CHAPTER SIX:  The Bogart

18 May 1994

Ignoring the way her stomach had plummeted when Cho had wished Harry good luck in the match, Ginny cheered with the rest when the Gryffindor Quidditch team marched out onto the pitch.

“Come on, Harry, you can do it!”  called Cho from somewhere above and to the right of her.  It was all Ginny could do not to pull a face.

“Sixth year he’s mine.  Sixth year he’s mine,” Ginny muttered under her breath.  Those four words had become her own personal mantra.  She unconsciously fingered the silver spiral pendant she’d taken to wearing.  She’d found it in a second-hand junk shop in Diagon Alley last summer.  It had originally been a cloak fastening, but for some reason Ginny had felt compelled to buy it.

My talisman.

After she’d heard the conversation between Mira and Professor Dumbledore she’d realized why she’d been drawn to the piece.  Held with the open end of the spiral up the piece resembled nothing so much as an ornate number six.  At Christmas she’d asked Bill to put a hole through the end and then she had strung it on a thin silver chain that she’d bought with the last of her summer wardrobe money.

There was something about having the solid weight of it nestled in the hollow of her throat that made Ginny feel stronger, stand straighter.  Let him have his crush.  It would all work out in the end.

Besides that — said a nasty voice in the back of her head — I can’t compete with Cho.

Then don’t

The second voice had sounded, oddly enough, like something Mira would say, and Ginny had to grin at the thought of what Mira would have to say about her moaning over Harry like a toddler who’s been denied a lollypop.

“Oooh, Harry!” shrieked Cho, and Ginny was pulled back to the present with an uncomfortable lurch.  Malfoy was just letting go of the tail end of Harry’s broom, obviously having tried to slow Harry down to keep him from catching the snitch.  It was quickly turning into the dirtiest games Ginny had ever witnessed — short of a professional match.  Flying arms and knees and elbows, fouls every few minutes.  But the Firebolt (and it’s owner of course) lived up to their reputation, and as Harry rose gently into the air, his raised fist clutching the struggling snitch, Ginny couldn’t help but grin at the pure joy flowing through him.  Let him have his moment.  It would all work out in the end.

28 May 1994

I just heard the news today.  Buckbeak’s Appeal is set for Thursday the 6th of June, and they’re brining in an executioner!  Hermione’s right, it does sound as they’ve already decided.  What it sounds like is that the Appeal is merely a formality.

Poor Hagrid.  He’s going to be inconsolable.  Perhaps he went a bit far, bringing in Hippogriffs to a third year lesson and all, but it seems rather harsh, for all that Draco doesn’t appear to be any the worse for wear (judging from last weekend’s performance). 

Speaking of Malfoy, I saw him arguing with Pansy Parkinson.  It seems she caught him fooling around with one of the Ravenclaw gigglers in one of the dungeons and was rather put out about it. 

That would have to be the weirdest thing, being betrothed to someone against your will — and theirs!  Cause I don’t think that Draco likes her so much more than he does anyone else.  In fact, he seems rather taken with Cho.  You should have seen his face when Cho came up to Harry on the way back to the castle and praised his performance.  Draco was absolutely livid.  (Now whether that was because she was praising Harry and not him, or because it was her doing the praising, I don’t know). 

2 June 1994

Well, I’m officially a teenager, and I celebrated my thirteenth birthday by taking my History of Magic exam, followed by Charms, and then sprawling limply on a sofa in the Common Room for an hour to recuperate before I immersed myself in studying for Potions tomorrow morning.  I’ve been at it for two straight hours now and HAD to take a break.  I don’t mind potions actually.  The work is easy enough, it’s the teacher who gives me the collywobbles.

It’s also official that having Harry in my head can be disastrously distracting, note my answer to 34B on my History of Magic exam, I answered “Willow Patterned Tortoise Shell” in answer to the question “What was the weapon of choice in the Goblin Rebellion of 1483?”  I got some questioning looks from Professor Binns as I sniggered at the thought of hosts of tortoises in Willow Patterned Shells being hurled at advancing ranks of wizards by crazed goblins.

You do know how hard it is to concentrate on bone dry dates when you are watching doomed tortoises being turned into teapots by inept Transfiguration students?  I wonder if McGonagall will ever turn them back or if they’ll be doomed to wander the world forever with spouts for tails and breathing mint-scented steam.

Ginny sighed deeply and put away her journal.  It was time to get back to studying for potions.  It beat the alternative; finding someplace where she could curl up in a miserable and feel sorry for herself.

You would think that in a family as large as hers at least one person would have remembered her birthday — and her thirteenth birthday at that!  Evidently they all had other things on their minds.

