AUTHOR’S NOTE:

PLEASE!  I know that Ginny’s birthday is August 11th.  But when I began my series with SUMMER OF THE SERPENT her birthday was still a matter of conjecture, so I gave her a birthday of June 2nd.  In order to remain consistent within my stories I have maintained this birthdate.  Those of you who are hard-core canonists, forgive me, but this is the world of S.S. Potter after all, so a few discrepancies are to be expected!  J

~*~

CHAPTER FIFTEEN:  GIFTS AND GIVERS

18 May 1995

Lisa and I took a walk today, for absolutely no reason we decided to go down to the Quidditch field.  We got rebuffed before we could come within fifty feet of the thing; there were Ministry wizards swarming all over the stands and a line of them passing all these small shrubbery-looking plants into the stadium itself like a fire brigade.  Professor Sprout was in a deep conversation with Ludo Bagman and Mr. Crouch, so I’m assuming that it has something to do with the Triwizard tournament.  Can’t for the life of me figure out what it would be though.  What would they be planting on the Quidditch field, and why?

We ended up going around the lake instead.  I was tempted to take her into the clearing, but decided on reflection not to.  I’m certain she can be trusted and all of that, but still, the clearing is mine, a place of my own.  Do you realize how rare privacy, real privacy is in a family like mine?

I’ve told you before, I’ve seen plenty of naked men in my time.  All of them my brothers mind you, but still  . . .they go about the house half the time in just their boxers or sometimes clad only in a towel.  My brothers are all big guys, and the towels don’t always cover them as completely as they would like to think.  Ah well.  I can think of a dozen girls that would give their right hand to get a glimpse of Charlie, or Bill, or Ron for that matter, you ‘d think they’d be nicer to me, wouldn’t you, hmmm?

Of course privacy works two ways.  I can’t count the number of times I’ve been in the bathroom — with the door locked, mind — and had someone walk in on me anyway.  Charlie is particularly bad about that.  He seems to think that doors are simply an inconvenience, an obstacle to overcome if you will.  And forget about keeping anything a secret!

Secrets are impossible when you have six older brothers.  They always seem to know everything that’s going on.  It’s almost as if they really do have eyes in the back of their heads, or ears that can hear through walls anyway, cause sometimes during the summer I’d talk to myself in my room, and then Fred or George would bring up what I had said in conversation the next day at breakfast.  Gits.  Maybe they really dohave a way of magically enhancing their hearing.  It must be something tangible though, because they’d get in trouble if they did magic outside of school, and they have yet been reprimanded for anything like that.

 I bless Bill every time I write in my journal, because of the charm he put on it, I’m the only one who can read what I’ve written (unless I give the person reading it specific instruction that they can do so), or I know that Fred at least would use what I’ve written against me.  He’s incorrigible, that one.  I don’t know what Angelina sees in him, I really don’t, but they’ve been inseparable ever since the Yule Ball.  Granted they seem to be just as chummy as ever, I mean, I don’t seem them making out in dark corners or anything, but still, you get the impression (at least I do) that they are definitely an item.

24 May 1995

So, it’s going to be a maze, is it?  Harry and the other champions were summoned down to the Quidditch field tonight after supper.  That’s what Ludo Bagman told them, or rather, what Krum guessed:  it’s going to be a maze and there are going to be all sorts of creatures and obstacles and curses they’ll have to get by in order to be the first through the maze and claim the prize.

And to think that I was worried about what Harry would have to be dealing with this time around!  This will be a breeze for him.  He’s done plenty of stuff like this before.  There is no question in my mind that he’ll be able to get through the maze.  Whether he’ll win or not . . .he is up against Cedric, and Cedric is awfully good.  He’s a really talented wizard.  He’s a really talented wizard who is crazy about Cho Chang.

Poor Harry.  It drives him to distraction to see those two together all the time.  He walked in on them making out in a side corridor between classes the other day.  He went so brightly red that I was certain he was going to spontaneously combust right then and there.  I tried to calm him down, be his voice of reason if you will, but he was having none of it.  He was berating himself for not having asked her sooner, and wondering how far they’d gone, and what the hell Cho saw in Cedric anyway, you get the idea. 

He should try putting himself in my shoes, eh?  How do you think he’d react to being inside of Cho’s head when she’s thinking about Cedric?  I had a fairly bad time of it when I first felt Harry’s attraction for Cho, knowing that both of them were destined to have Soulmates.  I mean, I know Harry’s mine, I knowthis, deep down inside I am as certain of it as the fact that I exist, but I still couldn’t help but wonder (that first time that I felt his stomach swoop when he saw her on the Quidditch field) if perhaps Dumbledore could have been mistaken in his assumption that it is Harry and I who are destined to be together.  But no, it’s not like that at all.  There’s attraction there, yes, but nothing — more.  And that’s a relief, let me tell you.

Still, the idiot can’t seem to get his mind off the girl, and I’m tired of waiting.  I know we’ll end up together, but whenever Michael goes out of his way to walk me to class or stops specifically to talk to me when we pass in the halls, I can’t help but think that something to take my mind off idiot boy, someone like Michael, might be just what I need.

