Unplottable

16 - Ginny

When the school was suddenly buzzing with Aurors and even a few Investiwitches, the curiosity of all students was awakened. Rumours bloomed, but none of them as outrageous as the truth, which was announced by Professor McGonagall at a students' assembly the morning after the Minister's death. Like most students, Ginny found it hard to believe. Professor Lupin? Kill? The Minister of Magic? Sure, Lupin was a werewolf; sure, he had been hit by one of the mysteriously dangerous Ice Missiles. Ginny had seen two of her own brothers each suffer a very disturbing effect from such an injury. However, in spite of Ron's failed attempt to curse Harry to death, Ginny had never for a second considered that one of the injured students or wizards might actually kill somebody.

Security measures were becoming unbearable. In her own year and house, two people, Rhonda and Colin, had been temporarily de-wanded. All 'unwounded' students and teachers had been advised to carry their wands in identilocked wand-purses which none but their owners could open, just so that 'the afflicted', as had become the commonly used euphemism, could not get at them. People avoided them; Candice Fudge, unmellowed by her grief, scorned them openly and told all who would listen that they belonged "shut away at St Mungo's." Ginny made a point always to walk to her classes with Rhonda, and to be kind to Colin, but she never forgot to identilock her wand away.

In classes, 'the afflicted' were forced to watch while other students did magic. Flitwick, de-wanded himself, had his classes write essays rather than practice charms. Ginny had never been particularly fond of the tiny teacher, but now that she saw him look the wandless fool in front of his students, she felt sorry for him.

Of course, her special concern remained her brothers. Both Ron and Fred seemed to withdraw further and further into their shells of indifference. Both were kept at the hospital wing now; George complained that they had not even protested when their wands were confiscated. Ginny came to visit every day, as did George, Molly and Angelina, who were staying in the twins' house at Hogsmeade.

Progress on the panacea was apparently slow; however, Rhonda reported that Snape had brewed up a potion which the 'afflicted' had been commanded to drink. She was far from happy about it; Snape, she told Ginny, had assembled all of them in his office where they had been required to swallow a vile and evil-smelling hot brew. He had told them that it would temporarily weaken their magical abilities, making it impossible for them to harm someone with a Death Curse. They would have to drink the potion every week, something he would personally supervise; he also remarked offhandedly that it would noticeably impede their flying skills. All Quidditch players were outraged; Cho Chang, Rhonda had reported, had broken out in tears, an event which Snape had ignored entirely. Of course, all Gryffindors were worried about their team, with their Keeper declared unable to play and one chaser impeded by the potion. As both other chasers as well as both Beaters were new on the team, the only fit person appeared to be team captain Harry, Rhonda complained. Ginny nodded absentmindedly. She had other worries than the Gryffindor Quidditch team, or rather, her worries concentrated on some of the players (and ex-players), not the expected score of the team.

During lunch hour, when she had gone to see her brothers, she had spotted George and Angelina in a dark hallway around the corner from the hospital wing. They had been talking about Snape's potion. Curious and feeling she was chronically under-informed about all things concerning her sick brothers, Ginny had stopped in her tracks and hidden behind a forlorn-looking suit of armour to eavesdrop. George had complained that Snape had used an extract gained from the twins' Potion Spoiler for his magic-weakening potion, accepting everybody's praise without giving the twins credit in any way. Angelina had chided George for being so negative; everything that might help the 'afflicted' should be welcomed, not criticised, she said.

"You are right, and you are morally superior, as always," George had instantly agreed with her and then - Ginny had seen it clearly as she peaked around the suit's armour chest - he had kissed her. Angelina had melted into his arms, obviously welcoming his caresses. On tiptoes, Ginny had turned around to flee as quickly and silently as she could. She had raced towards the band room, let herself in with her key, and had spent the rest of the lunch hour drumming away at her set. She did not want any food, she did not want to see anybody, and least of all she wanted to visit any of her brothers, be they sick or well. The wrongness of what she had seen seemed to cling to her skin, to her lips, to the inside of her mouth. Only because she loved her instrument so much she refrained from spitting on it to get the acid taste off her tongue. Angelina was Fred's girlfriend, or sort of, and had been since the Yule Ball of 1994.

Reminding herself she must not overextend her lunch hour but be in time for Potions class, Ginny interrupted her playing to glance at her wristwatch. She had to wipe her sleeve across her eyes because her vision was a bit blurred. The watch told her she had a few minutes left. They would be used for practicing paradiddles, she decided, when suddenly a voice said:

"Hey, you have gotten a few things done in the last few months. Does you good to have your own set for practice I suppose - or maybe your new band is what made all the difference."

