand that had been reaching for her changed directions and reached for Hedwig instead.

“Dunno,” said Harry rather gruffly.  He shook his head as if to clear it and reached out for Hedwig, who retreated further into the cave of Ginny’s hair.  “Ruddy bird — won’t — let — Ouch!” Hedwig had nipped Harry sharply on the knuckle, drawing blood. “What did you do that for?” Harry asked angrily.

With an admonitory hoot, Hedwig shook her leg in front of Ginny’s face.

“Because the letter’s not for you,” said Ron, pointing to the letter.  “It’s for Ginny.”

Ginny looked down.  Sure enough “TO MISS GINEVRA WEASLEY, GRYFFINDOR COMMON ROOM, HOGWARTS CASTLE (1994)” was inscribed on the parchment envelope in scarlet ink.

“Why’s it got a date on?” asked Ron, stopping low to get a better look at the handwriting.

“Maybe they thought it might get delivered to the wrong year,” muttered Harry.

“Well, take it then,” Ron said, prodding Ginny in the ribs.

Ginny untied the envelope and rubbed at the spot where the cord always rubbed against Hedwig’s scars . . .they had tied her with wire . . .Ginny stared at the scaly leg.  But Harry would never tie her with wire!.  They’d tired her with wire but she’d worked her way free, cutting herself nearly to the bone.  She’d gotten away and brought them the message . . .the message that had saved Harry’s life.

“There, that feels better, doesn’t it girl?” said Ginny softly.

Hedwig rustled her feathers comfortably, settling herself more comfortably onto Ginny’s shoulder.   Ginny turned her attention to the letter in her hands.  The letter had an emerald-green wax seal in which had been stamped an unfamiliar crest.  It consisted of a spiral — open side up — above which were etched three runic-looking sigils.

“Is that Runic?” said Ron, fingering the seal curiously.

“Looks like it,” said Harry, then to Ginny he added, “do you know what it says?”

“I don’t know Runic.”

“Yeah, me either.”

“Hermione!” shouted Harry and Ron together.

“What is it, what’s wrong?” came Hermione’s voice.  She left her books and hurried over to them, looking anxious.

“How good are you at Runes?” Harry asked, taking the letter from Ginny’s hands and holding it up to the light.

Hermione peered at the stamp.

“Body, Mind and Soul,” said Hermione immediately.

“I know you think it’s a brilliant class and all, Hermione,” said Ron with a smirk, “But it can’t be that good.”

“No, that’s what the Runes say — on the stamp — those are the Runic sigils for Body, Mind and Soul.

Ginny’s knees turned to rubber and she would have collapsed if she hadn’t already been sitting down.

“Who’s it from?” asked Hermione interestedly.  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a crest written in Runic before.”

“Why would someone put the vows on a seal?” asked Ron, running a finger along the ridges in the wax.

“Vows?” asked Harry and Hermione together.

“During a wizarding hand-fasting ceremony — that’s like a wedding,” she explained, “during the ceremony the bride and groom are bound by the power of the four elements and a fifth of love in front of witnesses by a Ministry Official.  But a Heart-Joining ceremony does not require witnesses.”

“What’s a heart-joining ceremony?” asked Hermione interestedly.

“It is old — old magic in which the couple bind themselves to each other, body mind and soul.  It can supposedly only be performed by couples who are Soulmates.  In fact, it’s known as the Marriage of Souls.”  Ginny swallowed hard and looked up to find herself pinned by Harry’s emerald green gaze.  He wasn’t just looking at her - he was looking through her.

“But there’s no such thing as Soulmates,” said Hermione, waving a hand dismissively.

“There is, actually,” said Ron bluntly.  “There’s a smell that’s done and everything.”

“A spell?” said Hermione disbelievingly.  “ For what?”

“To determine if you are destined to have a Soulmate.”

“Rubbish!”

“No, really, I heard Mum and Dad talking about it.  The spell is usually done when wizarding babies are born.  The healer says the incantation and touches their nose.  If the baby’s nose glows blue, they’re destined to have a Soulmate.”

“Ron,” said Hermione in a maddeningly superior tone.  “Where is your proof that there really is such a thing as Soulmates?  The spell could be measuring acidic compositon or something.”

“They keep a list on record at the Ministry, of who tested blue,” Ron insisted.  “And they study it too, at the Ministry I mean, in the Department of Mysteries.”

“They study Soulmates?” said Hermione, sounding exasperated.  “What on earth for?”

“Why did Einstein and Openhimer and all of them study up on how to split the atom?” said Harry unexpectedly.

Ron and Hermione finally stopped bickering and turned to look at Harry.

“What’s an atom?” asked Ron, his brow furrowed.

“Honestly, Ron, you did go to school . . .before Hogwarts I mean?” said Hermione scathingly.

“Well, yeah, sort of, Mum home-schooled us.  We learned how to read and write and do maths and stuff.”

“Are you talking about the men who developed the atomic bomb?” asked Ginny keenly.  She’d read about it in some of the Muggle magazines her Dad sometimes brought home. Some of what she’d read had been so frightening she’d had trouble sleeping for weeks.

Harry nodded.

“The only reason most people study things anymore is so that they can learn to control them,” said Ginny quietly.

“But how can they be controlled if they don’t exist?” said Hermione reasonably.  “And what has any of this got to do with the seal on your letter, Ginny?”

Ginny shrugged, slipped her finger beneath the seal (being careful not to break the wax) and slit the envelope open.  She turned it open and out fell two smaller envelopes, one sealed, one not.  On the unsealed envelope were written the words “OPEN ME FIRST.”  Ginny unfolded the heavy, cream-colored parchment and read:

Happy Birthday Dearest! 

Happy birthday and may the gods of truth and justice make certain that the next six years make up for all you’ve had to deal with during the last two.

You are a beautiful, intelligent and talented witch, Ginny, a witch of great feeling, and you are going to need every ounce of bravery and courage you possess to get through the next few years.

I have just one word of advice; Live from your heart and everything will fall into place.  I also wanted you to know that I consider you to be a true friend.  The world doesn’t provide those nearly often enough, so we have to treasure those we find.

Your Friend,

Mira

P.S.  The other envelope contains your birthday present.  I am afraid that it is not much — tangibly speaking — but I am certain that the Author’s sentiments will more than make up for the lack of a physical gift.  Given the nature of the present and the identity of the sender, it may be prudent for you to open it in private, hence the seal.  In case you’re wondering, Hedwig is waiting for a reply.  This is a one-time opportunity to act as messenger between yourself and the author of the letter, and she plans on enjoying every moment of it.

M.

Ginny had barely had a chance to read the letter before Ron had snatched it out of her hand.

“Ron!”

“I want to know who sent it,” said Ron, scanning the page, “and how come they sent it with Hedwig, hey?”

“She’s a friend,” snapped Ginny, reaching for her letter.  “And I have no idea why or how she sent it with Hedwig, but I’m not about to argue with a friend who was kind enough to remember that it is my birthday today — unlike certain family members,” she said icily.

“It’s your birthday?” said Ron blankly.

“June second, idiot boy, just the same as it’s always been,” Ginny retorted, snatching the letter and tucking it into the pocket of her jeans.

“Yeah, right.  Well, Happy birthday then,” said Ron, patting her on the top of the head.

Ginny grimaced.  Being patted by anyone was a gesture she particularly hated.

“Ron!” said Hermione in a reproving sort of tone.  “Do you have to be such an insensitive wart?”

“Hermione, what?”

“It’s her birthday, Ron.  A girl’s thirteenth birthday is important.”

“Whafor” muttered Ron around a mouthful of crisps.  “Jus anofer birfday, isinit?”

“Honestly, I can’t imagine how Ginny puts up with you, if you were my brother I’d-”

Ginny was distracted from finding out what Hermione would do with Ron if her were her brother by Harry’s pulling up the chair next to her.

“Happy birthday, Ginny,” he said quietly.

“Are you going to pat me too?” Ginny asked, still nettled.

“Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know.  Ron does it all the time.  Fred, Percy and Charlie too, like I’m a damn cat or something.”

“Not George?” said Harry, chuckling at her indignation.

“He used to.”

“What changed his mind?”

“The news that I have dirt on him I could use for blackmail.”

“Nice,” said Harry, smirking.  “What about Bill?”

“Bill would never,” she said, smiling.  “He knows me too well.”

“Sorry I didn’t get you anything,” said Harry, his brows furrowed.  “I didn’t — I didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t, Harry,” said Ginny.  She was touched by his concern.  “And it’s really not that big a deal,” she lied smoothly.  “I just like pushing Ron’s buttons.”

“That was smooth,” said Harry appreciatively.

“What?”

“Telling me that no one remembering your thirteenth birthday isn’t a big deal.”

“But-”

“This is me you’re talking to Ginny.  I’ve been ignored on my birthdays all my life.  I know how much being ignored can hurt.”  He looked sideways at her then, grinning.  “I can also spot a lie better than most.”

“Caught,” conceded Ginny.  “Most people can’t see through me like that.  Even my Mum believes me when I put on the ‘innocent little girl’ routine.”

Harry snorted.  “You know more than you let on I wager.  Besides that, most people don’t have our sort of history, either,” he said quietly, rubbing his forefinger over his scar.

Ginny shot him a sharp glance but he wasn’t looking at her. Now he was using the same finger to trace a lightning bolt on the cover of her journal.  She decided to chance a reference to the ‘history’ he’d mentioned.

Maybe it comes with being a Parslemouth,” Ginny said thoughtfully.

“Can you still?” said Harry looking up at her, his eyes bright with interest.  “Talk to snakes I mean, it’s been a year.”

“Seems to have rubbed off,” said Ginny shrugging.  “I was still able to this summer, I startled a garden snake while I was weeding.” She grinned.  “I think it was more surprised than I was to realize that I could still understand what it was saying.”

“They’re not so very bad, snakes,” said Harry, nodding.  “Not as bad as people make them out to be.”

“Not all of them,” said Ginny with a shudder, remembering the Basilisk.  “But that makes what, two of us?  Three total to come out of Hogwarts - if you count Tom, which I’d rather not.”  She rapped an empty butter beer bottle against the table in front of her.

“I hereby call this meeting of the Forked Tongue Serpent Association to order.  We shall now call the roll.  Harry Potter?”

“Here!” said Harry brightly, raising a hand.

“Ginny Weasley?”  Ginny called, looking around in mock puzzlement.

“Here!” she answered herself, sitting up eagerly on the edge of her seat, her arm waving in the air in a perfect imitation of Hermione answering a question.

Hedwig hooted indignantly.

“Okay, girl. You can join too,” Ginny told the owl, stroking her feathers. 

“On one condition,” said Harry, holding out a bit of an oatmeal cookie for Hedwig to nibble on. Hedwig gave another low hoot and ruffled her feathers questioningly. “You have to eat any real snakes that put in an appearance.”

Ginny giggled.

“Why haven’t you gone back to the owlry?” Harry mussed, watching the bird who was still perched on Ginny’s shoulder.  He looked from Hedwig to the letter in Ginny’s hand and back again.  “Maybe she’s waiting for you to reply,” he offered.

Ginny stared at him.  There was no way he could have known what was in the letter.  Was there?

“I still have to wonder how they got her to deliver the letter,” Harry mussed, still stroking Hedwig’s feathers absently.  “It must have been someone she knows.”

“I doubt it,” said Ginny.  She glanced at the letter in her hands.  “Not yet, anyway.”

“Ginny, what?”

“Here,” said Ginny, anxious to keep her slip-up from being noticed.  “Read this, tell me what you think of her.”

Harry took the letter from her outstretched hand and skimmed it quickly.

“She sounds like a real friend,” he said, smiling slowly as he came to the end.  He motioned to the second letter.  “She’s so mysterious with that bit about the second letter.  Doesn’t that make you curious as to who it’s from?”

“A bit,” said Ginny, grinning.  “But she also told me to open it in private and I know Mira well enough that she wouldn’t have told me that if there wasn’t a good reason.”

Harry looked over his shoulder.  Ron and Hermione had wandered off to the table Ron and Harry had been sitting at earlier.  From the sound of it they were still debating the importance of birthdays.

“This is probably as private as you’re going to get — unless you wait until you go to bed.  Go ahead, Ginny, I won’t interrupt and I can tell you’re dying to read it!”

She was.  Her fingers kept wandering back to the envelope, touching the ridges of the seal.

“Watch for me, Okay?  Don’t let anyone read over my shoulder.”

“On my honor,” said Harry, giving her a knee-weakening grin.

Ginny smiled her thanks and slit open the envelope.  The handwriting was what she recognized first.  There was only one person she knew who added that odd loop to the end of their capitol letters.  Ginny made a convulsive movement, clutching at her chest.  She could feel it.  Her heart had just skipped a beat . . .Harry!

My Dearest Ginny,

Where do I begin?  I remember watching you read this letter, but I had no idea what you were reading.  I only know that as I sat there, watching you, I knew  - deep in my heart — that this was the way it was supposed to be.

I remember everything.  The warmth of the Common Room, the smell of hot buttered popcorn and hot chocolate and new crayons (why crayons?) . . .

Ginny grinned slightly and looked down at the table.  There, half hidden under her Potions notes was a brand new box of 24 crayons.  She liked using them to highlight her notes and had bought this box off a first year who had been humiliated when she’d received them in a box of treats her mother had sent.

 . . .And the way the firelight kissed your skin and glinted in your hair, the way Hedwig looked so contented, perched on your shoulder and then, when you looked up at me, well, I was home.

Ginny couldn’t help herself.  She glanced up and, for the second time that night, she locked gazes with Harry Potter.

This is magic was the last coherent thought Ginny had before she had immersed herself completely into the emerald depths and as she felt their surface closing over the top of her head, she felt time — slip.  And then, somehow, she knew. . .

She knew that he always slept on his right side and that he liked to kiss the blackberry preserves off of Syria’s chubby baby face at breakfast, making her giggle.  She knew that he was ticklish on the inside of his left elbow and that he had a scar on the inside of his left thigh from where his cousin had poked him with a sharp stick. 

She knew that the House Elf Matthias always kept extra socks on hand because he was always coming up one short of a pair, and that he was so near-sighted that if he took off his glasses and walked away he couldn’t always find them again, but had to feel around the tops of things like a blind man. 

She knew, also, that they had made wild, passionate love in the tree house they’d built for the twins after sneaking out one night once the children were in bed and that he refused to de-gnome the garden, saying that having gnomes gave the cats something to do with their spare time. 

She knew, and the knowledge was so complete that she felt as if she had known the boy in front of her forever.

“Ginny?”  It took her a moment to realize that Harry, the real Harry, was talking to her, that they were back in the common room, that she was only thirteen years old and that there were years left before she’d know him in the way she’d just tasted.

Tasted.  She could still taste his kiss, feel his arms holding her against him in the night.  Inadvertently she let out a small sob.

“Ginny?  What’s the matter?”  Harry’s voice was low and concerned.  “Why are you crying?”

Ginny lifted a hand to her face. It came away damp.

“It’s — it’s just — just a beautiful letter,” Ginny whispered.  It wasn’t the whole truth, but Harry’s lie-detector didn’t seem as keenly tuned to partial truths.

“Do you need a tissue?” he asked, rummaging in the pockets of trousers.  “Damn, I think I gave my last one to Seamus.  Here-”he had slipped out of his jumper and was using the hem to mop at Ginny’s streaming eyes.

“Harry, don’t you’ll ruin it!”

“Don’t be stupid,” said Harry.  He was grinning at her, clad now only in a T-shirt.  “A jumper that can’t take a little salt water isn’t worthy of the name.  But I guess I can see why she told you to open it in private.”

“Yeah.” She was having a hard time tearing her eyes away from the way the T-shirt clung to his torso, revealing the fact that Quidditch practices were beginning to pay off in newly developed muscles. 

Merlin, he’s going to develop a hell of a physique in the next couple years.

Ginny bit her lip, glad for the increase in volume from Ron and Hermione which signaled that their argument had developed into a full-fledged row.  Ginny tore her eyes away from Harry and went back to her unfinished letter.

 . . .Mira assures me that since I remember watching the you read the letter and that your future self remembers reading it, that my sending this with her when she returns is a part of how all this turns out and won’t jeopardize what Ginny and I — sorry — what you and I will have.  But it only happened this one time.  That is important.  As much as I’d like to send you letters of encouragement every day, I won’t be able to.

You’ve told me — or rather, your future self has told me — about how you are connected to me, and the particular way our soul-bond has manifested, and I have to say that you are far braver than I gave you credit for at the time.  To know about us being Soulmates and yet to see me treat you as nothing more than a little sister or fellow team mate.  How could you have ended up still loving me?  I have no idea, but I’m glad of it!

So I guess what I want to say is, please don’t give up on me, Gin.  Over the next couple of years I’m going to be a right pain in the arse, and I’m certain that there will be times when you’ll want to kick me in said part of my anatomy.  I’m not asking you to excuse my behavior, but don’t let it poison you against me, either.  With all that is going to happen, that would be a very easy thing to do.  But please, trust me when I say that IT WILL BE WORTH IT.  Or, what was it Dumbledore is always telling me?  It will work out in the end.

Be brave Ginny, and know that no matter where you go, no matter what you do, you will always be in my heart.

Yours, Always,

Harry Potter

Ginny folded up the piece of parchment and slipped it into her pocket.

“Perfect timing,” Harry muttered just as Ron bounded back to their table, grabbed Harry’s arm, and dragged him off to mediate his and Hermione’s argument.

“Come on girl,” Ginny told the sleepy owl on her shoulder.  “Come up to my dorm and I’ll write out a reply up there.”  Ginny ran a hand over Hedwig’s glossy coat.  If the message was from a future Harry, that solved the dilemma of why Hedwig had delivered the letter.  He’d simply given it to his Hedwig to deliver and somehow Mira had found a way to let her come back in time.  This was a Hedwig from the future.  “That also explains why you seem to know me so well,” Ginny whispered into Hedwig’s feathers as the climbed the spiral staircase to the girls’ dorm.  Hedwig hooted softly in acknowledgement.

Once in her dorm, Ginny sat, cross-legged on her bed, Hedwig still perched on her shoulder, loaded up her quill with her usual emerald green ink and began to write.

She was only going to get the one chance.  Better make it good.

Dearest Harry,

You can’t know how utterly bizarre this seems to me.  I’d chalk it up to indigestion if I didn’t believe in the magic of possibilities!

I don’t know what sort of magic it is that has allowed Hedwig to travel backwards in time, but I thank whatever gods there are for it.  That letter was the best birthday present I’ve ever received and I thank you!

I thank you for taking the time to remember the girl that I was and to encourage her to be the woman she will become. 

I thank you for believing in me — and for loving me.  Even if that love is in the future, it must be pretty intense, for when I look at your current self, I swear that I see the residual energy of it burning deep in your eyes.

And finally, Harry, I thank you for giving me hope.  It will keep me warm at night and, until you can hold me in your arms for real, hope will have to do.

Love,

Your Ginny

Ginny folded up the letter, tucked it into an envelope and dripped wax onto the back.  On a sudden inspiration she took off her spiral charm and used it to seal the envelope.  Giving it to Hedwig, she whispered her thanks in the owl’s ear, took her to the window and watched as Hedwig flew off into the night.

6 June 1994

I just had the weirdest sort of dream.  It woke me up out of a sound sleep.  In my dream Harry, Ron and Hermone were standing by the Womping Willow.  Out of nowhere, a great black dog grabbed Ron by the leg and dragged him and a squealing Scabbrs into a hole in the tree’s roots.  Then, Harry and Hermione doubled (there’s really no other word for it).  So that instead of one Harry and Hermione there were now two sets.  Anyway, one pair went into the hole after Ron.  The other set put the head back onto a decapitated Buckbeak and flew him up to the castle where a thin, scruffy looking man climbed out of a window and joined them on Buckbeak’s back. I never got a good look at the man’s face, as it was hidden in shadows.

So, then I watched as the Harry and Hermione who had repaired Buckbeak dismounted at the top of the Astronomy tower.  The man stayed on the Hippogriff’s back and he and Buckbeak took off into the night.  Last I saw they were flying away, silhouetted by a full moon.  Then I woke up.  Weird, eh?

I wonder if I should tell Hagrid about my dream?  He’s been in a right state lately over what’s going to happen to his hippogriff.    Maybe if I told him it would cheer him up, give him some hope.

Ginny peered out of her bed hangings.  It was still very early.  According to the clock on her bedside table, breakfast was still an hour off.  If she left now she could get down to Hagrid’s cabin and back before the breakfast bell rang.

Ten minutes later she was making her silent way down the marble staircase.  She nearly jumped out of her skin when a firm hand landed on her shoulder.

“Early morning rendezvous, Miss Weasley?” asked Dumbledore good-naturedly.

“I —I fancied a walk,” Ginny managed.

“Off to see Hagrid I expect?”

“Ginny felt herself deflate.  “I just . . .he needs . . .he’s been so depressed, Professor.”

“Yes indeed he has.  But is there something . . .er. . .specific that you think might cheer him up?”

“Well, sir, I had this dream.”

“Really?  I do enjoy hearing about dreams, Miss Weasley.  Please, a cup of hot chocolate in my office before breakfast will be just the thing while you relate it.”

*     *     *

“You say that Mr. Potter and Miss Granger doubled?” asked Dumbledore interestedly.

They were both settled in squashy armchairs before the roaring fire in Dumbledore’s office.  He’d been listening raptly as Ginny retold her dream.

“Yeah.  The second set just — appeared, but the first set didn’t seem to notice them at all, they just went tearing in after Ron.”

“And the second pair?”

“Put Buckbeak back together.”  Ginny shivered.  It had been quite a gruesome mess, Buckbeak all gristle and bone and blood.  “Are they really going to kill him, Professor?”

“I am afraid that it is their intent,” said Dumbledore, his forehead creased.  “Of course, certain elements of your dream suggest . . .”

“Do you think it was more than just a dream?” interrupted Ginny.  She knew she was being rude, but she couldn’t contain herself.  She could feel her chest tighten in apprehension.

“The protection charms I have put on you, Miss Weasley, were to ward off possession.  There is not much I can do to ward off your being shown things in dreams.  In normal cases I would suggest that the witch or wizard having dreams of this sort learn Occlumency, but I am afraid that the art runs contrary to the nature of a Natural Elemental.”

“If I were to block out external penetration, then I would block out the elements.”

“Indeed yes. You know what Occlumency is, then?”

“I read a lot sir,” she said quietly, then shivered.  Block out the elements?  She’d rather have the dreams.  “But I couldn’t do that, block out the elements I mean.”

“Yes, I thought you’d say that.”  Dumbledore regarded her thoughtfully over the tops of his half moon spectacles.

“Then this dream sir, do you think it was like a vision?”

“Was the dream like any you usually have?”

Ginny shook her head slowly.  What dreams she had (whether her own or Harry’s) that weren’t nightmares tended to be jumbled bits of the day’s concerns and activities.

“Then, given your history, it probably was a vision,” said Dumbledore, shrugging slightly.  “But normal channels of communication being closed — or blocked — it presented itself as a dream.”

“But then what did it mean?” asked Ginny, perplexed.  “Why were there two sets of Harries and Hermiones?  Why would a dog want to attack Ron?  And what was that bit about putting Buckbeak back together?”

“I am afraid,” said Dumbledore quietly, “That dreams — or predictions rather — are not always recognized for what they mean until the things they have predicted are happening or have already happened.”

“Then what good are they?”

“Well, for one thing, they keep those who know about them on their toes.”

“So, do you think I should tell Hagrid?  Maybe if he knows it’s possible . . .”

“Hagrid is, as you have undoubtedly noticed, distraught.  He knows as well as I do that it is the committee’s intent to dispose of his Hippogriff.”

“And you don’t want me to tell him because that would give him false hope.”

“Unfounded hope, Miss Weasley.  What you were shown is only one possible outcome.  All it takes is one tiny fluctuation — someone sneezing when they should have remained quiet — and events can change irrevocably.”

In the distance Ginny could hear the loud, echoing peal of the breakfast bell.

“Now off you go, Miss Weasley.  Good luck in your exams.”

*     *     *

“I should have left my hair down!” Ginny moaned to herself as she headed up to the castle for lunch.  The skin on the back of her neck was tingling painfully with what was unmistakably the beginning of a bad sunburn.  Hopefully it would be a small price to pay for a passing grade in Herbology. She was almost to the stone steps leading up to the castle when she saw a sight that stopped her dead in her tracks.

Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic and her father’s boss, was standing at the top of the stone steps.  He had one hand on Harry’s shoulder.  He was using his free hand to gesture out across the grounds toward Hagrid’s hut.  But what was he saying? She closed her eyes, tight, concentrating.

“Pity, pity,” sighed Fudge deeply and looked down at Harry.  “I’m here on an unpleasant mission, Harry . . .” behind Fudge were two other figures, an old, frail looking man and a younger man with a heavy black moustache.  The younger man had a wicked-looking axe tucked into his belt.

Damn.  They were really going to do it!

Distracted, Ginny bolted her lunch, then headed off for her last exam, Defense Against the Dark Arts.  This was going to be easy!  Harry was sitting on the landing beneath the Divination classroom, brooding about Hagrid and Buckbeak, there’d be nothing to distract her from this exam.

The obstacle course Lupin had set up for them was obscenely simple compared to the one the third years had run — at least as far as Ginny was concerned.  The second year exam consisted of demonstrating (on an old log) how to harness a Kappa before crossing the potholes full of Redcaps and then stunning a pixie that was released from a cage.  Out of curiosity she waited till the others had completed their runs before asking Lupin if she could try out the Bogart.

“We haven’t covered Bogarts yet, Miss Weasley,” Lupin had said, looking down at her curiously.

“Ron told me all about his,” she explained, hoping that she sounded convincing.  “And I’ve been practicing the spell . . .I just wondered if I could give it a try?”

Lupin had finally agreed, insisting only that instead of shutting her in the trunk with the Bogart, that he be present when it changed, “just in case something goes wrong.”

To her chagrin the Bogart turned into a grown Harry, sporting a wedding band and asking if he could introduce her to his new wife, Cho Potter. 

“Liar!” Ginny hissed, then, feeling the heat creeping up her neck, Ginny used the Ridikulus spell, and grown Harry was an eleven-year-old again, wearing the grown-up-Harry’s clothes.

“Excellent, Ginny,” said Lupin, his lips twitching.  “You handled that very well, but honestly, I would have thought . . .given your, erm, history . . .”

“That it would be Tom?” Ginny finished, smiling slightly.  “That demon’s been dealt with, Professor.”

“But — Harry?”

Ginny shrugged.  “Schoolgirl crush?” she asked brightly.

“Nice try, but a schoolgirl crush wouldn’t qualify as what you fear the most.  Not you.  Tell me, Miss Weasley, why Harry?”

“How well did you know James and Lily Potter, Professor?”

“Very well.”

“What all do you remember about — about when Harry was born?”

“What do you mean?”

“Were there any — spells done?”

“Several.  All the usual ones, for cleaning the baby up, height, weight, blood type, DNA and then of course the Spiritus spell.”  Lupin stopped dead, staring at her avidly.

“I tested blue too, Professor.  Professor Dumbledore told me.  Not only that but ever since Harry rescued me from the Chamber of Secrets there has been — how can I put it — a — a bond between us.  I’d rather not go into more detail at the moment, but suffice it to say that there is enough evidence to suggest that he is my other half.  I felt it, Professor, here,” she said, butting both hands over her heart.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Well, you asked why Harry, yes?  And I happen to know that you, too, have a Soulmate.”

“Had.”

“She’s dead then?”

“She’s dead to me, Miss Weasley, dead to our bond.  She willingly married someone else.”  There was a cold, closed expression on Lupin’s face, warning Ginny that she was treading on dangerous ground.

“Then you know my deepest fear,” said Ginny softly.  She paused before continuing.  “Have you ever reached out to her, Professor?  Have you?”

“Not — not since she left.”

“Try it sometime.  When I do it to Harry he’s there.  He responds.  He doesn’t realize it, not on a conscious level, but every now and then I see it in the way he looks at me or in something he says without realizing it.”

Lupin shook his head.  “It won’t work.”

“But Professor Dumbledore says that Soulmates always end up together, so where there’s life, there’s hope.”

She left him then, looking thoughtful, and headed up to the castle.

Back to index

Chapter 7: THE DOPPLEGANGER EFFECT

CHAPTER SEVEN: THE DOPPLEGANGER EFFECT

6 June 1994

I feel shredded!  Thank goodness that last exam didn’t take the entire class time!  At least we get a break before supper.  I need it after that last attack of  “The Harries.”  And I’m not talking about the Bogart.  That was humiliating enough, but then when I was giving the Fat Lady the password that double vision thing happened again. 

“The Harries” is my new term for that double vision I get when I’m seeing something through Harry’s eyes.  This one was pretty intense.  Over the Fat Lady’s face I saw Professor Trelawny, her eyes hugely magnified by her glasses and looking so much like a bug that I had to resist my first impulse — which was to swat her away like a midge.  But it was her voice that held me spellbound, riveted to the spot in spite of the Fat Lady’s continued attempts to get my attention.   Even more than her voice was the words:

THE DARK LORD LIES ALONE AND FRIENDLESS, ABANDONED BY HIS FOLLOWERS.  HIS SERVANT HAS BEEN CHAINED THESE TWELVE YEARS.  TONIGHT, BEFORE MIDNIGHT . . .THE SERVANT WILL BREAK FREE AND SET OUT TO REJOIN HIS MASTER.  THE DARK LORD WILL RISE AGAIN WITH HIS SERVANT’S AID, GREATER AND MORE TERRIBLE THAN EVER HE WAS.  TONIGHT . . .BEFORE MIDNIGHT . . .THE SERVANT L. . .WILL WET OUT . . .TO REJOIN . . .HIS MASTER . . .”

And then, in the next instant she was back to her normal self, and the Fat Lady’s yells were filling my head as she called for someone to come help me.  She probably thought that I was having some sort of fit or attack or something.  But I brushed her off and climbed through the portrait hole, desperate to be alone.  I’ve been holed up in my dormitory for the last hour trying to sort out my thoughts that seem to be running in a dozen different directions.

What just happened?  Was that a real prediction?  Was it just a creative way to end the exam?  If it was a real prediction, what did it mean?  And now Hagrid — Buckbeak’s lost the appeal. They’re going to execute Buckbeak at sunset. Harry, Ron and Hermione are going to go down to Hagrid’s cabin after supper.  I’d go myself except that I’m sure Hagrid had a choice he’d prefer their company.  I don’t mean that in a bad way, it’s just the truth.