Bill probably had a new girlfriend.  She’d get a gift from him three days from now all apologetic and sincere, and she’d have to forgive him, either that or he was waiting to surprise her during their next dance lesson, which seemed more likely. And Charlie.  Charlie was always too busy.  The last time she’d gotten a card from him was when she’d turned nine.  Percy she could understand.  Percy was immersed in taking his N.E.W.T’s and Fred and George were taking their O.W.L.’s.

She knew for a fact that her parents hadn’t forgotten.  They never forgot a birthday or holiday.  That, she knew, she could blame on Errol.  He’d show up tomorrow or the day after, so exhausted from his trip that he’d need most of a week to recover.  That left just Ron.

Ginny glanced sideways to where he, Harry and Hermione were drilling each other on Potion ingredients for tomorrow afternoon’s exam.  Must be nice to have friends no matter what, Ginny thought miserably.  Two tables away Colin and Lisa were going over their own Potion notes (second years would be tested in the morning).  She could join them she supposed.  They wouldn’t mind.  She should join them.  In fact, she was on the point of picking up her work and making her way over to their table when she was arrested by Mandy’s affected laugh and saw her bobbing curls now leaning over Colin’s shoulder.

Well.  Not now.  Ginny would rather prostrate herself at Harry’s feet than subject herself to Mandy’s perpetually brainless company.  Why was it that all the second year guys lost all coherent thought whenever Mandy was around?  Even Colin — usually so task oriented — was laughing breathlessly as Mandy insinuated herself into his and Lisa’s conversation.  To give Lisa credit, she looked a little sickened by Mandy’s behavior.  Not for the first time Ginny wondered over how the sorting hat had ever seen it’s way clear to putting Mandy Davenport in Gryffindor.

Ginny pulled open her Potions text and flipped to the pages she was supposed to be studying, but it was no good, she couldn’t concentrate.  Just as she was about to head up to her dorm, a beautiful snow-white bird flew in through the open window and fluttered down to land gracefully on the table beside her.

“Hedwig?” said Ginny incredulously and reached out a hand to stroke her silken feathers.  Hedwig , moving rather stiffly, reached out her scaly leg to which a letter had been attached.

“I’m over here, you!” said Harry, laughing as he approached Ginny’s table.

Ginny looked up.  Harry’s emerald green eyes were sparkling with real amusement and affection.  She felt her heart turn over at the look on his face. If only the look were meant for her and not for the owl. He reached for Hedwig, his eyes narrowing with concern as he did so.

“You Okay, girl?” he asked concernedly. Hedwig hooted softly and nipped affectionately at his fingers.

“She’s flying Okay, but she’s walking sort of stiff,” Ginny told him, her hand still on Hedwig’s back.  “Maybe she hurt her leg.”

“Maybe.”  Harry reached out for the letter, but Hedwig hopped instead onto Ginny’s shoulder and nuzzled her head against Ginny’s cheek.

God, the feathers were so soft!  Like silk!  Luxuriating in the feeling, Ginny closed her eyes and turned her face into Hedwig’s feathers.  She felt rather than heard Harry’s breath catch in his chest.  Behind her closed eyelids she could see herself as he saw her; Hedwig’s white feathers highlighted against the vivid mane of her hair, the way both she and Hedwig had their eyes closed, faces turned in toward each other.  The word — exquisite - passed through Harry’s mind, followed closely by - intimate- and then the thought - I wonder what it would feel like to get lost in Ginny’s hair?

Ginny couldn’t help it, her eyes snapped open and, for just a moment, their gazes locked.  They locked and the intensity of looking into his eyes and seeing herself gazing back at him through his own was so nearly overwhelming that for a moment there was nothing else . . .no one else but themselves and in that instant Ginny knew, and the realization was unexpected and unbidden.

S(He)’s mine. 

S(He)’s mine and s(he) knows it.

It hadn’t been only her thinking it, either.  They had thought it together.

Sweet Merlin!

His hand was reaching out.  She knew exactly what was going through his head.  He wanted to see for himself if her hair was really as soft as it looked.

“Who’s it from?” came a voice from behind them.  The hand that had been reaching for her changed directions and reached for Hedwig instead.

“Dunno,” said Harry rather gruffly.  He shook his head as if to clear it and reached out for Hedwig, who retreated further into the cave of Ginny’s hair.  “Ruddy bird — won’t — let — Ouch!” Hedwig had nipped Harry sharply on the knuckle, drawing blood. “What did you do that for?” Harry asked angrily.

With an admonitory hoot, Hedwig shook her leg in front of Ginny’s face.

“Because the letter’s not for you,” said Ron, pointing to the letter.  “It’s for Ginny.”

Ginny looked down.  Sure enough “TO MISS GINEVRA WEASLEY, GRYFFINDOR COMMON ROOM, HOGWARTS CASTLE (1994)” was inscribed on the parchment envelope in scarlet ink.