Of course the bit with Mr. Crouch attacking Viktor Krum was a bit of a shocker.  If that won’t take Harry’s mind off of Cho I don’t know what will!  I mean, why would he do something like that, Mr. Crouch?  He didn’t seem at all, well, capableof attacking anyone!  He sounded crazy, lookedcrazy! Not only crazy, but utterly exhausted, and from everything I’ve ever read the more tired a witch or wizard is, the harder it is for them to do difficult magic, and a stunning spell requires concentration and fairly good aim.  Mr. Crouch didn’t look at all stable on his feet.  Ah well, I suppose it will all sort itself out in time.

30 May 1995

Ginny rubbed her eyes and stared blearily at Professor Binns.  Of course, what with Binns being a bit blurry anyway, this had the unsettling effect of making him even fuzzier.  Her eyes drooped . . .

“Ginny!”

Ginny sat bolt upright, breathing hard, something very sharp was sticking into her back. 

“Colin, ow!  Move your wand!” Ginny hissed.

“You fell asleep again,” Colin hissed back.  “You’ll get in trouble again.  Remember last week?”

“Of course I remember!” she said testily, earning a reproachful look from several of the students sitting around them.

How could she possibly have forgotten being rudely awakened by Mr. Filch’s yelling at her?  She’d fallen asleep in History of Magic (which wasn’t altogether unusual) but had not woken up when the rest of the class had filed out.  Mr. Filch had come to check up that no one had left any rubbish in the classroom and had found her sound asleep.  She’d received a detention and had taken twenty points from Gryffindor. 

Damn Harry and his drowsiness in Trelawney’s class, anyway.  Stupid perfumed fire.  What the hell was she on about with all that prattle about the interesting angle between Mars and Neptune?  These were planets she was talking about, great hunks of rock and metal rotating around the sun.  The sun coming in the high windows was so warm on her neck . . .

She was flying.  Flying through an open window.  Was that an owl?  She’d been riding an owl!  Now she was standing to one side, watching a small, balding man writhe on the hearthrug beside a huge, undulating snake. 

“You are in luck, Wormtail . . .Nagini, you are out of luck.  I will not be feeding Wormtail to you after all . . .but never mind . . .there is still . . .Harry Potter . . .”

The voice speaking belonged to a man, but was strangely high pitched, cold and cruel; a voice she would recognize anywhere; the voice of Lord Voldemort.

“Now Wormtail . . .”

Wormtail?  They were together then?  Of course they were, she remembered now the dream Harry’d had, the one during the summer where Wormtail had been tending Lord Voldemort in a moldy old house, nursing him back to health.

“ . . .one more little reminder why I will not tolerate another blunder from you . . .Crucio!”

The pain ran like a lightning bolt from her head to her toes, igniting every nerve in her body.  The pain was excruciating, it ignited every nerve in her body, but her head in particular felt as if it were being torn in half.  She wretched, and vomited all over her shoes.”

“Oh my god, Ginny!”  Colin was beside her in an instant, lifting her head from her desk, standing her upright.

“Ginny?”  Lisa was on her other side in a flash.  “Professor Binns?  Ginny’s sick!  We need to take her to the hospital wing!”

“Sick?” wheezed Professor Binns, looking blearily down at them from his podium.  “Sick you say?”

“Yes Professor, sick,” said Colin firmly.  “She just threw up all over her shoes, didn’t you notice?”

“Threw up?”

“Vomit, spew, barf . . .” 

Ginny stared at Colin bemusedly.  She’d never seen him talk back to any teacher like this, dead or alive.

“Alright then, Mr. Creighton, take her away.”

Colin didn’t bother to correct Professor Binns mutilation of his name, but with Lisa’s help steered Ginny out of the History of Magic classroom.

Halfway to the hospital wing Ginny got a hold of herself enough to protest.

“Not the hospital wing,” she managed, swaying on her feet but managing to stay upright.

“Ginny, you’re ill!” said Colin pointedly.  “I’m taking you to Madam Pomfrey.”

“I’m feeling much better, honestly!” said Ginny weakly, giving Lisa an imploring glance.

“Ginny, was it another one of you — episodes?” asked Lisa quietly.

“Episodes?  What are you talking about?” squeaked Colin.

Ginny groaned under her breath.  Great, just what she needed, Colin rattling off her business to everyone and their uncle.  Or worse yet, writing it up for the next edition of The Howler.

“She was hurt pretty bad down in the Chamber of Secrets, Colin,” Lisa tempered, shooting Ginny an apologetic look.  “Hit her head pretty hard.  Sometimes she blacks out, or sees things that aren’t there, or . . .”

“Throws up for no reason,” finished Ginny, giving Colin a watery grin.  “Honestly Colin, a shower is what I need now.  Maybe you could help me up to the common room.  A shower and some sleep I think.”

Half an hour later Ginny had fallen into her bed and drifted almost immediately into a restless sleep.  Her dreams were full of bowls full of liquid light.  She was falling into them, floating in a room where a woman sat chained in a chair and faces ringing a torch-lit chamber and a boy with sandy hair and freckles calling incessantly for his mother . . .