Ginny sighed and put away her journal.  How was she going to pretend that everything was going normally when she knew that Harry, Ron and Hermione were planning on sneaking down to see Hagrid after supper?  How could she act normal when she knew that there was no chance for Buckbeak?  So much for her dream!  She congratulated herself on not having told Hagrid as she’d first planned on doing.  Dumbledore had been right, giving him false hope would have devastated him.

She knew of course what it was Harry had tucked down the front of his robes; the invisibility cloak.  She watched the three of them covertly all during supper.  They had their heads together, talking quietly, not eating much, but rather pushing the food around on their plates to pass the time.

It wasn’t fair, she thought suddenly.  The three of them had been best of friends since their first year.  Who did she have?  Her first year had been spent in a self-inflicted, no, Tom inflicted exile.  By the time she’d gotten herself straightened out, everyone was spoken for.  All the friendships and cliques were established.

You have Bill — she told herself sternly. And Mira.

But they were grownups.

Colin then.

A geek!

All right, Neville.

A misfit.

But then, so aren’t I? 

Face it, Ginevra, you’ll never be what others call normal, not after everything that’s happened.

 It had been Mira’s voice again, Ginny had to grin.  Trust Mira to set her straight.  No, she’d never be normal.  The best she could hope for was to learn to be comfortable with who she was . . .her gifts . . .her powers. . .

Ginny was acutely aware of Harry, Ron and Hermione ducking into the unused classroom and made a point of glaring at the door as she passed it on her way up to the marble staircase.

“Off on another adventure!” she muttered darkly.  Too bad she didn’t have her own invisibility cloak or she’d duck out herself and follow them whether they liked it or not.  At least she’d know what they were up to this time.  Ginny had to grin as she climbed the now familiar route to Gryffindor tower.  She had front row seats.  “Just add popcorn!” she chortled as she turned into the Fat Lady’s corridor.  Just as she did so the vertigo hit.

One second she’d been stumping along, feeling sorry for herself and wondering when Harry was going to leave his hidey hole and go do something interesting.  The next she had stumbled into a suit of armor as everything inside her head shifted.

She would have gone sprawling, too, if the suit of armor she was passing hadn’t reacted in a typically chivalrous manner by dropping it’s mace and catching her before she hit the floor.  She knew it had caught her.  She wanted to say something, to thank it, but the voices in her head; Harry’s, Ron’s and Hermione’s were overwhelming her, driving out all rational thought.  Harry’s voice, his thoughts, were overlapping, and when she opened her eyes it was as if she were seeing not just through her own and Harry’s eyes, but her own, and Harry’s and Harry’s again.

Like right now . . .he was under the invisibility cloak.  He and Ron and Hermione were making their way across the Entrance Hall with painfully slow steps so as not to make any noise, but Harry was also sitting in a dark, cramped space — a broom cupboard (she could see rows of cleaner on a shelf beside him and a mop propped up in a corner).

What the hell was going on?

“Are you telling me that we’re here in this cupboard and we’re out there, too?”  Came Harry’s voice.  He sounded just as dazed as Ginny felt.

“Yes . . .” came Hermione’s voice.  “We’ve gone down the front steps.”

Harry was in a broom cupboard, with Hermione?  Ginny clutched the armor’s rough-clad arm, choking back a shout of laughter.  It was obvious that they weren’t doing anything, but still!  Harry and Hermione . . .in a broom cupboard . . .!  She couldn’t help it, she let loose with a snort of laughter and heard the armor wheeze out a laugh in response.  It obviously thought she was laughing over her clumsiness.  But Ginny couldn’t concentrate on the armor, Harry’s voice again . . .in her head . . .

“Where did you get that hourglass thing?”

Ginny had wondered that herself, and was just congratulating herself on finally learning something worth while, that she yelped out loud when a sudden pain shot through her foot making her collapse once again into the armor’s embrace.

“Get off my foot!” hissed the Harry under the cloak as if in response to the pain in Ginny’s foot.  No, the pain had been in Harry’s foot, Ron had just trod on it.

“It’s called a time turner,” said Hermione, sounding as ever as if she’d swallowed a textbook. Harry could just make out the oval of her face in the glimmer of light coming in under the door. 

“I’ve been using it all year to get to all my lessons,” explained the Hermione in the broom cupboard, oblivious to Harry’s pain.  But of course she is, Ginny told herself dazedly.  The Harry who just got his foot stomped on is under the cloak, the Harry in the broom cupboard is merely wondering what the hell it is that he’s sitting on.

“I say there, Gawain!  What have you got there?” asked a voice that sounded as if it belonged to Nearly Headless Nick.

Ginny opened her eyes blearily.  Images washed across her field of vision.  The voices in her head were clamoring for attention.

Feet walking.  A strip of light around what had to be the broom cupboard door. A root sticking up.

“Watch that mud puddle!” hissed Ron’s voice in her (no, Harry’s) ear.

“Harry,” wailed Hermione’s voice in his other ear.  “I don’t understand what Dumbledore wants us to do!  Why did he tell us to go back three hours?  How’s that going to help Sirius?”

Sirius?  Thought Ginny dazedly.  Was she talking about Sirius Black?  Why would Dumbledore want to help a convicted murderer? Wasn’t he supposed to want Harry dead?

“Watch out, here comes Sprout!” muttered Harry, and the group under the cloak froze, but the Harry in the broom cupboard was squeezing a sponge in his hands which was making odd squelching sounds and Ginny had to resist the urge to tell him to shut up.

“There must be something that happened around now he wants us to change,” said the Harry in the cupboard, still squelching the sponge.

“Miss Weasley?  What is it?  Are you all right?”  Nick’s icy touch on her arm was oddly comforting.  Ginny came back to herself with a start.  “Should I fetch Madam Pomfrey?  Gawain, could you carry her to the hospital wing?” For a brief moment everything was perfectly clear.

“No!”  Ginny rasped.  God her head hurt!  It felt as if her whole brain was screwed up in concentration as she tried to sort out what was happening.  “I — I’m not sick!” she managed.  “I need — I need to go to bed Nick.  These . . .attacks . . .sometimes . . .since the Chamber.”

What she needed was for the voices to stop!  What she needed was for Harry to stop doing two things at once!  What she needed . . .

“Hermione, we’re going to save Buckbeak!” Harry nearly shouted, and Ginny felt her heart give a sudden lurch at the proximity of his voice.  “We’re going to fly Buckbeak up to the window and rescue Sirius.  Sirius can escape on Buckbeak — they can escape together!”

Harry was going to help Sirius Black escape?  But he hadn’t been caught yet — had he?  Thoroughly confused, Ginny tried opening her eyes again but closed them almost immediately.  Harry, Ron and Hermione were still walking sedately under the invisibility cloak, she could see the grass passing smoothly beneath their feet, but Harry was also sprinting across the uneven ground of the vegetable patch.

The armor let out a series of clanks and wheezes that brought Ginny back to herself for a moment.  She assumed that the noises must pass as its speech.  Then Nick’s voice was filtering into her consciousness again.

“Gawain says he would carry you to Gryffindor tower, but he is too big to fit through the portrait hole, and I — I can not.”

Ginny gave the armor’s mailed fist a grateful pat.

“So I will fetch someone to help you into bed.  One of your brothers, perhaps?”

“Not — not Percy!” Ginny managed.

Harry was still sprinting . . .down the hill . . .headed straight for . . . “the Forbidden Forrest!” Ginny moaned.

“Ginny?”  That was George’s voice and it was coming from somewhere ahead of her.  He sounded scared.  “Ginny, what is it?  What’s wrong?  Do you need Madam Pomfrey?”

Why did everyone keep asking her that?  She needed quiet!  She needed to be able to concentrate on what was happening.

“No!  Please, George, just . . .bed . . .please!”

George’s strong arms were around her now, lifting her as if she weighed no more than a Quaffle.  She tired to focus — focus on George instead of the Hippogriff which was suddenly superimposed over his features and behind George — and the Hippogriff — she could see not only the Fat Lady’s hallway, but also the inside of Hagrid’s house.  It was like some sort of psychotic fun house where the makers had somehow manipulated both time and space.  Ginny retched.

“I’m taking you to the nurse.”

“No, George, please!  Ever since . . .last summer . . .get . . .attacks . . .vertigo,” Ginny lied. 

“How come you didn’t tell us?”

“Haven’t . . .haven’t had one . . in . . .months . . .”

Hagrid’s hands were shaking so badly he could barely pour the tea.  Somehow, Ginny wasn’t at all surprised when the milk jug slipped out of his hands and shattered on the floor.

“Isn’t there anything anyone can do, Hagrid?” Harry was saying, and his concern for his friend was nearly overpowering, but then so was the nervousness of the Harry who was watching the tableau from the edge of the Forbidden Forrest.

“What can I do, Ginny?” George was asking

“I just . . . need to . . . rest.  Need . . to get . . . to bed.”

George made as if to stand up, but Ginny put one arm out, touching the armor gently on its shoulder.  “Thank you,” she told it.  It nodded in reply and motioned them towards the portrait hole.

“Dumbledore’s gonna come down while it happens,” Hagrid was saying even as George lifted her through the hole.

“I can’t carry you upstairs, Ginny, the steps are charmed.”

Why was he telling her that?  Couldn’t he see that Hagrid was upset?  And Hermione . . . she needed help . . .the jug . . .

“Oy, Angelina!”

Ginny was dimly aware of Angelina’s face above her, and then of being scooped up into her arms.

“I’ll look out for her, get Lisa — there, no, the other one.  Ask her to come up.”

“Ron!”  Hermione’s disbelieving voice was shrill in Harry’s ear.  “Ron — I don’t believe it, its Scabbers!”

“He isn’t dead!” Ginny murmured out loud.

“Ginny, what?  Who’s not dead?”  Angelina’s face was very close to hers, a Quidditch roughened hand on her forehead.  “She’s not running a temperature.”  Angelina was talking to someone out of Ginny’s line of sight.

“I’ll watch her, Angelina, you go ahead back downstairs.”  That was Lisa’s voice. 

“I’m worried though, what if its — something else?” said Angelina, the concern apparent in her tone and Ginny had to wonder just how much Fred and George had told her about what had happened last year.

“What do you mean?”

“Never mind, just — just keep an eye on her and tell me — tell me if she starts acting — odd.”

They didn’t need to worry about her.  They needed to worry about Buckbeak.  The executioner was coming.  Buckbeak was going to be murdered — or was he?  What was Harry doing in Hagrid’s pumpkin patch?  While the Harry inside Hagrid’s cabin was feeling wretched at events over which he had no control, the Harry in the pumpkin patch was approaching the place where Buckbeak was tied up.

“Don’t forget to bow!”  Ginny hissed.

“Bow to who, Ginny?” asked Lisa’s anxious voice.  Ginny was in bed now.  When had she gotten into bed?

“Buckbeak, move!”

“Who’s Buckbeak?” asked Mandy’s querulous voice.  “If she’s sick, Lisa, shouldn’t she be in the hospital wing?”

“If she’s not better by morning I’ll take her to see Madam Pomfrey,” said Lisa placatingly.

“Please let’s hurry,” moaned the Hermione under the invisibility cloak.  “I can’t stand it.  I can’t bear it!”

But what was she talking about?  Didn’t Harry have Buckbeak?  Weren’t they hiding in the forest just behind Hagrid’s hut, listening to their invisible selves walking back up to the castle?

“Someone untied him!” growled the executioner.

“I can’t hold him, Scabbers, shut up, everyone will hear us-” who was Ron trying to hold?  Definitely not Buckbeak, Harry was holding onto Buckbeak.  Ron was clutching a squirming Scabbers against his chest.

There was a mighty thud as the axe Macnair was holding was swung into the fence.

“We should search the grounds, the forest-”

“Macnair, if Buckbeak has indeed been stolen, do you really think the thief will have led him away on foot?  Search the skies if you will.”

“There’s Ron!” said Harry as Ron appeared out of nowhere.

“Ron!” Hermione moaned as Ron threw off the invisibility cloak.

“Gotcha!  Get off you stinking cat!”

Ron had stuffed the squealing rat back into his pocket, but now a great black dog had bowled Harry over, it was grabbing Ron by the arm and dragging him away.

“There’s Sirius,” said Harry’s voice in a matter of fact tone.

Ginny clutched at her head as a sudden pain shot through it.  Her face stung.  She could taste blood (was it her own, or Harry’s?)

“Ouch, look!” said Harry.  “I just got walloped by the tree — and so did you — this is so weird-”

Harry was darting about, avoiding branches and watching himself avoid the branches and then, suddenly, the lashing branches simply stopped.  Crookshanks had darted forward.  He was slithering between the battering branches like a snake and had placed his front paws upon a knot on the trunk.

“That was Crookshanks pressing the knot,” said Hermione as the tree suddenly stopped moving.

But Harry wasn’t listening, or rather the other Harry wasn’t listening.  He was sliding down a slope to the bottom of a very low, earthen tunnel and was watching himself disappear into the roots of the tree at the same time.

Ginny groaned.  As disconcerting as watching Harry watch himself had been, at least he had been watching and experiencing the same thing.  Now he was running through a low, earthy tunnel at a crouch, sweat streaming down his face and neck, panting for Hermione to keep up, but he was also still watching from between the branches of a beech tree as first Lupin and then Snape disappeared into the tunnel beneath the Whomping Willow as well.

What the hell was going on? 

The hourglass, Hermione’s hourglass, it was a Timeturner.  She’d said she’d been using it for lessons, so that meant . . .what had Hermione said?  Something about Dumbledore sending them back three hours till it was just after supper.  Supper had ended just before nine.  Which meant that Harry and Hermione had left — wherever it was they had been — just before midnight. 

And then Harry, he’d said something about saving Buckbeak and Sirius . . .so between, what was it, nearly ten now?  Between now and midnight, something was going to happen that would prove Sirius Black to be an innocent man.  If that was the case, why had Dumbledore sent two thirteen-year-old wizards to save him . . .unless . . .

Ginny’s train of thought derailed as she listened to Harry tell Hermione the story of the Dementors and of casting the Patronus and how his other self had thought it was his Dad.  Just as he finished, his other self was discovering that he and Hermione were in the Shrieking Shack.

The tunnel led to the Shrieking Shack, the most severely haunted dwelling in Britain.  Ginny shuddered.  That was where the dog (that was Sirius) had taken her brother?  Before she could digest this, they’d found him, Ron, he was Okay.  His leg was clearly broken and he seemed absolutely terrified, but otherwise he seemed unharmed.  “Harry,” he was saying, “it’s a trap.  He’s the dog . . .he’s an Animagus . . .”

Harry was dripping sweat from his sprint through the tunnel.  The breeze coming in across the lake was cool though, oh, that was his other self.  The Harry on the lakeshore was enjoying the breeze, which was lifting the hair off his forehead.  He was thinking that this would work — it had to. 

What would work?  Definitely not helping Harry to hold his temper.  The Harry in the Shrieking Shack had completely lost control.

“He killed my Mum and Dad!” Harry was screaming as he lunged at Black.

The door to the bedroom burst open in a shower of red sparks . . .Professor Lupin had arrived.  He had disarmed Harry and Hermione and then —

“Where is he, Sirius?”

Sirius raised his hand, pointing straight at Ron.

“ . . .you switched . . .without telling me?”  And Lupin had lowered his wand, walked up to Black and embraced him in a brotherly hug.

What the bloody hell was going on here?  What was he talking about?  How could Sirius Black of switched?  Switch what?  With who?  But Ginny didn’t have time to work it out, because Hermione was screaming “I don’t believe it!  Harry, don’t trust him.  He’s been helping Black get into the castle, he wants you dead too — he’s a werewolf!”

A werewolf?  Lupin?  My god that was it!  That explained everything!  Well, the bits about Lupin being sick every month, anyway.

Ginny clutched at her head.  Harry in two places at the same time . . .Black an Animagus . . .Lupin a werewolf and Ron putting himself between Harry and a convicted killer . . .her hand encountered a damp clothe which she pushed aside.

“Leave it on,” said Lisa sternly from somewhere near her left shoulder.  “It’ll help.”

“Nothing . . .can help . . .” Ginny moaned.

“Just lie still,” Lisa was saying, but her voice was being overridden by several others . . .Lupin explaining how he’d been watching the map, how he’d seen three of them go into Hagrid’s and four come out.  Black was claiming that Scabbers wasn’t a rat but an Animagus by the name of Peter Pettigrew . . .and Hermione was arguing with them both.  Lupin was talking now, explaining how Harry’s father, Sirius and Peter had discovered that he was a werewolf and had worked out how to become Animagi so that they could keep him company when he transformed, and of their escapades during the full moon and finally, how James Potter had once saved Snape’s life.

“So that’s why Snape doesn’t like you,” said Harry slowly, “because he thought you were in on the joke?”

“That’s right,” sneered a cold voice from the wall behind Lupin.  Snape had arrived.

“Oh god, Harry, I’m so sorry, I should have warned you!” Ginny moaned.  But Harry didn’t respond.  He was frozen in place, his nerves thrumming as if he’d received an electric shock.

“I’ve told the headmaster again and again that you’re helping your old friend Black into the castle, Lupin, and here’s the proof.”

“Severus, you’re making a mistake.”

But Snape wasn’t listening.  He had a manic glint in his eye as he bound Lupin.

“But if — if there was a mistake-”

“Keep quiet you stupid girl!” Snape shouted at Hermione, and Ginny felt her own surge of anger wash through her.

As if in response to her reaction, Harry crossed the room and blocked the door.

“Get out of the way, Potter.”

Stupid great slimy git — thought Ginny furiously.

“You’re pathetic!” Ginny yelled and was hardly surprised to hear the same words simultaneously coming out of Harry’s mouth.  “Just because they made a fool out of you at school you won’t even listen-”

Who’s thought had that been?  It was impossible to tell, but it was also impossible to miss the hatred in Snape’s next words.

“Silence!  I will not be spoken to like that . . .now get out of the way, or I will make you.  Get out of the way, Potter!”

He’s got to be stopped!  Ginny pleaded silently.

Oh yeah, you’ve got that right, came Harry’s immediate response.  “Expeliarmus!”

Much better.  Snape was lying in a heap against the wall and Black was explaining about how he’d recognized Peter Pettigrew when he’d seen him on Ron’s shoulder in the publicity photo from the previous summer.

Ginny’s insides went icy and, for a moment, even though she could still hear Harry, Ron and Hermione all protesting, she could, for the first time all evening, hear herself think.

Scabbers was really a wizard in disguise?  That would definitely explain the uneasiness she felt around him.  And it would definitely explain why she’d felt so vulnerable that one day that she’d gone to her room and found Scabbers sitting in the middle of her bed.

The flash of blue-white light emanating from Black’s and Lupin’s wands brought her attention back to the present (it was the present, wasn’t it?  It felt like the present — and the future — and, well, the Harry from the future was waiting under the Beech tree, waiting for them all to reappear, his stomach churning slightly out of nerves at the prospect of what had yet to be done — save Sirius).

And sure enough, Scabbers had disappeared.  A short, watery-eyed, pointy-nosed man was standing where Scabbers had been a moment before, and even his voice was squeaky.

Ginny giggled and, as if from a long ways away, heard Lisa telling Mandy off for complaining about Ginny’s not being quiet.  She’d have to remember to thank Lisa later, but not right now, right now she was too distracted by the little man, who was crying, his eyes darting about the room as if in search of a bolthole.  And now he was confessing, yes, it had been he who had betrayed the Potters.

And Harry, looking at Sirius, understanding that Sirius blamed himself for Lily and James’ death because he’d convinced them to switch to Peter, forgave him.  She watched in amazement as Pettigrew whimpered about how he’d had to do it, how Voldemort would have killed him if he hadn’t.

“Then you should have died!”  Black was roaring.  He and Lupin had raised their wands.  They were going to kill him when —

“No!”  Harry had placed himself in front of Pettigrew.

“I’m not doing this for you!  I’m doing it because I don’t reckon my Dad would’ve wanted them to become killers — just for you.”

And then Peter had been shackled, Snape’s still lifeless body was floating like some weird puppet and they were on their way back . . .back to the Hogwarts grounds . . .back to bring the real culprit to justice . . .

But something goes wrong, Ginny thought wildly as she listened to Black offering Harry a home with him.  Harry’s powerful rush of emotion at the thought of being able to finally leave the Dursleys, of finally having a real home was breathtaking.  Something goes very wrong, why else would he be sitting out here waiting to save Sirius when on the other end of the tunnel things for Harry are finally seeming to go right?

Black saw Snape up through the hole, then stood back for Harry and Hermione to pass.

“Here we come.”

Any second now, any second now that could was going to shift, thought the Harry hiding beneath the Beech tree.

Cloud?  Why would — “Oh my god, Lupin!” Ginny shouted, the pieces finally falling together in her head.  It was a full moon, Lupin hadn’t drunk his potion, Snape had said so.  As if in response to her thought she could hear Hermione gasp, “OH, my he didn’t take his potion tonight.  He’s not safe!”

There goes Lupin!” Hermione whispered.  “He’s transforming.”

Lupin’s head was trembling, lengthening and Ginny retched as the vertigo induced by watching the same event from two different angles overtook her again.

“Hermione-” said the Harry watching from the Beech tree, but Hermione couldn’t hear him, she was screaming as Pettigrew cursed first Ron and then Crookshanks, oh, that was the other Hermione.

“Hermione, we’ve got to move . . .Lupin’s going to run into the forest, right at us!”

Peter had transformed, and the werewolf was galloping towards the forest just seconds after the Harry and Hermione who had been watching from under the Beech tree had barricaded themselves in Hagrid’s house.  The werewolf paused on the edge of the forest, turned its snout to the moon, and howled.  A chill wrapped itself around Ginny’s heart as she realized that she was hearing the howl not only with both sets of Harry’s ears, but with her own as well. And now, from a great distance, there came the whining yelp of a dog in pain.

“Sirius!” said both Harry’s in unison, making Ginny’s head reel.

He and Hermione would be running to Sirius at any moment — they were running to him.  The Dementors were moving away from him — gliding in a black mass around the lake toward them.

“Hermione, think of something happy!”

Harry was watching the silver glimmers of his own attempts at a Patronus as they were extinguished even . . .

As the nearest Dementor raised both its rotting hands and lowered its hood. 

It was time for the rescuer to appear. 

There were strong clammy hands on his neck, forcing his face upwards . . .

And it hit him, he understood . . .

Her screams, his mothers screams, were filling his head.  She was going to be the last thing he ever heard.

He hadn’t seen his father, he had seen himself!  Harry flung himself out from behind the bush and pulled out his wand . . .

 . . .the putrid breath filling his nostrils, filling his lungs with ice . . .

“EXPECTO PATRONUM!”  Out of his wand burst a blinding, dazzling silver animal . . .

 . . .he thought he saw a slivery light growing brighter . . .and brighter . . .the blinding light was illuminating the grass around him . . .something was driving the dementors back . . .it was circling around them . . .Harry raised his head and saw . . .

 . . .it was a stag.  “Prongs?” Harry said softly, and raised his hand to touch the glowing creature . . .

 . . . on the opposite shore of the lake, someone . . .someone who looked strangely familiar . . .raising his hand to welcome the glowing animal back.  He felt the last of his strength leave him, and his head hit the ground as he fainted.

Ginny drew in a great gasping breath of relief as one point of view faded into blackness.  Now she was only watching, listening, as Harry explained what it was he had done to Hermione, how he had saved all of their lives, how he had thought he was his father.  And then Harry and Hermione were watching as Snape magicked everyone lying on the lakeshore onto stretchers and took them back up to the castle.

It had been powerful magic. She had felt the raw power of it course through Harry.  It had come from deep inside him, from that core of raw potential that she had always known was there.  Calling up that powerful Patronus had seemed as natural to him as calling the elements was to her.

Ginny tried to sit up, was it over then?  Merlin, her mouth was so dry!  She needed a drink.  But no sooner had she swung her legs over the side of the bed when the vertigo hit her again. Damn.  One Harry she could deal with.  She’d mastered the art of that months ago.  Two Harries was one Harry too many.  She retched, her stomach lurching as the Harry in the hospital wing began to come around. 

Fudge’s voice.  Snape’s voice.  Hermione’s eyes all big, lying in the bed beside him.

“There goes Macnair, this is it, Hermione!”

But the Harry in the hospital wing wasn’t speaking.  No.  That was the Harry by the lake. He and Hermione were mounting Buckbeak, soaring straight up into the cool night air.

“Oh I don’t like this,” Hermione moaned in Harry’s ear, but Harry was watching Madam Pomfrey, who was walking briskly up the aisle between the beds.

“Twelve . . .thirteen . . .whoa!”  Harry called to Buckbeak.

“The Dementors will be performing the kiss any minute now!” said Madam Pomfrey smoothly.

“What!” yelled Harry, who was also telling Black to get on because there wasn’t much time.

“Minister, listen, Sirius Black is innocent.”

“Okay, Buckbeak, up!”

“You’ve got the wrong man!”

The cacophony of voices was making Ginny’s ears ache.

“Harry, how can I ever repay you?”

“Just go!”

“I’M NOT CONFUNDED!”  The taste of chocolate, Madam Pomfrey had just stuffed an incredibly large piece of chocolate into his mouth.

He was gone.  Black was gone, he and Buckbeak were just a shape now, silhouetted against the full moon, and Hermione’s voice in his ear.

“We have exactly ten minutes to get back to the hospital wing without anybody seeing us before Dumbledore-”

“I want to talk to Harry and Hermione alone.”

“ . . .locks us in.”

“Surely you don’t believe them!”

“Ooh, he’s horrible!” 

It took Ginny a second to realize that she wasn’t talking about Snape at all, but Peeves, who was bouncing along the corridor in great high spirits.

“Now pay attention,” Dumbledore was saying.

“Hermione, what will happen if we don’t get back . . .” he and Hermione were racing along corridors, up flights of stairs.

“Sirius is locked in Professor Flitwick’s office . . .”

“If we don’t bet back . . .”

“You must not be seen.”

“Before Dumbledore locks the door?”

The vertigo increased as Harry was now viewing Dumbledore from the front and the back.  They had reached the hospital wing.

“I am going to lock you in.”  The voice, she was hearing it through both Harries again.  “It is five minutes ‘till midnight, Miss Granger.”

This was it, thought Ginny.  This was where Harry had gone back.

“Three turns should do it.  Good luck.”

“We did it!”  said the Harry behind Dumbledore.

“Harry, come here.”  The Hermione in the hospital wing was beckoning to him. She had slipped the chain around his neck, she was flipping the hourglass end over end over —

With a gut-wrenching lurch, everything went back to normal.  The first Harry, the first Harry was — was gone . . .gone as if he’d never been.  The second was standing by Ron’s hospital bed, sharing a dumbfounded look with Hermione.

Ginny collapsed back onto her own bed.

“Ginny?”  It was Lisa’s voice again

“Am I allowed to look after my patients now?”  Madam Pomfrey’s careworn face was superimposed over Lisa’s young, unlined one.  Ginny squinted.  No.  This was the normal sort of double vision.  This she could deal with.

A low, rumbling sort of roar became audible.  Someone just outside of Gryffindor tower in the seventh floor corridor was roaring in rage (he’s being held in Professor Flitwick’s office on the seventh floor — they must have found the office empty).  The angry male voices passed out of Ginny’s hearing range . . .and into Harry’s.

It was Snape.

“He’s gone mad!”thought Ginny as Snape’s furious face came determinedly up the aisle between the beds.

“Gee, you think?” replied Harry waspishly, “Of course he’s mad, I just helped his archenemies escape from under his nose.”

“His abysmally large nose,” retorted Ginny.

“And deprived him of his order of Merlin.”

“Useless old coin on a pin.”

“But he looks worse than mad, he looks-”

“Deranged,” they said together.

Grinning, Ginny accepted the goblet of water that Lisa handed her and even managed to climb into her pajamas while in her head Dumbledore sorted out Snape and Hermione filled Ron in on his missing time.

“Thanks, Lisa.”

“Will you be Okay now?”

“Yeah,” said Ginny chuckling.  “I think I will, and Lisa?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks, you know, for looking out for me.”

“You’re welcome Ginny.  You would have done the same.”

“Yeah, I suppose.  I guess I at least owe you an explanation.”

“When you’re feeling up to it.”

“There’s bits I’ll have to skip.”

“It’s all right, really.”

“But I’ll tell you what I can.”

“I’d like that.”

9 June 1994

It’s taken me three days, but I think I’ve sorted it out.  Sirius black originally agreed to be the Potter’s secret keeper, but convinced Lily and James to switch to Peter Pettigrew, their other best friend, at the last minute.  Pettigrew, who had been spying for Voldemort for at least a year, promptly turned them in to his master.

Voldemort tracked them down, killed Lily and James and then tried to kill Harry.  The curse backfired and Voldemort was reduced to less than a ghost.  Sirius went to check on Wormtail, found him missing, then went to check on Lily and James and found their house in ruins.  He tried to convince Hagrid to give Harry to him.  Hagrid refused, having had previous orders from Dumbledore.  Black then tracked down Pettigrew, found him on a Muggle street.

Pettigrew, cornered, yelled out for everyone to hear that Black had betrayed the Potters before blowing apart the street with the wand behind his back and then transforming into a rat and disappearing into the sewers, leaving Black to take the blame for his supposed murder.

Black then spent twelve years in Azkaban prison.  He maintains his sanity because he knows he’s innocent and it’s not a happy thought.  Then, one day, he just happens to see the newspaper, which just happens that particular day, to be the edition with the publicity photo in which he sees and recognizes Scabbers as Pettigrew.  Sirius then escapes as a dog, makes his way down to Surry (just to catch a glimpse of Harry), then makes his way to Hogsmeade where he hides out in a cave above the village so that he can be on hand if Peter tries anything.

While he’s there he tries to break in to get Scabbers on Halloween.  It doesn’t work.  He then enlists Crookshanks to help him, but Scabbers knows that someone is out to get him.  He disappears, makes it look as if Crookshanks ate him, cause faking his own death worked before.  So, when Black breaks into the castle again, Scabbers is gone.  When Black realizes that Scabbers has preempted him, he leaves, perhaps even escaping through the tunnel Harry used to get out of Hogwarts himself.

Then, Thursday night, Harry’s out on the grounds with Hermione, Ron and Scabbers.  Black takes the opportunity to do what he’s been trying to do along and snatch the rat, except that he gets Ron too.  Harry and Hermione follow him in an attempt to rescue Ron.  Lupin too follows, but he has an even better idea as to what is going on, seeing as that he’s seen Peter on the Marauder’s map.

