Unplottable

25 - Ginny

On the day of the election, Ginny found she was nervous and unable to concentrate on anything. Of course, the same might have been said of most of her teachers and fellow students. The British Minister of Magic was elected every seven years; the last election had been four years ago, when Ginny had not paid much attention to these things. Back then, of course, it had been quite certain that Cornelius Fudge would be granted a second term of office, so the election had not caused as much tension as the present one. This time, everything was open; the Daily Prophet had published a dozen entirely different prognoses. No one knew who would become Minister of Magic this time.

Of course, for Ginny the question held a special relevance. She wasn't sure whether she wanted to be the daughter of the Minister of Magic, but she was convinced that her father would do infinitely better than Lucius Malfoy. For one thing, that was what everybody was saying. For another, she remembered Malfoy from that memorable day in Flourish and Blotts before her first year of Hogwarts, remembered his smirk and the fear he had caused her later. If Malfoy became Minister, she would cease to feel a member of British magic society. She would go underground like Sirius Black as soon as she had grown up, she decided. She would oppose that government, and so would many others, if she wasn't mistaken. If Malfoy became Minister of Magic, it was likely that the foundation of magical society would be shattered.

Even though the thought of becoming an outlaw had a certain appeal to Ginny, she realised that things would be much simpler, not to mention better, if her father became Minister of Magic. Most of her fellow students seemed to agree with her, even Candice Fudge, whose grief had added to her general maliciousness. Everybody she knew rooted for Arthur Weasley. He's got to win, Ginny thought - nobody will vote for Malfoy.

Ginny knew that the teachers were all leaving the school for a quick Portkeying to London during the day. She fervently wished she was of age and could vote, too. As it was, she had to remain at Hogwarts and hope the adults would put things right. He's got to win, she calmed herself.

At seven o'clock in the evening, Wizard Wireless would be broadcasting the first results. Someone had put up a radio in the Gryffindor common room; students were sitting around it, eager to hear the outcome of the election. Some of the younger students did not seem to bother, but were playing Exploding Snap; however, the older Gryffindors were listening attentively and eagerly. Ginny saw that some students had hidden baskets of food under the table, presumably for a little celebration. Somehow the thought made her uncomfortable.

At seven o'clock, right after the news jingle and the usual "Good evening, witches and wizards of Britain," the witch behind the microphone stated: "According to current projections, Lucius Malfoy will be Britain's next Minister of Magic, attaining fifty-two point one percent of all votes. While the last projection in the afternoon suggested a neck-to-neck race, by now a clear trend towards a majority for Malfoy is visible. Wizard Wireless correspondent, Herb Inquis, talked to the designated head of magical Britain."

"Mr. Malfoy, all trends point towards a majority for you. Is that what you expected?" a voice came from the radio.

"Of course - taking one look at my competitor convinced me that this was the only possible outcome of this election." Even through the battered old speakers, Malfoy's voice sounded distinguished, slick and self-assured. "The witches and wizards of Britain have voted, and they have chosen stability and safety over the hodgepodge concepts of Muggle lovers and the breakers of our sacred traditions. Weasley would have been a danger to our country, and I feel very relieved that I could stop him. I am in the happy position of being able to promise magical Britain that it will not fall to the ruin of clueless reformers like Weasley."

"Daily Prophet correspondent, Rita Skeeter, interviewed the supposed loser of this election, Arthur Weasley," the news-speaking witch reported. After a short, static noise, a witch's voice came over the ether:

"Arthur Weasley, you announced that you would 'steer magical Britain into the reforms necessary to defend the country against a take-over from You-Know-Who'. Now projections show that you have lost the election. How do you feel?"

"Er, first of all, I have, er, not given up hope that the final outcome of this election will defy the current projection," Ginny heard her father's voice over the speakers. He sounded insecure and weak, she thought. "I'm still convinced that the witches and wizards of this country mean to defy You-Know-Who, not support a second realm of terror. Whatever happens, however, we will not stop opposing You-Know-Who and all those who support him, be it through deeds of violence or through politics."

As the news speaker's voice replaced her father's, Ginny felt the realisation sink in: They were counting their losses. Lucius Malfoy would be Minister of Magic. Her father had lost the election. Those who opposed You-Know-Who had put their trust in Arthur Weasley, had hoped he would save the country from Malfoy's rule - and they had been disappointed. Her father had failed.

Suddenly, everybody seemed to be staring at her. Nobody said a word; all that could be heard was the news speaker's voice, blurred to her ears. There would be no celebration tonight; no one would enjoy the basket of the house-elves' goodies stored under the tables. Numbed by the realisation of what the victory of Lucius Malfoy, likely as it seemed, would mean to them, the Gryffindor students just stared at Ginny. Your father was our hope, and now he has failed, their eyes seemed to say.

"I'm going to bed," she announced to no one in particular. Followed by the gazes of many, she got up and walked up the stairs to her dormitory as quickly as she dared.

Ginny took off her shoes and crawled into her four-poster without bothering to undress any further. She closed the curtains around her and stared into the semi-darkness. He had failed. Her father had failed. They had lost the election. Malfoy would be Minister.