2 June 1995

Another birthday has come and gone.  I got a package from mum and dad, another from Bill, and a note from Charlie.  Mum sent a birthday cake (of course) and a sundress she made (and which I absolutely refuse to wear).  It looks like something you’d put a three year old in.  I mean, it was quite pretty in its own way.  It’s made out of a flowered pattern (daisies and strawberries on a light green background) and had a wide green ribbon for a sash, but it had puffed sleeves, and a bow in the front!  Definitely not me.

I don’t understand, I really don’t.  Can’t mum see that I’ve gone beyond puffed sleeves and sashes?  I’m surprised that she didn’t put a pinafore on the damned thing!

Dad’s present was a beautiful little carved box.  It looks like it’s made out of Teakwood or something, and is inscribed all over with runes.  His note said that it came through his office because the box itself had been made by Muggles in Bangladesh or some such place, but that whatever witch or wizard who had bought it had put all the runic symbols on it in order to curse another witch or wizard whom they had given the box to as a gift.  Made the wizard who opened it unable to keep his eyes opened.  Anyway, they removed the curses from the box, so it’s perfectly safe, but can’t be put back into circulation in the Muggle world because of the runes, and Dad thought I might like it.

It’s a very unusual little box.  There is something odd about it, even with the curses removed.  My model of Mr. Chubbs won’t go near it, but the ballerina has taken to dancing on the lid, though she keeps tripping over the grooves where the runic symbols for ‘eternal sleep’ are etched into the lid.  I’ve told her not to try and dance en Pointe on the box, but she won’t listen.

Bill’s gift was a belt of gold disks that overlap and a matching bracelet that he says he found in a tomb.  The Goblins said it was worthless, seeing as that they were just plain metal disks that had been painted gold, but it looks wicked good with my black knit dress. 

I had to laugh at Charlie’s note.  It was very short, but brief and to the point: 

Ginny,

I hear that dragon scale is really useful when making love potions. 

Use it wisely. 

Happy birthday.

Charlie.

Go figure.  Ron of course, forgot all about it being my birthday until Hermione wished me a Happy Birthday at supper, George stuck a noise maker under my plate.  As soon as I sat down it began tootling “Happy Birthday to You” only with some really rude lyrics.  Then Harry took me completely by surprise by catching up with me on the marble staircase after supper and handing me a small box wrapped in gold paper.

“I didn’t forget this time,” he said, and the grin he gave me caused my knees to go all rubbery.  “I felt like such an idiot, missing your birthday last year.  Hope this makes up for it!”

And then he took off before I could say so much as ‘thank you.’

I swear, I could still feel the heat from his hands on the paper when I took the box from him.  I walked all the way back to the common room in a trance and up the stairs to my dorm. 

The box is sitting on my bedside table even as we speak.  I’m afraid to open it.  I can’t wait to open it.  I don’t know if I want to open it. 

What if it’s something little girlish?  God, I don’t think I could stand the embarrassment, not on top of mum’s dress!

*     *     *

Ginny stared at the box in front of her. 

A gift. 

For her. 

From Harry. 

What on earth had possessed him to do something like this?  Had he remembered all on his own?  She knew that it hadn’t been Ron who’d reminded him, Ron had forgotten about her birthday himself.  Hermione then?  But why would Hermione have reminded Harry about her birthday?  It didn’t make any sense.  Maybe he had remembered all on his own . . .if so, that meant that he was aware of her, even if it was on an unconscious level.

“I can’t stand this,” Ginny muttered.  She quickly pulled her robes off over her head and pulled on a light sweater, then tucked the glittering gold package into her pocket.  She couldn’t open it here, she just couldn’t!  What if one of her roommates asked her who it was from, or read the card?  She didn’t think she could stand the teasing, and then there was the chance that they could say something to Ron or Harry even, something that would embarrass her altogether.  No.  She’d open it somewhere else, somewhere - private.

*     *     *

Twenty minutes later Ginny had slipped through the giant oak’s trunk and was sitting cross-legged on the flat top of the spherical table in the center of the inner circle with Harry’s gift in her lap.

A present from Harry.

Ginny shivered slightly.  She still had the jumper he’d given her to dry her tears her second year when she’d nearly caused Mandy to be struck by lightning.  She knew that she should have given the jumper back ages ago, but she hadn’t been able to bring herself to part with it.  It was Harry’s; something of Harry’s.  Instead, she had wrapped the jumper in white tissue paper and had packed it away in a pasteboard box deep inside her trunk.  It now had the letter from the future Harry for company, and she had coaxed a sealing charm out of Professor Flitwick so that she could keep the contents from prying eyes.  This wasn’t the same.

This wasn’t something from a future, grown up Harry.  This wasn’t something of Harry’s that she’d nicked.  This was a gift, something he had given her specifically, and she knew that whatever it was, she would treasure it always.

With trembling fingers she loosened the knot of silver ribbon and removed the lid.  Inside, was a small, square note card.

Dear Ginny,

Happy 14th!  I guess we get to be the same age for a whole month!  I’m sorry I missed your last birthday.  Wish I’d known! Hope this makes up for it!

The globe thing is called a Wish-Gazer.  It’s sort of like the crystal balls Trelawney uses, except that instead of seeing the future, you’re supposed to hold it in the palms of your hands, make a wish and blow on the ball three times.  If what you wish for appears in the globe, your wish is granted.  If something else appears, then it’s supposed to be all for the best etc.