Snape, who just happens to be bringing Lupin a goblet of his potion, sees the map, but only sees Lupin running through the tunnel (Harry, Ron, Hermione and Peter are already beyond the Hogwarts grounds) and takes off after Lupin.

Snape gets stunned.  Peter is show up for what he really is and Black offers Harry a home once his name is cleared.  They’re going to turn Peter over to the Dementors, and it’s a good plan, except they forgot about it being a full moon.  Lupin transforms.  Black changes too in an attempt to keep Lupin from harming the others.  Pettigrew takes advantage of the chaos to turn into a rat and after stunning both Ron and Crookshanks, he takes off into the night.  Black goes after him, but is stopped by Dementors.  Harry and Hermione try to rescue Black, but the Dementors trap them too. All three of them would have been killed if it weren’t for the intervention of a mysterious wizard wielding a powerful Patronus charm from across the lake.

Snape comes to and takes everyone up to the castle.  Black is put in Professor Flitwick’s office and Dementors are sent for to perform the Kiss.  In the hospital wing, Harry and Hermione come to and try to explain what really happened, but no one will believe that Black is innocent, least of all Professor Snape.  Dumbledore asks to see Harry and Hermione alone and without really telling them to, tells them how to go back in time using Hermione’s Timeturner (which she has been using all year to get to all her classes) and save not only Sirius, but Buckbeak.

Hermione understands at once what he is suggesting and takes herself and Harry back in time three hours where they save Buckbeak, Harry drives off the Dementors and they fly Buckbeak up to Flitwick’s office window, free Black and send him and Buckbeak off together, then they rush back to the hospital wing.

Did I miss anything?  How about the fact that I fell asleep just after one a.m. Friday morning and slept for fifteen straight hours and barely woke up in time for Friday night supper.  Lupin was gone by the time I finally came around.  I really wish that I’d gotten the chance to say goodbye.

You know what else?  Lisa and I had a long talk Saturday morning.  I told her what I could (which wasn’t a whole lot, but she didn’t push it) and we agreed to write to each other over the summer.  I really like the way that she stood up to Mandy and stayed by me until everything got back to normal.  I think that I may just have made a friend.

30 June 1994

“So, think we’ll manage to find seats this go?”

Ginny turned abruptly and found Neville standing just behind her, Trevor clutched tightly in one hand, his other clasping the notebook Ginny knew held his poems.  Funny, but with his cloak under one ear and his hair all rumpled he even looked a bit like a poet.

“We need to find your look, Neville,” she said without thinking.  “Young aspiring poet.”  She framed him in her hands, cocking her head to take in his appearance.

“Shush!  Ginny!  You promised!”

“How about a bow tie?”

“Nah, bow ties make my neck look too thick.”

“A sweater vest then.”

“God no, then I’d look like Percy!”

They both dissolved into giggles as Percy (who was indeed wearing a sweater vest) passed in front of them, his horn rummed glasses flashing, a clipboard at the ready.

“School’s over, Perce!  Time to loose the Head Boy motif!” called Fred from down the platform.

Percy glared his disapproval before sweeping over to settle a dispute between three Ravenclaw boys who were debating the finer points of cobbing and were practicing what they preached.

“So, Neville, what look do you want?”

“One of my own.  I hate looking like one of the crowd, but all the good looks are taken.”

“Really?” said Ginny, looking around.  “I never noticed anyone cultivating a particular look. Who are you talking about?”

“Well, Draco for one.  He’s got the suave, sophisticated bit in the bag.”

That was true.  Malfoy may be a git, but at least he was an elegantly dressed git.  His clothes were undoubtedly tailor made.  Even his T-shirts fit him like a glove, showcasing his well-defined chest and shoulder muscles and a slim waist.  And his hands . . .

Ginny shivered.  She had never known anyone with hands that could rival Malfoy’s for pure sexiness.  Maybe it was the fact that he was always perfectly manicured, or the fact that he had long, tapered fingers, but even the way he held his wand or a goblet could set a girl’s heart to beating faster.  Slimy git.

“And Goyle’s got the clueless idiot down pat,” said Ginny, sniggering as Goyle tripped over a non-existent tree root.

“Well, I’d be relieved that clueless idiot is taken,” said Neville, giving Ginny his lopsided smile, “if it weren’t for the fact that I’m certain to be a contender for short, fat coward.”

“You’re taller than me!”

“Fat then.”

“No, that title belongs to Ben Andrews.”

They both watched as tubby Benny heaved himself into a compartment.

“I’m sort of partial to casually sexy myself,” said Ginny, her eye on Harry.

“To bad you brother’s got that one in the bag then,” said Neville.

Ginny blinked.

“George?”

“No, Ron of course.”

“Ron?” said Ginny bemusedly.

“Open your eyes Ginny.  Look at him!”  Neville prodded her in the back and pointed over her shoulder.

Ginny turned to look where Neville was pointing.  Sure enough, there were Ron and Hermione, obviously in the middle of another row.

Hermione had her hands on her hips and her busy brown hair nearly crackled with energy.  Ron on the other hand looked completely at his ease (which meant, Ginny knew, that he had been the one to pick the fight).  One of his hands was at the back of his head, that arm’s elbow propped against the side of the train.  The thumb of his other hand was hooked through his belt loop.  With his hair just slightly rumpled and the odd, quirky half-smile on his face, Ron did indeed look surprisingly sexy.

“Damn!” said Ginny eloquently.

“Tell you one thing though,” said Neville, liking his arm through hers.  “We’ll both have the left behind look if we don’t get on the train!”

30 June 1994

At least Neville and I both found seats this time.  Grant you, we ended up sitting with Colin and his first year buddies Mark and Justin, but it could have been worse, and Lisa did save the day by coming in after the lunch cart had gone by and challenging Neville, Colin and myself to a game of exploding Snap.

I can’t believe that the year is already over.  These last three weeks in particular have gone by awfully fast. 

I think I can truly say that I’ve made two friends this year, Neville and Lisa.  Three if you count Colin.  And I think that Hermione and I may be well on our way to becoming friends as well.  Hell, four friends may not be a lot, but it beats last year all hollow.  It felt good too, to be sitting with people who want you there, not people who are being nice to you because you’re their little sister or their friend’s little sister.  (I may be Ron’s little sister, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let a title like that define my life!)

Do you know how much self-control it took to keep myself from stopping in to see Ron, Harry and Hermione in their compartment?  My heart actually lurch as I passed by on the way to join Colin (who had stuck his head out and was beckoning us down to sit with him), but you know what?  I kept walking.

Back to index

Chapter 8: LESSONS

CHAPTER EIGHT:  LESSONS

8 July 1994

It is so good to be home!  You know, I think that I could be old and gray, with children and grandchildren of my own, and where I to walk into his house I would still conjur up the vision of Mum bustling around the kitchen, the warm scent of bacon frying and the sound of the bees droning in the flower boxes outside the kitchen window.  Everything exactly the way it is — right now — a perfect moment in time.

“Ginevra Weasley!  If you don’t close that book this instant I’m going to feed your breakfast to the Ghoul!”

It was an empty threat, seeing as that the Ghoul didn’t actually need to eat, but Ginny closed her journal with a muffled thump and went about making a dent in the pile of food her mother had heaped onto her plate.

“Why are you always scribbling in that thing?” asked Percy pompously as he reached across her for the marmalade.  “You could be using your time to learn something useful.”

“I’m on holiday,” said Ginny through a mouthful of eggs.

“I’m not talking about schoolwork,” sniffed Percy.  “I’m talking about the kinds of thing you’ll need to know — later.”

“Are you suggesting sex ed?” asked Fred interestedly.  “You old enough for that Ginny?”

Ginny choked on a mouthful of bacon, spraying pieces across the table.

“Watch it Ginny!” said George, picking a stray bit of bacon out of his porridge.

“I’m talking about practical household charms!” said Percy loftily.  “Since she was twelve years old Penny spent a part of each day during the summer holidays reading up on household charms.  You should see her!” he said, his eyes misting over.  “She can pack her trunk with just one flick of her wand — she even gets the socks to sort themselves into pairs!  And she can turn on all the lights in a room just by looking at them!”

“I’ll bet that’s not all she turns on,” muttered Ginny.

Percy, still lost in his raptures over Penelope didn’t hear her, but George, who was seated on the other side of Percy, snorted into his eggs.

“Right little homemaker, that one,” said George, dropping Ginny a broad wink behind Percy’s back.

“Yeah, well, I’m not Penny,” said Ginny coolly to Percy.  “So you can take your domestic charms and stick them-”

“Ginevra Weasley!” Ginny’s mother had turned from the stove and was pointing an oatmeal-covered wooden spoon at her. 

“In your pocket,” Ginny finished with only the slightest of hesitations.

“Nice save!” said Fred, grinning at her.

“Now Percy, it’s not your place to lecture your sister,” said their mother reprovingly.

“Yes mum.  Sorry mum.”

“Shouldn’t it be me you apologize to?” asked Ginny.  But Percy, who was making a great show of collecting his cloak and briefcase, didn’t deign to answer.

“He thinks he’s right is all,” said George consolingly.  “Don’t let him get to you.”

“I’ll bet he lets Penny get to him,” observed Fred.

“Fred!”

“Sorry mum.”

“I don’t want to hear any comments about Penelope.  She’s a lovely girl.”

“Well, well, sleeping beauty awakens!” cried Fred as Ron, still in his pajamas, shuffled sleepily into the kitchen.

“There you are, Ronald.  Eat quickly, you lot, I want the garden clear of gnomes by lunch.”

“Aw, mum!” howled Fred.  “We were going to play Quidditch!”

“You can play Quidditch once the garden is clear, not a moment before.”

“But mum!” chimed in George.

“No George.  Now out, all of you!”

“I just got down here!” protested Ron, eyeing the plates of eggs and bacon possessively.

“Five minutes and I want you outside.  You have only yourself to blame if you choose to sleep through breakfast!”

Muttering and groaning, Fred, George and Ginny pushed themselves back from the table.

“Not you, Ginny, I’ve got something else I want you to do.”

Ginny hung back, sticking her tongue out at Fred as he and George stumped out of the kitchen.

“Now Ginny dear . . .”  Her mother’s voice had a sugary quality to it that Ginny didn’t like.  “I know you’re used to coming and going as you please during the holidays like the boys, but I’ve talked to you’re father, and he agrees with me that it’s time you start scheduling your time to include something other than those ridiculous dance lessons.”

“My dance lessons aren’t ridiculous!” said Ginny, bristling.

“If I had my way, you wouldn’t be dancing at all, you know that.”

“Mum!”

“Dancing serves no purpose other than exercise and there’s other ways to get that, but seeing as that your father insists that I allow you to continue them-”

“He did?” said Ginny, her fears deflating before they could blow themselves into any semblance of panic.

“Yes, he did.  So we reached a compromise.  You get your lessons on Sunday afternoons and one hour of practice time and one hour of free time every day.”

“And the rest of my time?” asked Ginny warily.

“Will follow the schedule I’ve set up for you.”  Her mother had taken a role of parchment out of her apron pocket and was holding out to her.  Ginny took it.  From down the table, Ron was staring at her wide-eyed.

“My — what?”

“Your schedule.”

“But Mum . . .!”

“In my family, it was always traditional that at the age of thirteen the daughters began learning how to run a household properly.”

Ginny stared at her mother, opened her mouth to argue, and then closed it again at the look on her mother’s face.

“We will begin every morning at eight O’clock,” she said briskly.  “We’ll start with the cleaning and washing charms, and then move on to mending, sewing, and knitting . . .”

“But-”

“At ten you’ll have your one hour of dance time, then be down to help me with lunch.”

“But I-”

“After lunch you’ll have an hour of free time.”

“Mum!”

“And then we’ll work on teaching you how to cook.”

“But I hate cooking!” wailed Ginny.

“Remind me not to eat suppers from now on!” chortled Ron from down the table.

“Easy for you to say!” snapped Ginny, “Al you have to do is de-Gnome the bloody garden!”

“You’ll watch your language young lady!”

Ginny closed her eyes.  She could feel her anger at the injustice of it welling up inside of her.

Breath.

But it wasn’t fair!  Other than assigning them chores from time to time, none of her brothers had ever had to take household management lessons!

Breath.

Can’t loose it with mum.  I’d never hear the end of it.

Come to me!

Probably turn her into a hedgehog or something.

Be in me!

And they came, muted as she had called them, undetectable to either her mother or Ron, both of whom were standing only feet away.

Control!

She took a deep breath and opened her eyes to find both her mother and Ron staring at her.

“What?” she said, her voice sounding oddly distant to her own ears.

“Nothing,” muttered Ron and, picking up a pile of toast, he headed back upstairs, leaving her alone with her mother.

“I don’t know what sort of Glamour you were doing,” she said in a fierce voice.  “But if you get another warning about under-age magic, I’ll take away your dance lessons, don’t think I won’t!”

“I wasn’t doing magic!” said Ginny defensively.  “I was just trying to control my temper!”

“Then how do you explain the fact that you suddenly looked taller and — and-”

“Colder,” volunteered Ron who, now dressed, was standing in the kitchen doorway, eating his last bit of toast.

“Go help your brothers Ron.  Now please.”

Ron shrugged ans slouched out to the garden where Fred and George could be seen tossing handfuls of gnomes over the fence.

“Why me?”  asked Ginny sullenly as she watched Ron wade into a peony bush and pull out six gnomes by their ankles.

“What did you say?” asked her mother sharply.

“I bet youi never made Bill or Charlie or Percy or any of the others schedule their time!”

“Of course not, why would I?”

“Because they’re boys?” said Ginny coldly.  “Then why are you doing it to me? Just because I’m a girl?  It’s not fair!”

“It’s not fair,” said her mother in a brittle sort of voice.  “but it comes with being a woman, so get used to it.”

Ginny stared.

“I don’t know what century you’re living in, mum, but it certainly isn’t the twentieth!  Women are no longer expected to be only homemakers!  England has had women as Prime Minister — we’ve had Ministers of Magic who were women . . .”

“That doesn’t change the fact that it’s still the women who have the babies,” snapped her mother.  “And as equality-minded as so many men purport to be, trust me, once you start heaving children, everything changes.”

“Then maybe I won’t be having any children,” said Ginny mutinously.

Her mother dropped the dishpan she was holding, soapy water splashed out over the kitchen floor.

“Why would you say a thing like that?”

“Well, it’s true!  If getting married and having children means that I have to give up my individuality, then I don’t want any part of it!”

“Ginny!”

“I have hopes, mum, dreams, plans, and they don’t involve playing housekeeper so that some chauvinistic male can further his career.”

To Ginny’s surprise, tears welled up in her mother’s eyes.

“Is that what you think of your father?” she asked dully.

“What?  Mum! No!”

“Is that what you think of me?”

“Of course not!” said Ginny, shocked that her mum had twisted her words to be so hurtful.  “I wasn’t talking about you, honest!”

“I heard what you said, Ginevra.”

“I was talking about me!”

“I understand completely.  You don’t want to end up like me.”

“No, mum, would you listen for a minute-”

“”Don’t you tell me what to do!”  Her mother’s voice was suddenly icy cold.  “There’s no need to explain.  You made your feelings perfectly clear.  Now why don’t you go play in your flower garden or something?”

Feeling sick, Ginny made her way out to the back garden and slipped out of the gate behind the gorse bush.

Damn! Damn! Damn!

What was happening?  Why did it seem that all she and her mother did any more was fight?  They used to be so close!  Ginny could remember curling up on her mother’s lap and playing with the buttons on her dress, tracing the laugh lines at the corners of her eyes and telling her everything . . .about the next of mice she’d found behind the shed, about how guilty she’d felt when Charlie had taken her fishing in the pond and she’d actually thrown the fish she caught back in. . .but now! 

Every time she opened her mouth she inadvertently said something hurful.  Weren’t the teen years when a girl was supposed to feel closer to her mother?  So what had gone wrong?  Why did she feel like her mother was a complete stranger?

“Shit!” 

Stripping down to her halter top and rolling up the cuffs of her pants, Ginny began digging up a new bed.  She hadn’t planned on creating a new one yet, but she had to have something to work off her anger.  What seemed like only a few minutes later, a voice startled her so badly, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Thought I might find you here.”

George was standing on the edge of the clearing, a flagon of what appeared to be lemonade in one had and a plate full of sandwiches in the other.

“Those for me?” said Ginny, eyeing the sandwiches and putting a hand on her stomach, which had begun to rumble.

“Yeah.  The gnomes didn’t want them.”

George placed the plate and flagon on a nearby stump, then sat down beside it, his legs crossed.

“I take it mum’s idea of scheduling your summer didn’t go over so well?” he said, eyeing the twenty some feet of freshly turned earth.

“Who told you!” said Ginny, wolfing down a ham and turkey sandwich in three bites.

“Ron.”

“Figures,” she said thickly before washing the sandwich down with some of the juice.

“Would have heard about it anyway,” said George, taking a sip from the flagon.  “She was huffing and puffing about it all through lunch.  She’s threaning to have dad talk to you.”

“And that is supposed to accomplish what, exactly?”

George sniggered, then sighed and added.  “She’s not going to give up on this domestic crap, you know that.  It means a lot to her.”

“Yeah, it’s a tradition, she told me.”

“Well, Fred and Ron and I were talking.”

“Mastered complete sentences yet?”

“Shut it, you!  Anyway, we thought we’d offer you a deal.”

“Come again?”

“If you agree to take mum’s lessons, hold on, don’t jump the gun!” he said, holding up a hand as Ginny opened her mouth to argue with him.  “If you take the lessons, Fred and I have agreed that we would keep you company during the household chore bit in the mornings and Ron said he’d actually like to learn how to cook.”

Ginny eyed him suspiciously.  “And what’s in it for you?”

“Well, we plan on going out on our own eventually.  We’ll need to know how to do some of it, and then there’s other bits that we could use . . .in our products see.”

“Products?”

“Yeah, just some stuff we’re looking into, joke stuff.  Point being, we could make it interesting for you.  Better than being alone with mum, anyway.”

“But why!” said Ginny earnestly, looking at George through narrowed eyes.  “You won’t learn that much, so why bother?”

“Because you’re our sister,” said George, a stubborn set to his chin.  “And it’s not fair to you that mum’s treating you different cause you’re the only girl.”  So, is it a deal?  You say yes to mum’s lessons, she stops bitching about it, and then we keep you company.”

“Deal!” said Ginny, grinning.  And, as it turned out, it was one of the best bargains she would ever make.

9 July 1994

Dad came out to the studio after supper tonight to have a ‘talk.’  He tried to gloss it over, but what it amounts to is pretty much how mum explained it.  She wants me to learn to, in her words “pull my weight,” when it comes to chores around the house.

It wouldn’t be so bad if it was just chores.  Chores I can deal with.  Chores ae something I’ve had to do all my life.  All Weasley’s have chores, that’s just the way life is.

Take Percy, Percy is responsible for the owls. Errol and Hermes (he refuses to take care of Pig).  He makes certain that they’re fed and watered and that their perches are cleaned and that the small owlry in the barn is mucked out every week.

During the summer, Percy, Fred, George, Ron and myself each take a night clearing off and setting up the supper table, and I’ve been tending the vegetable and herb garden since I was old enough to tell a weed from a plant.

This is different.  The chores mum has planned for me to learn are things like enchanting candles so they burn longer, turning ordinary items, like twigs and stuff into cutlery and other necessary items, packing charms, charms that allow the interior of a trunk or closet to be magically expanded, special spells for cleaning the talking mirrors, methods to keep the water in the water tank continually warm, water purification and filteration charms and how to enchant the furniture to be self polishing and any other number of ‘useful’ tips.

Of course I can’t actually do the charms, but I’m supposed to be watching and learning and taking notes.

I mentioned to dad how Fred and George and Ron have offered to take ‘classes’ with me.  You should have seen the look on his face!  He was tickled pink!  He thinks it’s a great idea.

“Your mother loves you, Ginny, but she’s from an old wizarding family with old-fashioned ideas about what women can and can’t do.  This bit with your brothers should be an eye-opener for her!”

Yeah, especially if Fred or George do anything drastic.    It will definitely be interesting!

12 July 1994.

Hey, I guess I have something else in common with Harry now.  I’m being forced to learn to do stuff I have absolutely no interest in.  God, but I particularly hate the cooking bit!  Bloody nuisance if you ask me.  The cleaning charms are rather useful, but I’m certain I could have figured them out myself, if I really needed them done.  I mean, most of them are derivatives of spells we’ve already learned in school, just applied on a more domestic scale.

I needn’t have worried.  It seems Fred and George really do have a reason to want to learn some of mum’s trickier household spells.  I heard them talking the other day, and they were discussing their plans to one day open up a joke shop.  I guess some of mum’s spells, if they reverse them, can un-do things (like a candle that rlights itself every time you blow it out or a ‘mayhem’ bomb that scatters dirty socks far and wide).  They are just talking though.  I suppose they’ll have to wait until they’re back at Hogwarts to actually start making any of the stuff they talk about.

Needless to say, mum was a bit wary of ‘the boys’ sitting in on our domestic ‘lessons.’  But dad said they could, so there it is.  Ron she’s not too worried about.  Ron loves food and he loves to eat, so learning how to cook, for him, isn’t a big stretch of the imagination.  In fact, between us we made eight loaves of practice bread today.  They’re all edible, but you can tell which ones are mine.  They’re so lopsided that they look like something out of a science fiction story.  I can almost imagine them sprouting legs and scuttling off across the floor.

Yesterday we made so many oatmeal cookies that mum had to put a bunch of them away with a preservation charm.  Again, you could spot mine straight away.  Mine are the lumpy looking ones with blackened edges.  I got the hang of it by the last batch, but it all seems so pointless somehow.  You spend all that time cooking or and gobble gobble,  it’s gone with barely a blink of the eye and you’ve wasted an entire afternoon, or perhaps even your entire life.

You know, maybe mum was right.  Maybe I really was talking about her.  I mean, what kind of a person voluntarily gives up the better part of their life to have baby after baby and then to slave away to bring them up?  Not that I don’t appreciate it mind you, but seven children?  What on earth possessed her?  It’s not like the contraceptive charm actually costs anything after all.  So either they got so involved in what they were doing (seven times in succession) that they couldn’t be bothered to think about it, or they wanted this.

I know that I’m not in a position to speak authoritatively, but I don’t see myself as a very motherly type.  Not that I wouldn’t love any children I had, but I’d still be me.  I wouldn’t be trying to live through them.

Damn.

That’s it, isn’t it?  Those were the best years of her life.  She would do it all again if she had the chance, but she can’t, so instead she’s projecting her interests onto me, making the assumption that I will automatically be interested in what she was interested in, that I will want the kind of life she wanted for herself. She simply hasn’t even considered the fact that in spite of me being her daughter I am not Molly Weasley.  I am my own person with my own life.  She’ll figure it out eventually.  I just hope that she doesn’t get her feelings too badly hurt in the process.

I guess I have Tom to thank for that little revelation.  Somewhere along the line he must have studied psychology because that last bit didn’t come from me, and Harry wouldn’t recognize Freud if he gave him a black eye. 

You know, I sometimes have to wonder what Tom Riddle would have been like if he hadn’t let his hatred consume him.  Honestly, at the age of sixteen he’d read more books than most people do in their lifetimes; everything from psychology, philosophy and sociology to Shakespeare, Yeats and Coleridge (Coleridge was one of his favorite poets, I don’t know why, I find Coleridge’s work rather off-putting myself).   He’d read most of the classics, which is why I can quote Captain Ahab’s final salutation to Moby Dick verbatim (when I’ve never read the book myself) and can explain why it is cold in hell (thank you Mr. Dante).

But Tom Riddle didn’t limit himself to Muggle literature.  He was also widely read in wizarding works.  On top of his school work he’d also read Hogwarts, A History, The Dark Arts Through History, Dark Creatures of the Northern Hemisphere, The Dark Arts Interpreted, Giant Wars of the Seventeenth Century, Goblin Rebellions of the Middle Agesand A Personal Guide to Transfiguration in the Twentieth Century, just to name a few. 

Besides being an avid reader, he was a model student; intelligent, responsible, easygoing and personable.  Hermione would have got along with him famously.  He could have done anything he wanted!  But instead he chose to dedicate his life to righting a wrong that was done to him — or his mother rather — before he was ever born.  That is the root of Tom’s hatred you know.  The fact that when his father found out that his mother was a witch, he left her to bear their child on her own, refusing even to acknowledge the fact that Tom was her son.   She died in childbirth and Tom was sent to a Muggle orphanage.  He was, to put it bluntly, abused in a variety of ways at that dreadful place.  It really is easy to see why he turned to the Dark side.  But what if . . .?

All of Tom’s knowledge was given to me when he took me over completely there at the end in the Chamber of Secrets.  Needless to say he didn’t expect that I would live to benefit from his ‘gift.’  It has come in extremely useful.  I find classes very easy.  I’m able to do the homework in a heartbeat and I always get excellent grades.  It comes from in effect having done it all before.

Unfortunately, having Tom possess me also had it’s down side, for it wasn’t just the good things that rubbed off.   I still have nightmares . . .and sometimes, when I’m just sitting quietly, thoughts and memories, glimpses of things, will bubble to the surface, and I thank God that I can say that they don’t belong to me!  Anyway, on top of being a model student, Tom was also devious and clever and could lie like a snake.  Sometimes I’ll find myself looking at problems or situations from an angle I really would never have thought of, and it’s not always a good angle.  Sometimes the conclusions I come to scare me, because there is no way that I should be able to think like that!  That scares me even more than the dreams or twisted glimpses.

18 July 1994

I had to climb down the trellis outside my window in order to sneak out to my garden tonight.  For some odd reason, mum’s been on edge the last few days, almost as if she’s expecting something to happen.  In fact, she was still up at eleven, which is why I opted for the climb.  It’s a full moon you see, and like Lupin, I can’t resist the pull.  I have to go be with them, the elements.

They came to me at once, which I expected, and then so did Mira, which I did not.  I honestly thought that she was probably bound by the stone circle or that at least her magic was, but she assured me that while this should be the case, that in this particular instance she is able to tune in to me.

I don’t know if I should be bothered by this or not.  Does that meant that she could just drop in any time she wants?  Or maybe she can watch me through whatever connection she feels for me. 

That aside, I’ve been really curious for some time as to who Mira really is.  I’ve been reading up on the First People you see, the Hogwarts library has four entire shelves about them.  There are things that fit, she sparkles as she appears, she only comes at certain times, she’s helpful and makes no demands, she’s graceful and poised and her voice has a hypnotic quality.  But she’s also vivacious and quick to laugh.  From what I’ve read, the First People are always reported to be really serious, focused, intent even, and powerful.

Well then, Mira is powerful, no matter how you look at it.

Regardless of who she really is and where (or when) she comes from, or even what her motives are, it remains a fact that she is my friend.  I can talk to her about anything, which is good, seeing as that mum won’t.

Mum’s stopped talking to me.  Well no, that’s not quite right.  She still talks, she just doesn’t say anything important.  It’s almost like she’s become uncomfortable around me all of a sudden.  Did what happened to me my first year make that much of a change in me? 

22 July 1994

It is the weirdest thing.  All this last year I’ve been using Gran’s journal (her Book of Shadows) as a reference for my Elemental training.  I thumb through it to whatever section I think might be helpful, but I haven’t read the entire thing through — cover to cover — since Christmas. 

Two days ago I finished reading it through again, and you know what?  There’s more here than there was before!  Last time I read it there were references to using the elemtns to do things, but no specifics (as there was on how to call them).  Now there are lots of references to specific uses for them.  There are also more detailed accounts of Gran’s emerging powers, issues she ran into, bits added to entries that I thought I knew by heart.

It’s almost as if the book is growing.  Not lieerally, I mean, it’s still the same size it was before, but as if its contents are expanding, expanding to match my own development.  It is totally bizarre, but way cool too!

I suppose that I should be concerned at its showing powers like this, I mean, after what happened with Tom’s diary . . .but Dumbledore is the one who gave this to me and as Hermione says, if we can’t trust Dumbledore, who can we trust!

31 July 1994

Happy Birthday Harry!

I wish there was a way to send him a gift, or even a card, without him thinking that I’m still head over heels about him.  (Well, I am, but he doesn’t need to know that now, does he?)

Ron sent him a cake — he baked it himself too if you can imagine.  The one I made we ate for supper.  Well, sort of.  We ate parts of it.  The rest was stuck tight to the pan because I hadn’t bothered to adjust the temperature of the oven when I put it in, and it burned to a crisp.  The center was okay though.  A little dry, but hey, let’s not expect miracles, shall we?  At least nobody died of food poisoning!

Mum grudgingly gives me my hour in the morning to work on my dance, but its not enough.  I’m not exactly a morning person, but if I get up at five I find that I’m able to get in another hour’s exercise before breakfast.  I have got to get this routine down!  Miss Bletchley wants me to dance this number as a solo in two weeks time for her recital!

I have to admit that I breathed a sigh of relief when she gave the date of the recital as being the Saturday before the Quidditch World Cup.  If she’s daid Monday, I’d have had to refuse.  I can’t miss the Quidditch World Cup!  Dad says that Ludo Bagman (he’s the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports) has promised to get him tickets as a thank-you for smoothing over that incident with his broth and the lawn mower.  Thank goodness Muggles are so big into cartoons, eh?  I mean, the machine running around the yard all by itself was bad enough, but could be explained as a remote control for all of that, but when it started chewing up squirrels and birds and spitting out eggs and acorns . . .I can see why he drew the Ministry’s attention!

Fred says that seeing as that it’s Bagman, we’ll probably end up in Squater’s Field, that’s the seats way down at the bottom, and usually at the ends of the pitch, where the goal posts block your view, but I don’t give a damn if I have to sit on the wall, I can’t miss the Quidditch World Cup!  It could be another thirty years before I get another chance to go to one!  It’s been that long, after all, since England last hosted the Cup.

9 August 1994

Well, now we have fruit pies coming out of our ears, two each apple, blueberry, strawberry, strawberry-rhubarb and lemon-meringue.  I can’t stand fruit pies, if you can believe it.  I’m more of a pecan or pumpkin or chocolate pudding pie sort of person.

Filling the damn things isn’t so very difficult, it’s just fruit and sugar and syrup after all, but the crusts!  The crusts are the worst.  First you have to measure out all the ingredients, cut in shortening, knead the sticky stuff into some semblance of dough, roll it, chill it, roll it again, divide it into sections, and then roll it out once more, this time into crusts.

You would think, with my aptitude for Potions that I would take to cooking like a duck to water and maybe, if I were able to use magic, cooking wouldn’t be so very bad.  But I can’t deal with it!  I just don’t have the patience!  You can tell which pies are mine.  Mine are the sloppy ones with lopsided crusts and burn edges.  Ron’s are absolutely perfect, down to the precisely positioned latticework of his apple pie crust.