Ginny looked up, then rose from her stool so fast that it toppled backwards. Without thinking, she ran up to the woman, called out her name and hugged her. Aisha laughed and slapped a hand on Ginny's left shoulder. "How have you been doing?" she asked, sounding at the same time jovial and compassionate. "It's good to see you."

Slightly embarrassed, Ginny took a half-step back and wiped her eyes again. "So-so," she murmured and smiled bravely. "What are you doing here? I mean...." She felt her throat constrict. That wasn't the way she had wanted that question to sound. Far from being miffed, however, Aisha laughed.

"You mean, what's an ole' Muggle chick like me doin' in the castle of Oz again?" she drawled.

Ginny almost laughed, too. Relieving her of the need to answer, Aisha replied to Ginny's question:

"The others came too. There's some kind of wizard trouble of which I know very little, of course. Roary said his presence was required here because someone called Brownie or so was killed, and he didn't want to leave Pat and me behind in New York for fear that we might be Muggle-napped. He said we'd be staying here for a while, actually."

"That's good news," Ginny replied. "That you are staying, not that our Minister of Magic has been murdered."

"Oh, that's what that Brownie guy was?" Aisha said, politely displaying interest. "Right, Roary said he had to come here to make sure that he was replaced by the right person, but I don't quite remember the details."

Ginny nodded, but did not dwell on the subject. "As long as you're here, you can teach me some more things," she said.

"Absolutely, I was planning on that," Aisha agreed. "Varlerta seems to have made a couple of plans for Pat and me, too. Like, we're supposed to assist someone teaching Muggle studies." She pronounced the last two words as if they were the strangest expression she had ever heard. "You know, I never really finished my B.A. on American literature, but I suppose I could give it a try."

Ginny could not imagine Varlerta's Muggle band mates telling classes of young witches and wizards about the strange habits of the common Muggle, but she did not object. Somehow the Muggle drummer had made a lasting impression on her; to have her around was some kind of consolation in all her confusion and worries.

"Can we go somewhere and have a cup of tea together?" asked Aisha.

Ginny glanced at her watch and let out a tiny shriek. "Goodness, I'm supposed to be in Potions class. Professor Snape will kill me."

"Oh, him." Aisha grinned. "Well, if he's that scary, run along - I'll catch up with you later."

After the quickest "see you," Ginny did run. She speeded along the hallways, stumbled down the stairs, only to find the direct way down to the dungeon blocked by the Wandering Scaffold, a moody little nuisance that occasionally popped out of the nothing to further delay students who were already late. Cursing under her breath, Ginny doubled back and dashed down another corridor which would hopefully take her to the other stair that led down into the dungeon. Rushing around the corner, she was suddenly caught around the middle by an arm. She found herself face to face with the most handsome arrangement of azure eyes, blonde dreadlocks and seven freckles - Joolz Hengert.

"Gin," he said, grinning. "What's the hurry - someone chasing you?"

Torn between her wish to make it to Potions class and another feeling altogether, Ginny replied hastily: "Hi Joolz. I think we are both late for class."

Joolz consulted his watch and nodded very earnestly. "So we are, Gin. We are bad people - almost social outcasts," he said solemnly. Ginny could see the humour in his eyes. It did not seem to worry him that he was late for class.

"I've got Snape now," she replied with the squeaky voice she hated so much.

Joolz laughed, but not in a derogatory way. "Well, you better hurry then before he's got a reason to hurt you," he said and let go of Ginny. Between regret and relief, she waved him a quick goodbye and sprinted on.

By the time she reached the Potions classroom, her tardiness amounted to ten minutes and her emotional state was, well, confused. George and Angelina, Aisha, Rhonda, the sudden demise of Mr 'Brownie', paradiddles, Fred and Ron, Muggle Studies and an assortment of seven Freckles seemed to orbit her head with amazing speed. Without even thinking of an excuse, she opened the door to the classroom and stepped inside.

"Miss Weasley. How condescending of you to honour us with your presence at last," Snape purred dangerously from behind his desk. His eyes had not narrowed at her that way for a long time.

Ginny raised her hands in a gesture of defence, or maybe of showing she was unarmed. "Look, I'm sorry I'm late," she said, carefully sliding towards her seat next to where Rhonda was slicing Billywig stings, waiting for Ginny to do the 'real' magic.