“Why’s it got a date on?” asked Ron, stopping low to get a better look at the handwriting.

“Maybe they thought it might get delivered to the wrong year,” muttered Harry.

“Well, take it then,” Ron said, prodding Ginny in the ribs.

Ginny untied the envelope and rubbed at the spot where the cord always rubbed against Hedwig’s scars . . .they had tied her with wire . . .Ginny stared at the scaly leg.  But Harry would never tie her with wire!.  They’d tired her with wire but she’d worked her way free, cutting herself nearly to the bone.  She’d gotten away and brought them the message . . .the message that had saved Harry’s life.

“There, that feels better, doesn’t it girl?” said Ginny softly.

Hedwig rustled her feathers comfortably, settling herself more comfortably onto Ginny’s shoulder.   Ginny turned her attention to the letter in her hands.  The letter had an emerald-green wax seal in which had been stamped an unfamiliar crest.  It consisted of a spiral — open side up — above which were etched three runic-looking sigils.

“Is that Runic?” said Ron, fingering the seal curiously.

“Looks like it,” said Harry, then to Ginny he added, “do you know what it says?”

“I don’t know Runic.”

“Yeah, me either.”

“Hermione!” shouted Harry and Ron together.

“What is it, what’s wrong?” came Hermione’s voice.  She left her books and hurried over to them, looking anxious.

“How good are you at Runes?” Harry asked, taking the letter from Ginny’s hands and holding it up to the light.

Hermione peered at the stamp.

“Body, Mind and Soul,” said Hermione immediately.

“I know you think it’s a brilliant class and all, Hermione,” said Ron with a smirk, “But it can’t be that good.”

“No, that’s what the Runes say — on the stamp — those are the Runic sigils for Body, Mind and Soul.

Ginny’s knees turned to rubber and she would have collapsed if she hadn’t already been sitting down.

“Who’s it from?” asked Hermione interestedly.  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a crest written in Runic before.”

“Why would someone put the vows on a seal?” asked Ron, running a finger along the ridges in the wax.

“Vows?” asked Harry and Hermione together.

“During a wizarding hand-fasting ceremony — that’s like a wedding,” she explained, “during the ceremony the bride and groom are bound by the power of the four elements and a fifth of love in front of witnesses by a Ministry Official.  But a Heart-Joining ceremony does not require witnesses.”

“What’s a heart-joining ceremony?” asked Hermione interestedly.

“It is old — old magic in which the couple bind themselves to each other, body mind and soul.  It can supposedly only be performed by couples who are Soulmates.  In fact, it’s known as the Marriage of Souls.”  Ginny swallowed hard and looked up to find herself pinned by Harry’s emerald green gaze.  He wasn’t just looking at her - he was looking through her.

“But there’s no such thing as Soulmates,” said Hermione, waving a hand dismissively.

“There is, actually,” said Ron bluntly.  “There’s a smell that’s done and everything.”

“A spell?” said Hermione disbelievingly.  “ For what?”

“To determine if you are destined to have a Soulmate.”

“Rubbish!”

“No, really, I heard Mum and Dad talking about it.  The spell is usually done when wizarding babies are born.  The healer says the incantation and touches their nose.  If the baby’s nose glows blue, they’re destined to have a Soulmate.”

“Ron,” said Hermione in a maddeningly superior tone.  “Where is your proof that there really is such a thing as Soulmates?  The spell could be measuring acidic compositon or something.”

“They keep a list on record at the Ministry, of who tested blue,” Ron insisted.  “And they study it too, at the Ministry I mean, in the Department of Mysteries.”

“They study Soulmates?” said Hermione, sounding exasperated.  “What on earth for?”

“Why did Einstein and Openhimer and all of them study up on how to split the atom?” said Harry unexpectedly.

Ron and Hermione finally stopped bickering and turned to look at Harry.

“What’s an atom?” asked Ron, his brow furrowed.

“Honestly, Ron, you did go to school . . .before Hogwarts I mean?” said Hermione scathingly.

“Well, yeah, sort of, Mum home-schooled us.  We learned how to read and write and do maths and stuff.”

“Are you talking about the men who developed the atomic bomb?” asked Ginny keenly.  She’d read about it in some of the Muggle magazines her Dad sometimes brought home. Some of what she’d read had been so frightening she’d had trouble sleeping for weeks.

Harry nodded.

“The only reason most people study things anymore is so that they can learn to control them,” said Ginny quietly.

“But how can they be controlled if they don’t exist?” said Hermione reasonably.  “And what has any of this got to do with the seal on your letter, Ginny?”