Mum doesn’t seem to know what to do with herself.  On the one hand she has the daughter she’s wanted for years — but who doesn’t have the patience or the desire to learn to cook.  On the other hand she has her youngest son, who is sloppy and careless in everything except his chess strategies — but who can make a perfect loaf of bread and brownies that are to die for!  It’s confusing the dickens out of her.  It would be funny if she didn’t take it as a personal insult that I’m just not interested!

Morning lessons, you know, the cleaning and other household spells and stuff, would be a lot more interesting if I could actually try the charms we’re supposed to be learning, but mum insists that I (and whichever twin is with me at the time — they take it in shifts to live up to their end of the bargain) practice the incantations and wand movements with wooden spoons. 

So far she’s showed us how to enchant candles so that they burn more slowly, how to get dishes to wash and dry themselves, a preservation charm that will keep fresh things from spoiling, basic locomotion charms (and variations of them) that she uses for chopping vegetables and stirring pots and stuff.

What makes it really bad for me is that Harry’s Aunt Petunia insists that Harry get his chores done before lunch, so I’ll be trying to practice the arm movement that goes with the dusting spell, and I end up ducking as a swarm of hornets (which Harry disturbed while pruning the hedge) comes straight at my (his) head.  Or I’ll step sideways to avoid the box of garden tools he left lying on the path and walk into the kitchen table instead.

Mum keeps scolding me for being clumsy and I can’t help but laugh (which makes her furious).  If she only knew, eh?

In a way I guess, I’ve got it easy.  The family Harry lives with, the Dursley’s, are horrid people.  It’s not just because they set Harry to doing all the menial tasks around the house (cleaning toilets and manuering the gardens and scrubbing out the trash cans), they are horrible because they treat Harry like dirt, as if he’s less than human.  And don’t get me started on that great bullying git of a cousin!

16 August 1994

Pig came back with another letter from Lisa today.  That’s the third I’ve received from her this summer.  She seems really nice, and writes me all about life with Muggles (normal Muggles — the Dursleys definitely aren’t normal anything!).  It must be really weird to have to go home and not see any magic done again until the next school year.  How do Muggles do it?  I mean, we have charms and spells for everything from heating water instantly and keeping food fresh to sweeping, dusting and getting rid of rats.  How do Muggles have time to do anything else if they can’t use magic?  I suppose I’ll be learning that — I’m taking Muggle Studies this year, along with Ancient Runes, Care of Magical Creatures and Divination. 

I lost a lot of sleep over whether or not I should take Divination.  I know that (at least the way Telawney teaches it) it is practically worthless, but without it I’ll only be taking nine classes.  I’ve always hated the number nine.  At least ten is a nice even number.

Lisa says that her parents like her to talk about what she’s been doing at Hogwarts, the stuff she’s learning, but no matter how hard she tries, they never quite seem to understand.  Hey, at least she can talk to her parents!  Harry can’t even do that.  The Dursley’s allow absolutely no mention of magic under their roof and treat his being a wizard as if it’s some sort of disease.

Who knows, maybe it is!  Maybe having magical blood is, like, some sort of genetic mutation or something.  Mind you it’s a really cool mutation, but perhaps being magical isn’t what’s really normal.  Maybe being a Muggle is really the way things are supposed to be.  Or maybe it’s Muggle’s who have lost touch with the magical sides, or bred it out of their bloodlines (sort of the reverse of pureblood wizards) because they consider it some sort of curse or — mutation!

I think I’ll go to bed now before I philosophize myself into a full blown headache.

Back to index

Chapter 9: BETS AND BETRAYALS

CHAPTER NINE: BETS AND BETRAYALS

21 August 1994

Dad came home with the tickets!  Ireland vs. Bulgaria this next Monday night!  Ron and the twins are in ecstasy and even Percy was grinning like a fool all through supper.  Of course, that may have been because he got another letter from Penelope today, but I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt.

My heart plummeted though, when mum thumbed through the sheaf of tickets and said, “ten tickets, Arthur?  Why on earth would you need ten tickets?”

“Well, Bill and Charlie have both said that they’ll come.”

“With Percy, Ron and the twins, that still only makes seven of you.”

“And Ron wants to invite Harry and Hermione.”

“Nine then.”

“And Ginny of course.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Arthur!  Why would Ginny want to go to the Quidditch World Cup?  Grown men zooming around on broomsticks like they were ten-year olds.”

“There are women on both teams!” piped up Ron.

Mum looked at him as if he had just sprouted an extra head.

“And it’s ruined their reputations!” declared mum.  “Look at that Ivanova girl, the breakup with her last boyfriend was all over the papers.  Fame went right to her head.”

“She’s good, mum, they all are!” insisted Ron.

“That has nothing to do with your sister, Ronald.  A school game is one thing.  It’s more of a social than anything else, but why on earth would she want to go to a professional game where they take it all so seriously?”

I couldn’t stand it any more.  “Because Ginny likes Quidditch!” I said rather angrily.  “And she wants to go.”

“Nonsense, Ginny, I need you to help me get the shopping done at Diagon Alley tomorrow.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but Dad beat me to the punch.

“Now Molly, let her go.  How often will she get the chance to see the Quidditch World Cup?”

“Yeah,” said Ron, and promptly dropped a bombshell that rendered mum incapable of refusing me.  “Ginny’s got to come or Hermione’ll have to sleep all by herself in her tent.”

Mum, who looked as if she’d been about to refuse again, stopped with her mouth slightly open.  She hadn’t considered the fact that by refusing to let me go she might be causing problems for a guest.

“Oh, all right then,” she said rather angrily.

Damn!  It never occurred to me that mum would think I didn’t want to go, or that I shouldn’t be interested in Quidditch!  Not want to go to the Quidditch World Cup?  Not be interested in the most exciting sport ever invented?  Is she mental?

Thank God for Dad is all I can say, and Ron of course.  I don’t know whether it was Ron’s intent to help me, or if he was really thinking just about Hermione, but it doesn’t matter.  I am going to the Quidditch World Cup!

After breakfast Mum and Ron and I walked down to the village.  Mum and dad agreed to sent Harry’s aunt and uncle a letter by regular Muggle post, asking for their permission to take Harry to the World Cup.  You should have seen the envelope when mum had finished with it!  Ridiculous!  It was completely covered by Muggle stamps (all sorts they were, and all of them came from dad’s collection).  I know enough about Muggle post (there is a benefit to having Harry inside my head) to know that you only need one stamp on a letter, provided that it is the right sort of stamp.  I tried to explain it to mum, but I don’t think she thought I knew what I was talking about, so to be certain she covered the damn thing with half of dad’s stamps.  And then of course even Ron didn’t know Harry’s address.  Mum was about to go back to the house (she said that dad had it written down somewhere) but I rattled it off for her.  She looked as if she were about to ask how it was that I had memorized Harry’s address, but then just smiled at patted me on the head. 

I hate it when people do that, pat me on the head. It makes me feel like a two-year-old, or a cat.  I always like to imagine that cats curse people out whenever they pat them like mum patted me.  That’s why their ears go flat. 

I stopped by Madam Bletchley’s for my final costume fitting.  I know Ottery St. Catch Pole isn’t a big place, but there are enough people in the surrounding area to put together a good sized crowd for the recital.  Can you believe that this will be my first actual performance?  Mum has always found a reason for me not to participate before.

Bill Apparated in just after supper.  We’ll be going over our routine one more time in the morning.  We agreed to do an intro number for Miss Bletchley’s program.  I haven’t told anyone about this.  It’s supposed to be a surprise.  Dad and mum promised that they’d come weeks ago, and Bill will be there of course.  I don’t know about the others.  Ron will come if Hermione does, but I don’t know about Fred, George or Percy.  And Charlie, well, Charlie isn’t really interested in dance. 

22 August 1994

Ginny sat bolt upright in her bed, both hands clasped over her forehead.

“Shit!”  It felt as if someone had rammed her in the forehead with a white-hot poker, it stung!  Fighting back tears, Ginny kicked off her covers and stumbled across the room to where her mirror hung over her dressing table.

She peered into the mirror, squinting her eyes against the dim light from the nearly full moon shining in her bedroom window.  Nothing looked wrong, her forehead still seemed smooth and blemish free, although for a second she was almost certain that the moonlight had caught a glimmer of emerald in her eyes instead of her familiar amber-brown. So what the hell had happened?  Ginny sank down onto the edge of her bed, cradling her stinging head in her hands.  The dream came back to her in disjointed fragments.

A dark, dingy room, firelight flickering across the walls and two men, one of them short, with a balding spot on the back of his head.   The short man and a voice, a high, cruel voice. 

She knew that voice.  It was Tom’s voice, a voice that still haunted her dreams with horrible suggestions and twisted glimpses of terrible things. 

The short man (it was Peter Petigrew, she could tell when he turned his face away from the fire) was talking to the owner of the voice who was sitting in a large, wing chair in front of the fire.  They were speaking of — of killing someone.  They had already killed someone else (they said a name — a name that slipped out of her mind as soon as she’d heard it) and were planning on killing someone else.  “Come Wormtail, one more death and our path to Harry Potter is clear.”  They were planning on killing someone else before they killed Harry.

And then there had been a snake, a huge, diamond-patterned snake that looked simply to be allowed, and another man, an old man with a dodgey hip and a walking stick and a look of terror in his eyes. 

He had killed the old man. 

Somehow Ginny knew that wasn’t the death that Tom’s voice had been speaking of, the “one more death” before their way to Harry was clear, but Tom obviously was not about to let this old man, or anyone stand in his way of what he was planning to do.

“It’s just a dream!” she whispered to herself, head still buried in her hands.  “Just be thankful that it wasn’t the one where Tom forces his way into your head!”

Ginny shivered and climbed back into her narrow bed, pulling the covers up to her chin and trying desperately to go back to sleep.  She needed her rest, she had a long day ahead of her.   Hermione was coming this afternoon . . .and the recital . . .

22 August 1994

I gave the performance of my life this afternoon.  Both my solo and my duo with Bill were performed perfectly and, since Muggle mirrors never lie, I knew that I looked perfect.  Even the photographer who took our individual pictures before the recital seemed impressed.

So there I was, with the rest of the performers, on stage for the final bow, and there’s cheering an clapping and the house lights come up and I look out, out into the audience and I see — no one.

Well now, there was quite a crowd of people, at least two hundred or so, but look as I might I couldn’t find a single familiar red-head among them (although there was a moment when I was certain that I had caught a glimpse of red at the very back of the auditorium).

At first I thought that I had to be mistaken.  I mean, mum and dad promised after all, it wasn’t like they didn’t know about the recital, I’ve only been talking about it non-stop for the last two weeks!  They’d promised, they were out there, I was certain of it, they were just behind someone is all. But as the audience began to trickle away through the exit doors, I could feel a leaden weight growing in the pit of my stomach.  They hadn’t come.

And I was almost right.  When I came out of the dressing rooms Bill was waiting for me, his dance bag over his shoulder and beside him was — George!

“You did make it!” I said, and I must have sounded rather pitiful, because he gave me a huge hug and presented me with a bouquet of wildflowers he’d obviously picked on the way, he’d even tied them with one of his own shoe laces (to judge from the way his shoe tongue was flopping about).

“For the best damned dancing I’ve ever seen!” George said gruffly as he handed me the flowers.

I’ll tell you one thing, whoever the girl in his dreams is, she’s going to be one lucky lady.

We walked home together (Bill conjured up another shoelace for George so he wouldn’t trip).  When we got to the front garden, George muttered something about needing something from the shed before he came in, so Bill and I walked in to find the house in an absolute uproar.

It appeared (from the luggage stacked beside the stairway and the deep voice booming from the kitchen) that Charlie had just arrived, and Percy was having a fit because mum was going to put Charlie up in Percy’s room.  In fact, everyone was so busy that they didn’t seem to notice Bill and myself coming in, or the fact that I was carrying two costumes over my back, or that Bill and George and myself had been gone for most of the afternoon. 

To my complete surprise, George himself was sitting at the kitchen table, looking as if he’d been there all afternoon.  He barely glanced up with Bill and I walked in.  How he got there ahead of us, I have no idea, but I found his silence strangely alarming.

Bill got cornered by mum, (who was still going on about which room Charlie would be staying in) and so I went upstairs by myself, feeling rather ignored and sorry for myself.  

I found Hermione unpacking in my room.  She said that dad was out in the shed pulling apart some small kitchen appliances that the Doctors Granger had given him (which explains what happened to dad).  And Ron came bursting in, waving a bit of parchment and yelling about how the Muggles had said Harry could come and that he’d be there tomorrow.

Just then mum stuck her head in the door.  “Oh there you are, Ginny dear!”    She was all flushed and slightly out of breath.  “I need you to come down right away.  There’s ten for supper tonight, and I haven’t even started.  I thought I’d make chicken casserole and if you’d put together a pudding, and see to the table.  Hermione, dear, are you settled in properly?  Is there anything you need?”

“I’m all set thanks-” began Hermione.

“You know where the bathrooms are?  Ginny can show you, won’t you dear?”  Without another word she bustled out again

I stood quite still, afraid to move in case it triggered the scream that was building up inside of my head.  Mum hadn’t even remembered.  My own mum hadn’t even remembered that I was having my first dance recital,

“Ginny?”  Hermione’s voice was quiet and tentative.  “Ginny, are you all right?”  But her sharp eye had taken in the dance bag and the costumes slung over my back and the two bouquets of flowers (the roses from Bill and the wildflowers from George) in her hands.

“Oh my god, was the recital tonight?”

I nodded mutely.

“What time?”

“Three.”  I was rather embarrassed to find that my voice was trembling slightly.

“I’ve been here since two!” said Hermione, her eyes suddenly blazing.  “And I asked Ron where you were, and he shrugged and said that you were probably off somewhere doing Bill’s poofter thing.  I thought you were practicing!  Oh God, Ginny, I’m so sorry!  I really wanted to see it!”

That was the last straw.  The icy anger that had been building up inside of my thawed abruptly, turning into tears.  I threw myself, sobbing, onto my bed.  Somehow, I wasn’t surprised to hear the sudden splattering of rain against the windows.  Trust the elements at least to sympathize with me!

Not that Hermione didn’t, but she didn’t try to coddle me, either.  She simply let me cry, sitting beside me on the bed and running her fingers through my hair and listening to my sobs compete with the rain drumming on the windowpane.

“Did anyone come?” asked Hermione quietly as I sobbed myself out.

“Well Bill of course,” I managed, hiccupping slightly.  “We did a number together, Miss Bletchley asked us to.  It was really good.”

“I bet!”

“And then George turned up.

“George?”

“Yeah, weird, huh?  I didn’t think he would be interested, but he said he really enjoyed it, he gave me these and everything.”  I motioned to the wildflowers beside the bed.

Carefully, Hermione got up and put the nosegay in a cup of water and sat it down on the beside table.

“The roses already have their own little stem cups,” she said, indicating the tiny green plastic vials attached to the end of each stem.  “But the wild ones will fade soon if they don’t get some water.  I bet the performance was beautiful though, want to tell me about it?”

“Ginny, mum’s on a rampage!” said George, bursting into the room without so much as a knock.  “She said she told you to come down and help her with supper ages ago, and wants to know what’s keeping you — blimey, why are you crying?”  He looked genuinely startled to find me in tears.

“You of all people should know the answer to that!” said Hermione in a dignified voice.  “At least you had the decency to show up, George, I suppose I’m going to have to seriously reconsider my original opinion of you as an insensitive prat.”

“Hermione, what are you on about?”

“It’s still a crime!” said Hermione hotly, “that out of a family of nine, only two of you show up to your sister’s first dance recital!”

George pulled back as if he’d been slapped in the face.

“You mean — that, that was tonight?”

“You were there, George,” I told him, wiping at my still streaming eyes.  “Or did you forget already?”

“Well no, of course not!”

“I have to give you credit, George,” said Hermione sweetly.  “At least one of you lot was kind enough to remember your only sister.”

George, looking thoroughly chastised, withdrew from the room as if all the ghosts of Hogwarts were after him.  I could hear him clattering off down the stairs.

“Now Ginny, I want you to tell me everything!” Hermione insisted once George had left. 

And I did.  You know?  I do believe that I may just have found a friend in Hermione Granger.

23 August 1994

Harry arrived today.  He came just in time for supper  (after a bit of a tussle with the Muggles).   Mum kept asking me why I kept ducking and sniggering while I was making up Harry’s camp bed (the damned ornaments coming at my head, and Dudley’s tongue!) and he’s grown, Harry has!  Not a lot, mind you, but enough so I could tell the difference. 

Do you want to hear something embarrassing?  When I saw him, I had the sudden urge to throw myself into his arms.  Damn, but wouldn’t hat have been a sight?  Poor Harry would probably never have spoken to me again!

I have to admit, it’s one thing to know what he’s thinking and feeling, even when he’s miles away.  It’s another thing altogether to keep looking and acting normal when he’s right there in front of me.  Damn.

So I made certain to sit as far away from him as possible at the supper table and to keep myself busy with conversation.  Mum helped, inadvertently mind you, by starting in on Bill, who was sitting next to me.  She doesn’t like it that he’s let his hair grow, or that he’s now wearing an earring (he’s had his ear pierced for ages, but the stud he usually wears when he’s at home is barely noticeable).

I have to chuckle.  Harry’s first impression of Bill was that he was ‘cool’.  Bang on, Harry!  Just wait till he gets to know Bill better.  Cool doesn’t even begin to cover it.  Bill is awesome!

He talked to mum and dad last night, Bill did, after everyone had headed off to bed, and asked them why no one else had showed up to my recital.  I only know that he toalked to them because they both apologized to me profusely at breakfast.

They both had perfectly reasonable excuses, and while I know that they love me, and I know that keeping track of seven children and all of their activities and concerns can’t be easy, and while I know that their apologies were sincere, I couldn’t help but feel that while I still love both of them desperately, something is now missing from what I feel for them.  Something is — different.

Ah well, can’t let the doldrums ruin the expectation of tomorrow’s match!  It’s going to be absolutely fantastic, I can feel it! 

24 August 1994

With a twinge of jealousy, Ginny watched as Harry, Ron and Hermione set off for the water spigot on the far side of the camp.  Always together those three, and what she wouldn’t give to be included in their little clique. 

She wondered vaguely what would happen to the friendship if any of them developed a serious romantic interest outside of the trio — or inside of it for that matter.  How would Harry react if Ron were ever to get his act together and tell Hermione how he really feels?

“Come on you three, firewood!”  Her father’s voice cut through her musings, bringing her back to earth with a jolt.

With surprisingly little grumbling, Fred and George headed off to the woods at the top of the field, Ginny tagging along behind.  By the time she had caught up witht hem, the twins had already collected a good sized pile of deadwood.

“Why don’t you take this bit back, Ginny,” said Fred brightly.  It was hard to miss the significant look he shot at George.

“Take it yourself,” Ginny snapped.  “I’ll find my own wood, thanks.”  And she immediately bent to her task.

“Nice try,” she heard George mutter from the other side of the gorse bush.  “But I don’t think it matters, Fred, she won’t rat on us.”

“Can’t take that sort of chance,” replied Fred, also in a near whisper.  “If anyone finds out this will cost us more than House Points Georgio.  It will probably land us in Azkaban.”

“This is the best chance we’re going to get!” George hissed.

“But if anyone sees us . . .”

“We can trust her, Fred.”

“Fine, you go then.”

Ginny stuck her head out from behind the gorse bush just in time to see George give the tiny gold object on the chain around his neck a final twist before he disappeared into thin air.

“Bloody hell!” she exclaimed before she could help herself.

Fred spun around, obviously startled.

“Now Ginny, don’t get your knickers in a twist, you didn’t see what you thought you saw.”

“Like hell I didn’t!” said Ginny bluntly.  “That was a time turner!”

Fred did a doubletake.

“You’ve seen one before?”

“Yeah, but how did you get your hand on one, those are restricted!”

“Answer my question first,” said Fred, now smiling slightly, “and I’ll tell you where we got ours. Where have you seen one before?”

“Hermione had one, last year,” said Ginny quickly.  “She was using it to get to all her classes.  But she turned it in at the end of the year, she said she couldn’t take the hassle anymore.”

“Well, that explains what it was doing in McGonagall’s office then,” said Fred, shrugging.  “She called us into her office at the end of the year, bawling us out for setting off fireworks in the common room, you know, like we do every year.  She’s getting good at the reprimands, I must say.”

“And it was right there,” George was back.  He was grinning from ear to ear.  “Couldn’t resist something like that in plain sight, and it’s Ireland, dear brother of mine, but Krum caught the Snitch.”

“You’re winding me up!”

“Should be some good odds on a long shot like that!”

“You can say that again!”

“Wait a minute,” said Ginny, staring at the pair of them.  “You’re using that,” she pointed at the tiny gold hourglass on George’s chest, “to place a bet on the world cup?”

“Already done,” said George, grinning broadly. 

“But that — that’s changing the future!”

“Just our future,” said Fred.

“And for the better at that,” added George.

“But-”

“It’s done, Ginny,” said Fred.

“The only ones who saw me were the three of us,” said George, “and we were expecting me, so there you are.”

Still trying to wrap her brain around this concept, Ginny sagged onto a nearby stump, her head in her hands.  She was forcibly reminded of the events of just barely two months ago, when Harry and Hermione had used Hermione’s time turner to go back in time and rescue Sirius Black and Buckbeak the Hippogriff.

“God damn, George, we could all be in so much trouble if anyone found out!”  Ginny groaned.

“Nobody is going to find out.”

“You stole a time turner!”

“Liberated,” corrected Fred.

“Temporarily borrowed,” amended George.  “And it’s not like we’re going to keep it after all,” George added.

“Yeah, we’re not completely stupid,” interjected Fred.  “McGonagall isn’t Filch, after all.”

“What are you going to do?” said Ginny acidly, “walk up to her and say, ‘oh, by the way Professor, I just happened to pick this up off your desk by mistake, I certainly hope you won’t suspect me of doing something illegal with it!’”

Fred sniggered.

“No, actually,” said George.  “We’re going to wait until school starts then sneak back into her office and hide it at the bottom of a drawer.”

“She’ll never even know it was gone,” chimed in Fred.

Ginny raised her eyebrows.

“Okay, she’ll know its gone missing, but when she finds it she’ll just assume that she misplaced it,” explained George.

“Oh, great, then she’ll be even more uptight than she already is!”

“Yeah, that thought had crossed our minds,” said George, frowning slightly.

“But it’s a small price to pay for financial independence,” concluded Fred.

“And what do I get out of all of this?” asked Ginny innocently.

“Aiding and abetting!” smirked George.

“Yeah, shouldn’t be worth more than five to ten in Azkaban.  We can all three of us learn Morse Code,” said Fred, sniggering.  “Send messages by banging out codes on the bars.”

“It’ll be a lifetime sentence for the both of you, maybe even the death penalty if mum finds out!” warned Ginny.

“Yeah, well, name your price,” said Fred warily.

“You want to use the money you win to open a joke shop, right?”

“She’s good!” said George to Fred, then to Ginny, “that’s our eventual plan, yeah.”

“So you’ll be stocking merchandise, trick sweets, joke stuff.”

“And your point is?”

“Well, seeing as that the year after this is your two’s last at Hogwarts, and seeing as that I’ll still have three years to go . . .well, someone should take up the slack.”  Ginny shrugged delicately.

“Brilliant, Ginny!  Keep up the family tradition!” chroteld Fred.

“We’ll keep you stocked, free of charge,” agreed George, grinning more broadly still, “And we’ll teach you the tricks of the trade!”

“Good to know someone’s interested,” said Fred.  “Can’t trust Ron to do it, not while he’s hanging out with Miss Top-of-the-year Granger.”

“Watch it, Fred, I’m top of my year too you know.”

Yeah, well, that’s different,” said George brightly.

“And why’s that?”

“Because,” began George.

“Because you’re,” added Fred.

“Ginny!” they finished in unison.

Their arms full of firewood, the three of them made their way back toward camp.

“George, can I ask you a question?” asked Ginny as he helped her to stack the wood Fred and her father weren’t using to start a fire beside the boy’s tent.

“Depends,” said George warily.

“Did you really remember to come to my recital?” asked Ginny, watching her brother closely as she spoke, “or did you use the time turner to go back to see it once you’d realized that you’d missed it?”

“Hey,” said George, hedging the question completely, “at least I came!”

25 August 1994

Home again, home again.  Mum was frantic!  She met us in the front garden, all tears and hysterics.  She was scared to death by the reports in the Daily Prophet about the Dark Mark showing up after the game last night.

Dad tried to comfort her with hugs and hot tea laced with whiskey.  She was just calming down when Ron ruined it by pointing out that she must have known we were okay because of the clock.  He had a point, but mum lost it altogether.

“It’s only a clock!”  she screamed, then burst into tears, and muttered things about how was she supposed to know what sort of effect Dark Magic could have on it and on and on and on.  I didn’t think it was ever going to end.

It was a pretty hair raising night.  The match itself was incredible!  Even knowing how it was going to end didn’t spoil the excitement of the actual playing any.  I’ve never seen playing like that, it was fantastic! 

And as if the match itself wasn’t breathtaking enough, the size of the stadium was almost overwhelming!  The closest thing I’ve seen to it, was the view of New York City from the top of the World Trade Center.  (I went with mum and dad to a conference in New York once when I was six).  I’ll never forget how overwhelming it was to see all those buildings, and then to think of all the people that worked behind each of those little windows . . .

And then there were the number of people in the stadium, and the vendors with all their merchandise.  I must have been pretty exhausted, what with getting up early and the walk and everything, because Hermione said that I fell asleep at the table after the match while we were having hot chocolate.

We hadn’t been asleep for more than a couple hours when the entire mood of the camp changed.  It went from gleeful celebration to inebriated madness in the blink of an eye.  There were Death Eaters, you could see their robes, and they had the Muggles that lived at the bottom of the field floating up above their heads, twirling around like bizarre puppets.  Sick bastards.

Dad sent the lot of us up to hide in the woods, I think his concern was partly that he didn’t want any of us getting trampled (they were trampling or blasting any tents that got in their way) and partly the fact that they were torturing Muggles, and that Hermione, being a Muggle-born, might prove to be a tempting target.

Well, we got up to the woods, and George pulled me and Fred into a dense thicket as soon as we made it into the tree line.  A moment later there were two George’s, one holding my hand and breathing heavily from the run up the field, the other standing in front of us, looking rather amazed at the fact that he’d just traveled forward in time about 14 hours.

“Who won?” the second George asked abruptly.

“Ireland,” said Fred at once.

“But Krum caught the Snitch,” added George.

Even as the second George’s cry of “you’re winding me up!” was falling on my ears, it occurred to me that if we could just get him a message, tell him what had happened here tonight, there might be a way to prevent what had happened with the Muggles.

“George?”

Both of them turned to look at me.

“George, something happened here tonight, you need to tell dad-”

A sudden explosion from the crowd in the camp, and a bolt of light which hit a tree not three feet from where I was standing, took us all by surprise.

“Can’t stay,” said the second George hurriedly. 

“George, wait, I have to tell you-”  but he was gone.  “Damn!” 

“Come on, Ginny, we need to get deeper in, don’t want to end up as a tree frog or something.”

By the time it had all sorted itself out, I forgot all about asking the twins to go back and warn dad.  And, since it’s all worked itself out — nobody got hurt after all — there’s no point in trying to convince them to go back now.  They’d just get into trouble themselves.

Ah well.  It could have been worse.  Lots worse, and at least they will get there joke shop out of all of this!  So while mum rambled on about how worried she’d been, I climbed straight upstairs, fell into bed, and slept till nearly four this afternoon.

Back to index

Chapter 10: BEING HARRY

AUTHOR’S NOTE!

This chapter deals with issues of a sexual nature and while not explicit in detail, may not be suitable for younger children — unless of course you don’t mind answering difficult questions as a parent.

~*~

CHAPTER TEN:  BEING HARRY

29 August 1994

It is just too weird living with Harry in such close quarters.  This morning was the worst.  I couldn’t look Harry in the eye.  I just couldn’t!  Not after last night!

“Damn!”

Ginny laid down her quill and put her hands to her face.  Hot.  Her cheeks must be flaming, just like they had been when she’d run into Harry on the landing.

He, of course, had only thought that Ginny was blushing because she still had a crush on him and was embarrassed at having run into him.  There was no way on earth he could have known that she had been in his head last night . . .

Ginny gulped.  He’d been thinking about Cho, how pretty she’d looked when she’d waved to him outside of her tent, and then after Ron had dropped off to sleep, he’d begun touching himself, still thinking about Cho and she, Ginny, had watched.

Ginny glanced now into her mirror and let out a sound halfway between a sob and a groan.

“God, look at me, I really am a scarlet woman!”

Uncertain as to whether she felt more like laughing or crying, Ginny picked up her quill, and began once more to write.

It was a distinctly odd experience being inside a boy’s head when he masturbates.

She stared for a full minute at the last word she had written.  God that was an ugly word!  It looked so, so clinical and detached.  Yes, that was it, detached, as if the person who had coined it had been someone who was watching someone else toss off and didn’t have a clue as to what sort of feelings were going through their head.  Not that she would have known the difference before last night. It hadn’t felt clinical.  Not from Harry’s point of view.

“Not from mine either,” she muttered to herself, and immediately felt the beat beginning to creep up her cheeks.

That was the worst of it really.  She hadn’t just laid there in her own bed and watched Harry, oh no, she’d started touching herself too.  She’d never done that before and, as she’d explored, as her own heart rate had increased and her breathing had become more ragged, somewhere in the back of her head it had registered that Harry (who was also nearing his climax) was no longer thinking about Cho.   He wasn’t, in fact, thinking about much of anything but there, behind his closed eyelids, he was getting glimpses of what she was doing to herself, glimpses that turned him on and finally, with a great shuddering gasp, drove him over the edge.

The moment before he had released she’d called to him. “Come to me, Harry!” And he’d done just that, filling her mind with his need.  She’d had to bite her lip to keep from screaming out as her own release joined the whit hot power that had poured into her.

“I had no idea it could be like that!” had been the thought in both of their heads as they both lay spent and on the edge of sleep.  That thought was the last coherent thing Ginny remembered before drifting off to sleep.

Even odder to be turned on by it, but I was!  How else can you explain why I felt driven to make myself feel good at the same time.  You know, I could almost imagine that it was him, Harry, touching me.  I could almost remember what it felt like for him to touch me like that.  Is that possible?  To remembersomething that hasn’t happened yet?  Or has it? 