"Oh, you are sorry," Snape almost whispered. "Then undoubtedly you have a first-class excuse for me."

Practicing her drums, meeting Aisha and being hugged around the waist by Joolz Hengert probably did not classify as an excuse, Ginny pondered. Suddenly she felt incredibly weary. "Look, I have none," she replied. "Could you please just punish me and get on with your class?"

Snape stared at her for a moment, then nodded. "Very well, Miss Weasley, I most certainly will. Report to me after class. Now - Essence of Billywig -"

Ginny did her best to pay attention. Working on a cauldron together with Rhonda made things easier: While Ginny had to do everything magical, Rhonda was supervising the process, making sure that Ginny did not overlook any crucial details in the brewing of the essence which was supposed to be one of the chief ingredients of the ink-black Hawk Potion. At the end of the lesson, what simmered in their cauldron looked acceptable. After getting the teacher's appraisal, the two girls poured the liquid into a storage jug and placed it on a shelf in the room adjoining the Potions classroom. Ginny helped Rhonda clean her slicing equipment and tidy up the workplace. "Go along, I'll catch up with you in a minute," she whispered to her friend when they were done. Rhonda pretended to shake with fear in Ginny's stead, but walked off as instructed.

Snape was clearing off equipment; he did not take notice of her until she carefully pronounced his name.

"Miss Weasley!" he spat after abruptly turning around to her. He was positively annoyed, Ginny could see. "What in Merlin's name do you want now?"

Ginny felt her heart sink. She could have just walked off, she realised; out of character as it might be, Snape had obviously forgotten that she was still awaiting his punishment. Maybe the murder, the danger coming from the 'afflicted', or the presence of investiwitches did not only confuse her, but even the feared Potions Master. However, it was too late to take the chance and leave now. "You were going to punish me," she replied softly.

Snape sneered. "Oh yes, that's correct." His eyes assumed a mean glance. Inwardly, Ginny gave up her next couple of band practices for detention duty - pickling bat testicles was a task Snape might set for her. However, he seemed to have something else in mind. With something like sadistic humour in his voice, he announced: "If you are so bent on being punished, here's my punishment. May your band be officially deemed uncool from this day on. I condemn you to a keyboard player. Her name is Kay Weiss, she is a third-year Slytherin, and entirely annoying. She will attend your band practice starting today. I will tell her you eagerly await her. May your rock dreams be drowned in mainstream pop music." He turned back to his work, indicating clearly that he had declared his sentence on her crime.

Ginny could not believe her own ears. Snape was the antithesis to any kind of popular culture; how could he possibly know or even care about what was cool and what was uncool? How could he be aware that a rock band might consider a keyboard player unsuitable for their style of music? What did he know about mainstream pop, or how to avoid it? She also felt tempted to argue. It was in Snape's power to deduct points from her house, to set detention for her - but not to command her to accept another band member. What would the others say - Joolz, for example? However, the teacher had clearly dismissed her, and if she stayed to argue, or ask about his musical preferences, she would be late for yet another class, if not hung and quartered by the Potions Master. Her band members would figure out a way to deal with the problem, she decided. "Yes, Professor," she replied.

Snape looked back on her, an unemotional, almost disinterested glance. "You may go now," he said flatly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As apprehensive as Ginny was about her punishment, especially about what the rest of the band would say, she did not think it would do any good not to mention it to them. After classes, she had about half an hour to have a cup of tea with Aisha and devour a couple of rolls. Then she made sure she was at the band room early. However, she was not early enough. Outside the door, she found Kay Weiss waiting for her. The younger girl awkwardly rose from her cross-legged position, smoothed down her robes with her hands and said somewhat breathlessly: "Hi Ginny, I am Kay, the keyboard player. Professor Snape sent me here because he said you wanted me in your band."

"Yeah, sure," Ginny replied vaguely, trying to sound neither too enthusiastic nor too impolite. She noticed the flat, long keyboard case leant to the wall, a sure token that Kay meant business. She knew she should utter a proper reply or start some conversation, but was at a loss for a topic. If only she could persuade Kay very gently that she did not want to play with Ginny's band after all, then Snape might not punish her for boycotting his punishment. She suppressed a sigh. Detention would have been so much easier. Then she opened the door to the band room and said to Kay: "You might as well come in."

