CHAPTER FIVE:  REALIZATIONS AND RUMORS

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Excuse me?”

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

“You think so?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

3 January 1994

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

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

Damn.

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

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

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

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

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

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

14 February 1994

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Neville.

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

18 February 1994

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

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

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

11 April 1994

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

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

“To give Harry his broom back.”

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

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

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

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

13 April 1994

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

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

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

Damn.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No bloody idea — came Harry’s immediate response.

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

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

I wouldn’t be so certain about that —

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

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

A Patronus.

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

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

“Professor?”

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

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

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

“Is that unusual?”

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

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

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

Cho be damned.  Harry was hers. 

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

14 April 1994

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scabbers!

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

And Scabbers was gone.

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

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

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

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

Scabbers.

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

Weird.

18 April 1994

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But you’re not-he’s not -“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“About — about Him?”

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

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

“Bother with what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, I suppose.”

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

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

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

“That’s easy, Muggle studies.”

“Imagine that!”

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

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

“Head Boy?”

“Head Girl then.”

“I suppose I could, couldn’t I?”

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

“You hungry?”

“Hermione nodded.

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

20 April 1994

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

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

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

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

“Hey, Colin,” she said warily.

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

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

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

“So she isn’t done.”

“I guess not.”

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

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

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

Not good.

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

That was it!

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

Control!  Help me to maintain control!

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

“Colin?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I need it now, Dora.”

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

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

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

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

The Four Founders Flounder;

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

By

Dora Henderson

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

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

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

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

“An opportunity?” spluttered Colin incredulously.

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

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

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

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

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

24 April 1994

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

28 April 1994

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

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

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

*    *     *

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

She’s inflated the story of course.  Now I’m supposed to have threatened her with Dark Magic that I supposedly learned from the Heir of Slytherin himself.  Oh yeah, and somewhere along the line I’m supposed to have encountered an inccabus in the Chamber, that’s why I went to Egypt you see, to have the Demon Spawn removed, only when they removed the baby, it took some of my soul too, and that’s why I no longer have any ‘natural feelings.’

Percy herad this latest edition and promptly threatened detention to anyone who so much as mentioned the rumor in his hearing.  Colin volunteered to run a reguttal in the editorial column.  Nice of him to offer, but the last thing I need is anyone thinking that I’m taking this rubbish seriously.  Neville told me to ignore it since anyone who actually knew me would know that it was just a ‘rubbishy rumor.’

The thing is, I don’t think anyone will ever know just how close to the truth Dora came out of pure vindictiveness.

I did encounter a demon in the Chamber of Secrets, a demon in the guise of a handsome, sixteen-year-old boy who flattered me with his friendship and then used me as if I were nothing more than a puppet.  He in fact a succubus, draining me not only of my sexual energy, but of my very soul to give himself life.  But he was also an incubus (mentally speaking) for he did fill me up, not with his seed, but with the twisted depravity that passed for his soul.

She was wrong about Egypt though.  There was no baby.  No.  The fruit of Tom’s labor didn’t leave me full of live — demon or otherwise — but empty -empty and cold.  God, I don’t ever want to be that cold again!  I can still feel the heat from Harry’s hands as he helped me to my feet, how I felt as if I were burning.

At least the incident with Dora in the Library taught me one thing, there are things I can use the elements for, and controlling this damned Weasley temper is one of them.