It was exactly like I felt when I was reading that letter from the future Harry in the common room and I caught his eye and felt — everything.  Last night I swear that I could feel him, see him even.

God, it makes me tingle just to think about it!

1 September 1994

So, they’ve reinstated the Tri-Wizard tournament?  There are some awesome stories told about some of the Tri-Wizard tournaments.  There was one where a manticore the champions were supposed to be capturing went on a rampage and killed a bunch of people, hurt a whole lot more.

Then there was the year (I think it was in the 1500’s) when all three champions died when a wild Chimaera took all three of them by surprise at the awards ceremony.

And then there was another time that the tournament was interrupted by a Goblin Rebellion.  Wicked high body count that year.  Half of the students at Durmstrang (that was where the tournament was being held that particular year) were killed before they could get the rebellion under control.

Fred and George are seriously ticked off.  They have their hearts set on entering.  They’d stand a good chance too, at least I think they would.  Bloody brilliant, those two.  They really are clever.  I know that mum was upset that they only got three O.W.L.’s each because she wants them to go to work for the Ministry like Dad and Percy, but they’ve got their hearts set on opening a joke shop.  They’d be really good at it, too, they always know just what to do to make people laugh.

Not many people were laughing when Moody showed up though.  He’s scary looing, that’s for certain, what with his mismatched legs, that spooky magical eye and his face all criss-crossed by scars, but there’s mor to it than that, there’s more to him — underneath.

It’s almost as if he’s a different person than his skin.  I know that sounds bizarre, but that’s the best I can do.  I don’t know why Dumbledore would hire him of all people, to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts.  I mean, he’s a legend at the Ministry.  Dad stands rather in awe of him, but when I look at his face, when he makes eye contact, I have to wonder just how good he really is, to have gotten injured so very many times and, if he’s as good as everyone says he is, how much better were the wizards who gave him those scars?

3 September 1994

All I can say is thank Merlin Hagrid isn’t starting us third years off with those Skrewts!  They have got to be some sort of crossbreed.  I’ve never heard of anything remotely like them.  We just got Crups.

We had our first lesson with Professor Moody this afternoon.  In spite of the fact that the man puts my teeth on edge (and I’m not just talking about his disfugurements, there’s something rotten about him on the inside) I was expecting something impressive.  I mean, after yesterday’s spectacle in the entrance hall where he turned Malfoy into a ferret, I thought that at least he’d turn Mandy into a chipmunk or something.  But he had us practicing basic shield charms.  His point being that the best line of defense is to get away from the center of action and to maintain (and he shouts this bit) CONSTANT VIGILANCE!

I’d find the man rather amusing if it weren’t for the nasty feeling I get whenever I’m around him.

5 September 1994

It is so unfair!  Why should the fourth years get to see the unforgivable curses and we’re not allowed?  Oh yeah, that’s right, we’re just kids and what, one whole year makes the fourth years so much more mature than us?  I guess Moody hasn’t seen Ron when he’s in a temper then, hey? 

Well, at least I got to see them through Harry.  It was really tough on Harry, seeing the Avada Kedavra Curse.  When the spider keeled over dead he went all cold inside, all cold and still.  Was this how his parents had died?  That thought kept running through his head.  He couldn’t shake it.  He kept picturing them lit up with that green light, then falling over, their eyes wide and staring, their mouths open slightly in surprise.

I don’t know how accurate a picture he was painting, but I can imagine how I’d feel if my parents had died and I was suddenly shown the exact method in which they had died.

There is one question I would like answered, if the Avada Kedavra Curse is unblockable, then how the hell did Harry survive it?

22 September 1994

It was good to go back to the stone circle.  The detail work of the carvings never ceases to amaze me, and calling the elements never ceases to thrill me.   Maybe I really am power hungry.

I told Mira about Moody and the Unforgivable Curses.  She got very quiet.  When I asked her what was wrong she wouldn’t explain, but merely shrugged and said that ‘time would tell’ which is uncharacteristically cryptic, even for Mira, and makes me wonder if perhaps my first impression was indeed correct and that there is more to Moody than meets the eye.

I stumbled across Mandy making out with Jack Sloper in a corner of the common room when I got back after midnight.  He had his hands all over her and she didn’t seem to mind.  If she really liked him, I might see her letting him touch her like that, but from what she’s said in the dorm, he’s just another ‘conquest’ (to use her own term).

I didn’t bother to announce my presence, but used my elementals to shield myself from their sight.  I could have embarrassed Mandy royally, seeing as that she had said just yesterday that while she might let Jack think that she liked him, she’d never let him touch her.  But as Fred said this past summer, you never learn anything interesting when you announce your presence.

I did find her jar of bath oil beads with stink pellets though.  (George showed me how to charm the pellets to be shiny and all different colors).  Serve the twit right.  And just think, Jack’s object of choice will now be defused in an essence that perfectly reflects his taste in women.

18 October 1994

The clearing seemed odd tonight.  Not sinister as such, merely tingly, as if someone had been there just moments before I entered and perhaps, just perhaps, they were still there, watching from just out of sight in the trees.

Perhaps I should be worried, but I truly believe that in the clearing at least, I can’t be harmed.  There is a feeling of security, of safety, a sort of protective power that emanates from those standing stones.

Mira came of course, and believe it or not she’s finally comfortable with my ability to call the elements both in general and by type, so we spent the rest of our time discussing what sorts of powers each of them have individually, what sorts of situations would be best to use those particular elements in and things of that nature.

Mira says that the hardest part of Natural Elemental magic is learning to recognize a situation in which the elements can be used without violating their inability to harm other’s of their kind, and then selecting the correct elements for the job.  She says that eventually using them will come as second nature, but that it takes lots of hard work and practice.

Sometimes it seems as if that is all my life is made up of anymore, hard work and practice.  I’m either practicing my dance routines or working hard to study for my lessons or practicing my Elemental magic or working hard to help Colin get the newspaper out on time every month.  All my time is spoken for.

I don’t even know what I’m complaining about, it’s not like I have a demanding social life or anything.  I have friends, well, more friends than I did my first year at least.  I guess I’m a little jealous, in my own way, of those who have the time on their hands for boyfriends and talking about nothing and goofing off.  All of my time is spoken for.

23 October 1994

I’m enjoying my new classes.  Ancient Runes is perhaps my favorite.  I have a reason to learn them after all — I plan on being able to translate the entire sequence eventually.  Believe it or not, after just a couple months of study some of the etchings are actually starting to make sense!  From what I can gather, it’s a history, a history of the first people.  It will be a definite accomplishment when I am able to decipher the entire circle!

Muggle studies is also very interesting.  We’ve been studying electricity, touching on the various appliances and machines Muggles use to take the place of magic and I must say that I can definitely see why Dad is so fascinated.

Care of Magical Creatures has potential, but Hagrid seems to get stuck on creatures that bite or sting, he seems fascinated by them.  Of course Tom was fascinated by the Basilisk.  Do you know that he’d even given the damn thing a name?  Basil!  As if it were a god damned herb or something.

And then there’s Divination.  I’ve been sitting there, in Trelawney’s class, listening to her spout off about ‘cosmic vibrations’ and ‘the veil of mystery’ and it dawned on me that she really doesn’t have a clue!  She talks about the ‘Elemental Forces’ but makes them sound like Potions ingredients.  How did someone so obviously stupid about mystic experience s get appointed as a Divination teacher?

I wonder what the students coming from the other schools study?  Do you think they have the same classes we do?  Rumor has it that Durmstrang students actually learn the Dark Arts, not simply Defense Against the Dark Arts.  I guess we’ll be finding out soon, there supposed to arrive on the 30th and then the tournament will begin.  It’s going to be exciting to say the least!

30 October 1994

Great entrance!  I had to laugh at the looks on everyone’s faces when the Durmstrang ship came up from inside the lake!  Talk about show offs!  By comparison the Beauxbatons students and their flying horses was comparatively tame.  I love their robes though, Beauxbatons.  They’re made of a beautiful sky-blue silk that shimmers when they walk. 

The Durmstrang students wear blood-red robes that look really warm.  Probably made out of some sort of extra warm wool or something.  And their cloaks, their cloaks are made of skins; very thick, very warm-looking skins.  The Beauxbatons students don’t have cloaks and they seemed quite chilled by out late fall weather. 

Anyway, everyone warmed up during the welcoming feast.  There was so much food I thought I was going to pop and when that Vela girl asked if she could have the Bouillabaise (that sort of French seafood dish) I though Ron’s eyes were going to pop out of his head.  At first I thought it was just Ron, but then I noticed that a good number of the boys at the Gryffindor table had looked up when she’d come over, and more than one girl was bristling. 

She’s part Vela, she has to be, the effect she has on everyone is too distinct for her to be anything but.  I know she can’t be full-blooded Vela.  A pure Vela is entirely unpredictable and according to all accounts can’t be trusted.  A few have been kept by very rich and/or eccentric men as sort of erotic pets (and I suppose that’s were the part-Vela’s, like this girl come from) but they’re very rarely allowed out by themselves in public without handlers.

Regardless, she definitely holds an attraction for Ron.  His eyes went all misty and his voice got all breathless.  Harry found it amusing as hell, but in spite of the fact that he was distinctly ruffled by the Velas at the Quidditch World Cup this past summer, this particular girl didn’t seem to affect him in the least.   It was almost like now that he knew what she was, now that he knows what kind of power she (however inadvertently) immune. 

He wasn’t immune to Cho though.  She seemed to hold more attraction for Harry than an entire roomful of Velas would.  He couldn’t keep his eyes off the way her hair shimmered in the candlelight.  I, of course, had to fight my first instinct, which was to tear her hair out.  I found myself instead repeating my mantra, ‘sixth year he’s mine’ under my breath and holding onto my talisman necklace with white knuckles.

I’m scared you see.  Scared that perhaps Mira and Dumbledore are both wrong and that Harry and I won’t really end up together.  I’m scared that something will happen to screw everything up.  I’m scared that I’m going to have to watch him fall in love and that there will be nothing I can do about it.

I’ll tell you what else was scary, was when Dumbledore opened up that crate (he called it a casket) and pulled out the Goblet of Fire.  Dumbledore had dimmed the lights and the goblet was full of blue-white flames.  The very nature of those flames seemed to stir something inside of me.  My Elemental powers nearly broke through in response to the flames in the goblet.  Those are elemental powers, perhaps an elemental who has been captured and confined for eternity to that goblet and my own wanted so very badly to set it free, it was all I could do to control them.

This is the impartial judge.  This elemental spirit is who will choose the three champions, it will choose, and then it will hold them to their choice, a binding, magical contract from which there is no turning back.

31 October 1994 

Now that was completely unexpected!  Harry’s name came out of the Goblet of Fire tonight, making him the fourth Tri-Wizard champion.

It took everyone by surprise.  You should have heard the silence when Dumbledore called out his name.  For that matter, you should have seen Dumbledore’s face when he read Harry’s name on the slip of parchment.  He blanched.  For a moment I thought he was going to pass out altogether.

Of course everyone (at least those students in Gryffindor) think that Harry is really clever for having gotten over that age line, assuming of course that he put his own name into the cup (which he didn’t).  Nobody believed him when he told them that he hadn’t put his name into the cup, not the teachers, nor most of the students, nor my stupid great prat of a brother who is seriously convinced that Harry just did it to get more attention and is pissed that Harry didn’t include him in his escapade.

But I know that he didn’t.  He was taken totally by surprise.  The total, numbing shock that flooded his brain when Dumbledore called out his name was convincing enough for me!  If only there was a way to share what I know with the rest of the student body.  No way I can do that without a whole lot of awkward questions though and this is neither the time nor the place.

But Ron, Ron wouldn’t hear it.  I tried to talk to him, but he just told me to shut up, that I didn’t know what I was talking about, and stalked off upstairs then, when Harry finally made it back to the common room and escaped the crowd waiting up to congratulate him, Ron went all cold and sarcastic, stupid git.

12 November 1994

I am going to kill Colin!  He overheard me telling Lisa that I thought the Durmstrang boys were rather good looking (albeit in a dark, brooding sort of way) and he went and told one of them!  Talk about juvenile!

I vented tonight when we started work on the December issue of the Hower, but Colin just shrugged it off and said that I deserved to have a boyfriend if I wanted one.  Too bad I can’t have the boyfriend I really want, eh?  But no, he’s too busy mooning over Cho.  Ah well.  Two years.  Sometimes it seems like an eternity, but I’ll live.

Well, I had my first official Hogsmeade Weekend.  It went better than I could possibly have expected!  Lisa and I went together, but we aquired Neville en route.  He was slouching along behind Hermione who, for all intents and purposes, appeared to be alone.  I knew better though.  Harry was with her, but he was wearing the invisibility cloak.

My guess was that Neville was trying to get up the nerve to go walk with her, poor Neville.  He does write some beautiful poetry!  I think we cheered him up though.  Lisa and I asked him to show us around the village and he was an excellent guide.

He took us to Honeydukes, and the Owl Post Office and the joke shop and Scivenshaft’s (they had a display of some garishly colored quills in the shop window; hot pink and lime green and lemon yellow, so bright they almost hurt your eyes and the price tags!  Prohibitive!)

Anyway, after lunch at the Three Broomsticks we explored some of the side streets, then went up to see the Shrieking Shack (my first time seeing it from the outside).  Neville regaled us with some of the more gruesome stories that have cropped up about that sad little house.  I particularly like the one about the four boys who came too close and were turned into were-animals by the restless spirits that are supposed to haunt the place.  Sounds to me like someone caught a glimpse of Remus Lupin and his friends during one of their full moon adventures.  If only they knew, eh?

14 November 1994

It is so bizarre to see Harry, Ron and Hermione still sitting together in classes, standing in their usual corner of the courtyard during break or talking down the halls together as if nothing has happened, but also being well aware of the fact that Ron and Harry haven’t spoken to each other in over two weeks!

And poor Hermione, she’s been trying to act as a liason between them, but she might as well be trying to get two brick walls to soften up and shake hands!  I can imagine that it must be dreadfully frustrating!

I find our visitors fascinating, not that I get much of a chance to observe them, what with them all being upper classmen after all, but there are twelve students each from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang schools, and they will be staying here for the remainder of the school year, attending classes with their Hogwarts counterparts.

The Beauxbatons party is split evenly, six boys and six girls.  Durmstrang brought only two girls, and I get the distinct impression that it was only for appearances that they included any girls at all. 

The students from both schools seem nice enough though, well intentioned, anyway.  I wasn’t joking when I told Lisa that the boys from Durmstrang were a good looking lot; very dark and ruggedly handsome.  I am, of course, rather partial to dark, handsome, brooding sorts of men.

I know there are those who would argue the point of Harry’s being handsome, but I’ve seen the pictures of his dad.  His dad was a dream!  And Harry, Harry looks just like his father, so there you are.  Besides, all you have to do is look into his eyes and it’s plain to see that Harry’s true handsomeness lies inside.  He’s got a good heart.

22 November 1994

Ginny enetered the clearing through the giant oak tree’s trunk and paused — considering.  She was being watched, she could tell by the way the hair on the back of her neck stood on end.

Probably an animal.

She had yet to see any animals inside of the clearing, nor any people besides Mira, who only appeared after Ginny had called the elements.

I am not alone.

Well, she wasn’t really.  Hagrid was just outside.  He’d be turning around to head back to his cabin.

I’m not alone here.

Nonsense, Ginny told herself firmly.  No one else knew about the clearing.  And even if someone else were to stumble across it, they wouldn’t be able to hurt her within its confines.

I hope.

Besides, it wasn’t that sort of a feeling.  It wasn’t a ‘you’re in danger!  Run!’ sort of feeling, it was more like walking into a room after someone has just left; you can still smell their scent, feeling their essence on the air currents.

“Do not be afraid.”

The voice was soft, barely louder than a whisper and yet it seemed to come from all around her . . .the air . . .the trees . . .even the ground itself.

“Mira?”  Ginny’s voice sounded oddly wavery to her own ears.  It hadn’t sounded like Mira, but still. . .

“I am not she.”

Ginny swallowed.  She had reached the stone circle now and slowly turned around in a complete circle, her wand out, eyes raking the tree line for a glimpse of the voice’s owner, except there was nothing see.  No, that wasn’t quite right either.

The quality of darkness in the surrounding forest had changed somehow.  Instead of an impenetrable wall of trees surrounding the clearing, she found that she could see into the trees around her.

There, wasn’t that another clearing?  And there, didn’t that look like moonlight glinting off the water?  Except she had her back to the lake, didn’t she?  An owl hooted from quite nearby and Ginny jumped, startled.  She’d never been able to hear sounds in here before.  It had always been completely silent, as if she were locked in a bubble.

The owl hooted again and was answered not by another owl, but by something that sounded remarkably like a phoenix.

“Why are you afraid of the night?” whispered the voice, and Ginny could feel her pulse pounding in her throat.

What was happening?

“I — I’m not afraid of the night I know,” Ginny stammered.  She felt completely stupid talking to an empty clearing, but it was better than the alternative.  “But this — this night you bring, I am not familiar with it.”

“I am acquainted with the night,” said the voice sadly.  “It is all I have left now.”

The last bit had sounded as if it had been a quote, something she had read somewhere not too long ago.

“Doesn’t — doesn’t daylight ever come to where you are?” asked Ginny hesitantly.  She was having a conversation with a disembodied voice.  It was by far the oddest thing she had ever done (not including being in Harry’s head last spring when he’d been in two places at the same time), but unlike the time she’d been observing two Harry’s thoughts, this didn’t feel unnatural.  It felt perfectly right.  She felt, somehow, that she’d know this voice for a very long time. When it finally answered, the voice sounded rather amused.

“Of course it does.  We have night and day, just as you do.  What I mean is that something is stealing our days.”

“You mean that you have less of them?” said Ginny, thoroughly confused now.  “Less daylight hours maybe?”

“No.  The length of our days remains the same as it ever was.  No.  Something, or perhaps someone is stalling their essence.”

“I — I don’t understand.”

“Imagine a painting,” said the disembodied voice in a gentle, patient sort of tone.  “A painting of a beautiful garden perhaps.  The colors are vivid, the detail work exquisite, and then, then someone comes while the paint is still wet and blurs the edges.  Worse than that, they decide to tone down the vividness, can you imagine such a thing?”

Ginny nodded, then wondered why she was nodding.  A disembodied voice couldn’t see her, could it?  It seemed it could, for as if in response to her nod, the voice continued.

“this is what is happening to our days.”

“But who — who would do such a thing?” said Ginny indignantly.  “Why don’t you stop them?”

“If it were one of us, we would,” said the voice gravely.  “If one of us were to abuse the natural lawas in such a way, they would be must severely punished, but I am afraid that the threat does not come from our own world, but from yours.”

“But who, who are you?” asked Ginny carefully.  “And why do you speak of this to me?  What can I possibly do to help you against someone who has the power neceeary to alter time, or the quality of time in such a way?”

“Not time, breathed the voice.  “Time is an illusion.  I speak of the nature of reality.  And I speak to you, for are you not the half of the whole that will save us?”

“I — what?”

“Your heart-mate, child.  Together you hold the key to undoing the wrongs that have been done, of healing the breech between our kinds, between our worlds.”

Ginny stared, astounded, as the twinkling lights she had been vaguely aware of that had been floating amongst the tree branches, began to coalesce into a humanoid shape.  In seconds a tall, fine-featured man with long, silvery-blonde hair that stood out behind him as if stirred by an invisible breeze and moon-kissed skin was standing before her.  He was wearing a softly flowing tunic over loose-fitting breeches and glove-soft boots that looked as if they had been molded to his feet.

“Who — who are you?” Ginny stammered, finally finding her voice.

“Ther is no need to be afraid,” said the man gently.  “I will not harm you.  Even if it was in my heart to harm you, I could not do so on these grounds.  My name is Aiden and you, you must be Ginevra.”

Ginny nodded again, she didn’t trust herself to speak.

Ginevra.

Something about the way he had said it . . .for the first time that she could remember, Ginny found herself liking the sound of her given name.  It was like when Bill called her Gin.  The tone of his voice all full of love and admiration made it not a diminutive, but something altogether beautiful.

“You wonder why I am here,” said the man gravely.

Ginny tried to speak but all that came out was an indistinct sort of sound in the back of her throat.

“I wanted to see you, my Lady, with my own eyes.”

Confused, Ginny stared at the luminescent man.  He had wanted to see her?  But why?  She was . . .

“Nobody,” Ginny whispered faintly.  “Why me, Aiden?  I am nobody of importance.”

“Ah, but you are important, my Lady.  Have not the elements themselves chosen you as one of their own?  I see they have acknowledged you with their gifting ring.”

“Well yes, but . . .”

“And you understand us, your use of the circle clearly indicates this.  And so we, too, would like to acknoewledge you as the one whom we will follow when the time comes.”

“When what time comes?” said Ginny, finally spurred into speech by the oddness of the entire encounter.

“The time to heal the rifts between our worlds; the time to stand together against the dark power that threatens to destroy our way of life.”

“I — I don’t understand!” whispered Ginny. 

“Oh, but you will,” said the man sadly.  “You will.”

And without a further word, he dissolved into a cloud of sparkling light that quickly disappeared on the gently breeze.

Back to index

Chapter 11: THE YULE BALL

CHAPTER ELEVEN:  THE YULE BALL

22 November 1994

After Aiden left last night, I called the elements and then I waited, but Mira did not come.  I am worked that perhaps Aiden’s magic interfered with her own, or perhaps it doesn’t matter which of them comes, just that one does.

I can’t believe that though.  Mira has mentioned several times that she is tuned in to me specifically.  This Aiden person seemed more tuned in to the place. 

I have to wonder at what would have happed if, while the forest beyond the circle seemed so changed, as to what would have happened if I had stepped beyond the protective circle of trees.  Would I have walked out of my own world and into that of the First People?  If I had kept walking, would I have reached that clearing that I spotted through the trees?  And what would I have found there, First People perhaps, or creatures that have not been seen by wizards for a millennia?  Or perhaps there would have been heaps of lost treasure or another circle of standing stones?  Or perhaps the answer to the question that haunts me day and night — who am I?  Really?  Why have I been singled out for such trials and triumphs and given talents and powers beyond most wizards reckoning?  I wonder if Harry ever asks himself that same question, especially after last night.

Dragons, eh?  He has to get by a dragon, a nesting mother mind you (they can be dreadfully vicious).  You should hear Charlie tell stories about some of the dragons he’s had to handle.  It makes me sick to my stomach to think of Harry having to face one of those all on his own! 

Regardless, I find myself in a quandary.  How am I going to be able to resist the urge to send my elementals to Harry’s aid?  If I give him help, the elementals could be detected and that could lead to awkward questions, both for him and for me.  So what do I do, sit around on my duff and let him get killed?  Or risk the chance of detection and come to his rescue?  I have to admit that returning the favor (e.g. saving his life, as he saved mine) does have it’s merits, but if the Ministry found out about the powers I have, I have a nasty suspicion that they would not be content to simply let me be.  I have a feeling that they would want to find out how the power works, or worse yet, they would want to use my power for their own purposes.  God, I just felt a family of centipedes travel down my spine.

24 November 1994

God it’s good to be able to eat again!  Harry lost his appetite when he found about the dragons and his roiling and churning stomach (due to nerves, I’m certain) did absolutely nothing to enhance my own appetite.  I’m afraid I rather pigged out at supper.

It’s all over now though, his worries about first task at any rate.  He was phenomenal!  I’ve seen Harry fly before, but not like that!  He looked weightless.  He made getting past a Hungarian Horntail look effortless!  And the power he was generating as he hovered there, willing her to come after him . . .does he realize just how powerful he really is?  Does he realize that he literally willed her to rear up from her eggs?  Nothing else could have convinced her to leave her clutch.

I do, even if he doesn’t.  I was there, in his head.  Merlin, the feeling he gets when he flies, that is exactly how it feels for me; flying and dancing.  Everything else just sort of fades away.

At least the encounter has snapped Ron out of his funk.  He’s talking to Harry again.  I think the shock of seeing Harry risk his life (Harry, who would never do such a thing unless his life, or the life of someone he cared about were at stake) shook Ron up pretty badly. 

5 December 1994

I’m going with Neville to the Yule Ball.  I wasn’t going to go at all, but after watching that scene in the library, well, I couldn’t let his feelings be hurt any more than they already were. The thing is, it’s my fault he got his feeling hurt to begin with.

He and Colin and I were working on the layout of the Christmas edition of the Howler in the library when Hermione breezed in and pulled up the table next to ours.  She then proceeded to pull approximately half of the library out of her bag and spread everything out.

“Do it now,” I hissed in Neville’s ear.  “I’ll keep Colin busy.”  I knew that Neville wanted to ask Hermione to the Ball, he’d only told me so a hundred times at least.  I also knew that as much as Ron likes her, the thought of asking Hermione, or any other girl to the Yule Ball had never even crossed his mind.  He just isn’t interested in balls and dancing.  Especially dancing.

Anyway, I pulled Colin off to look for Angelina, who is supposed to be doing our Quidditch column this month.  Thing is, I knew for a fact that she was sitting in front of the common room fire talking to Alicia about heaven only knows what.

When we got back to the table, Hermione was sitting at her table, talking composedly to Viktor Krum, and I could just make out Neville’s back disappearing into the invisibility section.  I caught up with him just before he could slip out of the door.

“Neville!”

The look he gave me when he turned around froze me in my tracks.  To be perfectly honest, I don’t think that I’ve ever seen Neville angry before, nut just upset or embarrassed, but totally pissed off — at me!

“Did you do it on purpose?” he spat.

I stared at him, dumbfounded.

“Did I do what on purpose?”

“Have me ask her when you knew that she was going with someone else?”

“You mean she’s-”

“Going with someone else to the Yule Ball, yeah.”

“Who?”  I hadn’t meant to be such an insensitive arse, but the question slipped out before I could stop myself.    The effect that one single word had on Neville was amazing.  He deflated, wilted, right there in front of me.

“So —so you didn’t know?” he asked sadly.

“Oh god, Neville, I’m so sorry!  I had no idea, honestly!”  I felt horrible.  “I would never have encouraged you to ask her if I’d known that she was already going with someone.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Neville heavily.  Still,” he added, his head lifting and an odd spark jumping into his eyes.  “It is your fault.”

“Neville, I told you, I didn’t know, she didn’t tell me!”

“You owe me,” he insisted.

“Yeah, I suppose so.”

“Tell you what.  Come to the Yule Ball with me and we’ll call it even.”

I stared at him, dumbfounded.  Had Neville Longbottom just asked me out on a date?

“Any port in a storm, eh Neville?” I said before stopping to think.

“Don’t be stupid, Ginny.  We’re friends, aren’t we?  Who says I can’t ask a friend to the Yule Ball?”

“No one, but Neville, aren’t you supposed to ask someone you . . . well . . . like?”

“I like you,” said Neville stoutly.

“Not like that, I mean, aren’t you supposed to ask someone you’re, ah, interested in?”

“I am interested in you.”

“But you don’t like me the same way that you like Hermione, Neville.”

“I like you better than I do Hermione,” said Neville.

“Don’t be stupid, Neville, I see you moon over her.”

“So what if I do,” said Neville.  “But I don’t really know Hermione, not really, Ginny.  She and I aren’t friends the way you and I are.”

“So, why did you ask her then?” I said rather uncertainly.  His comment about us being friends touched me more than I cared to admit.

“Because you pushed me into it.”

“Come off it, Neville!”

“Well you did!  You’re fingerprints are all over my back.  I may have been crushing on Hermione, but I haven’t done anything about it.”

“But -”

“And I wouldn’t have asked her even, if you hadn’t kept going on about it.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but shut it again when I realized that he was right.

“So come on, Ginny.  You owe me.  Besides that, I have it on good authority that Harry’s going to ask Cho, so there’s no point in waiting around.”

He didknow me!  Damn,but I’d been had.  And he also had an advantage.  Third years don’t go to the Yule Ball if not asked by an older student.

“All right then, you prat.  You win.  I’ll come.  But don’t expect much, I don’t even own dress robes!”

He shrugged and grinned.  “Wear your bathrobe then, Gin, you’ll still be the most beautiful girl there.”  And without another word he walked off down the hall, leaving me to the joys of Colin and the next edition of the Howler.

12 December 1995

Oh my god!  I feel so stupid!  I knew that Harry was planning on asking Cho out today.  He’s been screwing up his courage all week, so I purposefully went out of my way to do all sorts of rally involved and complex stuff so that I wouldn’t have to hear him.  I worked pretty well too. I finished an essay for Snape, studied for our Transfiguration final, worked out a new rune translation and two worksheets for astronomy.

Just as I was getting ready to go down to dinner and congratulating myself on achieving my goal, Ron stumbled into the common room looking as if he’d been punched in the gut.

It took me a few minutes, but I finally worked out that he, Ron, had for some inexplicable reason asked Fleur Delacour out to the ball.  And he didn’t just ask her out, he asked her out in front of God and everyone in the Entry Hall.  I sat with him for a while, trying to help him sort out why it was he’d even bothered.  Then Harry came in looking as bad, if not worse, than Ron.

Shit.  It never occurred to me that Cho would turn Harry down!  Nor did it occur to me that Ron would suggest that I go with Harry.  Damn, damn, damn!  I felt like sinking right into the floor and disappearing forever, especially when I had to admit to my brother and the love of my life that I had already agreed to go with Neville!

Harry would have gone with me, too.  He was desperate.  In fact, he was so desperate that when Parvati and Lavender came in he went right up to Parvati and asked herif she’d go with him.    He doesn’t even like her!  When he asked her, he was hoping against hope that she’d say yes just he wouldn’t look stupid as the only champion without a partner.  But she accepted, and I guess that’s all that matters.  That and my blush induced sunburn.

17 December 1994

The question remains; what the hell am I going to wear to the Yule Ball?  I don’t have dress robes and I know mum and dad don’t have the money to buy me any, which is why I haven’t bothered to ask them for help, or even to tell them that I have a date, because you just know that the subject would come up.

There is one option open.  I suppose I could temporarily transfigure a set of my school robes.  It’s not a difficult charm, though we haven’t covered them yet.  I’d keep it simple, just change the color, and maybe shorten the sleeves a little.  I think I could handle it.

Mum referenced transfiguration charms several times this summer.  And no, I don’t plan on suddenly developing a liking for the bulk of those stupid householdy charms (although I must admit, my “Scorgify” and “Pack” charms are pretty good.  I’ve used both of them several times since coming back to school). 

I refuse to be treated different because I may one day have children!  Being a mother, or the possibility of me one day being a mother, should not be allowed to define my entire existence!