Half-dragging, half-carrying her keyboard case, Kay followed her inside. Ginny noticed that the silver-blond girl looked around with awe: With its drum set, amplifiers and small P.A., with its moving and immobile posters of magical and Muggle bands, with its worn-out sofa and empty Butterbeer bottles, the room surely looked like a proper band room, like a hang-out of cool and interesting musicians. Pretending she hadn't noticed Kay's admiring glances, Ginny threw her stick-bag on the worn-out piece of carpet that lay beneath the drum set. Then she let herself sink onto the sofa. "So, Kay - what kind of music have you played so far?" she asked the girl who was still standing in the middle of the room as if she did not dare to touch anything.

After a short but perceptible pause, Kay replied very softly: "I've had classical piano lessons as a kid, and then I've had this play-along book for pop music, and then..." Her voice trailed off, leaving Ginny to conclude that Kay had already exhausted the scope of her musical experience.

"Are you Muggle-born, then?" she asked, thinking that few wizard children would have access to the kind of play-along books to which Kay was referring.

The girl vigorously shook her head. "I'm in Slytherin, after all," she said. Much more softly, she added: "My mother's - a friend of my mother is a Muggle music teacher. She used to teach me piano, and she gave me this keyboard, and my mother bewitched it so it can play by magic, not by electricity."

While she was talking, Joolz and Rhonda entered the room; Neville came right behind them. They all stopped in their tracks, taking in Kay and, Ginny supposed, the betraying long shape of the keyboard case. Ginny felt their glances stray from Kay to herself. Morgana's arse, what was she going to say to them?

Kay spared her the decision by introducing myself. "Hi, I'm Kay Weiss. Professor Snape said you would like a keyboard player in your band, so - here I am." Her voice was boosted by false self-confidence. Ginny wished the girl to be far away, but she also felt she would not have liked to be in her shoes. It was unthinkable to tell the others in front of Kay that she was sent here as a punishment for Ginny.

"Keyboard - that would be nice. I'm Neville, by the way." Trust her fellow apprentice to be kind and forthcoming, as well as stylistically indiscriminate. The band might fall into the horrors of synthie pop, and he might not even notice. Joolz looked sceptical; Rhonda expressed her indecision by observing closely how Joolz might react, ready to mirror him if necessary. When Joolz shrugged and said: "I suppose we can give it a try," Rhonda shrugged with him and started to unpack her bass guitar. Only Neville glanced over to Ginny and raised an eyebrow, a skill Ginny was surprised to see he had. He seemed to be the only one in the room who found it odd that Professor Snape would send the band a musician, who sensed that there was something Ginny was not telling them.

The band set up their instruments; Ginny connected Kay's keyboard with the small P.A. and moved up a table as an improvised keyboard stand. Kay watched her, shyness in her eyes. Then she asked Ginny in a small voice: "Can I have a look at the sheet music before we start?"

Hm, that might actually be the perfect way to get rid of her. "Oh, we have no sheet music. We play by ear," Ginny replied airily and walked off to her drum set, leaving Kay lonely and without any notated instructions in the corner behind her keyboard.

"But - how do I know what to play without sheet music?" Kay asked anxiously.

Neville, of course, gave her an encouraging answer. "Oh, don't worry - it may take a while, but you will learn. Just listen to us at first, and listen to some of the songs we cover, and then we'll figure something out in time." He did not seem to question her right to be there at all. Joolz, however, cast the Slytherin girl sidelong glances. Ginny felt a certain tension built up in the room, until Neville said:

"Oh, by the way, we have a gig in six weeks."

"In six weeks?" Ginny thought she had not heard him right. "Where? How?"

"Oh, Varlerta's throwing a Christmas party and practically told me we'd be playing," Neville replied, fiddling with his microphone.

"We only have four songs," Rhonda objected quietly.

"And we'd need a band name," Joolz added. "We can't possibly play a gig without a band name."

So many problems at the same time - Ginny knew hardly where to start. "What kind of band name?" she asked.

"Oh, I dunno," Joolz mused. "Something cool. Something evil, I suppose."

"Something glamorous," Rhonda said in a dreamy voice.

"The magic..." Neville seemed to ponder, but could not find a word to finish his phrase.

"The blast-ended Skrewts!" Joolz almost shouted and threw his arms up in a grand pose.

"Oh, no, not the nasty Skrewts," Rhonda objected. "I really hated them. They were not cool, and certainly not glamorous. I think our name should suggest that we are really famous and that everybody knows us."

