The Prophecy of Valeo

Godric walked through the large stone corridor of the upper castle into an immense, Victorian ballroom; one of many in the mansion. He smiled slightly as he saw her standing, her back encased in a beautiful yellow dress, facing him. She looked out the window absentmindedly.

His black boots echoed slightly off the far walls and she turned around, her golden hair in a loose braid over her shoulder. She gave an affectionate smile, showing all her sparkling white teeth to try and hide her guilt. Even as she had looked into the face of evil, she was truly the embodiment of radiance. Even as she kissed his poisoned lips, she was still the purest woman alive.

He noticed she had a worn book lying in her lap; it must be the Prophecy.

"Is that it?" he asked her, gesturing to it with his right hand. She nodded.

"Tis nearly finished." She opened the front cover and he walked over to her, taking the book from her grasp and read the neat, loopy writing on the yellowed pages. He sighed.

"I wish it could be all of us," he said wistfully. Helga touched his shoulder warmly.

"He does not harness the power as you do," she told him quietly, knowing this was a lie. He took her hand in his as he followed her past gaze out of the large glass window covering the south wall.

"We've worked tirelessly for so long, Helga. Our work could be banished within seconds. I hope he does not turn." But Godric knew, deep within his soul, that he already had.

* * *

It was a day like any other early June day; Virginia Weasley woke to the sound of sparrows chirping madly, the sun just above the horizon of hilly forest sides. But despite the beautiful, harmonious morning that had just begun, she was still a cranky fifteen-year-old who would much rather sleep in until twelve, and her incredibly odd dreams weren't helping matters at all.

Nevertheless, she rubbed her red, puffy eyes with one weak fist and rolled her tongue in a yawn, licking the old dew off her lips from sleeping with her mouth open the whole night. Shuffling across the hardwood floor and out the door, she thudded gracelessly down the steps and into the cramped kitchen where a horribly embarrassing surprise was waiting for her.

With her eyes barely open and her hair about six times larger than it normally was, she certainly was not expecting to see Harry Potter sitting at the table gnawing at a piece of buttered toast absentmindedly. Hoping beyond hope that he hadn't seen her, she raced back up the stairs as quickly as she had come down and slammed her door shut with a bang. Her crush seemed to have come back with a vengeance after her fifth year, and the scene in the Quidditch locker rooms played itself over in her head for the umpteenth time:

"You were great out there, Harry."

"Oh, Thanks. I didn't really mean to do that to Malfoy..."

"You don't have to lie to me, you know. I would have whacked him with my broom as well if he did that to me...It's just the place you did it to him, you know...Didn't look very comfortable, did it?" He laughed.

"No."

"I'd better go; Ron's waiting for me outside." She turned to leave, but heard Harry close behind her.

"Ginny..." he said. She turned much more abruptly than he would have liked and came smack into his face- more precisely his lips.

All the feelings that she had convinced herself were gone came rushing back in a single moment. Even though it was for less than a second, it was more than she could bare...

Harry stared, looking up at where he had heard the door slam above him, a blank expression on his face.

"It's Ginny," Ron said, pouring some more orange juice into his chipped glass mug. "What do you expect her to do, come downstairs with a pair Fred's boxers on her head and ask you to dance?" Harry grinned slightly.

"Of course not. It's just... It's been five years and I come over here nearly every summer," Harry said, picking at his third helping of scrambled eggs. Ron stared at him.

"At least she's not being forward and asking you to snog behind the oak tree," Ron retorted, making Harry blush inwardly.

"Are you going to eat that?" Ron asked, pointing to his eggs. Harry shook his head.

"I'm full. Here, take the bacon too," Harry added, spooning the generous remains of food onto Ron's plate. He dug into them greedily.

"I don't see how it's possible for a human to eat that much without exploding," Harry told him.

A few moments passed in which Harry watched Ron wolf his breakfast down noisily. And then, as if on cue right as Ron licked his plate savagely like a wild beast and wiped his mouth with a dishcloth, Harry heard a much more graceful thumping coming from the stairs.

He turned in his wooden rotating chair and saw Ginny padding down the stairs once again. She had obviously charmed her hair to make it straight and sleek, and she was now wearing a second hand, but pretty, light green summer dress.

She had gotten tan in the week or so that they had been off school, her freckles looking fainter than they usually were when she was at the castle. Her hair was about elbow length and it had, if anything, gotten even redder. But her smile was the same. It was the same grin that lit up her growing features with light.

This time as the trotted down the narrow hallway, even though Harry thought he could see a hint of a blush on her cheeks, she sat down gracefully beside Ron and nibbled on a piece of toast from a wooden platter in the center of the island.

"Hi Harry," she said, not looking at him as the scene from the previous year continued in her mind.

"Lo, Gin," he replied happily. She gave a nervous smile. Ron, not taking notice of this, drank the rest of the juice from his mug and wiped his mouth on his sleeve rudely. Ginny glared at him for a moment before noticing that Harry was still looking at her.