25 December 1994

Ginny turned slowly as Lisa surveyed her from every angle, giving a tweak here, a pat there, tucking in a ribbon, flicking off a stray bit of lint.

“Perfect!” she announced finally.  “You look lovely, Ginny, really!”

“Well, better than I did, anyway,” said Ginny, grinning. 

The robes she was wearing were exactly what she’d been wishing for — and she hadn’t had to transfigure a thing.  After she’d called the elements the previous night, she’d explained the entire situation to Mira, who had suggested that she call them up again and ask them to help her out.

“Be specific,” Mira had told her.  “Color, length, shape, size, material.  They will give you exactly what you ask for.  If you leave something out, they will fill in the gaps themselves.”  She wrinkled her nose.  “It can be quite disconcerting to find that you have the perfect angora cardigan, but that there are no buttons but buckles or something to hold it shut because you didn’t specify.”

Ginny had done as she’d suggested, and had come back to her dorm room to find the perfect robes drapped across her bed and Mandy gibbering in the doorway.

“They — they just appeared!”  she’d said when Ginny had calmed her down enough so that she could speak.  “Out of thin air!  One moment the bed was empty, the next they were there!”

The robes Ginny had requested didn’t resemble robes so much as they did a dress with a sheer, calf-length jacket over it.  The under dress was made of a shimery, amber-brown material that just matched her eyes.  The over-robe was of a sheer, cream-colored fabric with satin trim around the hem, neckline and sleeves of the same shimmery amber-brown material as the under dress, only shot through with gold embroidery.

“I wish I was going,” said Mandy (who had recovered and was now taking an active interest in the proceedings).  She stuck out her lower lip in her trademark pout.

“Hey, you’re the one who had to pick a third-year boyfriend!” retorted Lisa.

“Well, Jack is rather dishy,” agreed Mandy readily, tossing her curls.  “In fact, we’ll be having a private dance of our own.”

“Ooh!  Where are you going then?” asked Laura Marchbanks, who was watching Ginny’s preparations while sprawled across her own bed.  “Andrew’s taking me up to the top of the Astronomy tower!”

“Hey, that’s where Jack said we’re going!”

“Isn’t the Astronomy tower supposed to be off limits?” asked Lisa curiously.

“Well, everyone who could get us in trouble is going to be at the ball now, aren’t they?”  said Laura haughtily.  “Besides,” she added in an undertone to Mandy.  “I’d rather be up in the Astronomy tower with Andy then go to the Yule Ball with a complete dweeb!”

Ginny’s insides went icy.  She could feel the familiar tingle of her elemental power in her fingertips.  This was Neville they were putting down!

“Don’t listen to them,” advised Lisa, pulling one of the ringlets from behind Ginny’s ear so that it could lay by itself against her face.  “You look lovely, and Neville is a good friend, so go on, enjoy yourself and bring me back a butterbeer!”

The tingling mercifully receded.  Is that all it took?  Ginny wondered, a good friend to help me diffuse my temper?  Laughing, Ginny made her way to the common room which looked very odd with all of the multi-colored robes flitting about.

Neville was waiting for her by the fireplace. 

“Gosh, Gin, you look beautiful!”

“Thanks, you look good yourself,” said Ginny, and indeed he did.  His hair was severely parted and he was wearing navy blue robes which, while rather boring in and of themselves, were neatly cut and obviously of good quality.

“Please, my Gran picked them out.  I told her I wanted blue robes, nothing fancy, but I was thinking of something that would make me appear less like — an accountant,” he said with a snort.

“Well, she’s got good taste, your Gran.”

“Oh, the robes are good enough,” said Neville heavily, offering her a pudgy arm, “But they’re not me, you know?”

“We still haven’t found your look, have we?” said Ginny teasingly.

“How about great boring prat?” asked Neville gloomily.

“Damn it, Neville, not tonight!”

“Ginny, what?”

“Do me a favor, Neville, and just for one night, don’t put yourself down, okay?”

Neville gave her a lopsided grin.

The Great Hall was almost unrecognizable with its shimmering trees and individual tables in place of the long house tables.  Each of the huge, arched windows in the Hall had been charmed to give off a soft, golden glow, so what with the thousands upon thousands of candles floating overhead, the inside of the Great Hall shown as brightly as the grounds on a summer afternoon.

Neville steered her to a table where Seamus and Lavender were whispering quietly together.  A moment later, Dean had taken the empty chair between Seamus and Neville.  Then, looking thoroughly disgruntled, Ron flopped into the chair next to Ginny, not even bothering to hold out Padma’s chair.  Padma took the seat next to Ron looking rather sulky.

“Ladies and Gentlemen!” A deep, unfamiliar voice echoed throughout the Great Hall.  It sounded rather as though a Muggle game show host had been transported her e direct from London.  “Everyone please put your hands together for the Triwizard Champions!”

The doors to the Entrance Hall (which had been closed after the last of the students had entered) were now thrown open and the champions and their partners filed into the Great Hall to tumultuous applause.

Ginny tried not to stare.  She’d caught a glimpse of Harry in the Entrance Hall, but now she could see him properly.  His robes were an emerald green, the exact same shade of his eyes.  She’d known the robes were green.  Her mum had bought them for Harry last summer after all, but she hadn’t realized that the shade was so precisely the color of Harry’s eyes, and the way it off-set his hair . . .Ginny had to force herself to breathe.

As Harry and Parvati (who looked stunning in her filmy robes of shocking pink) swept by the table at which Ginny and Neville sat, Harry’s eyes met hers and Ginny felt her breath catch in her chest as he smiled and the overwhelming feeling of familiarity swept over her as it had when she’d read the letter from the future.

His emerald gaze outshone even the breathtaking green of the surrounding hillside and the look of smoldering passion in them pinned her, even as his hands had pinned her wrists in place. 

“What I need, Ginny, is you,” he said, and his voice was gruff with need and longing, but his lips were soft and warm, and the tingle that went up her spine at his touch was worth every moment that she’d had to wait . . .

~*~

His eyes, dark green now with passion, were just inches from her own as their bodies joined seamlessly. Deep green pools of passion.  She was drowning . . .drowning in his body . . .drowning in his soul . . .

~*~

“My God, Ginny, I killed them!”  His eyes clung to hers, filled with anguish and despair, begging her for understanding. The vividness of them contrasting dramatically with the blood smeared across his face, glistening in his hair. “Ginny, what have I done . . .?”

~*~

He had refused to wear dress robes for the wedding.  He’d liked the way that the tuxedo he’d worn to the Nationals had looked on him and would settle for nothing less.  But he had worn an emerald green bowtie and cummerbund with the pearl-white tux and as they’d exchanged their vows for the second time, it seemed to Ginny that a day, a life, just couldn’t be any more perfect than what she had right now . . .!

~*~

“Ginny, are you okay?”  Neville’s voice in her ear brought Ginny back to earth with an unpleasant lurch and, for a fleeting moment, she felt a rush of anger surge through her, aimed at the boy who was leaning over her in concern, and was rewarded by a yelp from Neville. She pulled her hand away from him before she could shock him again.

Fuck it all!  She was still only thirteen and she was still and school, and here she was watching as the love of her life paraded into the Great Hall with another girl on his arm.

I don’t know how much more of this I can stand!  Ginny thought wildly as Harry sat down beside Percy and Parvati, smiling around at all the faces turned toward them, took her seat beside him.  I’m having flashes of a future I share with this prat, and right here and now I have to watch him go out with someone else!  How fair is that?

Ginny wrenched her jaws apart (she hadn’t even been aware that she’d been clenching them) turned to Neville, determined to be nice, only to find him staring stupidly at the couple who had entered behind Harry and Parvati.  It was Victor Krum, and floating along side of him in the robes she’d agonized over, was Hermione.

“Shite!”  spat Ron from her other side.  Ginny glanced at him and then looked again and her heart paused between beats.  She’d seen Ron mad before.  His towering tempers were legend, even at the Burrow where flaming arguments were an everyday occurance, but this was beyond mad.  Ron was absolutely furious.

She couldn’t tell if he was mad at the fact that Hermione was there with Krum, or that she had been telling the truth when she said she was going with someone else, or the fact that she looked so beautiful (which she did) but he absolutely crackled with propriatorial jealousy and sexual awareness.

He wants her, Ginny thought dumbly, still staring at her brother.  The great git wants her, but he can’t for the life of him figure out what exactly it is that he’s feeling.  He’s all full of lust and anger and jealousy and he doesn’t understand what’s happening to him. 

Whatever the problem, it had worked a profound transformation on Ron’s physique.  He was sitting up straight now, not slouching.  His cobalt blue eyes were sparkling dangerously and even his hair seemed to crackle with fury.

On Ron’s other side, Ginny could just see Padma stirring, reacting almost instinctively to the pure maleness radiating off of her brother. A nudge in the ribs brought Ginny’s attention back to Neville.

“Finally figured it out, has he?” asked Neville, his eyebrows raised.

Ginny grinned.  She and Neville had talked about this before, how it was obvious that Ron was attracted to Hermione and how it was equally obvious that Hermione was attracted to Ron.  Neville always got depressed after talking about it, but their mutual unacknowledged attraction seemed to hold a sort of morbid fascination for him.

“Give him time,” whispered Ginny.  “He’s a dense one, my brother, but he’ll figure it out eventually.”

“Yeah, I just hope I’m there to see it when he does.”

“Neville, you promised not to put yourself down tonight!”

“I’m not!”

“By wishing to see Ron and Hermione finally get their act together, what with you still drooling over Hermione, it comes to the same thing!”

“I don’t drool as much as you think, Ginny! I told you, I’ve been crushing on her, yeah, but I’ve always known she and Ron would end up together, so my drooling was nothing more than a wishful fantasy really.”

Ginny snorted with amusement at the thought of what Hermione would think if Ginny were to tell her that she, Hermione, was the object of Neville’s wishful fantasies.

Padma looked around at her with a reproving sort of glance and Lavender said, “Ginevra, really!”

“Oh lighten up, you lot!” said Ginny brightly, still trying to shake the odd familiarity she had experienced when she’d met Harry’s eye.  “It’s a Yule Ball, not an inauguration ceremony!  Why is everyone so serious?”

“This is why the ball is only supposed to be for fourth years and above,” muttered Padma.

“We’re in the Great Hall, not Windsor Castle,” continued Ginny, as if she had never heard Padma.  “So let’s have some fun!  Double desert to the first person who can manage to get the kitchen to send up the most food to their plate!”

That broke the ice, but things didn’t really start to loosen up until Ginny managed to sneak a canary cream into Dean’s chicken casserole.  The sight of a giant canary sitting sedately at a table full of prim and properly dressed witches and wizards sent the entire table into peals of laughter.  In fact, by desert (during which Ginny — with judicious help from her elementals — had managed to spike the entire table’s coffees with Fire Whisky) they were the loudest table going, with the possible exception of the table where Fred, George, Lee Jordan, Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell were in full swing, singing twisted renditions of The Name Game and making bizarre faces at anyone who gave them reproving looks.

“Takes a Weasley!”  Seamus Finnegan noted when Padma pointed out the fact that their table was being stared at.

“I’ll drink to that!” Dean Thomas said brightly, grinning and raising his glass to Ginny.  “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you this laid back Ginny.  What’s got into you, anyway?”

“I’m in training,” said Ginny, grinning back at him and lower her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

“For what, the most unladylike behavior at Hogwarts?” asked Padma frostily as Ginny took sixteen brownies off of a tray that had appeared in the middle of their table, and began using them to build a fortress on top of her desert plate.

“Training to take over the Weasley throne I expect,” said Seamus, leaning across Dean and Neville to add three éclairs to Ginny’s structure in lieu of a roof.  “That it, Ginny?  Are Fred and George preparing to pass the torch?”

“Something like that,” said Ginny, eyeing her creation critically.  “It’s missing something.”

“Snow!” said Neville, spooning whipped cream onto the éclair roof.

“A turret!” said Dean, upending his fork and sticking its handle down through the center of the construction so only the tines showed.

“How about taste?” said Padma acidly.

“Lay off of my sister, Padma, at least she knows how to have fun!” snapped Ron, speaking up for the first time since supper had begun.  “What its missing, Ginny, is a flag.”  He took the maraschino cherry off of the top of his hot fudge sundae and impaled it on one of Dean’s fork tines.

“Perfect!” said Ginny, clapping her hands together delightedly.

Padma sniffed, and turned her attention back to the champion’s table where Dumbledore was now getting to his feet.  The Headmaster motioned for everyone else to stand as well.  In an instant, Ginny’s fortress had melted away, leaving a clean, white-clad table, which promptly zoomed away to line the edge of the Great Hall in order to make way for the dancing.

“I think I’m going to cry,” said Ginny in a mock-strangled voice as the Weird sisters struck up a slow, mournful tune and the champions began to dance.

“Why, because Harry asked my sister and not you?” said Padma haughtily.

“Actually, because I just realized that I spent the entire time playing with my desert and never got around to eating any!”

Neville snorted with amusement and even Ron was smiling slightly.  Ginny noticed, however, that the smile wiped itself off of his face as Hermione and Krum waltzed past, both of them chatting animatedly.

“Come on, Ginny, let’s dance,” muttered Neville.  “That’s what we came for, isn’t it?”

Neville was a terrible dancer, but Ginny managed to keep her feet out his way for the most part. Their conversation more than made up for his lack of skill, and soon they were laughing and making jokes about the other couples on the floor.

After two dances they made their way out of the Great Hall and into the fairy grotto that had been magicked into place outside of the front doors in order to get some air and to talk without interruption.

“Wish I was a better dancer, Ginny.  You’re toes alright then?”

“They’re fine, Neville, really.”

“You’re a really good dancer Gin.”

“You would be too if you’d been taking lessons since you were four!”

“Great, just perfect!  Of all the girls at Hogwarts, I have to pick the dancing diva, me, Mr. Clumsy himself!”

“Neville!” said Ginny warningly.  “You promised!”

“Yeah, I know.” 

They’d paused on the edge of a spectacular display of entwined roses and sparkling fairies.  “Can’t help it sometimes.  It’s sort of second nature now.”

“Cut it out, Neville!”  I want you to promise me that you’ll stop thinking of yourself as inferior to everyone else.  You’re not you know.”

There was a sudden movement beside her.  Ginny turned just in time to see a fiture coming straight at her.  She inadvertently took a step backward and Neville tripped and sprawled heavily on the gravel at her feet.

“Merlin, Neville, are you okay?”  Ginny got a hand under Neville’s elbow and pulled him to his feet.  “What happened?”

“I — I tripped!”

“I saw that bit, but why?”  To her astonishment, Neville went scarlet and suddenly Ginny had a very good notion of what Neville had been trying to do.  Poor, bumbling Neville!

“Fess up, Neville,” she said, grinning broadly.  “What were you trying to do?”

Neville looked at her, beet red with embarrassment, and grinned sheepishly.

“I — I was trying to — to kiss you,” he admitted and went, if possible, even redder.  “I’m sorry, Gin, I don’t know what came over me, really.  You, well, you just look so beautiful, and the stars and roses and everything . . .I just . . .”

“Neville?”

“What?”

“Do you still want to kiss me?”

Neville nodded, not meeting her eyes.

“Then don’t apologize,” she said quietly.  “Just do it.”

Neville hesitated only an instant before leaning in toward her.  Ginny closed her eyes and tipped her head slightly to the side.  Neville, however, must have done the exact same thing because an instant later they both squealed in pain as their noses collided.

“God, Ginny, I’m sor-”

“Neville, if you dare apologize for trying to kiss me I’ll hex you into the middle of next year!” Ginny warned.  “Tell you what, I’ll hold still, you move, that way neither of us will get hurt.”

Ginny held perfectly still as Neville hesitantly leaned in and brushed his lips against her own.  His lips were warm and dry and gone too quickly for Ginny to register anything other than relief over the fact that he hadn’t hit her nose this time.

“Better?” asked Neville hopefully.

“Much,” said Ginny, grinning, “but I think we both need more practice.  What do you think?”

Neville grinned back at her.  “Want to try again?”

“Why not?”

Neville leaned in again and Ginny raised an arm, thinking to pull him in a bit closer, but caught her robe instead on a rosebush.

“Aargh!” she leaned forward to pull herself free of the painful thorns and clunked her forehead against Neville’s.

“Damn!” said Ginny eloquently, rubbing at her tender head.

“Was that you or me?” groaned Neville.

“Me, I caught my hand on a rosebush,” said Ginny with a grimace.  She raised her torn hand to her mouth and sucked on the cut.  “Real romantic, wouldn’t you say?  Guess it’s my turn to apologize.”

“Maybe we should get back to the castle before anything worse happens,” Neville suggested, fishing a paper napkin out of a pocket and handing it out to her. “Thank you, Ginny,” he said quietly.

“For what, making a complete arse of myself?” asked Ginny wryly.

“For not laughing at me,” said Neville, taking her arm and leading her back towards the castle.  “For being my friend.”  He paused, deftly twisted a soft, creamy-white rose off the nearest bush.  He touched it with his wand, smoothing out the thorns before tucking it behind her ear.  “For the kiss.”

“No, Neville, thank you.”

Ginny found, much to her amazement, that she really meant it.

*     *     *

The rest of the evening passed by in a blur.  Ginny was peripherally aware of Harry and Ron talking animatedly about giants in a far corner, but didn’t pay the conversation more than a cursory glance.

She danced twice more with Neville.  He really was awful, and he knew it, apologizing profusely after each dance.

“It’s okay, Neville, honestly!” Ginny said tiredly, refusing to wince as he trod on her toes once again.

“No, it’s not.  You deserve to have at least a couple of good dances.  I know!” he added brightly and tugged Ginny over to a corner where Dean Thomas was sitting with a couple of Ravenclaw fourth year boys.

“Hey, Michael, can I borrow you for a minute?”

A tall, olive-skinned boy with an unruly mop of glossy brown curls and vividly blue eyes acknowledged him by nodding his head.

“Would you mind giving my date a turn on the dance floor?  I swear, all I have is a series of left feet.”

“You must have one hell of a shoe bill,” murmured the boy.  He stood smoothly, looking Ginny up and down as he did so.  “It would be my pleasure, Neville.

“Ginny, this smooth mother is Michael, Michael Corner.  He’s in my year, but in Ravenclaw, and if I had to pick someone, I’d have to say that he’s probably the best dancer at Hogwarts.  Michael, this is Ginny Weasley.”

“I figured as much,” said Michael quietly.  “Sure you want to risk her with me, Neville?”

The boy, Michael, had addressed Neville, but was still looking at Ginny.

“Mike’s got quite the reputation as a lady’s man,” said Dean, addressing Ginny in a stage whisper.  “He goes through girlfriends like water.”

“Only because I have yet to find a wine to my tasting,” countered Michael.

Ginny blinked.  Neville, Dean and the other Ravenclaw boy (Ginny thought his name was Terry) all groaned.

“Shall we?” he held his hand out to Ginny.  She stole a sideways glance at Neville.  He was grinning broadly.  He met her eye and gave her the smallest of winks and Ginny let Michael lead her out onto the dance floor.

Michael Corner didn’t live up to Neville’s boast of being an excellent dancer, he exceeded it.  Short of Bill, she’d never danced with a better partner.

“You are good,” Ginny admitted as Michael initiated a small pause step to avoid running into Fred and Angelina. 

“You’re not bad yourself,” Michael countered.  “And you’ve picked up on every one of my leads.  You take lessons then?”

“Since I was four,” Ginny said, grinning.

“I’ve been dancing since I was six,” Michael said, grinning back at her.  “My mum teaches the Foxtrot andd Charleston and other odd dances in retirement homes.  She needed a partner to practice with, and, well . . .” He spun her out in an underarm turn just as the music ended.

“Care to try something a little more exotic?” Michael asked as the weird sisters struck up their own version of a tango.

“Do you think you can handle it?” Ginny countered.

Michael grinned.  “Is that a challenge, woman?”

“Maybe, or perhaps I’m wondering just how good of a dancer you are.”

“Careful, Miss Weasley.  You may get more than you bargained for,” he warned her even as he held his arms out in invitation to begin the next dance.

Ginny tilted her head to one side, observing him critically.  She was so tired.  So tired of the tantalizing tidbits her bond with Harry allowed her.  Glimpses of things so far away that she couldn’t rightly believe that she would ever actually experience them.  Michael was cute.  Tall, dark, handsome and, well, she had an entire year to kill after all, perhaps longer, and at least he could dance!

“the question isn’t if I’ll get more or less than what I bargained for,” said Ginny finally, surprising herself with her own boldness, “but whether or not you can handle what I have to offer.”

Michael’s eyebrows lifted into his hairline even as a wide grin slipped onto his face.

“Shall we dance then?”

Ginny came into his arms then, willingly.

“I’d love to dance.”

~*~

Back to index

Chapter 12: STAIRWAY TO PARADISE

CHAPTER TWELVE:  STAIRWAY TO PARADISE

26 December 1994

I’m not exactly a morning person, but can you believe that I slept until noon?  Maybe it was because Neville and I stayed up until 2 a.m. just talking.  He didn’t try to kiss me again (not that I would have put up a fight) Neville’s a good friend and a really nice person.  I’ll never be sorry that he was the first person to kiss me.  It’s sweet really. I’ll never be ashamed that it was Neville.  In fact, I’m glad really, he was as embarrassed as I was over the whole klutzy episode and I know he won’t go telling tales.

There’s got to be a way to keep from making such a fool out of myself the next time a guy tries to kiss me.  Too bad there’s not some sort of instruction manual, you know, that Dummies series that came out just a few years ago, Kissing for Dummies.  That would be perfect.  But that doesn’t explain why I was so tired.  Maybe it wasn’t just staying up until two.  Maybe it was dancing so much with Michael, or more likely, it was the flaming row between Ron and Hermione that Neville and I (and the rest of Gryffindor house) got to witness.

It would have been humorous if they hadn’t been taking it so seriously.  Ron exploded, literally explodedwhen Hermione came into the Common Room.  He tried to turn her going with Krum to the Ball into a loyalty issue, but the fact that he was jealous was written all over his face, in capitol letters, bold type, exclamation points and a few under scorings just to be on the safe side.

Hermione’s parting shot, about next time Ron asking her before someone else did instead of as a last resort, touched a nerve.  He hid it well, but I know Ron.  He looked for a spit second as if he’d been punched in the stomach.  He spluttered and went on about how Hermione had completely missed the point, but he couldn’t fool me. 

Poor Harry was in the middle as usual.  He looked so lost as they stood there screaming at each other that I was half tempted to wade in and rescue him, but thought better of it.  I have to admit that a small part of me said that it served Harry right to suffer a little.  After all, I have to share his mind (whether he realizes it or not) and anyone whose brain is continually dwelling on Cho Chang (when it isn’t agonizing over the Triwizard tournament) deserves to suffer a little.

Damn but it must annoying to be a slave to the male sex drive.  Short of throwing myself at his head, it’s doubtful that he’d even notice me if Cho and I were standing side by side.  According to Mira, Harry and I get together during his sixth year — so what happens?  Does he give up on Cho?  Do she and Cedric end up as a couple?  Or maybe he goes out with her and they have a falling out . . .very frustrating, to only have half of the picture!

Speaking of the male sex drive . . .Michael is an absolute doll!  Not only is he an excellent dancer, but he's also a skillful flirt.  Our conversations (while we were dancing) were packed full of sexual innuendo (stuff that would have left poor Harry blushing and stammering) and he kept dropping compliments and come-ons with an ease that I should probably find alarming, but you know what?  After years of being ignored by my brothers (my brothers friend), and put down by girls my own age, it felt pretty damned good to be on the receiving end of such a smooth operator, even if it was insincere.

Michael and I danced four straight dances after Neville introduced us, then I danced two more with Neville and one (if you can believe it) with George! 

When I danced with George, he complimented me on my dress and on my dancing and even went so far as to congratulate me on keeping supper lively.

“I’m assuming you spiked the coffee,” he muttered as he took me back to my table where Neville and Michael were both waiting.  “What did you use?”

“Fire Whiskey,” I shot back, getting a kick out of the mixed look of shock and admiration that stole across his face.

“Where on earth did you get hold of Fire Whisky, little sis?”

“Give me some credit George darling, I’m a Weasley!”

“And a credit to the name!” he agreed gallantly.

High praise indeed, coming from one of the masters of mayhem.

I danced the midnight dance with Michael, and I really do think that he would have kissed me if Neville hadn’t been watching.  He looked like he wanted to.  But it was Neville who walked me back to the Common Room just in time to witness Ron and Hermione’s fireworks, and afterwards we ended up talking for the longest time.  I kissed him though, when we finally said goodnight.  Granted it was just a peck on the cheek, but you should have seen his face!

4 January 1995

What a nasty specimen of humanity!  I can’t believe what that Skeeter woman wrote in The Daily Prophet about Hagrid!  Better yet, why did the Prophet print such crap?  Garbage is what it was!  Complete and utter horse manure.

WHO GIVES A DAMN IF HAGRID HAD A GIANTESS AS A MOTHER!  I know what everyone says about Giants, but this is Hagridthey’re talking about!  Anyone who has even the slightest acquaintance with him can tell that he’s not bloodthirsty, or vicious.  I’ll grant you that he does have a fixation with monsters, but he means well.  He wouldn’t purposefully hurt anyone, or anythingfor that matter.

And now Hagrid’s in hiding!  He could quash that woman with a look and yet she’s got him cowering like a whipped pup.  The power of the press. Does public opinion really matter that much to Hagrid?

*     *     *

I had to think about that for a minute, and I guess I’m not one to talk.  I treasure what few friends I have and would do practically anything to keep their good opinion.   I’ve hurt so many people, my family mostly, by being such an idiot over the whole thing with Tom’s diary.  You can’t know how much it hurts me to have my family (all but Bill and Dad really) be so disgusted by what my mind was exposed to.

I mean, there’s people like Mandy and Padma and Lavender who I wouldn’t want as friends anyway, but people like Neville and Colin and Lisa, they’re precious to me, all of them.  I don’t want their feelings hurt like mine were.

Is that why Hagrid’s hiding?  Is he afraid of what people will say?  Or maybe he’s afraid of how he might react to what they say.  Or maybe he’s scared that the people he really loves will no longer want to be around him when they know the truth.

Speaking of hurting people, I think that the incident with the ornaments last Christmas really shook mum and dad up.  They didn’t send out the ornaments to those of us who stayed at Hogwarts this year, like they did last year with Ron.  No, this year there was just the regular gifts and a letter from mum hoping that we were all behaving ourselves and having a good time, but no ornaments.

Mum sent me my usual jumper (mine’s always a non-descript beige color which I suppose she thinks goes well with my hair, but it’s hideous, really!  It makes me look like some sort of wretched rutabaga) as well as two pairs of socks and a sort of knitted hood that has long ends that I can wrap around my neck like a scarf.  Typical mum, her gifts are always practical (except for the fudge, mum’s fudge is to die for!).

Bill sent me a collapsible Barre.  You shake it out and it springs up to full size.  All you have to do is say ‘shrink’ and collapses again, to the size of a matchbox.  Cool!  This means that I can practice right in my dorm room instead of having to beg for use of an unused classroom.  He also sent me two refills for my journal. 

Charlie’s gift was a packet of Dragon Mist seeds.  Besides being exquisitely beautiful, Dragon Mist has all sorts of magical properties, but they grow in Southern China, so how on earth did he get them?  They’re really rare and valuable.  I’ll have to plant some in my garden, but I’ve already decided to give a few to Madam Sprout, she’ll be so excited!

From Percy there was a writing kit, a small black leather pouch with a neat quill, a vial of ink and several rolls of parchment.  Useful, but boring.  Percy reminds me of mum sometimes, so practical it makes your head ache.

Fred’s gift was a small, dilapidated book with the title of, A Young Witch’s Guide to Etiquette and Department.  He had thoroughly marked up the margins with droll notes, all of them poking fun at the lessons mum had us working on all summer.

George surprised me, again.  He’s been doing that a lot lately.  His present was a small figure of a ballerina.  She’s on Pointe, dancing to The Firebird (to judge from the costume).  What really got me was that her hair, which was slicked back into a miniscule bun, was as vividly red as my own.  Even her features bear an unusual resemblance. 

I have to grin every time I see her because I’m reminded of last summer when George alone turned up to watch my first Dance Recital.  She’s on my bedside table now, alongside my model of Mr. Chubbs.  The first time I put them together was nearly catastrophic; he stalked her!  I swear!  He crept up behind her and pounced.  She reacted with a fan kick that sent him sprawling.  They’ve avoided each other ever since and have taken to glaring at each other from opposite sides of my African Violet plant (which was my gift from Ron).

Dad’s gifts were whimsical (as Dad’s gifts tend to be).  He gave me a stack of yellowing letters all tied up with faded blue ribbon.  They were letters to my Grandmother from her mentor, Parnell Flamel.  He also gave me a wide, wooden bracelet, which has been engraved with precisely the same designs as my gifting ring.

Sweet of him to remember!  See, I told him last summer about having to field all sorts of questions about my ring, and this was his answer.  His not said it all really.  “Tell them the bracelet was a gift from your father and maybe they’ll think it was a matched set.”  He also said that there was nothing of “importance” in the letters, but he thought that I might enjoy reading them.

Hermione gave me a box of chocolate frogs and Lisa’s gift was a mystery novel by Gene Baker, she knows I’ve only borrowed Laura’s copy about a dozen times! 

There are only two gifts that I can’t account for.  One was a beautiful scarf.  It really is quite astounding.  It isn’t just one color, but seems to contain bits of every color and it shimmers whenever the fabric moves.  It looks like distilled sunlight, or perhaps solidified rainfall, or maybe it’s liquefied earth, or the manifestation of air.  Anyway, I have a fairly good idea where that came from, and I’ll have to thank Mira next time I see her! 

The other unsigned gift was a little more enigmatic.  It was a book.  A very old book, to judge from the antique language, but it is in pristine condition.  It seems to be a combination of runic script and some sort of spiky letters I’ve never seen before.  Talk about mysteries!  I’ll have to speak to Professor Dumbledore.  It is possible that he may have seen something similar to this before, but I have the distinct impression that he’ll be as intrigued as I am.

Merry Christmas, eh?  Plenty to think about.

8 January 1995

I tossed and turned for hours before finally giving up and coming down to the common room.  I’ve been sitting here since midnight and it is now two in the morning. 

I know this is going to sound really stupid, but I keep going over and over that botched kiss in my head.  Was there something I could have done different?    Should I have held still to begin with, let him kiss me?  Should I have kept my eyes open so I could gage what angle he was coming in from?  I feel so bloody stupid!