"Like - 'You-Know-Who'?" Ginny suggested without thinking.

The room suddenly turned quiet. All eyes turned to Ginny. She felt herself blush and hastened to say: "Hey, that was a joke, and probably in bad taste. I didn't really mean it as a band name."

In the background, they heard Kay giggle. "That's really, really evil, Ginny," she said. Ginny wished she could quiet her.

"You can't possibly name a band after You-Know-Who," chided Rhonda, sounding very reasonable and teacher-like. "That would sound like we're - supporting him. And with your brothers in hospital, and me de-wanded and everything -" she stopped short, leaving it for the others to complete the sentence in their heads.

"Look, it was a joke," Ginny replied, wishing she had for once thought before she spoke. "I don't need any such drastic reasons for not supporting You-Know-Who. I think we all agree that we oppose him, don't we?"

"His name is Voldemort," murmured Neville under his breath. The microphone picked up the sound and sent it via amplifier and speakers to everybody's ears. Joolz, Rhonda and Kay moaned.

"Sorry," Neville said, this time taking care not to speak into the microphone. "But Dumbledore says not using his name makes things worse. If everybody is afraid to break the taboo, how afraid will we be to fight him? If we say You-Know-Who, we - we collectively agree that he's the only thing that everybody knows about without naming it, so we are giving him a lot of importance, maybe more than he deserves. I'm not saying we should use the name, but a bit of confusion might do matters some good."

Into the silence than ensued, Joolz whispered, perfectly audibly for everyone: "Whoopee, Longbottom's getting bookish."

Neville blushed. "Look, could we start playing some music?" he asked. "After all, we've got a gig coming up."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Varlerta had indicated that she would need her two apprentices for an experiment the next day, but had not told them any details. When Ginny and Neville turned up for their normal practice time at Varlerta's 'music lab', they were surprised to find two more people there - Ambrose Curtis and Perenelle Flamel.

Varlerta introduced Neville to the ancient, tiny witch - everybody else in the room knew each other already - and announced that they would conduct an experiment using music. "It is quite a tricky little affair," she told her apprentices, "so tricky, in fact, that I cannot exactly tell you what this is all about. You will just have to trust me and to follow my instructions. The three of us -" she indicated Perenelle Flamel and Ambrose Curtis with her hand - "will make sure nothing can go wrong."

Ginny didn't like to take part in a magical experiment without knowing what she was doing, but she didn't object. For one thing, if Perenelle was present, it wasn't unlikely that the experiment was needed to help Ron and Fred; for another, Varlerta wasn't in the best of moods these days. It wouldn't have been adequate to say the teacher had developed a tendency to blow up at others. She would rather snap or make a quick and sometimes stinging remark here and there for which Varlerta usually apologised afterwards. However, since the murder of the Minister of Magic, or maybe rather since Sirius' disappearance, Ginny felt even less inclination than before to cross her teacher. Of course, she wasn't supposed to know that Sirius was gone, because it took no 'Hermione' to conclude that he and the fugitive Lupin had disappeared together. However, seeing that Varlerta was upset, that Harry was upset, and that Sirius wasn't there to comfort either, she'd just asked whether Varlerta had heard from him. Maybe not thinking about that Ginny wasn't supposed to know about any of this, maybe simply trusting Ginny, the teacher had responded glumly: "Not one word, and it's been six days." Ginny could understand why the teacher was worried; she'd be, too. All things considered, she did not want to raise any trouble about the experiment, because usually, or at least most of the time, her teacher knew what she was doing.

Varlerta gave Neville three lines of music notes; as Ginny still had trouble with rhythm notation, the teacher played a strange seven-four-time rhythm on the smaller of the Shaman drums for Ginny to imitate on its larger 'sister'. She let them practice their parts for a while, keeping time on the smaller drum to keep Neville's tune and Ginny's rhythm together. When the parts of the music fell into place, Varlerta took her electric guitar from its stand and added a strange guitar riff, first tentatively, then powerfully. Ginny closed her eyes. The uneven rhythm, strange and odd to her at first, had become a flow that seemed to go on and on into eternity. She started feeling the music as waves in which Neville's tune and Varlerta's ostinato became little currents of their own. Gently and then mightily, the power welled up between the three of them. It seemed to come from the very ground beneath their feet and to flow right through them. In a way, it was like the power coming from the stone circles the three music magicians still walked each full moon, but somehow the flow felt more - immediate, Ginny thought with the small fraction of her mind that was not enveloped in the trance of the music.