 Personally I think that the disclaimer is a way that the manufacturer makes certain that no one blames them if they don’t get their wish because I tried it out and I kept seeing the same scene over and over, and I don’t see how it had anything to do with what I was wishing for at the time.  It’s pretty though, and a neat idea, even if it doesn’t work.

All the best,

Harry

 Ginny put aside the card and reached into the box.  The item inside was very heavy and wrapped in layers of white tissue paper.  At long last she uncovered a small glass sphere that appeared to be full of a glittering, silvery sort of smoke.  She placed the item in the palm of her hand and immediately the glittering smoke began to swirl and change colors.  She was forcibly reminded of the way her Christmas ornament had changed colors, blending from one to the other seamlessly, and then there had been the images it had pulled from her mind . . .

Ginny inadvertently shuddered.  Let the damned sphere do its worst.  There was no one here to see it but herself.  She blew on the sphere once . . .twice . . .three times.  As if they had been blown by a fierce wind the swirling colors began to separate until not ten seconds later they had coalesced into recognizable forms. 

There was an arch, a stone arch standing all alone on a neatly clipped green lawn. The arch was practically smothered in climbing roses and on either side stood ornate golden perches on which sat two spectacular phoenixes.  Through the archway she could just make out a river, which seemed to be flowing smoothly but swiftly along it’s course.  But it was the items resting on a small table in the center of the archway that had Ginny riveted. 

A single white, long-stemmed rose lay alongside a pure white feather.  Behind them rested a silver goblet embossed with an unusual spiraled crest and a tall, milky-white candle that was burning brightly. 

She recognized the emblems from a heart-joining ceremony at once, but what was with the arch?  When wizarding wedding were held out of doors they usually were conducted from a specially constructed gazebo or platform.  And why was Fawkes (for Ginny recognized the bird on the right-hand side immediately) why was Fawkes in attendance?  Where had the other phoenix come from?  Had a Phoenix been used as the herald?  She’d never heard of a phoenix being used as a herald before.  She would have thought . . .if this was hers and Harry’s wedding (as she sincerely wished it was) that he would have opted to use Hedwig.

No sooner had she thought this than a white speck grew rapidly in the cloudless segment of sky she could see through the arch and Hedwig flew through the archway, landing with a flutter on the able beside the candle, rose, goblet and feather.  She turned so that she was facing Ginny, and released the two items she appeared to have been holding in one taloned claw.  They were rings, two silver rings covered in runic script. 

The beautiful bird opened her beak, and Ginny received the impression that Hedwig had let out a low hoot (though she couldn’t hear anything but the beating of her own heart). Ginny stared at them and then at the bird who seemed to be looking directly at her.

“Hedwig?”

A moment later the scene had dissolved into a storm of color and swirling mist, leaving Ginny alone in the clearing, her legs going numb as she sat on the colorless rock, staring into an empty Wish-Gazer.

3 June 1995

I’m not entirely certain what it was that I saw in the Wish-Gazer, but I tried it again this morning (in the privacy of my bed) and got the same exact scene.  Now, I know that I truly want to end up with Harry, but why a scene from our wedding?  If indeed it was our wedding. I still have to wonder what was with the phoenixes!  Why were there two of them?  Oh well.  At least it wasn’t something ridiculous, like Harry and myself in a compromising position or something, although heaven knows I wouldn’t mind!

He’s getting downright cute, Harry is.  I swear, he’s taller than he was at the beginning of the school year, taller and definitely broader in the shoulders.  Very nice. Of course Michael’s chest and shoulder muscles are very defined as well, more so than Harry’s.  You wonder how I know this?  Well, he found out about my birthday, Michael did, and apologized for not having anything to give me.

I told him not to worry about it, and he pulled me right up against him in a tight hug even as he gave me a swift kiss on the cheek, and said that he’d have to think of something.

Hmmm.

Don’t mind me, my hormones are kicking in is all.  It felt good and all, but somehow not as good as I thought, although, when I closed my eyes and hugged him back I could almost imagine that it was Harry I was holding.

Damn.

12 June 1995

Luna is going on about the sorts of things that she thinks that they’ll have in the maze.  She keeps going on about flocks of nargles and other more unpronounceable creatures.  I don’t think she knows what she’s talking about, but that’s just me.  Heaven knows that I wouldn’t put it past Hagrid to come up with something horrible that no one has heard of before.   I mean, who had ever heard of blast-ended Skrewts until Hagrid got that first lot to hatch?

You know, I still don’t know what it is that they’re supposed to eat.  They don’t seem to have any mouths.  Maybe they get all the nutrients they need when they take in the great suctioning gulps of air with their back ends just before they blast off.  Who knows.  They’re the foulest creatures I’ve ever laid eyes (or hands) on (and you must keep in mind that I am related to Fred and George!)  Hagrid, however, seems to think that they’re just wonderful and that one day everyone will want one as a pet.  He’s mental is what.   I wouldn’t be surprised, though, if he put a few in the maze, just to add some interest.  Poor Harry.

And speaking of Harry, he’s been spending every spare minute preparing for this last task, he and Ron and Hermione.  McGonagall got tired of stumbling over them in unused classrooms and deserted dungeons and has given them permission to use her classroom when she’s not using it.    He’s getting good, Harry is, but it’s wrecking havoc on my concentration during classes!