Ginny shrugged, slipped her finger beneath the seal (being careful not to break the wax) and slit the envelope open.  She turned it open and out fell two smaller envelopes, one sealed, one not.  On the unsealed envelope were written the words “OPEN ME FIRST.”  Ginny unfolded the heavy, cream-colored parchment and read:

Happy Birthday Dearest! 

Happy birthday and may the gods of truth and justice make certain that the next six years make up for all you’ve had to deal with during the last two.

You are a beautiful, intelligent and talented witch, Ginny, a witch of great feeling, and you are going to need every ounce of bravery and courage you possess to get through the next few years.

I have just one word of advice; Live from your heart and everything will fall into place.  I also wanted you to know that I consider you to be a true friend.  The world doesn’t provide those nearly often enough, so we have to treasure those we find.

Your Friend,

Mira

P.S.  The other envelope contains your birthday present.  I am afraid that it is not much — tangibly speaking — but I am certain that the Author’s sentiments will more than make up for the lack of a physical gift.  Given the nature of the present and the identity of the sender, it may be prudent for you to open it in private, hence the seal.  In case you’re wondering, Hedwig is waiting for a reply.  This is a one-time opportunity to act as messenger between yourself and the author of the letter, and she plans on enjoying every moment of it.

M.

Ginny had barely had a chance to read the letter before Ron had snatched it out of her hand.

“Ron!”

“I want to know who sent it,” said Ron, scanning the page, “and how come they sent it with Hedwig, hey?”

“She’s a friend,” snapped Ginny, reaching for her letter.  “And I have no idea why or how she sent it with Hedwig, but I’m not about to argue with a friend who was kind enough to remember that it is my birthday today — unlike certain family members,” she said icily.

“It’s your birthday?” said Ron blankly.

“June second, idiot boy, just the same as it’s always been,” Ginny retorted, snatching the letter and tucking it into the pocket of her jeans.

“Yeah, right.  Well, Happy birthday then,” said Ron, patting her on the top of the head.

Ginny grimaced.  Being patted by anyone was a gesture she particularly hated.

“Ron!” said Hermione in a reproving sort of tone.  “Do you have to be such an insensitive wart?”

“Hermione, what?”

“It’s her birthday, Ron.  A girl’s thirteenth birthday is important.”

“Whafor” muttered Ron around a mouthful of crisps.  “Jus anofer birfday, isinit?”

“Honestly, I can’t imagine how Ginny puts up with you, if you were my brother I’d-”

Ginny was distracted from finding out what Hermione would do with Ron if her were her brother by Harry’s pulling up the chair next to her.

“Happy birthday, Ginny,” he said quietly.

“Are you going to pat me too?” Ginny asked, still nettled.

“Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know.  Ron does it all the time.  Fred, Percy and Charlie too, like I’m a damn cat or something.”

“Not George?” said Harry, chuckling at her indignation.

“He used to.”

“What changed his mind?”

“The news that I have dirt on him I could use for blackmail.”

“Nice,” said Harry, smirking.  “What about Bill?”

“Bill would never,” she said, smiling.  “He knows me too well.”

“Sorry I didn’t get you anything,” said Harry, his brows furrowed.  “I didn’t — I didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t, Harry,” said Ginny.  She was touched by his concern.  “And it’s really not that big a deal,” she lied smoothly.  “I just like pushing Ron’s buttons.”

“That was smooth,” said Harry appreciatively.

“What?”

“Telling me that no one remembering your thirteenth birthday isn’t a big deal.”

“But-”

“This is me you’re talking to Ginny.  I’ve been ignored on my birthdays all my life.  I know how much being ignored can hurt.”  He looked sideways at her then, grinning.  “I can also spot a lie better than most.”

“Caught,” conceded Ginny.  “Most people can’t see through me like that.  Even my Mum believes me when I put on the ‘innocent little girl’ routine.”

Harry snorted.  “You know more than you let on I wager.  Besides that, most people don’t have our sort of history, either,” he said quietly, rubbing his forefinger over his scar.

Ginny shot him a sharp glance but he wasn’t looking at her. Now he was using the same finger to trace a lightning bolt on the cover of her journal.  She decided to chance a reference to the ‘history’ he’d mentioned.

Maybe it comes with being a Parslemouth,” Ginny said thoughtfully.

“Can you still?” said Harry looking up at her, his eyes bright with interest.  “Talk to snakes I mean, it’s been a year.”

“Seems to have rubbed off,” said Ginny shrugging.  “I was still able to this summer, I startled a garden snake while I was weeding.” She grinned.  “I think it was more surprised than I was to realize that I could still understand what it was saying.”

“They’re not so very bad, snakes,” said Harry, nodding.  “Not as bad as people make them out to be.”

“Not all of them,” said Ginny with a shudder, remembering the Basilisk.  “But that makes what, two of us?  Three total to come out of Hogwarts - if you count Tom, which I’d rather not.”  She rapped an empty butter beer bottle against the table in front of her.