Of course, there still was a slight possibility that the final outcome would differ from the last projection, but Ginny did not really believe in it. If the trend was announced on the radio, it was likely to be the outcome of the election, right?

Sleeping was out of question: It was only a quarter past seven. Going to bed had been a bit silly, in fact, Ginny decided. She had left the common room because she experienced her father's defeat as a loss of face, she realised. She was ashamed that he had failed so many people's hopes. Going to bed had been the only escape she had been able to think of - the only way not to answer any questions or listen to any comments.

"Ginny? Come on, I know you are not sleeping!" The voice was Rhonda's. Ginny wished the bass player would go away.

Rhonda moved the hangings of Ginny's four-poster back and forth to simulate a knock on the soft fabric. "No chance of communicating with you?" she asked.

With a sigh, Ginny sat up and pushed her legs through the hangings. Then she drew them open. Rhonda sat down on the bed next to her.

"What a crappy outcome," she said. "I can't believe they all voted for someone who seems to be supporting You-Know-Who. That bloke should be put into Azkaban, not made our Minister."

Ginny shrugged. "That's what people voted for, though," she said with a hoarse voice.

"I suppose so," Rhonda replied. "It's still - well, it's scary."

Ginny nodded. She had nothing to add to that.

"I just don't understand it," Rhonda continued. "I mean, what are people thinking of, voting for Malfoy?"

"I suppose they voted for him because he is rich and successful, and he's from a famous, respectable and influential family," Ginny said. And we are not, she added in her thoughts.

"Well, that's a good reason to vote for someone," Rhonda said slightly sarcastically. "Never mind politics, or affiliation, or somebody's intention - as long as the family is respectable, people vote for him." She snorted in contempt. Then she added: "I personally think your family is perfectly respectable, too, by the way, and if you're not rich, all it shows is that none of you ever resorted to any kind of crime or exploitation just to make money."

"You really think so?" Ginny had never seen things that way.

"Sure," Rhonda replied. "Now, if Malfoy is made Minister, all it shows is that fifty-two percent of the voters are criminals themselves, or people who profit from the crimes of people like Malfoy. It's not like it's exactly a secret that Malfoy supports You-Know-Who. If the witches and wizards of this country vote for him, I don't want to have anything to do with them."

"This country stinks," Ginny whispered. She felt tears stinging her eyes.

"Let's emigrate," Rhonda suggested off-handedly.

"Where would you want to go?" Ginny asked, not feeling very encouraged by Rhonda's suggestion.

Rhonda shrugged. "I don't know. I heard there are supporters of Voldemort in other countries, too, so I suppose the rest of the world stinks just as well."

Ginny nodded, her eyes on her wrinkled bedspread. She felt a vague hopelessness, a fear of things to come. Still, she felt grateful that there was someone who had come up to see her, someone who shared her worries.

"I suppose we should go down to the common room and comfort ourselves with the food they brought for the celebration," she said.

Rhonda raised an eyebrow. "As the sister of the notorious Weasley twins, you are at least expected to plan a revolution tonight," she admonished her.

Ginny grinned at her crookedly. "Okay, then, let's plan a revolution over treacle tarts," she replied.

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

It wasn't easy facing everyone for the next couple of days, but it was good to know she had friends who were on her side in spite of her father's failure. Winning the election with a final 51.9 %, Lucius Malfoy was made Minister of Magic in the Ceremony Hall near the ancient and sacred site of Bryn Celli Ddu. The Daily Prophet printed a picture of him undergoing the traditional ceremony, a picture which reminded Ginny of Percy's wedding. However, while the wedding had all in all been a good thing, there was nothing good about having Malfoy for Minister.

As Professor Varlerta's apprentice, Ginny sat through an endless meeting of Dumbledore's Order together with Harry, Hermione and Neville. People were afraid, she realised. Some were earnestly considering emigration. Some were worrying about their children; some were worrying about their jobs in the Ministry, as Malfoy had announced a 'cleansing' to cut down expenses.

There was a wide-spread fear of Malfoy proclaiming a general amnesty for the Death Eaters imprisoned in Azkaban. Dumbledore tried to calm his 'order', reasoning that this would not be in the best interest of Lord Voldemort, as the imprisoned were mostly mad and therefore useless to their master. Nevertheless, rumours were growing like daisies in springtime. Malfoy would ban all Muggle-born from the Ministry and from Hogwarts, some feared. Malfoy would make being a Death Eater legal, others warned. Malfoy would make supporting You-Know-Who mandatory, some even suggested. Of course, the members of the Order agreed they were not going to take this. Many people predicted that there was the danger of a civil war in Magical Britain. It scared Ginny.

Making music in such a time of fear and dread seemed absurd on the one hand. On the other, practising with her band was one of the few things Ginny could still enjoy these days. Accompanying others on the drums and taking part in the process of writing songs made her feel one with the group and with the music. In the company of her band mates, she felt relatively comfortable.

