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.