Hearing Varlerta slow down and fade out her ostinato, Ginny let her own rhythm ebb away. She felt as if she was falling asleep; just when her head started to sink against the back of her chair, someone rapped her on the shoulder. Ginny blinked, then opened her eyes. "This was quite remarkable, Varlerta," said Perenelle Flamel, her bony fingers drumming against Ginny's neck. "Your two kids are a little power source of their own, or rather, they are learning to master channels which go beyond the reach of even many adult witches and wizards. I agree with you that we should give your method a try."

Ginny watched Varlerta put her electric guitar on its stand. She noticed that the teacher looked shaky and pale. Come to think about it, she did not feel exactly hot herself; next to her, Neville was hugging himself, holding the silvery flute close to his body as if he wanted to give it some warmth. Something about the experiment had been exhausting, though she could not quite say what.

"How are your measurements, Ambrose?" Varlerta asked, smiling wearily at the dark-skinned wizard.

Curtis glanced on a small brass instrument. From afar it looked like compass of octagon shape. "Rather promising, actually," he replied. "Your two students are a force to be reckoned with. Of course, to know anything at all, we will have to repeat the experiment in the presence of the patients." So this was about Fred and Ron, Ginny concluded.

"Not now," Varlerta said, a slight tremble in her voice. "I am not used to dealing with, er - this particular force; neither are my apprentices. I suggest we wait until tomorrow to make sure we are all fit for what we are doing." Ginny was surprised. Varlerta wasn't normally known for being over-careful. Clearly Curtis had the same kind of objection:

"Var, we should make sure the missile victims should get our help as soon as they can. You know quite well," he cast a sidelong glance at Perenelle, "that time is running out."

"Oh, shhh, boy," the ancient witch chided. "One more day won't hurt us. This lady knows what she's talking about, and she's responsible for her apprentices, after all. Before something goes wrong which we might regret, let's continue this tomorrow."

Ginny wasn't sure what her own opinion was in the matter concerned. She did feel tired, but she wanted to help her brothers yesterday rather than tomorrow. Also, although she did not appreciate being talked about as if she wasn't there, she could see that both Curtis and the two witches had a point. She exchanged glances with Neville, who shrugged. Suddenly Ginny was extremely grateful that she was not the only apprentice being talked about, that Neville and she were in the same situation. If they were really channelling things beyond their comprehension, at least she was not the only one who had to employ her powers on demand without knowing what was going on. Communicating with Neville made her feel less like a tool that was being used, and more like a person.

Varlerta rose and turned her amplifier off. "Go and do something fun, kids," she said to them. "I know this is an awkward situation, but we really need you, and we can't give you more information than we absolutely must. Meet us at the hospital wing tomorrow at the same time."

Curtis frowned, but did not object. Ginny rose and zipped her drum into its canvas bag - outside Varlerta's building, it was probably still half raining, half snowing, and the water was threatening to damage the drum. Neville disassembled his flute and cleaned out the parts with a piece of cloth stuck through a stick with a slit. Perenelle and Curtis watched them curiously. Ginny felt a bit uncomfortable. So she had been doing something great this afternoon. Big deal. She would have preferred to know what exactly she had done, what exactly Curtis had measured. The advice to 'do something fun' tonight counted for very little, either: She still had a workload of homework before her; OWLs would come up next summer, as none of the teachers ever tired of reminding the Fifth Years.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next afternoon, Ginny was not surprised to find Varlerta, Ambrose Curtis and Perenelle Flamel in the hospital wing, along with her sick brothers and Gwenwyfar Ailis Potioned to sleep. It would not have been unusual for the matron to be there, too, but Madam Pomfrey appeared to be absent. Her mother was not an uncommon sight at the sickbed of Fred and Ron either; however, when she spotted her, Ginny expected Molly to leave before the experiment. This, however, did not seem the case; exchanging greeting nods with Varlerta, Curtis and Perenelle, Molly settled into an armchair, looking pale but determined. Curtis rose an eyebrow at Perenelle Flamel.

"I know this is unusual," she answered, "but we can't really deny her to be here. Three of her children are involved, after all. Maybe she will have a calming effect on us." She looked at Molly and held her gaze for a moment. Molly nodded briefly; it was as if the two witches had silently agreed on a contract. Meanwhile, Varlerta instructed her two apprentices.