Kay's song had evolved into the band's second self-composed number; Neville had added a chorus and lyrics, and they all had arranged and re-arranged their instrumental parts until they were satisfied. Ginny had to concede that having the keyboard player in the band was starting to be an asset, not a liability. Strange as it was, Snape's punishment had resulted in something good: Kay was younger than the other band members, and therefore a bit of an outsider, but musically she had started to blend in. Was it possible that Snape had meant well when he had forced Ginny to take the girl on?

Considering that Snape had disappeared under highly suspicious circumstances, presumably to rejoin Lord Voldemort, it seemed more than unlikely that he'd care about such trivial matters as her band, Ginny thought. He was probably evil through and through, and virtually unable to do good. However, this did not quite fit the way Ginny had always seen the former Potions master of Hogwarts. She would never forget that night when he, Sirius, Neville and she had rescued Professor Varlerta from the Death Eaters. Snape had seemed reliable then; if she wasn't mistaken, she had seen him kill Death Eaters, not help them. Also, Ginny had always thought Snape had a thing for Varlerta, but then again, she wasn't quite sure about that. Be that as it may, she had personally never hated Snape as much as, say, Ron had. Sure, he was a nasty person, especially where the Gryffindors were concerned, but she had always suspected him of having a very shrewd sense of humour. Many of the things he'd said to her class during her school years had been bitingly funny in a bitter and grotesque way. That, of course, did not automatically mean that Snape did not support Lord Voldemort. She certainly would not have said she knew Snape well enough to judge something like that. Come to think of it, maybe it wasn't entirely easy to know Snape.

By now she had confessed to the other band members that Kay had been sent to them as a punishment. The others had been amused. Kay's laugh might have sounded a little forced, until Joolz had said he wished all Snape's punishments had been such a stroke of luck. Oh yes, Joolz. Ginny smiled when she thought of the guitarist. He knew how to make people feel at ease. Maybe he even knew how to make people something else, too, she mused.

Five days after the election, Ginny escaped from another hot common room discussion about Malfoy and his plans by running off to her band's room. Practising the drums always calmed her. First she went through a short period of frantic, semi-rhythmical drumming, pounding away at all parts of the drum-set to work off her frustration. With each stroke, she imagined hitting a witch or wizard who had voted for Lucius Malfoy; each kick on the foot pedal was directed at someone who had failed to show up at the ballots, assuming that Arthur Weasley would win anyway. That's what people were saying: Many witches and wizards had believed it impossible that a blatant supporter of You-Know-Who would win; therefore they had not found it necessary to leave their cosy armchairs on Election Day. It was all their fault, bang, bang, Ginny thought while drumming away. Also, there were rumours that Malfoy had magically influenced the outcome of the election. There was no proof of this, however, and as Malfoy was the head of the Ministry, there was no investigation of these rumours, either. Take this, Malfoy, you cheating scum, Ginny thought as she hit the cymbal hard.

After a few minutes of her wild playing, Ginny felt a soothing exhaustion. She tried a few paradiddles, but found she couldn't concentrate on any complicated exercise. She tried a few rolls, but today they felt arrhythmic and clumsy. Sighing, she leant against the wall behind her stool and closed her eyes. Her father's defeat still bothered her. Somehow, life was far less fun now; it was as if she had woken up from a dream only to find life bleak and more than slightly threatening.

"Gin." Someone was stroking gently over her ultra-short, red stubbles.

She opened her eyes and saw Joolz standing next to her, his hand resting lightly on her head. He must have sneaked in while she had had her eyes closed, she realised. When she looked up at him, he crouched down beside her stool so that their faces were on one level; his hand slipped down from her head to her shoulder.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Ginny felt obliged to agree, but stubbornly decided against it.

"No, I'm not," she retorted. "Life stinks, and this country stinks, too. How could they possibly vote for such a criminal?"

"I've been wondering, too," Joolz said grimly. Then he turned his face to hers; his eyes met hers. "You shouldn't take it personally, though. We will all deal with this problem together. Dumbledore will think of something. We won't give in."

"We will never serve Lord Voldemort," Ginny whispered, remembering this year's welcome feast.

Joolz nodded. "Never ever. Not one of us. We will fight that slime, and we will win," he said in a gentle voice that stood out in an odd contrast to his belligerent words.

"You think so?" Ginny asked, cringing at the quiver in her voice.

"Don't worry," Joolz said and put his hand on Ginny's left cheek. Ginny felt herself get goose bumps. The warm feeling of skin on skin was unfamiliar to her; his breath touched the skin of her face, as he had come close. The blood was throbbing in her ears. She did not dare to look at him for fear of doing the wrong thing.

Gently, Joolz pulled her towards him and kissed her. Knowing that this was how these things were done, Ginny closed her eyes to exclude all other perception, only to experience the kiss through feeling it. First his soft, warm lips just touched hers like two fingers fitting in the ridges beneath her lips, while two of his dreadlocks were brushing her cheek. Then she felt something else between her lips which sent shock-waves of an alien feeling through her body - his tongue, she realised. Although it seemed a little strange to her, she opened her lips to let him in, to let him touch her tongue with his. There was a faint taste of the after-dinner pudding on him, she noticed. Having somebody else's tongue in her mouth seemed very odd to her at first, but the feeling of his tongue rubbing against hers sent something like electricity through her whole body. She never wanted it to stop.