It’s not that I regret the kiss.  Neville really was a duck about it, and I know he won’t go ratting on me, that’s not Neville’s style, but there has got to be a way to learn how to be a better kisser!   It’ll have to be the library though, because while Tom’s storehouse of knowledge may have covered a wide variety of subjects, kissing was not one of them.

If you think about it, that’s sort of sad.  Here was a handsome, sixteen-year-old boy who was so dead set on revenge and so full of fear at the prospect of his own eventual death that he absorbed volumes of information on Dark curses and spells, complex potions and arcane historical information, all of which somehow transferred itself to me (along with the ability to speak Parseltongue and the ability to read a person’s character just by looking at them) when he forced himself on me was it what, nearly two years ago now?  Has it been that long?

Not everything he gave me was useful, or even nice.  Much of what transferred itself to me was of such a graphic nature, so dark and intense, that it still haunts my dreams.  I no longer have regular dreams about Tom forcing himself into my head, but I do get flashes, glimpses of darker things, ancient things, things that weave themselves into my dreaming world and cause me to wake up in a cold sweat, my sheets all twisted into knots. 

I’ve learned to accept these glimpses for what they are: remnants of a traumatic experience.  Who knows, perhaps the information Tom inadvertently gave me, both good and bad, will come in useful someday.  I guess I’ll just have to wait and see.

12 January 1995

Well, I was sort of hoping that Michael would ask me to go with him to Hogsmeade (there’s a trip coming up on the 16th).  But how could I possibly have turned Neville down when he was so gallant?

Lisa and I were coming back from charms when we met Neville at the portrait hole.

“Hey, Ginny, you going into Hogsmeade this weekend?” he asked hopefully.

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Do you want to go in together, like we did last time?” asked Neville, then glanced at Lisa and added quickly, “all three of us of course.”

He really is a sweetheart, not wanting to hurt Lisa’s feelings like that!  And while it’s not really a date as such, it still precludes me from taking off with Michael, should the chance have presented itself.  That would be just plain rude.

And speaking of Neville, you won’t believe what I found in the library!  Eleven books JUST ABOUT KISSING!  Can you believe it?  Wild!

Three were really boring, clinical volumes that went into longwinded descriptions of chemical reactions and pheromone production (making kissing sound like some sort of biological by-product) and sported pages and pages of equations and diagrams and graphs that were all supposed to support their ‘conclusions’ but which left me more confused than ever.

Two others were on the history of kissing (I didn’t realize that kissing had enough history to warrant a whole book, or rather two whole books!).  These didn’t really get around to giving any practical advice, but talked instead about famous historical figures and courtesans who were the power behind the throne things of that sort.

There was one on cultural practices, Kissing Around the World.  Did you know that natives of the far northern countries (Lapland, Siberia, Alaska etc.) don’t kiss each other on the lips when they’re outside during the winter?  It’s too cold, they risk chapped and bleeding lips, so they keep their lips protected with oil and rub noses instead of kissing to show affection.  Damn, can you imagine if one of them had to sneeze?

There was one slim volume that actually offered practical advice for preparing for a kiss.  It seemed to assume that you would know that the desired event was approaching and would have plenty of time to prepare for it.   It was titled, When You Know the Big Day is Coming, and offered such breathtaking advice as; “ensure that your lips are soft and pliable, repeat exercise eight every day for five minutes to ensure proper lip position,” and “keep breath fresh and sweet, but remember to remove any gum or candy from your mouth before the desired event takes place.”

I sniggered my way through the entire book, nearly getting myself kicked out by Madam Pince.

Another rather droll book was written for witches and was called, How to Get Kissed by the Wizard of Your Dreams.  Here are just a few of the comments that caught my attention;  “keep your eyes on his mouth, girls, this is a subtle clue to your dream wizard that you have kissing on your mind.”  “While he’s talking to you, keep your lips slightly parted.  As a more direct hint, moisten your lips with the tip of your tongue.”

Poor northerners will simply have to skip that part.

I was getting rather desperate, but there were two volumes that actually got down to brass tacks and explained how to kiss.  They even broke it down into types of kisses (open and closed mouth), pressure levels (for closed mouth kisses), how to turn a closed-mouth kiss into an open-mouth kiss, tongue techniques for open-mouthed kissed, and what to do with your hands during all of the above.

I’ll have to admit that those last two were informative (though I assume that the entire process would be much smoother if both parties involved have read the same manual, seeing as that there were discrepancies between the two books) but they left me sort of, I don’t know, empty, as if there were something very important that they are failing to tell me.

The last one absolutely fascinated me.  It was called Kissing Your Way to Heaven.  The title page said that it was based on the Kama Sutra, and that it had been translated from Hindi.  In short, it described (in detail and with color photos) the thirteen most erogenous zones on the human body (male and female) and how to stimulate each and everyone (these photos were moving).  But the most fascinating part of all was the technique they termed The Stairway to Paradise. 

The Stairway to Paradise moves one through all thirteen zones (in a most particular order) and is supposed to be a means to bringing your partner to total bliss.  Very explicit photos, but far from being obscene or pornographic, they were, well, beautiful.  The way the couple in the photos were touching each other, it was as if they were worshipping each other’s bodies.  Wow!

The thing is, I started this research because I didn’t want to look like a total idiot the next time a guy tries to kiss me.  As I was reading through those different kissing manuals, I tried to imagine myself kissing different guys using those different techniques, and while I could envision a hearty, closed-mouth kiss with Neville, when I tried to picture Colin, I broke into hysterical giggles, and while I could easily see myself giving Michael an open-mouthed kiss, the idea of Neville sticking his tongue in my mouth nearly made me gag, sorry Neville.

But when it came to imagining myself performing the Stairway to Paradise, there was only one person I could envision being that intimate with.  God, just the idea of Harry’s hands, his lips, his tongue, all over my body, it sent tingles all up my spine and lit a hot molten fire deep inside my body.

The only problem is that the wizard in question is currently grinding his teeth every time he catches a glimpse of Cedric and Cho in the halls.  Poor Harry, he’ll come around in time, provided of course that I don’t kill him first for being so goddamned thick!

16 January 1995

I find it distinctly odd that it can be so damned cold when the sun is shining!  I mean, when the sun shines in summer it’s baking hot and don’t tell me that just a couple of degrees in the tilt away from the sun makes that much of a difference!

Okay, so maybe it does, but there has to be more to it than that, because every now and then there will be a mild day, even in winter.  But not today, hell no.

I thought I was going to freeze to death before we reached the village.  Lisa and Neville and I spent as long as we could in each shop before dashing to the next, finally ending up in the Three Broomsticks just in time to watch Hermione give Rita Skeeter a dressing down.  Way to go Hermione!

We all warmed up a little over tankards of hot Butterbeer.  I got so absorbed with what was happening at Hagrid’s house that I’m afraid I must have become somewhat distant with Neville and Lisa.  They were chatting away unconcernedly, but I couldn’t concentrate.  All I could see was poor Hagrid’s great shaggy head and tear-streaked face (he was blocking Neville out entirely).  Hagrid feels things so.  It was tearing Harry apart to see Hagrid so worked up, and it spurred Harry to swallow his pride and decide to take Cedric’s advice on how to work out that egg’s clue.

About time if you ask me.  He’s been procrastinating.  But if you will, ignoring the egg, refusing to take Cedric’s hint, has been Harry’s way of rebelling against this entire Triwizard fiasco.  HE DIDN’T ASK FOR THIS!  He didn’t ask for it, but it’s happening to him anyway.  Everything does seem to happen to him, just like Hagrid said.  But of course it does!  He’s Harry Potter!

18 January 1995

Ginny Weasley lay awake in her four-poster, the hangings were drawn tight, blocking out all light, but they couldn’t block out the giggles coming from Mandy’s side of the room.

“And then his hands were under my shirt!  Good thing I wore the lace one!  God, Laura, I though I was going to die when he actually slipped his hand under the lace!”

Laura murmured something Ginny couldn’t hear.

“Nooo!” squealed Mandy, causing Ginny to wince.  “I didn’t touch him, do you think he wanted me to?  Cause I could feel it, it was all hot and hard against my leg, he had me pinned you see.”

Ginny sighed and climbed out of bed.  She wrapped herself in her robe and padded down to the common room.  There wouldn’t be any rest for any of the girls in the third year Gryffindor dorm until Mandy had worked this latest milestone out of her system.

Ginny grinned, remembering the week before Christmas when Mandy had kept them all awake recounting her and Andrew’s first open-mouthed kiss, asking each of them in turn if they’d ever done that with a boy.

When she’d asked Ginny, Ginny had merely raised her eyebrows and had asked her if she’d used the ‘Liquid Tongue’ or ‘Probe Tongue’ technique.  That had shut Mandy up.  She’d been extra nasty to Ginny all the next day, causing Ginny to seek retaliation by charming the back of Mandy’s black Hogwarts robes to read (printed in neat, white block letters); ANDREW KIRKE STICKS HIS TONGUE IN MY MOUTH. 

It had taken Mandy all day to figure out why everyone snickered as they passed her in the hall.  Even Laura Marchbanks, Mandy’s best friend, hadn’t bothered in alerting her to the message on her back.

“That your handiwork, little sis?  George had asked approvingly as Mandy had sashayed up between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables for supper that night, a wave of laughter and catcalls following in her wake.

When Ginny had said yes, he’d hooted with laughter before showing her how to make the words flash on and off like a neon sign.

“Attracts more attention,” he’d said, demonstrating on Fred by causing ‘Master of Mayhem’ to appear over Fred’s head in an eye-popping orange.

“Of course insults are best when they . . .erm . . .catch you unawares,” he’d added, and had proceeded to explain how one could set up perfectly ordinary objects to suddenly start insulting one’s intended victim, and how it was particularly effective if one caused them to pop up in unexpected places, “Toilets are best,” and catch the victim unawares.

“We did it to Marcus Flint’s books a couple of years back,” said George, grinning broadly.  “Every time he’d open them they’d shout insults at him.  Rude ones too.  Got him in loads of trouble with the teachers.”

“Let me guess, you made it sound like his voice.”

“Right in one, sister of mine.”

“Did anyone ever figure out it was you two?” Ginny had asked interestedly.

“Course not.  Flint suspected of course, but there’s no way he could prove it!”

No, Ginny thought, as she pulled up a chair by the fire in the nearly deserted common room.  No one ever seemed to be able to actually catch Fred and George doing anything really bad, although I know for a fact that they have.  They have the innocent faces down pat, and watertight alibis, but the quality of their work is unmistakable.  If you know what you’re looking for (as I do) it is perfectly clear when something was done by the masters of mayhem, and when it’s being attempted by mayhem master wanabees.

There were still several people about, mostly older students.  Fred and Angelina were talking animatedly on the other side of the fire while George and Lee Jordan were in the middle of a game of Wizard’s Chess.  Alicia Spinnet was draped across the sofa, intent on a Muggle romance novel whose cover boasted a buxom, her hair all wild and curly, which seemed to be nearly bursting out of her corset.  A couple of seventh years, Jenna Michaels and Keith Ackerly, were necking in the shadows by the boy’s staircase.

Better hope Jake doesn’t catch them.

The thought had not been her own.  Jake Parsons, she knew, was the head boy, a Gryffindor, whose room was just off the common room.  According to Hogwarts, a History, the Head Boy and Head Girl each got their own rooms.  For convenience sake the rooms are centrally located off the third floor corridor.  Each room, however, also has a ‘back’ door, which is programmed by the headmaster at the beginning of the year to open into the common room of the Head Boy or Girl’s specific House.  That way they were still able to be a part of their House, but were available to the rest of the school should the need arise.

But if that thought hadn’t been hers, it must have been Harry’s.  Ginny closed her eyes, concentrating.  Yes, he was here, tiptoeing across the common room towards the portrait hole.  She grinned as she felt him glance in her direction.  God what she wouldn’t give to see his face if she were to reach out and yank off his cloak right . . .about . . .now . . .

Ginny held her hands in check as Harry passed her chair with barely a foot to spare.  He was off to solve the egg’s clue after all: rule-breaking with a purpose.  He was on his way to the Prefect’s bathroom.  That was one of the reasons she’d gone to bed so early, so she could concentrate on the clue, maybe help Harry figure it out.  Okay, okay, so she wouldn’t be averse to catching a glimpse of him without his clothes on.

She’d see Harry’s body before, usually when he took a shower or was changing.  She usually tried to turn her mind to something else then, it felt too much like voyeurism to watch him every time, still, every now and then she just couldn’t resist . . .and he was going to the prefect’s bathroom . . .which was supposed to have lots of mirror in it . . .and while she’d seen his body from his own perspective, she’d never seen him face-on naked . . ..

Ginny was still grinning to herself when Ron (who had opened the portrait for Harry from the outside) plopped into the chair next to her.

“Watcha doin?” he asked.

Ginny shrugged.  “Couldn’t sleep, Mandy’s reached another sexual milestone.”

Ron stared at her. “Come again?”

“Another milestone in her relationship with Andrew Kirke.”

“He’s a third year, isn’t he?  Are you telling me that Andrew and Mandy went . . .er . . .all the way?”

“Not yet.  Tonight she’s going on about how he had his hands under her shirt.”

Ron’s jaw dropped.  He gaped at Ginny for a moment before he got a grip on himself and closed his mouth.  Before he could bring himself to say anything, Ginny dropped another bombshell.

“Have you ever had your hands under a girl’s shirt?”

Ron spluttered incoherently for a full minute before finally managing to think of something to say.  “Aren’t you a bit young to be thinking of stuff like that Ginevra?”

“I’m barely a year younger than you, Ronald,” she said, emphasizing his full name, which she knew he detested.  “And don’t even try to tell me than you never think about ‘stuff like that,’ I’ve seen the magazines you keep under the floorboard by the fish tank.”

Ron gaped at her.

George, who to all appearances seemed to be absorbed in his game, glanced up over Lee’s head and dropped her a broad wink.

“Yeah, well,” said Ron, turning a truly stunning shade of scarlet, “I’m still older, aren’t I?  And I’m a guy.”

“What has that got to do with anything?” said Ginny scathingly.

Ron shrugged and looked away, his scarlet face clashing horribly with his hair.  He took a deep breath and tried again.  “Look, Ginny, you haven’t . . .you know . . .with a guy . . .have you?”  His face was now positively glowing.

Ginny hesitated for a full thirty seconds, relishing the look of discomfort on Ron’s face.

“No.”

A look of relief washed over his face.  “That’s good Ginny, that’s really good.  I didn’t think you would, I mean, you’re only thirteen after all.”

“Fourteen in June,” Ginny corrected him.

“Yeah, but-”

“Laura Marchbanks is only thirteen.”

“Bully on Laura Marchbanks.”

“Well, she and Jack Sloper had sex for the first time the night of the Yule Ball.  Jack took her up to the Astronomy tower.”

Ron, who had just taken a swallow of Fred’s Butterbeer, choked, spraying it across the hearthrug.

“I’m sorry, Ronnikins, was that too much information for your virgin ears?” asked Ginny sweetly.

Ron mopped his face with his sleeve and glared at Ginny, too incensed to speak.

“God, now I’m going to have nightmares,” said Ron, shuddering.  “Andrew Kirke naked.”

“Did you say something about seeing Andrew Kirke naked?” asked Alicia interestedly, looking up from her novel. 

“What?” Ron looked around at her, flustered.

“He’s awfully cute,” said Alicia shrugging, I wouldn’t mind seeing him naked.

“He’s thirteen, Alicia,” said Lee with a disgusted look.

“You were thirteen once yourself, ducky,” said Alicia coolly, one eyebrow raised.  Lee blushed to the roots of his hair.  “So, is he as . . .erm . . .built as everyone keeps saying?” Alicia said, addressing Ron again.

“What are you — no!  I’d never look at Kirk’s privates.”

“You’ve been looking at Andrew Kirke’s privates?” said Fred with a wicked grin.  “Has rowing with little Miss Prim turned you off of birds then, little bro?”

“What?  No!” howled Ron.  “What are you lot on about?  I HAVE NO INTEREST IN SEEING ANDREW KIRKE NAKED!” he roared, and the entire room dissolved into hysterical laughter.

 “Evil you are Ginny,” said George, placing Lee in check with a clever move by his knight as Ron stumped up the steps, still fuming.  “That was priceless!”

“It was easier than I thought it would be,” said Ginny, grinning broadly.

“Mistress of Mayhem,” said George, offering a hand, which she shook gravely.  “You’ve truly earned the title.”

“I learned it from the best,” said Ginny airily.

Ten minutes later the common room had emptied out (all except for the necking couple, who had moved to a sofa and were going at it with an enthusiasm that Ginny found amusing).  And Harry . . .?  Harry was playing with the taps in the Prefects bathroom, chuckling at the different colored bubbles and jets of foam that proceeded from each. 

Ginny watched, amused, as he twiddled the taps, filling the bathtub (more like a small pool actually) to its fullest capacity.  Too bad she’d never be a prefect.  Ginny watched, entranced, as the clouds of scented steam billowed up from the surface of the bath.  In fact, she nearly missed the very thing that she had been hoping for.

Feeling slightly voyeuristic, Ginny watched as Harry put a thick towel, the egg and the map beside the pool and began shrugging out of his robe and pajamas.  Just as she’d hoped, one whole wall was nothing but mirrors, and Harry was facing it.  She really should try to think of something else . . .concentrate on something else . . .

Harry stepped out of his pajama bottoms and straightened up, facing the mirrors.  He paused in fact, cocking his head sideways and observing himself critically. 

Still skinny, thought Harry.

Not as skinny as you used to be!  Ginny shot back.

Still short.

But you did have to buy new robes last year, so you’ve grown some at least!

Yeah, but Cedric, Krum, even Fleur, they’re all taller than me!  Harry obviously thought that he was talking to himself again.

You’re only fourteen though!

Yeah, I am, aren’t I?  Too young, really, to be a champion.

But you are a champion, like it or not! Just do your best.

What if my best isn’t good enough?

Give yourself a swift kick in the arse and get on with it.

Ginny watched as a grin stole across Harry’s face, transforming him from ‘moody teenage git’ to ‘teenage heart throb’ in an instant, and she felt her knees weaken in response.  It was the damned eyes.  Even the opportunity to see him in the altogether paled in comparison to being impaled by those eyes.

Myrtle came as a rather nasty shock, her sly look at Harry when she mentioned having watched Diggory as he figured out the clue, made Ginny feel truly dreadful.  To think that she had resorted to the same level as Myrtle, spying on Harry without his knowing. 

She tried to reason with herself, that it was different, with herself stuck in Harry’s head as it were, and while it made her feel a little better, she still couldn’t help but feel ashamed.

Mer-people though, thought Ginny, they’re dangerous, if the stories are true.

Harry picked up on that thought too; she could tell by the way his eyes flicked to the mermaid on her rock in the painting.  How to explain that real mer-people were not the whimsical creatures, as the paintings and pictures of them usually portrayed them.  Before she could think of a way to broach the subject, Harry was out of the tub, back in his pajamas (having kept his back firmly on the pool and it’s mirrors because of Myrtle) and was standing in the hall outside the Prefect’s bathroom, panting slightly under the heavy cloak and noticing that Peeves wasn’t the only thing moving around on the Marauder’s Map. The idiot was going to go see what Mr. Crouch was doing in Snape’s office. 

Are you completely insane?Ginny couldn’t help herself.  Hadn’t he learned anything about poking his nose in where it didn’t belong?  It shouldn’t have surprised her as much as it did when he responded almost immediately, she was after all, the voice in his head wasn’t she?  Not that he ever paid it much attention, mind.

It’s the middle of the night.  Everyone’s asleep.  Besides, no one will see me, I’ll be under the cloak!

But they could walk into you!

Who?  I told you, everyone’s asleep!

Whoever’s in Snape’s office, for one.

Look, Gin, it’s me who wants to do the seeing.  I’ll steer well clear of them I promise.

Ginny froze, hardly daring to breath.  Harry responding to her mental promptings wasn’t exactly new, but he’d called her by her name!  How could he possibly know?

Harry, however, didn’t seem to realize that there was anything amiss.  He was creeping along the corridor under the cloak, intent on making as little noise as possible

He knows. 

Ginny felt as if something were constricting her chest.

He knows but he isn’t aware that he knows.

The tightness eased somewhat, but a sudden pain in her leg brought her back to reality in a snap.

Not her leg, Harry’s leg.  Stupid git, he’d been so wrapped up in what Crouch might be doing sneaking around Snape’s office that he had forgotten to jump the trick step.  She winced as the egg bounced from step to step, finally cracking open on the landing and spilling out not yolk, but an ear splitting screeching and wailing that reverberated off the stone walls as if they were in some sort of bizarre bell.  And not only the egg, but the map as well was now out of reach.

Summon the damn thing! Summon both of them!

Harry tugged at the leg, too mortified at his predicament to hear her, or to understand her if he did.  Harry!

“Peeves!”  It was Filch and, oh no, Mrs. Norris! 

The noise shut off as Filch closed the egg, talking to himself and his wretched cat.

Nasty bit of work, that, thought Ginny as Mrs. Norris’s lamp-like eyes fastened on the spot where Harry stood.  Her whiskers twitched, her ears.

She can hear you!

Harry immediately stopped breathing through his nose, opening his mouth to deaden the sound of his breath.

Stupid git, thought Ginny, watching Mrs. Norris’s nose twitch.  He listened to me that time, why couldn’t he have summoned the damn egg . . .and the map?  Now he was stuck.  Even if he could hear her, he wouldn’t be able to summon either of them; it would be a dead giveaway for two stationary items to go floating away up the stairs.

I could summon them.  Ginny stared intently at the egg cradled in Filch’s arm.  Her wand was upstairs on the bedside table.  Could she make it in time?  Who was that? Snape!  Shit.  Could things get any worse?  Harry’s fear was so intense, coursing through his body with such iciness that Ginny completely forgot about attempting to summon the egg, or about where her body actually was until a hand grasped her shoulder.

Ginny shrieked, and felt Harry twitch as if he’d been goosed. 

“It’s just me!” said Lisa, taking Ginny by both shoulders and shaking her slightly.  “You’re having a dream, Ginny, snap out of it!”

“Lisa?  Lisa, I-”

Clunk.  Clunk. Clunk.

Moody.

“What about Moody?  Ginny, is this starting up all over again?  The stuff that happened last year?”  Lisa’s voice was anxious.  Ginny couldn’t rightly forget how worried Lisa had been when Ginny, overwhelmed by seeing things from Harry and his doppelganger at the same time, had sunk into a sort of torpor the evening that Harry and Hermione had gone back in time with the Timeturner.

“I’m okay, Lisa, really, I just-”

“You said that last time!” said Lisa accusingly.

“I-”

“At least come upstairs, please?  I hate to think of you having wired dreams all alone here in the dark.”

Ginny stared at Lisa’s shadowy face for a full minute before throwing her arms around her and giving her a huge hug.

“Ginny, what?” asked Lisa, startled.

“It’s just — nice — to have someone looking out for me,” said Ginny sincerely.  How could she explain to Lisa that everything was fine, that she could take care of herself, at least in this incidence?  Better not to fight it.

“You’re a good friend, Li, you know that, don’t you?”

“I try!” said Lisa, smiling broadly and giving Ginny a hand up. “You ever going to be able to tell me what’s wrong?”

“Nothing anyone can do anything about I’m afraid,” said Ginny, smiling and following the taller girl upstairs.  She was aware of the fact that Moody had sent Snape packing, that Harry had the egg again, but not the map.  Moody had stepped in and had rescued Harry from Snape, but had confiscated the map.  Why would he take the map?  Couldn’t his eye see through walls and stuff?  How far, exactly, could it actually see?  And if it could see through Invisibility cloaks . . .surely he could have seen for himself who was in Snape’s office?

Come to think of it, what had Moody been doing a full three floors below his office, which was on the third floor?  If he had been in his office, if, by some chance the egg really had woken him up, why hadn’t he come down the steps?  It was definitely something to think about.

Back to index

Chapter 13: THE SECOND TASK

CHAPTER THIRTEEN:   THE SECOND TASK

21 February 1995

There was a storm coming in tonight.   Tall towering clouds hanging low on the horizon at sunset.  By the time I headed down to the clearing they had very nearly blocked out the stars.  And yet, they were skittering in such a way that I kept catching glimpses of the moon, the full moon, in all its glory.

Poor Hagrid must have thought I’d gone mad, because every time the moon showed its face I’d turn my face up to it, soaking in its essence if you will.  The essence of its energy.  And though, as usual, I can feel the pull if it in my very veins — thrumming — the full moon combined with the scuttling clouds and the impending power of the storm?  It made me feel vibrant, alive!  I felt as if I were positively crackling with energy, as if I could spread my arms and fly away, off into the clouds and the heart of the storm.

Before you write me off as crazy, you’ve got to realize that it has always been this way for me, even before I became an Elemental Magician.  When I was little I used to sneak out of the house by climbing down the vines outside of my window whenever there was a full moon or a storm coming in.  I’d go up to my garden and dance around in circles, laughing like a banshee and howling at the moon like a dog.  Or sometimes I’d just run.  I’d go out to the fields between the back hedge and the copse where my garden is and I’d run, arms out, hair streaming.  I’d run and run and run until I couldn’t take another step, then I’d lay panting in the tall grass, staring up at the moon until I’d fall asleep.  Sometimes when I’d wake up I’d find that the grass around me was all laying flat, as if I’d been thrashing in my sleep.  Sometimes there would be really intricate patterns all around me, some of them looked like runic script from a distance, others were nothing I’d ever seen before, but they were always perfectly formed, as if a giant stamp had come down on the field in the middle of the night and pressed hard just there.

I’ve read about these kinds of patterns since I’ve become an Elemental Magician myself.  There are several explanations.  The one that makes the most sense says that the patterns are formed in response to the latent power in a juvenile Elemental Magician.  That all that built up energy, all that potential, calls to the elements on a subconscious level and that the elements respond, but being unstructured, having no specific purpose, they create these random patterns in their passage, perhaps in an attempt to catch the attention of the potential Elemental Magician.  To tell you the truth it seems like something they would do, create beautiful, random and absolutely pointless patterns just to give them something to do.

When I was real little, like, before I could walk, Dad says that whenever there was a full moon or a storm coming in I would cry nonstop unless someone came in and opened the window and the curtains so I could feel the outside air and see the moon.  Actually, that would explain a recurring nightmare I used to have when I was real small.  I’d dream that I had got locked in a big dark room; a room with no doors, and I’d wake up screaming.

As if in response to my mood tonight, Mira gave me a lesson in moon magic.  This isn’t the type we learn in school, you know, “pick the fluxweed at the full moon, add to potion, allow to simmer for six hours before adding syrup of hellebore.”  No.  This was Elemental Moon Magic. 

According to Mira, all of the elements are more powerful during a full moon.  I was a bit confused by this, I suppose because I was under the impression that elements were really powerful anyway.  She explained that while yes, they were powerful under normal conditions, that some of them responded with extra power during full moons.

It all has to do with the gravitational pull of the moon.  The Elementals, being a part of the very fabric of the Earth, respond to it, particularly water and air, resulting in high tides and windstorms, many times in conjunction.  She explained how to channel these two particular elements particularly during the full moon to obtain results that are clear cut and precise, something very difficult to achieve normally as a Natural Elemental Practitioner.  I guess it’s particularly effective when used to enhance sex magic.

I suppose I should have been embarrassed when she began explaining about the intensity of orgasms and the pull of tidal currents and tapping the tremendous energy that builds between two people during intercourse to enhance spells and build unbreakable shields.  I wrote it all down, though I haven’t read through it again yet.  There was a part of me that wanted to blush madly and run screaming from the clearing when she began talking about calling the elements (silently I would presume) just before a man achieves orgasm in order to extend the length of the orgasm, allowing you to achieve maximum pleasure.  What, exactly, this had to do with magic I’m not entirely certain, but trust me when I say that it’s something I will definitely make a point of remembering.  I’m certain in will come in handy one day.

I always love talking to Mira, she’s really easy to talk to.  She reminds me of Bill to a point, but I catch glimpses of myself in her too.  She likes a lot of the things I do, and she dances, and obviously she’s a Natural Elemental too or she wouldn’t be able to teach me all of this.  But I keep getting the impression that she’s somehow pressed for time, like she has to make certain that she tells me everything I need to know before she has to leave, like she’ll never get the chance to talk to me about this particular subject again. 

I know that Mira is in contact with my future self, with Harry’s future self — but is it perhaps possible that she could be from the future?  Is she perhaps someone who is only using the magic of the First People to communicate with me?  I hate to ask her outright.  What if it, oh, I don’t know, broke the spell or something?  No.  Whoever she is, wherever or whenever she’s from, Mira is my friend.

23 February 1995

Harry is going frantic.  He knows that he’s going to have to go into the lake and retrieve whatever it is that the mer-people took, but he doesn’t have a clue as to how to go about it.  He, Ron and Hermione have been holed up in the library all day searching for clues.

I’m surprised, really, that Hermione at least hasn’t thought to use the library’s index.  Or perhaps she doesn’t know how.  It is a spell you see, you say the subject, and then say “index” while giving your wand a jab forward.  I just found myself using it one day — I was looking for a book on an obscure wizard, Justinian Lothian, whose name I’d drawn out of a hat when Professor Binns was assigning us essays on obscure wizards and witches.  Each of us got a different name.  

Anyway, I looked forever for Lothian, couldn’t find a thing on him!  So there I was, fuming about the lack of resources when I found myself doing the spell. Problem is, I’d never heard of it before!  Honest, I’d never seen anyone use it, I’d never even heard it hintedat.  But it worked.  An index list popped up in front of my eyes — it just hung there in mid-air with Lothian’s name highlighted and the book title in big, bold letters, it even listed the section in which I could find the book.

Very useful, but sort of scary too, cause I went to Madam Pince afterwards and asked her why the index wasn’t listed somewhere where everyone could make use of it — she kicked me out of the library for telling fibs!  She said that it was impossible to index a magical library.

It’s got to be something only a few people (perhaps only Tom) knew about.  Perhaps it’s even something that he invented— Dumbledore did say that he was probably the cleverest student to ever go through Hogwarts.   Thing is, it’s an INDEX for pity’s sakes!  How can an INDEX be dangerous?

Ginny sat staring at the words she had just written.  Of course, she could see it now.  An index would allow a student to be able to access ALL the information in the library, even the dangerous items that were kept strictly in the restricted section, and a really clever student would be able to figure a way around Madam Pince if they were really determined to remove a book containing Dark Magic, they could summon it even, providing they knew what book it was they were looking for.