"Where's mum?" she asked. Ron shrugged.

"I dunno. The store's my best guess." Ron gave a sly grin. "But, as long as she's not here, the clearing in the wood is always open for a little practice...," he added mischievously.

"Ron, you know we're not supposed to go there without mum casting a sealing spell on it," Ginny said, reminding Harry of Hermione. Just to be safe, he wasn't going to say anything in case a sibling rivalry (in their case, war) was on its way.

Ron rolled his eyes and, to Harry's joy, ignored her instead of retorting back. But Harry had a strong feeling that they were most likely going to practice after breakfast, anyway. He merely narrowed his blue eyes at her, turning them into tiny slits in his freckled face.

* * *

Ginny, against her will, had stayed inside the house to wash the boys' dirty dishes as they undoubtedly snuck off to the woods from the back door. She glared through the window and into the grass intensely, as if it had mortally offended her.

She scrubbed with the scouring pad into an old china plate with great strength, accidentally scratching the paint off. She finally stopped when she heard a sound like someone scraping their nails against a chalkboard coming from the side she was currently working on.

Finally, as she saw the tip of Harry's broom stick appear out of thin air from underneath his invisibility cloak, she slammed the mutilated plate on the table with a loud thwack and removed her rubber gloves, running up the stairs.

She opened the door to her slightly slanted, oval shaped room with blue, flowered wallpaper that she had picked out herself. Walking over to the dresser, she opened the first drawer and yanked out some denim shorts and a yellow tank top.

It was a bit of a waste, she thought, to have made herself over, charming her hair and showing off her best dress, to just yank them off again. But she guessed that Harry would be more interested in her flying skills than her looks.

She unbuttoned her dress and threw it aside, pulling the top over her head and the shorts onto her hips. She slipped back on her flip-flops haphazardly, grabbing the old shooting star beside her. She rounded corner of the room and ran through the door in frenzy, eager to show off her Quidditch skills even if it was with a crappy broom.

* * *

"Here we are," said Ron happily, slipping the sweltering invisibility cloak off of him and Harry, who was standing beside him, Firebolt in hand. Sweat was pouring down his face, but he knew that once he got up in the air things would definitely cool off.

"Oh shit," Ron mumbled beside him.

"What?" Harry asked.

"I left the Quidditch balls in the house," he said, slapping his sweaty forehead.

"Great. So now we're stuck in the middle of an old Quidditch pitch surrounded by trees in the bloody hot middle of nowhere," Harry said sarcastically, much unlike himself. But he couldn't help it; the one hundred degree weather was enough to get under anyone's skin.

"God, Harry- if I didn't know better, I'd say you sound like M-," but a voice behind him cut Ron short.

"Alright, you wooses, now we're stuck in the middle of an old Quidditch pitch surrounded by trees in the bloody hot middle of nowhere, with Ron's sister and all the Quidditch supplies I could dig out of our attic," Ginny said with a large, wooden trunk under her right arm, her other grasping a shooting star.

Harry scanned her over; she looked and acted quite differently than she had when they were back in the house. She was wearing old, faded denim shorts, and a wrinkly yellow tank top. Her hair was done up in a messy pony tail and her expression was a mix of eagerness to get in the air and a hint of sarcasm that Harry had never seen there before.

He watched her mount her broom in takeoff position, and look hotly behind her shoulder at Ron- who wasn't used to Ginny being so forward around his friend- and Harry, who was gaping at her. Ginny, fighting another blush, kept her cool.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" she asked, kicking off the ground and soaring into the air, her toes brushing the tops of the elm trees.

"You know what?" asked Ron looking at Harry, both of them mounting their brooms.

"What?" Harry asked.

"I think she just asked you to snog behind the oak tree."

* * *

Harry stared in awe as he watched Ginny loop and swirl around in the air with perfect acquisition, and the fact the she was riding a shooting star made it all the more spectacular. Her fiery red hair whipped around in the ponytail holder behind her and he could hear the wind whistling as she cut through it at a tremendous rate.

Harry pulled his Firebolt forward so that he was only a foot away from Ginny; she glanced over at him and flashed an impish smile. Harry followed her swerve behind an apple tree and back on the course again.

Again and again, Ginny wove through branches trying to lose him. After a few minutes, however, when she was in the lead by a few feet, she stopped her broom and wheeled around to face him.

What the hell is she doing? Ginny waved to him, her grin widening. Harry stared at her, dumbfounded. And after a few moments, the realization of what she had been planning hit him square in the nose- literally.

WHAM! Harry ran headlong into a tree branch. He sat there for a moment, his broom lowering to the ground, Ginny laughing hysterically but looking a bit worried from under the glee.

"Ouch," he mumbled, falling spread-eagle onto the grass, his glasses askew. Ron pulled down beside him, followed by Ginny.

"Harry, all you alright?" Ginny said through a small giggle. Ron shot daggers at her. Harry lay there for a moment, staring at the sky.