After a while, Joolz drew away with the ghost of a grimace and got to his feet. Ginny realised that while she had been sitting comfortably on her stool, he had been crouching next to her, probably in a far less comfortable position. It was on the tip of her tongue to suggest he should sit on the stool and she would sit on his lap, but she did not dare vocalise such audacious thoughts.

Once more Joolz' hand stroked Ginny's stubbly hair; she realised it was a parting gesture. She did not want him to go: She was craving another kiss, and, admittedly, a statement of sorts. 'Are you my boyfriend now?' she would have liked to ask, just to know what to make of the thing that had just passed. But, if the girls from her year were to be believed, boys did not like girls asking such questions. Therefore, she bit her tongue.

"Hang in there, Gin," Joolz said kindly before he left the room.

Hang in where? Ginny wondered. Did he mean: 'Hang in, and it will be alright, even though your father wasn't elected Minister?' Or did he mean: 'Hang in and wait for my love?'

Shaking her head in confusion, Ginny returned to her paradiddles, but somehow, she could not get the rhythm to flow.

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

Ginny longed for a chance to talk about Joolz with someone, but she did not know who to approach. In earlier years, she would have entrusted herself to Hermione, but Hermione had become distant since she had been working on the panacea. The older girl always looked drawn and bleary-eyed these days, because she was working late into every night. Ginny knew she should feel grateful, because Hermione was trying to save two of her brothers, but she could not help missing her old friend from the life when there had been more time to spend at ease.

In her own year, the girl she liked best, the one who shared most of her secrets, was Rhonda. However, she felt it would not be a good idea to talk to Rhonda now. If she wasn't mistaken, the bass player had a love interest in Joolz herself, so it would be neither wise to turn to her as an advisor, nor good tact to use her as a shoulder to cry on. Talking to Neville was out of question. For one thing, he was a boy. For another... well, he was a boy.

Still, the words were burning on her tongue: Joolz kissed me, Joolz kissed me. Even more burning was the questions in her heart: So what happens now? Is this it - is this love for real? Will he be my boyfriend? After turning the questions over and over in her mind for an almost sleepless night, she turned to Aisha. The Muggle drummer wasn't someone her age, but, being a Muggle, she wasn't as adultish to Ginny as, say, Professor Varlerta. Still, if Ginny wasn't mistaken, Aisha knew quite a bit about love and such.

Ginny gulped down her lunch as quickly as she could to meet Aisha before her training session with Neville and Professor Varlerta. There was no way she could wait any longer. Leaving Rhonda to stare after her in a bewildered manner, she jumped up from her seat as soon as she had stuffed the last bite into her mouth and hurried out of the room and straight to Aisha's quarters.

Upon her knock, the drummer opened. Her eyes widened in shock when she saw Ginny. "Are you alright?" she asked immediately.

Ginny realised she had run all the way for no apparent reason. "I'm fine," she replied a little breathlessly.

Aisha raised an eyebrow in an expression of doubt, but held the door ajar for Ginny to enter. Ginny slouched down on a chair. She knew she was supposed to come up with a decent story or question now, but as she couldn't find any words to express her feelings, she just remained silent.

"So what are you fine about?" Aisha finally asked.

"Joolz," Ginny answered truthfully.

Aisha grinned. "Handsome young man."

"He kissed me," Ginny added a little blandly.

Aisha nodded thoughtfully. "And that's what you're fine about."

Ginny shrugged. What else could she feel about it?

"Well, do you like him, or do you want him to keep off?" Aisha asked a little impatiently.

"Of course I like him." It hadn't occurred to Ginny that she might not want Joolz to kiss her.

Aisha sighed. Then she said: "Considering the state you're in, I've got the impression that there is something you want to talk about. It also looks like something's distressing you, so it can't just be that Joolz has kissed you and that everything is wonderful, period. I have no intention of guessing what this distressing thing might be, so if you want to talk to me, could you please go ahead?"

"I don't know what will happen now, and if he really likes me, and if he's going to be my boyfriend," Ginny suddenly blurted out. "I always thought he liked Rhonda, and Rhonda liked him, but now he kissed me, and I don't know what's going on. And I - I think I'd really like him to be my boyfriend, but then Rhonda will be really sad, and I think that with the Ice Missile and everything, and her wand and Quidditch taken away from her, she's got a hard time anyway." Suddenly she felt tears sting her eyes. She violently rubbed them with her fingers. "That's stupid," she said, fighting the tears. "I'm really happy he kissed me, and I've got no reason to cry or anything."

Aisha came over to her and put an arm around her shoulder. "It will be okay," she said gently. "You're only a little confused, that's all."

Ginny put her head on Aisha's shoulder. She did not reply.

"It's nice of you to think of your friend," Aisha said, "but if you really like Joolz, and he really likes you, that's more important. Sometimes we get hurt in love, and sometimes we hurt other people. That's how it is. But it's worth it, believe me."