Do you know how disconcerting it is to be trying to turn a tortoise into a teapot and end up hexing it with the Jelleylegs curse?  I got extra homework for the third day in a row, and the thing is, I can transfigure anything with my eyes closed!  I don’t think that it has anything to do with Harry, either, because Transfiguration isn’t his best subject.  He’s okay at transfiguration, but he has to work at it.  Hermione now, Hermione is a natural!  But I can’t explain to any of the teachers why it is that I’m mixing my metaphors, magically speaking.

18 June 1994

The last task of the Triwizard Tournament is only six days away and the tension is so high you can practically see it!  The champions in particular seem to be extremely nervous, but also highly excited.  Strangely enough, Harry has been rather calm about the whole thing.  He is of the mind that even if he looses, at least it will be over and he’ll be able to get back to living a normal life.

As if!

There is nothing normal about Harry.  I mean, he survived Voldemort’s curse when he was just a baby, didn’t he?  When he lets himself go he does magic, powerful magic, almost instinctively.  He saved the Philosopher’s Stone, he saved me, he saved Siriusfor pity’s sakes!  There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for someone he cares about.  But that’s not all, not by a long shot.  He radiates a sort of power  (I don’t know how else to explain it) but when he gets angry the very air around him tingles. 

I know I know, who am I to talk?  Me and my lightning bolts!  But honestly, there’s a reason behind my madness, I’m a Natural Elemental.  Dumbledore says that Harry will become a powerful Elemental Magician in his own right, but that doesn’t’ explain the tingling sensation he gives off!  No, that’s pure power.  It’s unnerving I tell you!

And speaking of Harry, he’s been keeping busy what with practicing a whole host of hexes and curses and obscure spells that Hermione’s been looking up for him; anything that could give him an edge.

I can’t help but be a bit nervous though.  Maybe it’s the fact that every time I catch a glimpse of the hedges I feel my insides go all cold, or maybe it’s been the unnerving way that Moody’s been watching Harry for the last few weeks.  He watches him all the time!  I’m not exaggerating!  Every time he and Harry are in the same room that magical eye of his is pointing straight at Harry.  Creeps me out it does!

There’s no getting around the fact that Moody is an excellent teacher.  I mean, he really knows his stuff.  We’ve learned loads, but there’s always an undercurrent, as if he were thinking things that he doesn’t want anyone else to know about, things no one else should know about.  Too bad I’m not a mind reader.  You know, I forget what it’s called, but there’s a branch of magic that deals with being able to read other peoples thoughts and emotions, sort of like I do with Harry, only this involves a spell of some sort.  There’s a way to block it too, but I don’t remember what it’s called.  Something about legality or something, figures, since it’s illegal to force your way into someone else’s mind!

Anyway, I was up in the common room last night after supper and a bunch of third and fourth years were all bunched up around the fireplace talking about the third task, what all they thought would be involved.  I didn’t want to think about it!  So I went up to my dorm, and of course Laura and Mandy were talking about the tournament, so I decided to go out for a walk.  I didn’t plan on going far, I mean, it was only an hour or so before curfew, but then I ran into Michael — literally! 

He came tearing around the corner of the castle as if all the demons of hell were after him and ran smack into me.  I ended up in some sort of thorn bush and of course he had to be a gentleman and help me extract myself and brush all the leaves and twigs out of my hair, but he wouldn’t answer me when I asked him what he’d been running from.  Instead the idiot just had to go and kiss me!

I have to admit, it was rather lovely, nothing at all like the botched affair with Neville in the fairy grotto.  It was a very gentle kiss, all soft and sweet and it sent prickles all up and down my spine.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for the longest time,” he said finally when he pulled back. 

“What kept you?” I asked him, and was rather amazed at my forwardness.

And so of course he had to kiss me again, and we were both late getting back up to the castle, and of course Filch just had to be in the entrance hall, and so now I have detention tomorrow night for breaking curfew.  But you know what?  For the hour we spent out of doors in the moonlight I was barely aware of Harry at all, in fact, I quite forgot all about him until I made it back to the common room (grinning my fool head off for all that I had just landed myself in detention) and found him pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace.

He looked like a cadged lion at feeding time.  His eyes were snapping and he looked as if he would quite like to punch something.

“Where the bloody hell have you been?” he snarled, then seemed to come to himself and stalked about a bit more.

“Harry, are you okay?”

“Can’t sleep,” he muttered, kicking at the hearthrug and nearly tripping over it’s frayed end.

“Well no need to kill yourself,” I retorted, steering him forcibly into a chair by the fire.  “What’s keeping you from sleeping?”

“Bloody tournament,” he said, blushing to the roots of his hair.  But he was lying.  He’d been seeing himself kiss another bloke, and it was disturbing to say the least.

“Don’t believe everything your brain shows you,” I said without thinking.

“Yeah, I suppose,” he said, then turned and looked at me sharply, I pretended not to notice, to be staring into the fire.  “What did you say, Ginny?”

“Nothing, Harry.  Here, let me help you clear your head.”  I went around behind his chair and put my hands on his shoulders.

“Ginny, what are you doing?”

“Do you trust me?”