"I know you have Coaxed Ron into waking," she told them. "You made contact with his consciousness and fetched him back into the present. This was a great achievement. However, what I am asking of you today is something different. I want you to concentrate on the task we practiced yesterday, and to follow my musical directions. Do not try to contact or Coax anyone, just let the magic flow." She repeated yesterday's directions, made sure that Ginny remembered the rhythm correctly and that Neville still knew how to play the tunes she had given to him. Ginny noticed that the teacher was nervous. It wasn't like her to be extra-careful; normally Varlerta wasn't exactly reckless, but usually she trusted her apprentices to follow instructions without her having to repeat them. The experiment was likely to be dangerous. Curtis and Perenelle appeared to have their wands ready, although Curtis was also fiddling with his small brass device.

Ginny closed her eyes and played her rhythm upon a nod of the teacher. More quickly than on the day before, Neville's tunes and Varlerta's ostinato trickled in and flowed along as one. There was no temptation to contact or even Coax the patients with the music, as it soon seemed to escape Ginny's grip, to develop a will of its own, to spill into its own direction. Ginny felt her head swim; all of her senses seemed to blur. She abandoned all attempts of holding on to the safe shore of consciousness and let the music carry her away like an almighty torrent. Briefly she had the vision of a broad and deep stream, sweeping away a weir and gushing towards deadly rapids. Her rhythm seemed to have lost its shape as if it had melted away; her finger tips were becoming dangerously hot: The stream had turned from water to lava. Ginny felt afraid, but could not stop playing; the music was flowing through her as if the weir that had been broken had been the one of her own mind.

"Block the flow! For Keranta's sake, block the flow!" Hands roughly tore at Ginny's wrists, disconnecting fingers and drum. As soon as she lost contact to the instrument, Ginny felt the pain in her fingers: Both of her hands were covered with blisters and burns. She opened her eyes to see Molly tear the flute from Neville's lips. Meanwhile, Varlerta was putting aside her guitar. Ginny noticed that the teacher's fingers were smeared with blood. "Morgana's arse, that was a close one," Varlerta whispered, sounding unamused.

"This kind of magic is quite effective," Perenelle commented dryly. "No wonder it was banned in my days."

Curtis appeared to be shaking. The brass instrument appeared to have fallen to the floor. He bent to retrieve it, mumbling "good one, Molly," without looking at anyone.

Molly went over to Fred and Ron to check their pulses and stroke their red-haired heads. Ginny noticed that tears were running down her mother's face. "Good for you - they seem to be alright," Molly snapped at Curtis. Then she returned to Ginny and hugged her around the shoulders from behind. "You are aware that you almost killed three of my children," she said accusingly to no one in particular.

Varlerta seemed to be to shaken to speak coherently; after wiping her bloodied hands on her black robes, she mumbled an apology. Just like Neville, the teacher looked about as sick as Ginny felt. After an awkward pause in which everybody seemed to avoid everybody else's eyes, Ambrose Curtis was the first to regain control of his speech:

"How did you know what was going on, Molly? You did not - you did not feel the flow, did you?"

Perenelle nodded gravely. "That was quite amazing, and of course, very lucky," she added.

"Well, I certainly did perceive it," Ginny's mother snapped at him. "And a good thing, too! Where were the Unspeakables among us to stop it? Did you not notice that things were getting out of hand?"

"It was - too much, too sudden," Curtis stammered. "Mrs. Weasley, I am sorry - terribly sorry for endangering your children, in fact. I had no idea that our three musicians would succeed so fatally well. Once I realized the strength of the stream they were unleashing, I already found myself trapped in it."

"Absolutely," Perenelle agreed. "I've never felt it build up so quickly in my life, and my life has been a long one. You must be very talented, Molly, as you were able to break it."

"We are all very lucky that you perceived the flow and stopped it, and I am infinitely grateful for that," Curtis continued. "However, I do wonder how you - I mean, did you ever receive any kind of training?"

"As an Unspeakable?" Molly replied. "A little, before I was married."

Varlerta had in the meantime gotten up and taken a small vial from a cupboard. She put some liquid from it on Neville's blistered lips, on Ginny's sore hands and finally onto her own fingers into which the guitar strings had cut deep ridges. Ginny felt the potion sting, but saw that it helped her skin heal very rapidly. Her head was starting to clear; fascinated, she followed the conversation between Curtis and her mother. To think Molly Weasley had received training for being an Unspeakable was - well, almost unthinkable.