"Are you sure?" Ginny asked anxiously. Somehow all the electricity, all the joy of having been kissed by Joolz, had evaporated in the light of all the confusion it might create.

"Yep, I am." Around Aisha's lips played a mysterious, almost telling smile; there was a light in her eyes. Through the veil of held-back tears, Ginny suddenly noticed that Aisha was wearing a touch of makeup and a decidedly feminine blouse today. "I'm not saying it is always easy, but I'm definitely saying it's worth it."

Ginny sat up in her chair. "Then what do you think I should do?" she asked the Muggle woman.

Aisha thought for a moment. "Well, they always teach us women to sit and wait until the man of our choice makes the relevant move. I'm personally not buying this old-fashioned crap, at least not if it is sold to us in terms of morality. In terms of prudence, I'd say a bit of patience often helps not to get yourself hurt. If you can, lean back and let things happen; let him believe you are still considering. And most importantly, try not to worry about it too much. You may get hurt, but if you do, that's not the end of the world. You are still young and will be in love many, many more times."

Ginny bit her lip. That wasn't exactly the kind of thing she wanted to hear. She would have liked a recipe to get Joolz to officially claim her as his girlfriend at once, and to get Rhonda not to mind this at all. Of course, she knew she might be asking a bit too much, but then again, weren't adults, even Muggle adults, supposed to know how to handle such things?

"Enjoy love while it lasts, and try to regret as little as you can, that's my motto," Aisha told her, another radiant smile on her lips.

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

The next day, Ginny went to the band room early, again, mainly as a chance to be alone. Upon entering it, she found Joolz seated in a corner, putting new strings on his guitar. Ginny started when she saw him, but as he greeted her with a nod, she felt it would be impolite to flee. Seeing that he was busy with his instrument, and unwilling to stand by his side and wait until he put his guitar aside and maybe kissed her again, she sat down behind her drum set.

Undecidedly, she twirled the drumsticks between her fingers. For some reason, she did not want to break the unusual silence of the band room. Instead of playing, she just watched the fluent and precise movements of Joolz threading a string through the bridge of his instrument and pulling it through. He took a measurement at the instrument's head, then took a small pair of pliers and shortened the string. All the while, there was a wrinkle of concentration on his usually smooth, even forehead. Ginny found him breathtakingly handsome and suddenly doubted her own memory: Had this good-looking, popular Quidditch player and rock guitarist, had this widely fancied boy really kissed her, or was she just imagining things? She observed his face and noticed his long, dark lashes which, now that his gaze was on his instrument, were more prominent than ever.

She could have watched him forever, but suddenly, before he had even finished tightening the string, Joolz looked up at her and gave her a broad grin. "What's up, Gin - have I got tomato sauce on my face, or something like that?"

Caught staring at him, Ginny felt herself turn beet red. She did not know what to reply.

Still smiling, Joolz put his instrument aside, got up from his chair and came over to her. For some reason, bent on being his equal in height as well as she could, Ginny got up, too.

"You are a really strange girl, Gin, did you know?" Joolz said to her. There was humour in his eyes.

"So?" Ginny retorted for lack of a better response. She did not want him to find things funny. For her, this was a serious matter. On the other hand, Joolz' widening smile was contagious.

Joolz put a hand on her shoulder, pulled her towards him, and kissed her again. Ginny liked it even better than the first time, maybe because she now had an idea what things would be like. She felt his mouth melt into hers and let him draw her close to him. Her hand wandered up his back and into his hair, enjoying the compact feeling of his dreadlocks between her fingers. Meanwhile, Joolz' hands slid down her body, caressing her back and finally slipping under Ginny's Gryffindor cardigan and t-shirt. His fingers were warm and gentle; wherever they wandered, it felt like they belonged there. Ginny felt her whole body grow warm in a very pleasant way.

"Hey, Ginny, have you heard - they say the election was -" The moment Ginny heard Neville's voice trail off and die away, all pleasant feelings evaporated. Joolz and she drew apart to face the rest of the band who had just come in. Both Neville and Rhonda were very white in the face, while Kay headed straight for her keyboard, pretending she hadn't noticed anything odd.

"Sorry for interrupting," Neville said in a hoarse voice, his eyes stony in a way Ginny had never seen them before.

Rhonda just stared at them, but did not say a word.

"Well," Joolz said, looking uncomfortable for the first time since Ginny had known him, "let's get to practice."

It was the worst band practise that Ginny had ever experienced. On the surface, everything went relatively smoothly; they played through all their songs without making many more mistakes than usual. However, Ginny felt no flow in the music; it seemed awkward and mismatched in itself, as if there was no logical connection between the different instruments. Nobody would meet her eyes, or look at each other; everybody just stared at their instruments, or, in Neville's case, into nothingness. Ginny was glad when the band practise was over and she could return to Gryffindor Tower. However, there was no escaping from Neville and Rhonda: With the first, she shared a common room, with the latter a dormitory.