“Well, yeah, but-”

“Then just close look in the fire.  I want you to concentrate, pick a log, one log, and stare at it.”

He did as I instructed, and I kept talking; low, soothing words in his ear even as I massaged his shoulders right at the junction where the neck and shoulders come together.  Pretty soon he was completely relaxed and nearly in a trance state.  I could feel his mind opening up, becoming aware of my presence on a subconscious level.

You’re not gay, Harry.

His conscious self smiled slightly, but still looked rather worried.

I saw myself kissing a bloke!

It wasn’t you.  That was me.

But I felt it!

Yeah, well, now you know how it feels.

How what feels?

Never mind, Harry, just concentrate on this — you’re not gay.  There’s nothing wrong with you.  You’re just tired.  Everything will be better in the morning.

He repeated the words to himself and slowly, ever so slowly his eyelids closed and he drifted off to sleep.  I couldn’t help myself.  I kissed his forehead gently when I was sure he was asleep, and then headed upstairs.

I think I’d better lay off the snogging with Michael until Harry’s done with this task.  Don’t want him all worked up over nothing.

Nothing.

Was my kissing Michael really nothing?  It didn’t feel like nothing.  But then, it wasn’t as intense as I thought kissing would be.  Maybe because I felt more in that one instant when my lips met Harry’s forehead than during the entire hour I was snogging with Michael. What the hell though.  Harry will come around eventually.  One day I’ll know what it feels like to kiss, reallykiss, the Boy Who Lived and when I do get to claim him as my own, I plan on knocking his socks off!  Can’t do that if I haven’t gotten some practice in now, can I?

22 June 1995

Come to me.

Ginny stood quite still, letting the power of the elements wash through her in all their power and glory.

Be with me.

She could smell the rain bruising the grass even though her feet remained dry.  She could feel the earth beneath her feet, pulsing gently with the life of an entire planet-full of vegetation.  She could hear the fire crackling in a thousand fireplaces in a thousand homes even as she danced through the air on a gentle summer’s breeze.

Tempted as she was to feel the awesomeness of the divine viewpoint she had experienced last autumn, Ginny refrained from adding the last phrase of the invocation.  There was no Dumbledore here this time to help her down from the high.  Hagrid would be along come midnight, but it was quite possible that she could overdose on raw power by then.  No.  Better to leave it at a manageable level.  Besides that, she was quite anxious to talk to Mira, for she desperately needed her advice.

Ginny was in a quandary.  The third task was just two days away and she was at a loss to know if she should take an active part in using her elementals to protect Harry during the third task.

She knew without a doubt that she had enough control over the elements now that she could protect herself and Harry.  She could use them to clear his path for him, even to ensure that he was the one to make it to the center of the maze in time.

“Don’t let it tempt you.” 

The quiet voice cut through Ginny’s reverie like a knife through butter.  She whipped her head around, startled in spite of the fact that she had been expecting the owner of the voice.

“Mira!  You — you startled — how did you know what I was thinking?” Ginny asked, staring at the shimmery outline of the slim woman as she leapt lightly off of the table rock in the center of the circle and came to stand by Ginny’s side.

“As you know by now, Ginny, I have certain — uh — access to future events.”

“So you know how everything turns out then,” said Ginny.  She was staring at Mira’s face, trying to ascertain her reaction.  “You know who wins the Triwizard tournament!” 

Mira smiled sadly, then said softly, “I do indeed know precisely what happens during the third task.  I also know that what happens two days from now has to happen in order for events to proceed as they are destined to.”  She gave Ginny a wry smile, then added, “and that means that you can not interfere, Ginevra, no matter how much you might want to.  You must exercise self-control.  You have to promise me that you will not allow your emotions to get the better of you.”

“Why, what’s going to happen?”

“I — I can’t tell you.  No, don’t ask me again!” said Mira, holding up a hand to step Ginny’s flow of words.  “You would be tempted to interfere before hand, and that can’t happen, do you understand me?  THAT CAN’T HAPPEN.”

“Okay, okay, don’t get your knickers in a twist!” said Ginny, alarmed at the uncharacteristic intensity in Mira’s tone of voice.  “I won’t ask you again, and I won’t interfere.  But Mira, is there anyway you can tell me, if it won’t hurt the future to tell me, will Harry be okay?”

Mira gazed at her thoughtfully for several minutes before answering.

“It depends on your definition I suppose.  He survives.  Yes.  I can tell you that much.  But his experience in the maze changes him forever, Ginny.  There’s no way around that.  But even if I could change it, Ginny, even if I could go back and make everything right, I wouldn’t.  There’s too much resting on the outcome of the tournament, too much at stake, do you understand?”

Ginny nodded silently, stunned to see pearly tears tracking their way down Mira’s finely sculpted cheeks.

“In fact, tonight we’re going to work on a means of using your elemental powers for instant self-control.”

23 June 1995

I can’t sleep.  Or rather, it’s more like Harry can’t sleep.  He’s been tossing and turning for at least three hours now, and there’s so many spells and jinxes going through his head that I can’t for the life of me get to sleep myself!  So, I decided if I can’t sleep, I might as well write in my journal for a while.  Reading’s out of the question, what with all the information pouring through his head, so here I am at two in the morning, sitting in the deserted common room, wondering if I will need to know the Tongue-Tying jinx, or if I have the right wand movements for the Reductor curse even as I try to write coherent sentences.