“I hereby call this meeting of the Forked Tongue Serpent Association to order.  We shall now call the roll.  Harry Potter?”

“Here!” said Harry brightly, raising a hand.

“Ginny Weasley?”  Ginny called, looking around in mock puzzlement.

“Here!” she answered herself, sitting up eagerly on the edge of her seat, her arm waving in the air in a perfect imitation of Hermione answering a question.

Hedwig hooted indignantly.

“Okay, girl. You can join too,” Ginny told the owl, stroking her feathers. 

“On one condition,” said Harry, holding out a bit of an oatmeal cookie for Hedwig to nibble on. Hedwig gave another low hoot and ruffled her feathers questioningly. “You have to eat any real snakes that put in an appearance.”

Ginny giggled.

“Why haven’t you gone back to the owlry?” Harry mussed, watching the bird who was still perched on Ginny’s shoulder.  He looked from Hedwig to the letter in Ginny’s hand and back again.  “Maybe she’s waiting for you to reply,” he offered.

Ginny stared at him.  There was no way he could have known what was in the letter.  Was there?

“I still have to wonder how they got her to deliver the letter,” Harry mussed, still stroking Hedwig’s feathers absently.  “It must have been someone she knows.”

“I doubt it,” said Ginny.  She glanced at the letter in her hands.  “Not yet, anyway.”

“Ginny, what?”

“Here,” said Ginny, anxious to keep her slip-up from being noticed.  “Read this, tell me what you think of her.”

Harry took the letter from her outstretched hand and skimmed it quickly.

“She sounds like a real friend,” he said, smiling slowly as he came to the end.  He motioned to the second letter.  “She’s so mysterious with that bit about the second letter.  Doesn’t that make you curious as to who it’s from?”

“A bit,” said Ginny, grinning.  “But she also told me to open it in private and I know Mira well enough that she wouldn’t have told me that if there wasn’t a good reason.”

Harry looked over his shoulder.  Ron and Hermione had wandered off to the table Ron and Harry had been sitting at earlier.  From the sound of it they were still debating the importance of birthdays.

“This is probably as private as you’re going to get — unless you wait until you go to bed.  Go ahead, Ginny, I won’t interrupt and I can tell you’re dying to read it!”

She was.  Her fingers kept wandering back to the envelope, touching the ridges of the seal.

“Watch for me, Okay?  Don’t let anyone read over my shoulder.”

“On my honor,” said Harry, giving her a knee-weakening grin.

Ginny smiled her thanks and slit open the envelope.  The handwriting was what she recognized first.  There was only one person she knew who added that odd loop to the end of their capitol letters.  Ginny made a convulsive movement, clutching at her chest.  She could feel it.  Her heart had just skipped a beat . . .Harry!

My Dearest Ginny,

Where do I begin?  I remember watching you read this letter, but I had no idea what you were reading.  I only know that as I sat there, watching you, I knew  - deep in my heart — that this was the way it was supposed to be.

I remember everything.  The warmth of the Common Room, the smell of hot buttered popcorn and hot chocolate and new crayons (why crayons?) . . .

Ginny grinned slightly and looked down at the table.  There, half hidden under her Potions notes was a brand new box of 24 crayons.  She liked using them to highlight her notes and had bought this box off a first year who had been humiliated when she’d received them in a box of treats her mother had sent.

 . . .And the way the firelight kissed your skin and glinted in your hair, the way Hedwig looked so contented, perched on your shoulder and then, when you looked up at me, well, I was home.

Ginny couldn’t help herself.  She glanced up and, for the second time that night, she locked gazes with Harry Potter.

This is magic was the last coherent thought Ginny had before she had immersed herself completely into the emerald depths and as she felt their surface closing over the top of her head, she felt time — slip.  And then, somehow, she knew. . .

She knew that he always slept on his right side and that he liked to kiss the blackberry preserves off of Syria’s chubby baby face at breakfast, making her giggle.  She knew that he was ticklish on the inside of his left elbow and that he had a scar on the inside of his left thigh from where his cousin had poked him with a sharp stick. 

She knew that the House Elf Matthias always kept extra socks on hand because he was always coming up one short of a pair, and that he was so near-sighted that if he took off his glasses and walked away he couldn’t always find them again, but had to feel around the tops of things like a blind man. 

She knew, also, that they had made wild, passionate love in the tree house they’d built for the twins after sneaking out one night once the children were in bed and that he refused to de-gnome the garden, saying that having gnomes gave the cats something to do with their spare time. 

She knew, and the knowledge was so complete that she felt as if she had known the boy in front of her forever.