Ginny tried to avoid both of them. She told herself over and over that she hadn't done anything wrong, but for some strange reason she still felt guilty. She knew that Rhonda was interested in Joolz, and if she was honest with herself, she knew that Neville had been in love with her for ages. So far she had been able to ignore it, but now that he had seen her kissing Joolz, she suddenly became acutely aware of the fact. Neville and she saw each other every day - in the common room, during their training with Professor Varlerta, in band practise. In some ways, he was closer to her than anyone else - when they did music magic together, she could feel his powers weaving into hers in a manner that nobody else would understand. She cared for Neville and wished him well; he was a friend she knew she could rely on. As the singer - and occasional flutist - of her band, he had managed to convince her of his musical skills. It wasn't that she didn't find Neville interesting - but somehow she could not imagine being Neville's girlfriend.

Joolz was different. When he entered a room, good-looking, charming, cheerful and sure of himself, he was often the centre of attention. Many girls admired him. To be his girlfriend would mean to be envied by many.

I don't only like him because he's popular, Ginny told herself. I like him because he is nice, and fun to be with, and because he understands a lot of things. He makes me feel all warm inside, makes me feel excited, the way I used to feel excited about Harry and about Sirius a long time ago. Only they were fantasy, and Joolz is real. Joolz is truly interested in me, he has kissed me in reality, not in my imagination. Thinking of Joolz' kisses, of touching him, made a warm feeling ooze into her stomach.

Ginny kept to dark and lonely corners for the rest of her evening and got more of her homework done than usual. When she suspected that Rhonda had gone to bed and might be sleeping, she tiptoed up to the dormitory. All she wanted was to be alone. However, Rhonda was crouching next to the dormitory door, obviously waiting for her. Ginny felt a jolt of anxiety. What did Rhonda want - to cause a scene?

"Ginny, I need to talk to you," Rhonda said quietly. "Can you spare a minute?"

Ginny shrugged; she could hardly deny this to her friend, so she crouched down next to her. "Sure:"

"It's about Joolz," Rhonda said softly. "I know what you are thinking," she added, seeing Ginny's gaze, "that I'm jealous or something. Well, maybe I am. But it's not only that. I - I want to warn you."

"Warn me?" Ginny could barely keep from snorting incredulously. "Warn me of Joolz?"

"I'm not saying he's going to murder or rape you, Ginny," Rhonda whispered impatiently. "Joolz is a very nice guy, and he's a great kisser, as you have undoubtedly found out for yourself, but he's a womaniser, too. He just can't stick with one girl. He doesn't do that to hurt anyone, but he does hurt girls from time to time. I only wanted you to know that so you can decide for yourself if you mind that or not."

"He has hurt you," Ginny said, understanding. "You thought he was your boyfriend, but he was two-timing you."

Rhonda nodded. "More than once, in fact. I mean, I really like him, I even think I love him, but I'm not putting up with that anymore. If you think you can, fine. If not, my advice is to stay away from him."

"The fact he two-timed you doesn't automatically mean he will two-time me," Ginny replied stubbornly.

"True," Rhonda said, looking a little hurt. She got to her feet. "I'm going to bed then."

Ginny nodded. "Me, too," she replied a little stupidly, considering that being in front of the dormitory door, this was no surprising piece of information. "Thanks for the warning, though," she added a little stiffly.

"No problem," Rhonda answered without looking at her. Then she opened the door. Without another word, the two girls entered the dormitory and went to their four-posters.

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Ginny had a nightmare about thunderstorms that night. Well, maybe it was just an ordinary dream which for some obscure reason frightened her enough to make her wake up, filled to the brim with adrenaline: After suffering from Riddle-related nightmares during her second and third year at Hogwarts, she was unwilling to call a dream about something as banal as thunderstorms a nightmare. Be that as it may, the dream woke her up. Ginny found it hard to go to sleep again; she even tiptoed to the window and peeked through the curtains to see if there was a real thunderstorm, but the night seemed ordinary enough. Still, her body could feel the tension of clouds breaking and lightning tearing through the air. There was an indefinable unrest around her, or maybe within her - she could not tell.

Sneaking back to her bed, Ginny took her Shaman drum from her trunk and placed it next to her pillow. Then she took special care to close the curtains, because she did not want people to see her sleeping with her drum as if it was a doll or teddy bear. She knew it would look silly, but she also knew that the magical instrument would calm her. Huddling under the covers, she placed the drum on her stomach and her hands on its skin. Of course, actually playing the drum in the middle of the night was out of question, although Ginny could think of nothing more soothing. Still, the skin of the Shaman drum gave off its own, gentle vibration which seemed to talk to Ginny in a moment like this. Now, it seemed to talk of unrest, but certainly not of danger. Trusting that the drum would warn her in any case of threat and that it would by no means let Ginny roll on it and damage it, she fell asleep, her fingers caressing the rough, painted surface of the drum.

The next morning, she almost overslept; she was late for breakfast, although she dressed in a hurry. Her eyes scanned the room for Rhonda and Neville, because she still felt like avoiding both of them. To her relief, she found neither, so she just sat down and grabbed some toast.