A clatter from the boy’s stairway made Ginny look up from her journal.  A shadowy form was making its way across the shadowy common room towards the crackling fire.

“Hey, Harry,” said Ginny as the figure’s face became illuminated by the dancing flames.  She spoke to cover her surprise.  She’d been aware of his going over the wand movements for the Reductor curse in his head, and realized that Harry must have been concentrating very hard for her not to realize that he was on his way downstairs.

“Hey yourself.  What’s up, Gin?”

“Can’t sleep,” said Ginny shrugging. 

“Exam nerves,” said Harry authoritatively.

“Don’t think so,” said Ginny.  “Not really, I only have one left, Transfiguration, tomorrow morning.”

“That would be enough to make me nervous,” said Harry, smiling slightly.

Ginny waved her wand casually at the table beside the sofa.  It turned into a pig with a soft pop.  Before the clearly startled pig/lamp could open it’s mouth to protest at this vicious rearranging of it’s environment, Ginny had turned it back into a table.

“Damn Gin!” said Harry, looking from the table to Ginny and back again.  “How the bloody hell did you do that?”

Ginny shrugged and grinned.  “Transfiguration’s one of my best subjects.”

“Yeah, but we don’t start animal to object transformation until fifth year!”

“I’ve got six older brothers,” said Ginny by way of explanation.  It wasn’t entirely the truth, but it would have to do.  She knew instinctively that the last thing Harry needed was to worry about her having picked up residual information when she’d been possessed by Voldemort.

“I suppose,” said Harry skeptically.  “But still, that was excellent!”

“Thanks. Too bad I don’t have a knack for summoning food though.”

“Why, you hungry?”

“Yeah actually.  I was just thinking that a cup of hot cocoa and maybe some hot buttered scones would hit the spot right about now.  I thought maybe having a full stomach might help me sleep.”

“It might work at that,” said Harry thoughtfully.  “I’ve always sleep better if I’ve eaten something, and, well . . .” he paused, looking rather sheepish.

“I take it you didn’t eat too well at supper,” said Ginny knowingly.

“How’d you guess?”

“Honestly, Harry, it doesn’t take a genius to realize that knowing the third task is about to start would put a person off their feed!”

“Yeah, well . . .you know, Ginny, if Dobby were here, we could ask him to bring us something up from the kitchens.  I know he’d bring anything we asked for, but he’s usually come and gone by now.  But — hey, I know!” Harry turned on his heel and dashed up the boy’s staircase.  He was back before Ginny could open her mouth to protest, clutching something in his hands that glinted silvery in the dancing firelight.

The invisibility cloak!  Damn, she couldn’t let him know that she knew about it!

“Harry, is that — is that an invisibility cloak?”

“You’ve seen them before?”

“I — I’ve read about them,” said Ginny carefully.

“Well I could bring something up from the kitchens, or you could come with me.”

“With you, to the kitchens?  Won’t we get in trouble?”

“Not if nobody sees us.”

“But what about the house elves?  What if one of them says something?”

“They won’t,” said Harry decidedly.  “Come on, Gin, up for an adventure?”

Was Harry Potter actually inviting her on an adventure?

“As long as I don’t end up in detention, Potter.  I’ve already done four in the last six weeks.”

“You’re winding me up,” said Harry, staring at her.

“Nope.  The masters of mayhem have taught me rather well I’m afraid.  So, Potter, are we going to get something to eat, or are you going to stand there all night catching flies?”

Harry closed his mouth abruptly and threw the cloak over both of them.

“Just keep quiet and stay close,” Harry advised her as they crept through the portrait hole (much to the Fat Lady’s consternation) and made their way down the corridor.

The castle was deserted.  They passed Nearly Headless Nick gliding smoothly along a third floor corridor, and spotted Peeves bouncing around the Entrance Hall.  Other than that, they met up with no one, not even Mrs. Norris. The lack of movement bothered her more than she cared to admit but Ginny was not about to spoil a midnight adventure with Harry Potter to point that out.

They made it to the kitchens without incident and, just as Harry had said, Dobby was delighted to arrange for them to have some hot cocoa and buttered scones.  Ginny had a good look around the room she’d only seen from Harry’s perspective before this.  It was bigger than she’d thought, and far more cheerful.  And the elves, well, Hermione made it sound as if they were all abused and mistreated, but the crowd of tiny figures grouped together at the far end of the room seemed happy and healthy and more than willing to provide them with anything they asked for.

Harry thanked Dobby profusely when he presented him with a silver tray and motioned the pair of them to small squashy, elf-sized chairs by the fire.

“I know they’re a bit small, Harry Potter, sir, but they is more comfortable than sitting on the floor.”

“Thank you Dobby, the chairs are fine, and thanks for the food too, the scones really hit the spot!”

“It is Dobby’s pleasure, Harry Potter, sir!” squeaked the elf happily as Harry and Ginny sat in front of the roaring fire, sipping their chocolate.  “It is always a pleasure to serve Harry Potter and his girlfriend.”

Harry inadvertently spit out a mouthful of chocolate, making the flames splutter.

Lovely, thought Ginny dully as a dark red flush crept up Harry’s neck.  Just great, now he’d probably clam up and never speak to her again.