“Ginny?”  It took her a moment to realize that Harry, the real Harry, was talking to her, that they were back in the common room, that she was only thirteen years old and that there were years left before she’d know him in the way she’d just tasted.

Tasted.  She could still taste his kiss, feel his arms holding her against him in the night.  Inadvertently she let out a small sob.

“Ginny?  What’s the matter?”  Harry’s voice was low and concerned.  “Why are you crying?”

Ginny lifted a hand to her face. It came away damp.

“It’s — it’s just — just a beautiful letter,” Ginny whispered.  It wasn’t the whole truth, but Harry’s lie-detector didn’t seem as keenly tuned to partial truths.

“Do you need a tissue?” he asked, rummaging in the pockets of trousers.  “Damn, I think I gave my last one to Seamus.  Here-”he had slipped out of his jumper and was using the hem to mop at Ginny’s streaming eyes.

“Harry, don’t you’ll ruin it!”

“Don’t be stupid,” said Harry.  He was grinning at her, clad now only in a T-shirt.  “A jumper that can’t take a little salt water isn’t worthy of the name.  But I guess I can see why she told you to open it in private.”

“Yeah.” She was having a hard time tearing her eyes away from the way the T-shirt clung to his torso, revealing the fact that Quidditch practices were beginning to pay off in newly developed muscles. 

Merlin, he’s going to develop a hell of a physique in the next couple years.

Ginny bit her lip, glad for the increase in volume from Ron and Hermione which signaled that their argument had developed into a full-fledged row.  Ginny tore her eyes away from Harry and went back to her unfinished letter.

 . . .Mira assures me that since I remember watching the you read the letter and that your future self remembers reading it, that my sending this with her when she returns is a part of how all this turns out and won’t jeopardize what Ginny and I — sorry — what you and I will have.  But it only happened this one time.  That is important.  As much as I’d like to send you letters of encouragement every day, I won’t be able to.

You’ve told me — or rather, your future self has told me — about how you are connected to me, and the particular way our soul-bond has manifested, and I have to say that you are far braver than I gave you credit for at the time.  To know about us being Soulmates and yet to see me treat you as nothing more than a little sister or fellow team mate.  How could you have ended up still loving me?  I have no idea, but I’m glad of it!

So I guess what I want to say is, please don’t give up on me, Gin.  Over the next couple of years I’m going to be a right pain in the arse, and I’m certain that there will be times when you’ll want to kick me in said part of my anatomy.  I’m not asking you to excuse my behavior, but don’t let it poison you against me, either.  With all that is going to happen, that would be a very easy thing to do.  But please, trust me when I say that IT WILL BE WORTH IT.  Or, what was it Dumbledore is always telling me?  It will work out in the end.

Be brave Ginny, and know that no matter where you go, no matter what you do, you will always be in my heart.

Yours, Always,

Harry Potter

Ginny folded up the piece of parchment and slipped it into her pocket.

“Perfect timing,” Harry muttered just as Ron bounded back to their table, grabbed Harry’s arm, and dragged him off to mediate his and Hermione’s argument.

“Come on girl,” Ginny told the sleepy owl on her shoulder.  “Come up to my dorm and I’ll write out a reply up there.”  Ginny ran a hand over Hedwig’s glossy coat.  If the message was from a future Harry, that solved the dilemma of why Hedwig had delivered the letter.  He’d simply given it to his Hedwig to deliver and somehow Mira had found a way to let her come back in time.  This was a Hedwig from the future.  “That also explains why you seem to know me so well,” Ginny whispered into Hedwig’s feathers as the climbed the spiral staircase to the girls’ dorm.  Hedwig hooted softly in acknowledgement.

Once in her dorm, Ginny sat, cross-legged on her bed, Hedwig still perched on her shoulder, loaded up her quill with her usual emerald green ink and began to write.

She was only going to get the one chance.  Better make it good.

Dearest Harry,

You can’t know how utterly bizarre this seems to me.  I’d chalk it up to indigestion if I didn’t believe in the magic of possibilities!

I don’t know what sort of magic it is that has allowed Hedwig to travel backwards in time, but I thank whatever gods there are for it.  That letter was the best birthday present I’ve ever received and I thank you!

I thank you for taking the time to remember the girl that I was and to encourage her to be the woman she will become. 

I thank you for believing in me — and for loving me.  Even if that love is in the future, it must be pretty intense, for when I look at your current self, I swear that I see the residual energy of it burning deep in your eyes.

And finally, Harry, I thank you for giving me hope.  It will keep me warm at night and, until you can hold me in your arms for real, hope will have to do.

Love,

Your Ginny

Ginny folded up the letter, tucked it into an envelope and dripped wax onto the back.  On a sudden inspiration she took off her spiral charm and used it to seal the envelope.  Giving it to Hedwig, she whispered her thanks in the owl’s ear, took her to the window and watched as Hedwig flew off into the night.