Still chewing, Ginny took up her bag from the floor to go to her Charms class; brushing her teeth had to be omitted today due to an acute lack of time, she decided. Lost in thought, she walked to her classroom like an automaton, still vaguely relieved that she didn't spot Rhonda. When she sat down in her seat and the bass player still wasn't there, she started wondering where Rhonda might be. Come to think of it, Flitwick wasn't there yet, either, although it wasn't like the teacher to be late. Before she could ask somebody about either the girl or the teacher, however, the door was forcefully pushed open and Neville came in. He was quite red in the face and puffing slightly. When he beckoned to her, Ginny yet again expected that someone would cause a scene, but once more she was wrong.

"You've got to get your drum and come quickly," Neville said a little breathlessly. "It's ready, and they say they might need us for it."

"What is ready?" Ginny asked, understanding nothing.

"Well, what did you think was ready?" Neville said, his eyes narrowing at her just a tiny little bit. "The panacea, of course."

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Ginny fetched her drum and ran up to the Alchemists' Lab without even bothering to apologise to the substitute teacher who arrived just as she was leaving. If the panacea was ready, this explained the absence of Flitwick and of Rhonda: Now all those who had been hit by an Ice Missile would hopefully be cured. Two of those whose future depended on the metaphysical substance were her brothers. Ginny felt very ashamed about almost forgetting them for a short while. Suddenly, kissing or not kissing Joolz Hengert had become a matter of minor importance.

In the crowded Alchemists' Lab, she could see all fifteen Ice Missile victims - Ron, Fred, Rhonda, her year-mate Colin Creevey, Cho Chang, Padma Patil, Flitwick, Lupin, Dumbledore, Hagrid and a few more younger and older students she didn't know very well. All of them were sitting on chairs forming a circle around a round, wooden table. Madam Pomfrey was keeping in the background, observing the patients closely. Neville stood in one corner, holding his flute; he was conversing with Professor Varlerta. On the one side sat Ginny's mother talking to Ambrose Curtis, the dark-skinned Unspeakable, and to Hermione. Ginny noticed how thin the older girl had become. There were dark shadows under Hermione's eyes, and she looked like she hadn't washed her hair in weeks. Nevertheless, there was a strange kind of dignity in Ron's year mate. It took her a while to figure out what made her look so different that day: She was in charge here; everyone, even the teachers, even Dumbledore, was expecting her to take the lead. Authority suited Hermione, Ginny thought with the slightest trace of envy; it looked almost elegant on her.

Professor Varlerta greeted Ginny with a nod. "They are not sure whether or not they need us here," she said. "Normally, a panacea is given to a sick person aided by just the Alchemist and an Unspeakable. However, as we have an unusually large amount of people in need of the panacea, it has been decided that the whole process will be overseen by Molly to make sure there is always enough source power at hand. As we three have proven to be able to deal with source power through our music, we might be asked to support the process. Therefore, we've got to have our instrument ready to help them whenever they need it. I suppose you know what to play, don't you?"

Ginny nodded. Of course, she knew how to musically deal with source power, even though she did not understand it, nor was supposed to understand it as a non-Unspeakable. Clutching her Shaman drum, she watched Hermione say a few more things to her Unspeakable partner, Ambrose Curtis, and get an affirming nod from Molly Weasley. For Ginny, it was still strange to see her mother there: She knew that Molly was undergoing further training as an Unspeakable, but still could not quite believe it. It wasn't as if she didn't respect her mother or even thought her incapable of doing serious magic. She still saw her mainly as a person who ruled her house and her kitchen instead of dealing with the incomprehensible and secret powers which only the Unspeakables could truly control.

All of a sudden, everyone in the room fell quiet. Ginny's mother and Ambrose Curtis knelt beside the table and closed their eyes; they looked like they were starting to meditate. After a short while, Hermione raised her arms and sang a Latin incantation which Ginny didn't understand. Then the young Alchemist placed a small glass vial in front of each Ice Missile victim. Another incantation followed. Ginny felt her Shaman drum vibrate; she had the impression that Neville's flute was emitting a soft note in reply. An enormous power filled the room; between Hermione and Ambrose Curtis, there seemed to flow a stream of magical energy. Ginny's eyes were on Ron and Fred. Like all other Ice Missile victims, they held their eyes closed, probably because they had been instructed to do so. With all her heart, Ginny hoped that the panacea would finally cure her brothers.

"Albus Dumbledore," Hermione finally said, "we have gathered here to give you a panacea and to cure you of your magical ailment. Will you accept it?"

"Yes, I will," Dumbledore replied, his voice a little shaky.

Hermione placed his glass vial in his palm. "So be it," she said.

Ginny expected the headmaster of Hogwarts to open the vial and drink the liquid in it, but the old wizard just pressed it to his forehead. The vial started to glow, first like a firefly, then brighter and brighter until it shone like a little star. Ginny had to close her eyes for a moment. When she reopened them, Dumbledore had sunk back in his chair, obviously unconscious, the empty vial in his slack hands. She found the sight slightly worrisome, but as nobody else commented on the fact that Dumbledore had fainted, she decided that this was the normal course of action for curing someone with a panacea. Even Madam Pomfrey kept her distance, a sure sign that the Headmaster's state was not critical in any way.