“Ginny’s not my girlfriend, Dobby!”  said Harry quickly, too quickly in Ginny’s opinion.

“Nah, we’re just a pair of fellow insomniacs,” said Ginny, grinning at the elf and using every ounce of willpower to not go pink herself.  “I mentioned how it was a pity that we couldn’t have a snack to make us sleepy, and the next thing I know this prat produces an invisibility cloak and whisks me away to the bowels of the castle.”

“It is good to have such friends,” said another voice, a much higher, squeaker voice from somewhere just behind and to the right of where Ginny was sitting.

She twisted herself around in her seat to find herself looking at a filthy, disheveled figure sitting amongst a heap of empty butterbeer bottles.

“Winky?” she said, startled into saying the name.

“How is you knowing my name, Miss?” said the tiny elf curiously.  She was clutching a half-empty bottle with both her hands and looked to be only half aware of what she was saying.

“I — I think that Ron mentioned seeing you down here once,” said Ginny, too late realizing her blunder.  She glanced sideways at Harry, and was disconcerted to find that he was watching her now through narrowed eyes.

Shit.

“He said something about Hermione dragging you and him down here, Harry, something about discovering that Dobby had come to work at the school, and then you discovered that Winky was working at Hogwarts too.”

“Yeah, it was a while back though,” said Harry, still eyeing her questioningly.  “I’m surprised you remembered the name.”

Ginny shrugged and took a deep draught from her chocolate.

“It is a pity,” muttered Winky, swaying slightly on her feet as she observed Ginny and Harry blearily.  The Elf reached out a hand and steadied herself against the fireplace.

“What is a pity, Winky?” asked Dobby quietly, coming up behind her and draping a sort of cloak made out of bath towels around the smaller elf’s shoulders.  He took her by the arm and steered her gently to a small, elf-sized sofa beside the fireplace.  She collapsed onto it and gave Dobby a grateful smile as he pulled the bath towels around her small frame.

“It is a pity they is not a couple,” said Winky slowly, her words were become quite slurred.  She laid back on the sofa, eyes nearly closed now.  “It is a pity because they is looking so good together . . .” a moment later she was snoring loudly, earning her angry looks from more than a few of the elves gathered on the other side of the room.

*     *     *

Half an hour later Ginny and Harry were headed back to Gryffindor tower.  It took a lot longer to get back, primarily because of all the ghost activity.  They had run into eight of them now, having to stop and remain completely still each time they encountered one for fear of being detected by sound alone.

“It’s almost as if they’re looking for something,” Ginny breathed into Harry’s ear as they stood in an empty classroom waiting for the Bloody Barron to pass them by.

“Yeah, I just hope it’s not us,” muttered Harry.  It was the first he’d said to her since Winky had passed out on the sofa by the fire.  Ginny could feel the disquiet of his mind.

What the hell had he been thinking, asking Ginny Weasley of all people to go on a nighttime stroll to the kitchens?  She’d been crazy about him for ages, and now she was going to think that he was actually interested in her, and now he’d have to say something, explain somehow, and try to somehow not hurt her feelings in the process.

In spite of the sinking sensation in her stomach, Ginny had to smile.  Stupid prat.  He really didn’t know her at all, did he?  Without stopping to think twice Ginny decided to take matters into her own hands.  As they rounded a corner to find Peeves bouncing off of four extremely large and ugly Chinese vases, Ginny pulled Harry abruptly into an unused classroom.

“Good thinking,” whispered Harry.

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you.”  She could feel his heart sinking.

God, he didn’t want to say anything that would hurt her, he really didn’t.

“I hope you didn’t get the wrong idea about me coming with you to the kitchens tonight, Harry,” she said quietly, keeping one ear strained for signs of Peeves.  “After what Winky said, I thought maybe you’d think that I thought you’d asked me to come with you because you liked me or something.  We are just friends after all.”

For a long moment Harry looked at her, frowning slightly, trying to work out just what it was she’d said.  Finally the frown turned into a grin.

“You mean that?”

“Mean what?”

“The bit about us being friends?”

“Well yeah, but-”

“You really want to be my friend?”

Ginny stared at him.  Here she was, making excuses so that he’d think she’d been embarrassed by what Winky had said, and he was talking about them being friends.

“I thought we were friends.”

“Well, we are, but you know, Ron and Hermione and me . . .” his voice trailed off and he glanced at her apologetically.

“Harry, you and Ron and Hermione are best friends.  I don’t presume to want that.  What you three have is special, but if you’d settle for another good friend, I’m your man — or woman rather.”  She grinned at him and held out her hand.  “Deal?”

“Deal!” said Harry, grinning back as he shook her hand in both of his.  “And I’ll make you a deal, friend,” said Harry, his grin broadening.  “I make it through the third task tomorrow — er — today, we’ll come back and do this again.”

“What, play hide and seek with the ghosts?” breathed Ginny as Peeves whizzed by singing an off color version of Old MacDonald Had A Farm.

“No, have a midnight snack in the kitchens!”

“I might have to take you up on that, Potter,” said Ginny brightly, trying not to show how much the prospect of another nighttime adventure with Harry might be. 

Indeed, how could she possibly refuse?