6 June 1994

I just had the weirdest sort of dream.  It woke me up out of a sound sleep.  In my dream Harry, Ron and Hermone were standing by the Womping Willow.  Out of nowhere, a great black dog grabbed Ron by the leg and dragged him and a squealing Scabbrs into a hole in the tree’s roots.  Then, Harry and Hermione doubled (there’s really no other word for it).  So that instead of one Harry and Hermione there were now two sets.  Anyway, one pair went into the hole after Ron.  The other set put the head back onto a decapitated Buckbeak and flew him up to the castle where a thin, scruffy looking man climbed out of a window and joined them on Buckbeak’s back. I never got a good look at the man’s face, as it was hidden in shadows.

So, then I watched as the Harry and Hermione who had repaired Buckbeak dismounted at the top of the Astronomy tower.  The man stayed on the Hippogriff’s back and he and Buckbeak took off into the night.  Last I saw they were flying away, silhouetted by a full moon.  Then I woke up.  Weird, eh?

I wonder if I should tell Hagrid about my dream?  He’s been in a right state lately over what’s going to happen to his hippogriff.    Maybe if I told him it would cheer him up, give him some hope.

Ginny peered out of her bed hangings.  It was still very early.  According to the clock on her bedside table, breakfast was still an hour off.  If she left now she could get down to Hagrid’s cabin and back before the breakfast bell rang.

Ten minutes later she was making her silent way down the marble staircase.  She nearly jumped out of her skin when a firm hand landed on her shoulder.

“Early morning rendezvous, Miss Weasley?” asked Dumbledore good-naturedly.

“I —I fancied a walk,” Ginny managed.

“Off to see Hagrid I expect?”

“Ginny felt herself deflate.  “I just . . .he needs . . .he’s been so depressed, Professor.”

“Yes indeed he has.  But is there something . . .er. . .specific that you think might cheer him up?”

“Well, sir, I had this dream.”

“Really?  I do enjoy hearing about dreams, Miss Weasley.  Please, a cup of hot chocolate in my office before breakfast will be just the thing while you relate it.”

*     *     *

“You say that Mr. Potter and Miss Granger doubled?” asked Dumbledore interestedly.

They were both settled in squashy armchairs before the roaring fire in Dumbledore’s office.  He’d been listening raptly as Ginny retold her dream.

“Yeah.  The second set just — appeared, but the first set didn’t seem to notice them at all, they just went tearing in after Ron.”

“And the second pair?”

“Put Buckbeak back together.”  Ginny shivered.  It had been quite a gruesome mess, Buckbeak all gristle and bone and blood.  “Are they really going to kill him, Professor?”

“I am afraid that it is their intent,” said Dumbledore, his forehead creased.  “Of course, certain elements of your dream suggest . . .”

“Do you think it was more than just a dream?” interrupted Ginny.  She knew she was being rude, but she couldn’t contain herself.  She could feel her chest tighten in apprehension.

“The protection charms I have put on you, Miss Weasley, were to ward off possession.  There is not much I can do to ward off your being shown things in dreams.  In normal cases I would suggest that the witch or wizard having dreams of this sort learn Occlumency, but I am afraid that the art runs contrary to the nature of a Natural Elemental.”

“If I were to block out external penetration, then I would block out the elements.”

“Indeed yes. You know what Occlumency is, then?”

“I read a lot sir,” she said quietly, then shivered.  Block out the elements?  She’d rather have the dreams.  “But I couldn’t do that, block out the elements I mean.”

“Yes, I thought you’d say that.”  Dumbledore regarded her thoughtfully over the tops of his half moon spectacles.

“Then this dream sir, do you think it was like a vision?”

“Was the dream like any you usually have?”

Ginny shook her head slowly.  What dreams she had (whether her own or Harry’s) that weren’t nightmares tended to be jumbled bits of the day’s concerns and activities.

“Then, given your history, it probably was a vision,” said Dumbledore, shrugging slightly.  “But normal channels of communication being closed — or blocked — it presented itself as a dream.”

“But then what did it mean?” asked Ginny, perplexed.  “Why were there two sets of Harries and Hermiones?  Why would a dog want to attack Ron?  And what was that bit about putting Buckbeak back together?”

“I am afraid,” said Dumbledore quietly, “That dreams — or predictions rather — are not always recognized for what they mean until the things they have predicted are happening or have already happened.”

“Then what good are they?”

“Well, for one thing, they keep those who know about them on their toes.”

“So, do you think I should tell Hagrid?  Maybe if he knows it’s possible . . .”

“Hagrid is, as you have undoubtedly noticed, distraught.  He knows as well as I do that it is the committee’s intent to dispose of his Hippogriff.”