"You mean you have the skill to perceive and control the -" Curtis glanced over to Ginny and Neville. It was clear that there were things he did not want to talk about in front of them. He turned back to Molly and continued: "You know what I mean - did you pass the test?"

"The first one? I suppose I did," Molly murmured, absentmindedly stroking Ginny's ultra short hair. Her anger seemed to have largely evaporated.

"But that means you should be an Unspeakable now," Curtis said, clearly amazed. "There are so little people who have that gift, and even fewer we can trust in these difficult times. If you have it, why aren't you working with us? - We need you," he added imploringly after the briefest pause.

"Need me? That's ridiculous," Molly murmured. "I never even finished my training."

"Then finish it now," Curtis said imploringly. "You saw what just happened. Not only did you perceive the flow, but you were able to stop it when Perenelle and I were already carried away with it. We need people like you."

"I can't imagine going back to it," Molly told him, her voice slightly shaky. "When I left school, I took the test and started the training, but then I found out I was pregnant. I got married immediately, of course. Bill came, then Charlie- well, you know how it is. After I found out I was expecting a third child, I never really considered finishing my training as an Unspeakable - and I don't think I could do it now. I am forty-seven and surely too old for this."

"You mean, Bill was an accident?" Ginny asked, once more genuinely shocked.

"He certainly was not," Molly replied, sounding quite offended. "Like all of you, he was a gift in any way I can think of. Only -" she hesitated, "he was a gift that interfered with some of my plans. So I made other plans. I concentrated on my children. I never regretted that. The more children I got, the more I wanted." With a little laugh she continued: "If I thought it wisely, I would surely have another one now. It's quite lonely in the house sometimes with your lot gone." She stepped behind Ginny's chair and placed both hands on Ginny's shoulders as if she was hiding behind her daughter.

"Molly, we need you," Curtis implored again. "There's so many people at the - you know, so many we can't trust, and so few which are really on our side. I firmly believe we can trust you, though. If you could perceive and block the flow here and now, you should certainly be able to finish your training. Today, you probably saved three of your children's lives. It may very well happen that way again, especially as we might find a way to employ Varlerta's method in making the panacea after all. It seems risky, but also highly suitable. With your help, we can perhaps keep the danger at a minimum."

"You do seem to need my help if today is anything to go by," Molly snapped, audibly reminded of the experiment gone slightly wrong. Ginny felt like asking her mother to be easy on Curtis until she remembered that it was her life, along with Ron's, Fred's, Neville's and Varlerta's, which had been risked.

"No one can tell you what to do, Molly," Varlerta replied. "However, it is a rare gift. Like most witches and wizards I do not possess it myself. Otherwise I might not even have agreed to this experiment, because I would have realised how dangerous things can become when you're dealing with the -" she gave Molly a meaningful look. Ginny was sure her mother understood, but found the adults' avoidance of relevant words unnerving.

"Also, if your children are out of the house, it might be the best idea to find something else to do," Perenelle added in her brittle voice. "That's what I did in 1333 - I had the same talent as you did, and when my kids were grown and married, I was kind of bored, so I thought I might as well get a bit of work done before I died. Then I discovered a few things, and Nick discovered a few things, and we ended up combining our skills and knowledge until we made the Stone." She seemed to be lost in thoughts for a moment, but quickly recovered and continued: "Mind you, I'm not saying you can, will or should do something like that. I'm only saying it is highly satisfying to finally put your talents to use, those you have besides child-bearing and child-rearing. And if you can help your kids recover with your skills, what else could you possibly wish for?"

"But - I've been a housewife for so long." Molly grabbed Ginny's shoulder as if for reassurance. "I don't think I could - you know, go back to training, have a job, let alone deal with all that dangerous magic."

"You just showed that you are more fit to deal with danger than all the highly trained people in this room," Varlerta said dryly. Ginny was sure that the teacher was reproaching herself for putting her apprentices in danger.

"I'm not sure," Molly said, her voice shaking.

Without thinking, Ginny patted the hands on her shoulders with her own. "If you've got a rare talent, you've got to use it, mum," she said.

Molly's fingers closed tightly around Ginny's. "You think so?" she whispered.

"Of course I do," Ginny said, half-turning to look Molly in the face. Suddenly she felt very proud of her mother. Molly smiled at her.

"If you say so, I will do that, my daughter, if only to make sure your very powerful magic doesn't blow us all up," she said, her eyes brimming with tears.