On Dumbledore's right sat Professor Flitwick; he received his panacea in the same fashion which also resulted in the vial gleaming bright and the consequent fainting of the patient. Next in line were Hagrid, Cho, and then finally Fred and Ron. Ginny held her breath when it was her brothers' turn, but if she wasn't mistaken, they were subjected to the 'normal' panacea procedure and suffered the same effect. Hermione had to know what she was doing, Ginny decided; over and over again she told herself that her brothers would be alright.

Hermione was passing from student to student now; not once had Varlerta, Ginny and Neville been called to help in any way yet. Each of them was asked the ritual question and given the panacea. Each time, the vial in the 'afflicted' person's hand flared up until it shone like a star, and when the patient had fallen unconscious, Hermione moved on to the next person. Last in line, on Dumbledore's left, was Remus Lupin, now the last person still sitting upright at the table.

"Remus Lupin," Hermione addressed him, "we have gathered here to give you a panacea and to cure you of all magical ailments. Will you accept it?"

"Yes, I will," Lupin replied, though it sounded more like a question than an answer.

Hermione placed the glass vial in his outstretched hands. "So be it," she said for the last time.

Lupin pressed the vial against his forehead. Ginny waited for the panacea in the vial to start glowing, but nothing happened. She felt a wave of unrest go through those watching the procedure or involved in it - Varlerta, Neville, her mother, Ambrose Curtis and finally Hermione.

Molly opened her eyes and gave Varlerta a little wave. Varlerta nodded to Ginny and Neville and turned up the volume of her electric guitar just a little bit. After she had played the first couple of notes, Ginny and Neville joined in, closing their eyes to flow with the sound like they had learned to do.

As usual, Ginny felt the presence of her two fellow music mages, flowing in the stream of power just like her, riding its current, becoming one with its waves so they would be able to influence it. The two Unspeakables were like floodgates in a river of power - they were able to hold it back, to steer it, even to control it within certain limits. Hermione seemed like a shadow to Ginny now; compared to the other people controlling the experiment, she was operating on a different level of power. Then there were the fourteen patients who had already received the panacea. They seemed like encapsulated units of light: The panacea was shining within them, it was at work in them, but no power could get in or out - what would happen to her brothers and all the others now was out of her hands, Ginny realised.

Ginny mentally approached the panacea in Lupin's hand, a light so bright it burned her inner eye, if not her mind itself. Once she had perceived the panacea, it seemed that nothing in the room compared to it in terms of brightness and power. Ginny was at the same time drawn to it and afraid of its blaze. The wizard holding the panacea seemed a shadow like Hermione. There should be a stream of power from the panacea to him, Ginny realised; she perceived several people urging the panacea in his direction: While Ambrose Curtis and her mother were trying to force the current that way, Varlerta and Neville were playing piercing, heart-breaking notes of Coaxing.

Trying to find the rhythm that would best support their plea for the power of the panacea to enter Remus Lupin, Ginny joined in with them. With her drumming, she tried to tell the gleaming white light that the wizard holding it was its destiny, the cause for its existence. She tried to communicate that Remus Lupin was ill, that he had killed another wizard against his own will, and that the panacea had been brewed to help him, to finally cure him. She tried to flatter the panacea with her rhythms, tried to express its importance with little accelerandos and crescendos, but it was difficult to flatter a light too bright for her eyes. The panacea scared her. She realised it was unwilling to give in to her suggestions, to bend to her will. It would stay where it was, a hard, shining capsule of over-bright light, a unit of power which would not open to the wizard holding it.

Ginny heard Varlerta's guitar fade; she heard Neville's notes die away. Hermione was saying something. Ginny stopped playing and opened her eyes. Slightly dizzy, she looked around. Everyone seemed very exhausted; Varlerta's and Neville's temples were wet with sweat, and Molly was leaning against Ambrose Curtis, very pale in the face. Supporting herself against the wall, Hermione said softly, but clearly:

"It seems we can't get the panacea to work on Lupin yet. I don't know where the problem is - maybe it has to do with him being a werewolf, or maybe we are only getting too close to the full moon. I will find this out later. For now, I don't think he is able to receive his panacea. I'm afraid we will have to give up for now."

"You will all need rest now," Madam Pomfrey said rather gravely.

"Yes," Hermione said, blinking away fatigue. "I suppose we should all get some sleep. If I am not mistaken, our patients will sleep at least twenty-four hours, at most forty-eight." She indicated the table on which fourteen unconscious people were slouched. Only Remus Lupin was still sitting upright, rubbing his eyes, his face betraying no emotions.

Madam Pomfrey raised her wand, conjured up fourteen stretchers, and started magicking the unconscious witches and wizards on them. Varlerta switched off her amplifier and started packing away her guitar, giving Remus Lupin a crooked, apologetic smile. Remus Lupin shrugged back at her, smiling crookedly, too.

It was over, Ginny realised. The panacea had been given to the 'afflicted'. If all went well, her brothers were saved.

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