Ginny rubbed her eyes.  The words in front of her were blurring . . .reforming . . .take a cup of water, add one newt tail and allow to simmer for three hours . . .

“I didn’t’ write that,” Ginny muttered, but an instant later, when she saw the diagram of the spill-clearing charm take shape on the table beside her, she knew what was happening.

“I must be more tired than I thought,” she told herself, grinning as Harry snorted over a hex that caused the victim’s tongue to lengthen and fork at the end. It was becoming second nature to her now to not let the double vision intrude on whatever it was she was doing at the moment.  Keeping her mind focused was the key.  The only times Harry’s point of view intruded on her own thoughts now was when she was either extra tired, or Harry was feeling particularly strong emotions.

And Harry was definitely feeling strong emotions.  He was absolutely frantic to find something that would help him through the second task. He was flipping through book after book, his eyes burning with tiredness.

Ginny’s insides gave a guilty squirm.  She could help him find the spell he needed.  A bubblehead charm would work, no problem.

Shit.  There was more unsolicited information.  That had been happening a lot the last two years.  Spells she’d never heard of would pop into her head, or she’d get a charm or spell down perfectly the first time she tried it, or find herself writing the answers to a test question when she knew for a fact that she had never actually read the information for herself. 

Thanks Tom.

She should tell Harry about the index . . .he was down in the common room right now. 

It’ll just lead to awkward questions if you volunteer the information, Ginny told herself firmly.  Let him do it on his own.  It’s not like he’ll actually get hurt if he can’t perform the task, anyway.

She wanted Hogwarts to win, of course she did.  But she also wanted Harry alive and safe and in one piece.  Who the hell had put a fourteen-year-old wizard’s name into the Goblet of Fire, anyway? 

“Stupid great prat,” Ginny growled.

Yeah, I know I am, came Harry’s immediate reply.  Emphasis on stupid.  You’d think there’d be a way to access information. . . He was imagining Hagrid’s face when he told him that he, Harry wouldn’t be able to do the task.  Abruptly Harry stood up, dumping Crookshanks unceremoniously onto the floor, and bolted up the boy’s staircase.  He was getting the cloak, he’d go back to the library. . .

Too late to ambush him then . . .Index! Ginny thought frantically, willing Harry to hear her.  Use the index!

“Wish there was an index,” muttered Harry half an hour later as he stacked a great pile of books onto the end of the table he was working at.  “It would make my life a lot simpler.”

Ginny sighed, closed her journal and made her way up the stairs to the girls’ dormitory, wondering vaguely if she could risk using the secret passage George had showed her, the one that led down to the ground floor from behind the big dragon vase at the other end of the seventh floor corridor.  She could really use a cup of hot chocolate and she had a feeling that she was in for a very long night.

24 February 1995

They’ve got Ron.

But gillyweed, Harry?Thought Ginny furiously, willing Harry to hear her.  Stupid Harry, really stupid!  That’s not exactly something you find in the student store cupboards!  Snape’s going to blame it on you, you that don’t you?

But Harry wasn’t listening.  They’ve got Ron.  The thought was reverberating around in Harry’s head, leaving room for precious little else.

Ginny watched, slightly amused as Krum, who looked very pale and anxious, pointed his wand at himself and turned into half a shark.  Bizarre that. There was a ripple of laughter through the stands in response to Krum’s transfiguration, some “Ooh’s” of admiration as Fleur and Cedric performed the bubble-head charm on themselves, and some snickers as Harry wadded out into the shallows and pulled a handful of what looked like slimy gray worms out of his pocket. A moment later Harry had stuffed the gillyweed into his mouth and was trying desperately to swallow the rubbery mass in his mouth.

In her seat at the top of the stands Ginny took a deep breath, bracing herself against the sudden sharp pain in her neck as Harry sprouted gills (much to the amazement of the crowd) and tried to distract herself by concentrating on the back of Michael’s head.  He was sitting just in front of her.  He’d sat there purposefully, giving her a meaningful glance and a broad wink before taking his seat. He’d been doing that a lot lately; “accidentally” meeting up with her in the library, or she’d find to her amazement that he’d be walking beside her in the corridor.  Granted he hadn’t actually approached her, and he was usually with Terry Boot and Anthony Goldstein, but still. . .

And she couldn’t help but notice how handsome he was. Like now, his dark curly hair was glinting in the watery sunlight and she could smell the scent of him, a slightly spicy, musky scent, he was that close. And there was a freckle on his right earlobe. Ginny wondered vaguely if any of the girls Michael had dated knew he had a freckle on his ear.

Good.  Harry was swimming now.  By un-focusing her eyes she could see the dark foggy murk of the lake bottom through his eyes; feel the pressure of absolute silence pressing against his ears. Ginny felt a wave of anxiety wash through her. This was so stupid!  She was sitting here, waiting in the stands when there was nothing to see, when at any minute Harry could be in trouble.  Well, at least the thing he’d miss the most had turned out to be Ron.

“Wonder why Krum looked so anxious,” she muttered to Neville, who was sitting beside her.  But it was Colin, sitting on the other side of Neville who answered.

“Well, they took Hermione, didn’t they?” Neville and Ginny both turned to stare at him.

“What was that, Neville?” said Ginny.

“McGonagall, last night, she came to the library and took Ron and Hermione back to her office.

“Cho too,” said Michael, turning right around in his seat to join in the conversation.  “Professor Flitwick came to our common room last night and asked her to come with him, that Professor Dumbledore needed to see her.  The girls in her dorm say that she never came back.”

“Well, that takes care of three of the champions,” said Neville flatly.  “Harry’s gone to get Ron, his best mate, Cedric’s after Cho, his girlfriend and Krum’s going for Hermione.”

Harry noticed that Neville didn’t call Hermione Krum’s girlfriend.

“But what about Fleur?” Neville added curiously.

“She was crying this morning,” said Lisa from Ginny’s other side.  “I found her in the first floor girl’s bathroom.  She looked dreadful: her eyes all red and puffy.  She said they’d taken her little sister.” 

“But what’s been done with them?” asked Colin curiously.  “I mean, why have they been put in the lake?”

“Merpeople,” murmured Ginny.  Neville, Michael, Terry, Colin and Lisa all turned to look at her.

“There’s merpeople in the lake?” said Michael. He’d gone very pale. 

“I’d love to see a mermaid!” breathed Lisa, her eyes huge.  Ginny knew without being told that she was thinking of mermaids as they’d always been portrayed in Muggle stories.

“No, you wouldn’t,” said Michael flatly.  “They’re not very nice, merpeople.”

“Oh come on!” said Colin with a hint of hysterical laughter in his voice.  “How dangerous can merpeople be? I mean, they’re just a great fish with a human head, right?”

“My Uncle Algie was attacked by one in the Mediterranean once,” said Neville, looking grave.  “He said it was nearly wild, all green hair and yellow teeth.  They use really vicious stone spears.  Some of them are supposed to eat humans.”

“Oh come off it,” said Lisa faintly.  “They wouldn’t eat humans.”

“They might if they get tired of eating fish,” Terry pointed out. 

Ginny shivered and looked at her watch.  Fifteen minutes had already slipped away, and Harry was no closer to finding the mer-people than he had been when he first dove into the lake.

“But Dumbledore wouldn’t let anyone get hurt!” said Neville in a rather high-pitched voice.  “I mean, he’d put some sort of protection on them, wouldn’t he?  So that the merpeople wouldn’t actually be able to eat them or anything?”

Unwelcome and unbidden, the song that the egg had sung under water in the prefect’s bathroom reverberated in Ginny’s already aching head.

An hour long you’ll have to look,

And to recover what we took.

Past an hour -  the prospect’s black,

Too late, it’s gone, it won’t come back.

Guilt pierced Ginny’s mind like a red-hot skewer.  She should do something, anything!  This wasn’t just Harry making a fool out of himself by not being able to do the second task.  Damn Dobby to hell, but Harry was in the lake now.  That was bad enough.  But now she knew that it wasn’t something stupid, like a broomstick or some other treasured possession that had been taken.  People’s lives were at stake here.

“Dunno,” said Dean Thomas, who was sitting on the other side of Lisa and who, with Seamus Finnegan, had been listening in to their conversation.  “I mean, unless there was a real risk, it wouldn’t be much of a challenge, would it?”

“He wouldn’t risk the lives of four innocent people,” insisted Neville.  “He wouldn’t, not Dumbledore!”

“So maybe they’ll only get hurt, not killed,” said Terry with a shrug.  “I mean, if the champion doesn’t recover them in time.  Madam Pomfrey’s got her kit set up there by the judge’s table,” he pointed out.  “She must be expecting some injuries.”

She couldn’t risk it.  She could call the elements silently; tell them to help Harry, but what about Hermione, and Cho, and Fleur’s little sister?  Was there something else she could do?  If only she knew how to navigate the lake, but after that boat ride across it her first year, she’d never done more than swim in the shallows.  What Harry needed was something like a map, like the one he had for Hogwarts . . .except that he was underwater.  Did the map work underwater?  Someone then.  Someone who had been in the lake and knew his or her way around . . .someone like . . .

“I can’t stand this,” Ginny jumped to her feet and pushed her way past Neville and Colin and Dean and made her way quickly down the stairs and up the lawns towards the castle.

“Ginny!”

She looked around.  Of all people Michael was following her up the slope.

“Ginny, wait up!”

She kept walking, but a moment later he was beside her, panting slightly from his run up the hill.

“You all right?”

“Yeah, I — uh — just have to use the loo,” said Ginny, her insides twisting slightly at this blatant lie.  It wasn’t a lie though, not entirely.  She did have to use the loo, but not in the way Michael would be thinking.  “I won’t be but a minute.” 

Ginny dashed up to Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, Michael on her heels, and found herself glad beyond measure that Michael didn’t know the details about her first year at Hogwarts.  She slammed open the door and stood still.  Sure enough, Myrtle was gurgling away in the u-bend of the fourth toilet.

“Myrtle?”

“Go away, leave me alone.”  The ghost girl’s morbid voice burbled up through the chipped enamel.

“No Myrtle, listen to me.  Harry’s in trouble.”

“Harry?” The ghost’s head emerged suddenly, and somewhat disconcertingly from the discolored bowl.

“Why would it matter to me if Harry was in trouble?” she asked morosely.  “He hasn’t been back to visit, not for ages.

“But you helped him out with the egg,” Ginny insisted.

“How did you know about that?” asked Myrtle’s head suspiciously.

“Doesn’t matter, but he’s in the lake Myrtle, he’s looking for the merpeople, and he’s taking entirely too long.  In fact-” Ginny paused, her eyes going unfocused for a moment.  “He’s being attacked by grindylows, Myrtle!”

“If he wants my help he can come up here and ask for it,” said Myrtle, silver tears welling up in her hugely magnified eyes.  “No one ever does you know.”

“I’ve come for him,” said Ginny fiercely.  “And you will help him, Myrtle.” An instant later, Ginny had flushed the toilet and Myrtle, taken by surprise, went whooshing away down the drain.

There, she’d done what she could.  Ginny made a point of washing her hands thoroughly before joining Michael in the hall outside the bathrooms.

“All better?” he said, smiling cheekily at her.

Ginny grinned back

“I feel like a new person,” she answered saucily.

 “So, lets get back, shall we?” said Michael, holding out his hand to her.  “The hour’s half gone and I for one am anxious to see who gets back first!”

“ . . .your time’s half gone, so tarry not, lest what you seek stays here to rot. . . .” chanted Ginny without thinking.

“Hey, that was good, where’d you come up with that one?”

Ginny smiled and shrugged.  It was what the merpeople were singing right now, but she wasn’t about to tell Michael that. Let him think she was being enigmatic.  He seemed like the type of guy who would appreciate something like that, a woman of mystery.  Heaven knows she’d read enough of Laura Marchbanks’ books to be able to act the part.

“I’m sure Neville and the others will be wondering where we got to,” said Ginny brightly as they approached the stands where the rest of the students were waiting for the second task to be completed.

“Are you and Longbottom . . .er . . .an item?” asked Michael in a would-be casual voice.

Ginny glanced sideways at him and was pleased to notice that there was a faint pink tinge creeping up his neck.

“Why, Corner, are you interested?” Ginny asked archly. 

“Well, I mean, I see you together a lot, and, well, you did go to the Yule Ball together.”

“And that means what exactly?” asked Ginny without missing a beat.

“Well, I don’t want to intrude on someone else’s space.”

That brought Ginny up short.

“This space belongs to me, Michael,” said Ginny, letting go of his hand as they approached the stands.  “Nobody owns me.  Not you, not Neville. No one.  I’m my own person. Can you deal with that?”

“I sort of like it actually.”

“Good, then you be interested in knowing that Neville and I are not an item, we’re just good friends.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

They’d reached the row where Neville, Lisa, Colin and Dean were still sitting and talking amongst themselves, waiting for the champions to emerge.

“That’s good to know,” said Michael, taking his seat beside Terry. 

Yes, Ginny thought, turning her attention back to the lake and Harry’s refusal to leave until all the hostages were rescued.  It was definitely good to know.

25 February 1995

Well, thanks to Dobby — and Myrtle — Harry made it through the second task.  Thanks to his own stubborn streak, his insistence on not leaving until all of the hostages were safe was taken as “moral fiber” by the judges, well, almost all of them.  Karkaroff gave Harry a four out of ten.  Talk about being biased!  It surprises me, actually, that the heads of the schools sit as judges.  I mean, it must be a really old tradition, maybe as old as the tournament itself.  But it still doesn’t seem fair.  The heads of the schools are going to want their own champion to win after all, aren’t they?  Karkaroff makes no pretenses about wanting Krum to win.  Kakaroff makes me nervous.  Like Moody, he sets my teeth on edge.  There’s something, oh, I don’t know, wrongabout him.  And that stupid goatee! 

Anyway, Harry and Cedric are tied for first place — you should have seen Harry’s face!  But the look on Harry’s face at seeing his score was nothing, nothing compared to the look on George’s face when Harry and Ron came out of the lake with Fleur’s little sister.

George went chalk white when he saw Fleur holding the smaller girl.  As she was being hugged, her eyes met George’s over her sister’s shoulder and their gazes locked — just like the dream that he and I both had.  George looked for all the world as if he had just found something that he had been looking for, for a very long time.

He looked exactly the way I felt when I looked into Harry’s eyes for the first time there in King’s Cross Station; as if he’d come home.

She’s so young though!  She doesn’t look a day over nine, although I suppose she could be as old as old as ten, people always thought I was younger than I really was (until I hit puberty that is, nowadays their guess is usually a lot closer to the mark).  Even if she’s as old as ten, that makes her at least six years younger than George, possible more.  That’s quite an age difference.  Although, if what they say is true, you know, that men act (on average) four years younger (emotionally) than their chronological age and that women are (on the whole) apt to act four years older than their chronological age, then this girl and George would actually be nearly equal.

But it doesn’t matter.  Not really.  It wouldn’t matter if she were twenty years older than him.  It wouldn’t matter if she were ugly as sin.  He belongs to her. I could see it in his eyes.  It is only a matter of time.  That is what I tell myself every day, so I know it’s true.

1 March 1995

Harry Potter’s secret heartache, eh?  That’s a good one.  Doesn’t know what she’s playing at, does she, that Skeeter woman?  Harry and Hermione?  Are you kidding me?  I laughed so hard when I read that bit that I thought I was going to burst.  Colin thought I was having a fit.  I was reading it at supper you see — Lisa subscribes to Witch Weekly and she had loaned me her copy.  What a laugh! 

The thing is, people who don’t know Harry and Hermione actually believe this garbage!  The Slytherins are having a heyday with the whole Harry, Hermione, Krum love triangle.  Honestly! 

I’ll tell you one thing though, the way Ron reacted to Hermione’s admitting to him and Harry that Krum had asked her to come visit him was a dead giveaway to how he really feels about her.  Too bad the stupid git can’t admit it to himself!  Even Harry picked up on it. 

I’ll tell you though, when Snape read that article out loud to the entire Potions class Harry wasn’t the only one who felt the urge to bash Snape’s face in just as he was mashing his scarabs.  I could have hit him myself, the slimy bastard!  That is such a nasty thing for anyone to have done, and Snape’s a teacherfor pity’s sakes!  And then he goes and accuses Harry of having broken into his private stores.  See?  I knew that when he saw the gillyweed that he’d suspect Harry of being the one to steal it from him.  And then, on top of that, he has the gall to threaten Harry with Veritaserum! 

I’ve got my own problems though.  Every night this week I’ve gone to the library — I don’t trust myself in the common room where Harry and Ron and Hermione are always working.  Its bad enough that I’ve got Harry in my head, but having him in the same room, well, I get totally distracted.  So I’ve been going to the library.  It hasn’t been working very well though.  Monday Colin cornered me about the articles I’d promised him.  I’m behind by a good bit.  I don’t think I’m going to work on the Howler next year.  I just can’t bring myself to devote the time to it that it really needs.  My hearts just not in it anymore.  Never was actually, I was doing it as a favor to Colin. 

So anyway, then on Tuesday Mandy and her crowd parked themselves at the table next to mine.  Mandy and Laura and Jack and Andrew.  Let me tell you, they took full advantage of the fact that the book stacks blocked them from Madam Pince’s view.  For a while I thought Laura and Andrew were going to go at it right there on the library table.

Answer me something, how can anyone feel comfortable making out with their boyfriend in front of another couple?  I mean, it wasn’t as if they were just kissing or anything, he had his hands under her jumper and she had hers down the front of his trousers.  They again, Mandy and Jack were pretty preoccupied themselves.  They probably didn’t notice a thing. 

Needless to say, I didn’t get a whole lot of work done.  Instead I ended up back in Gryffindor tower, trying to ignore Harry and Ron’s conversation over a game of Wizard’s Chess.  Took me forever to get McGonagall’s essay done.

Then Wednesday I went back to the library, and Michael came in and asked if he could study at my table.  Needless to say when Neville came in, things got a little awkward (Neville and I usually study together on Wednesdays, it’s sort of become a habit with us.  I help him with his potions and he helps me with my Herbology).  Anyway, when Michael sat down, Neville seemed rather put out.  He left rather sooner than he usually does and hasn’t spoken to me since.

Then on Thursday, Michael showed up again, only this time with Terry and Anthony.  They are quite the team, those three, and they earned us a severe reprimand from Madam Pince who can’t stand for the disruption of her peaceful library.  She looked pointedly at me, too, when she came over, as if I were to blame for this breach of conduct!

Anyway, I’m so far behind now it’s not even funny!  I’ve got four essays to complete, two of them are overdue and I’m going to have to take a point decrease.  Damned depressing if you ask me.  It doesn’t matter how advanced I am in knowing the different spells and stuff, if I don’t turn in the homework on time I’m still going to get marked off on it!  I’m half tempted to take my homework out to the clearing, at least there I’d know that I wouldn’t be interrupted!

Back to index

Chapter 14: THE HOWLER AND HAIR RIBBONS

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: THE HOWLER AND HAIR RIBBONS

2 March 1995

So, Sirius Black is hiding out in the caves above the lake, is he?  Interesting.  I bet I could score points by turning him in.  Not that I would of course.   I know he’s innocent.  I also know what it means to Harry to have someone on whom he can rely.  There was a bit empty place in his heart that Black has filled nicely.  It was a parent-shaped space you see, not something that could ever be filled by friends (even friends as good as Ron and Hermione) or a girlfriend (if Harry were to ever have one).

I don’t think he will though, have a girlfriend that is, at least not right away.  He’s still really self-conscious.  I can’t see him making the moves on any girl, let alone flirting with one.  He wouldn’t know how!  I guess there is an advantage to being the youngest child in a family as large as mine.  I get to see how the whole ‘game’ is supposed to work, and from the male point of view nonetheless!  Lucky me.

It was a rather humdrum day in Hogsmeade.  I don’t know, maybe some of the novelty is wearing off.  Or maybe it’s simply the fact that I know there is, well, something more important going on, something more important than Hogsmeade weekends, anyway.  Or maybe it’s because Neville is still being really cool to me. 

I don’t know why I should care actually, other than the fact that Neville is my friend, and I’d like to keep him.  Having him snub me hurts, to tell you the truth.  He went into Hogsmeade with Dean and Seamus, and while he was perfectly polite to me when we met in the joke shop, he didn’t do anything more than make small talk.  I’m going to have to sit the boy down and have a serious talk with him.  He doesn’t think that we were boyfriend/girlfriend does he?  Is he perhaps thinking that I’m the one ignoring him? 

Hell, even Lisa left me when she had the opportunity to go to the Three Broomsticks for a butterbeer with that Ravenclaw third year, Mark Price.  She asked me to come with them, but I didn’t want to intrude, so I wandered off by myself, bought a few sweets, got a new quill, and stood for the longest time looking into the display windows of Gladrags.  What I wouldn’t give for the money to buy some new things!

The new clothes I bought with Bill’s money the summer before my second year are mostly too tight now, especially across the chest.  I’m going to have to ask mum for some new bras too.  At least I’ll get thosenew!  I have yet to see used ones in any of the second hand shops mum goes to (thank Merlin).  And I can mend and dye stuff, so it won’t be so bad. 

My day perked up considerably though when I realized that Michael was standing just behind me outside of Gladrags, seemingly very taken with a pair of black leather gloves that purported to be ‘stronger than dragon hide, and twice as classy!’

“Are you contemplating the ‘skimming shimmer of tourmaline’ lingerie set, or the ‘screaming sock stink control’ in the purple and gold stripes?” he asked conversationally.

“Well, the lingerie isn’t exactly my style,” I managed, trying to answer him in kind.  “I prefer silk myself.”

He did a double take, and asked me if I’d like to go get a butterbeer.  Sweet.  (And I’m not talking about the butterbeer!)

We had a nice long chat over butterbeer and scones — I’m liking the boy better and better every day!  Too bad Harry isn’t as interested as Michael.  Ah well, at least I can have a little fun while Harry is being — well — Harry.

3 March 1995

I buttonholed Neville in the common room on the way to bed tonight.  Idiot boy actually tried to pretend that nothing was wrong.  Can you believe that crap? He finally admitted that while he knew that we weren’t boyfriend / girlfriend, that he couldn’t help but hope.

God, what do you say to something like that?  I didn’t know what to say, honest I didn’t!  Neville is one of the best (and only) friends I have.  I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.  But I don’t want to give him false hope either.  I finally settled for telling him just that, that he’d always be special to me, and that I wouldn’t give him up for anything, but that  (and it had nothing to do with the botched kiss) that I just couldn’t think of him as anything more than the dearest of friends.  I gave him a big hug (which he returned rather willingly) and a kiss on the cheek, and made him swear that he wouldn’t do anything so stupid as get his knickers in a twist over me again.

We stayed up until midnight chatting.  I still like talking to Neville a whole lot.  He has a rather interesting view of things in general, and I don’t think that a whole lot of people know about it.  To be perfectly honest, I don’t think a whole lot of people pay a whole lot of attention to Neville.  Interesting.  When I look at him, I see all goodness and a core of steely determination.  Not an evil bone in his body, and more potential than I think even he realizes he possesses.  Not that I’d believe him if I told him mind.  He’s a stubborn one, Neville.  I wonder if he’ll ever come to grips with his potential?

6 March 1995

Hermione has been having a horrid time with the pus in her fingers (she received some hate mail that had undiluted bubotuber pus in it).  I found her in the common room last night.  She was rocking back and forth, crying silently and rubbing her hands together as if she were trying to get them warm.  I didn’t know what to say, so I just sat beside her until she started to talk on her own. 

From what she said, I guess that the bubotuber pus gets under the skin and bubbles, or at least that’s what she made it sound like.  Disgusting.  And none of the pain potions can do a thing for it.  I asked her if it helped when she rubbed them like that and she said a little, so I offered to rub them for her. 

Strangely enough, when I touched her hands, I could almost feel the pus inside them, see it bubbling and seething. Nasty stuff.  So I rubbed them as gently as I could, wishing that I could just rub the pus right out of them.  After only a couple of minutes Hermione said that it was amazing, but that she really did feel better, that in fact she felt better than she had since the stuff had spilled on her.  Her hands did look better, not as swollen around the joints, and pink rather than raw red.  Weird.  Maybe that’s all she needed.

I went around collecting articles for Colin again today.  We’re supposed to be putting the paper “to bed” as he terms it, by the end of the week.  I don’t know why he insists on using Muggle terms when the whole damn paper is reproduced by magical means anyway.

This issue (which will come out on the 15th) has a big piece on Leprechauns that was written by Seamus Finnegan.  He supposedly got all the information from family members.  I guess his family has been working with Leprechauns for generations, (except for an uncle who was a Banshee hunter).

Anyway, from what he wrote, I gather that Leprechauns (wild ones at least) are quite vicious.  They detest humans and go out of their way to play nasty tricks on them (not the least of which is the disappearing gold bit).  “Tame” Leprechauns are kept on farms where they are kept under enchantments so they can’t escape and, well, I guess you’d have to say that they’re bred, sort of like sheep.    It seems that many Irish wizarding families use them in the same way that British and European wizards use House Elves.  They train them to do household work and stuff.  Though I guess no one has ever figured out a way to convince them to make their gold permanent.  Makes me wonder really, just how much control wizards have over Leprechauns (and I guess House Elves too) after all, if maybe they’re just biding their time. 

What right do wizards have to enslave other magical creatures, anyway?  I mean, if a magical creature gets something in return for what they do for wizards, which would be one thing.  But what do House Elves get from being enslaved?  What do Leprechauns get from being bred?   I can almost understand why Hermione gets so upset, but I still think she’s going about it the wrong way.  No one is going to listen to her with her buttons and pamphlets and shaking her collecting tin in people’s faces.  I mean, it’s an accepted fact in the wizarding world that House Elves are so subservient.  To most people, that’s what House Elves are; servants.   Not that they should be treated like dirt, and I have to agree with Hermione, how they are treated is definitely wrong, but there’s got to be another way to go about convincing the wizarding world to change their ways. 

22 March 1995

Colin and Neville and I have decided to put out a special edition of The Howler for April Fool’s day!  We’re doing it all ourselves, and it’s going to be a complete surprise! 

Neville and I have made up some really bizarre stories and Colin has doctored some of his best pictures to go with them.  We’re doing the entire thing under pseudonyms of course, and we’ve even changed the usual style and type of The Howler so that people will think that someone else is playing the trick. This is all being done with McGonagall’s permission of course.  Colin would never do anything that might endanger his ‘outstanding reputation.’  No shit, that’s what was written on his end of term report last year!  “Colin is a model student of outstanding reputation.”  He showed it to me, and I nearly gagged!

We may not be informing any other students about the paper, but I did get some really good material from Fred and George.  They’ve been teaching me a lot you see, all sorts of thing; how to keep people’s attention occupied on something innocuous, say pointing out the person you’re gossiping about while your hands are busy slipping belching powder into their scrambled eggs.  How to change potions by just one ingredient so that when a drop of the mixture is added to someone’s goblet, it makes them, say, foam at the mouth or sprout whiskers. 

I find it fascinating that they can get such abysmal grades in, say, Astronomy (neither of them passed their Astronomy O.W.L.) and yet get three ‘Outstanding’ O.W. L.’s, one each in Transfiguration, Charms and Potions!  That should have been a real hint to mum, but all she could see was that they ‘only’ got three O.W.L.’s, when the Ministry requires a minimum of five at the ‘Exceeds Expectations’ level or better, in order to even fill out an application for working at the Ministry.

Anyway, George taught me this charm.  It’s based off something he called the Osmosis Charm, and what it does is caused the charmed object to sort of bond with the first person who touches it.  Then, when any other charms placed on the object are activated, it will tailor them to that individual.  Say you’ve charmed an object to recite a poem that includes a person’s name.  If you then place an Osmosis Charm on the poem, after a person touches the parchment on which the poem is written, it will recite the poem, inserting the name of the person who touched it, really great if you want to freak someone out.  I showed it to Colin, and we’ve agreed that there will be an article on the front page, something really outrageous.  It will be about a student, and we’ll put the Osmosis charm on all the copies so that each student thinks that the story is written about them!  Thank you George!

26 March 1995

It was so beautiful tonight.  Absolutely clear, not a cloud in the sky, and the stars!  My god, the stars were so bright they looked like individual jewels painted up on the velvet of the night sky!  Usually on nights when the moon is full, the stars are dimmed somewhat by the light it reflects, but not tonight! 

I actually took a detour on my way down to Hagrid’s.  I wandered down to the lake and sat on a rock by the shore for about half an hour, just staring out over the lake.  The moon and stars were reflected in the lake so clearly that I could almost believe that the lake had become some sort of portal to another world, perhaps another dimension.

I must have sat very quietly indeed, for after a while several merpeople surfaced far out towards the center of the lake.  They too were staring up into the sky, and then, on the far side of the lake, there was a unicorn.  I could tell it was a unicorn by the way its coat glowed against the darkness of the trees.  And up on the topmost halyard of the Durmstrang ship I could just make out another figure sitting gargoyle like on its heels, staring away from me across the lake.  The profile was unmistakable, I’d recognize that hooked nose anywhere.  It was Krum, Viktor Krum.

It gave me a sort of warm thrill to see someone else out and about. It’s good to know that I’m not the only one who is affected by the pull of a night like this. 

A night like this. 

Even Mira seemed to be under the influence of something else tonight.  She seemed oddly distracted and kept saying things like “I’m sorry, Ginny, you might not be ready for this, but you need to know.”

I’m afraid to ask her.  I’m afraid of what she might say.  I’m afraid that one night I’ll go to the clearing and she won’t be there and that I won’t have anyone who understands me anymore.

Professor Dumbledore, well, I know that Mira trusts him, but how can he possibly understand what it is like to have this kind of power thrust on you?  I DIDN’T ASK FOR IT!  Mira says I did, that when I called the elements that night in my room.  But how could I possibly have known?  How could I have known what all was entailed?  No one had told me.  No one warned me.  It just — happened!  By his own admittance, Professor Dumbledore asked for it.  He did the ritual that evoked the elements.  He asked them, knowing full well what it would mean when he did.

It’s too late now.  I am a Natural Elemental.  Even if I was given the opportunity to back out now, to give up the powers I’ve been given, I wouldn’t.  I couldn’t.  They’re a part of me now, just like Harry is a part of me.  But I still wish that there was someone else, someone real who I could talk to, someone who understands.  What will I ever do if anything ever happens to Mira? 

3 April 1995

Mum sent her Easter Eggs again.  Poor Hermione, hers was so small compared to everyone else’s, it was obvious that she believes the crap in Witch Weeklyabout Hermione two-timing Harry.  Please.  At least it took my mind off of the complete fiasco of the April Fool’s edition of The Howler.