“And you don’t want me to tell him because that would give him false hope.”

“Unfounded hope, Miss Weasley.  What you were shown is only one possible outcome.  All it takes is one tiny fluctuation — someone sneezing when they should have remained quiet — and events can change irrevocably.”

In the distance Ginny could hear the loud, echoing peal of the breakfast bell.

“Now off you go, Miss Weasley.  Good luck in your exams.”

*     *     *

“I should have left my hair down!” Ginny moaned to herself as she headed up to the castle for lunch.  The skin on the back of her neck was tingling painfully with what was unmistakably the beginning of a bad sunburn.  Hopefully it would be a small price to pay for a passing grade in Herbology. She was almost to the stone steps leading up to the castle when she saw a sight that stopped her dead in her tracks.

Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic and her father’s boss, was standing at the top of the stone steps.  He had one hand on Harry’s shoulder.  He was using his free hand to gesture out across the grounds toward Hagrid’s hut.  But what was he saying? She closed her eyes, tight, concentrating.

“Pity, pity,” sighed Fudge deeply and looked down at Harry.  “I’m here on an unpleasant mission, Harry . . .” behind Fudge were two other figures, an old, frail looking man and a younger man with a heavy black moustache.  The younger man had a wicked-looking axe tucked into his belt.

Damn.  They were really going to do it!

Distracted, Ginny bolted her lunch, then headed off for her last exam, Defense Against the Dark Arts.  This was going to be easy!  Harry was sitting on the landing beneath the Divination classroom, brooding about Hagrid and Buckbeak, there’d be nothing to distract her from this exam.

The obstacle course Lupin had set up for them was obscenely simple compared to the one the third years had run — at least as far as Ginny was concerned.  The second year exam consisted of demonstrating (on an old log) how to harness a Kappa before crossing the potholes full of Redcaps and then stunning a pixie that was released from a cage.  Out of curiosity she waited till the others had completed their runs before asking Lupin if she could try out the Bogart.

“We haven’t covered Bogarts yet, Miss Weasley,” Lupin had said, looking down at her curiously.

“Ron told me all about his,” she explained, hoping that she sounded convincing.  “And I’ve been practicing the spell . . .I just wondered if I could give it a try?”

Lupin had finally agreed, insisting only that instead of shutting her in the trunk with the Bogart, that he be present when it changed, “just in case something goes wrong.”

To her chagrin the Bogart turned into a grown Harry, sporting a wedding band and asking if he could introduce her to his new wife, Cho Potter. 

“Liar!” Ginny hissed, then, feeling the heat creeping up her neck, Ginny used the Ridikulus spell, and grown Harry was an eleven-year-old again, wearing the grown-up-Harry’s clothes.

“Excellent, Ginny,” said Lupin, his lips twitching.  “You handled that very well, but honestly, I would have thought . . .given your, erm, history . . .”

“That it would be Tom?” Ginny finished, smiling slightly.  “That demon’s been dealt with, Professor.”

“But — Harry?”

Ginny shrugged.  “Schoolgirl crush?” she asked brightly.

“Nice try, but a schoolgirl crush wouldn’t qualify as what you fear the most.  Not you.  Tell me, Miss Weasley, why Harry?”

“How well did you know James and Lily Potter, Professor?”

“Very well.”

“What all do you remember about — about when Harry was born?”

“What do you mean?”

“Were there any — spells done?”

“Several.  All the usual ones, for cleaning the baby up, height, weight, blood type, DNA and then of course the Spiritus spell.”  Lupin stopped dead, staring at her avidly.

“I tested blue too, Professor.  Professor Dumbledore told me.  Not only that but ever since Harry rescued me from the Chamber of Secrets there has been — how can I put it — a — a bond between us.  I’d rather not go into more detail at the moment, but suffice it to say that there is enough evidence to suggest that he is my other half.  I felt it, Professor, here,” she said, butting both hands over her heart.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Well, you asked why Harry, yes?  And I happen to know that you, too, have a Soulmate.”

“Had.”

“She’s dead then?”

“She’s dead to me, Miss Weasley, dead to our bond.  She willingly married someone else.”  There was a cold, closed expression on Lupin’s face, warning Ginny that she was treading on dangerous ground.

“Then you know my deepest fear,” said Ginny softly.  She paused before continuing.  “Have you ever reached out to her, Professor?  Have you?”

“Not — not since she left.”

“Try it sometime.  When I do it to Harry he’s there.  He responds.  He doesn’t realize it, not on a conscious level, but every now and then I see it in the way he looks at me or in something he says without realizing it.”

Lupin shook his head.  “It won’t work.”

“But Professor Dumbledore says that Soulmates always end up together, so where there’s life, there’s hope.”

She left him then, looking thoughtful, and headed up to the castle.