"Wow," he said. "Good move. I'll have to use it against Malfoy in the flying turtles tournament." Ron rolled his eyes.

"Ginny, now you've done it. You're going to send him to the loony bin if you keep this crock up." Ginny rolled her eyes.

"He'll be fine. Harry, get off the ground. We're not going to carry you home," she said, walking towards the clearing.

Ron looked at Harry and shrugged his shoulders.

"She can get fierce," he said, looking at Ginny as she opened the wooden gate to the pitch.

"No, she can get gamey," Harry replied, fixing his glasses.

* * *

Inside the house, Ginny was sitting of the overstuffed, pale green sofa in the living room, turning the knobs on a wizard radio. Ron said something to Ginny that Harry couldn't here, and she glared at him with sharp cinnamon colored eyes. He wondered if it had to do with him.

He opened the glass door, rubbing his forehead where a lump was forming. Ron didn't seem to notice him.

"God, Gin, if you fancy him that much...," Harry made a noise in his throat without meaning to and blushed. Ron turned to look at him and pulled the collar of his shirt.

"Er, Harry, do you want to go upstairs? I can show you your room," Ron said, trying to change the subject. Ginny cast a willful sideways glace at him. He shook his head at Ron.

"I think I'll stay down here." Ron shrugged.

"Suit yourself then," he said. Harry noted the strange, uneasy glance as he padded down the tiled hallway. Ginny sighed.

"Honestly," she said, shaking her head, "I don't see why you're friends with him."

"Well, he's loyal, caring, trustworthy...,"

"pigheaded, stupid, obsessed with the cannons, A complete loser, and basically just one huge moron all together," Ginny cut him off. Harry said nothing and sat down beside her. She turned the poor knob on the radio more vigorously than before, fighting the temptation to apologize.

Finally, after a few moments, Ginny turned it off and set it on the ground, picking up a magazine from the floor instead. Harry watched her. She had her hair down now, and it flowed over her shoulders like grape vines.

She tapped her foot on the floor, and Harry could tell she was stalling. Her eyes flickered over to him, then back to the page, and then back to him again like a ping pong ball. She looked at his forehead where the large lump was forming and her eyes said everything.

"Harry, your forehead," she said, setting the magazine on her lap and reaching up to his brow.

"No, really, I-...," but he stopped, aware that she wasn't listening. She put her forefinger on the weld, and Harry could feel it sinking, the pain lessening. And, after a few moments, he felt it go away completely. Ginny removed her hand, smiling at him. Harry stared at her in awe.

"How did you...," Harry said.

"It's something I've been able to do for years now," Ginny told him matter-of-factly.

"But... the Ministry...They can track it, can't they?" Harry asked, not exactly ecstatic to be in trouble with authorities again. Ginny shook her head.

"I don't understand it either, but dad says that they can only track magic that comes from a wand," she said. Harry nodded.

"I can blow stuff up as well," Ginny stated. Harry stared at her in awe.

"What did you blow up?" Harry asked cautiously, afraid that the reply might make him nauseous. Ginny giggled.

"Well, I have to have a few hard things to help me. Did you know, one day when I was twelve, I looked into my stupid old talking mirror and it said that it couldn't make a sow's ear look like a silk purse. I threw my lamp at it and it busted into a million tiny pieces. The ministry had to come and pick it up piece by piece, because it kept screaming even though it was broken. It was quite creepy, really."

Harry laughed.

Chapter 2

Ginny flicked on the light to the guestroom, Harry behind her, dragging his suitcase along the ground. The room was painted a light shade of yellow, and was shaped a little like an obtuse hexagon. Harry could see that bits of paint were peeling from the six sided walls.

In the right corner, there was a feather bed with a matching yellow warmer. Over to the left was a work desk with parchment and quills supplied in open drawers, and a dresser was standing next to the door on clawed feet.

"Here it is," Ginny said quietly. "If you don't like it then you can sleep in Charlie's room," she said, turning a virtually unnoticeable shade of pink. She hated going back and forth from her eleven-year-old self to the new, spunky her, but no matter how hard she tried Harry still had that affect on her.

"No, I think it's great," Harry said. Ginny smiled.

"Well, that's good then, because Charlie probably wouldn't be too fond of you in his room anyway. I just said that to make you feel comfortable," Harry grinned.

"I'll help you with your suitcase," she said, looking away from him and reaching for the traveling bag. Harry blocked it.

"No, it's okay. I can get it." He picked it up by the carrying strap and wheeled it onto the foot of the bed. Ginny stood in the doorway, picking at her nails.

"Is that it?" she said, not looking at him. Come on, Gin! What about how you acted on the Quidditch field? Don't let him do this to you! Not again!

"What's wrong? Do I have something on my face? Is my fly open?" Harry joked. Ginny looked at him, dumbfounded.

"What? Harry, I-," she began, but Harry held out a hand.

"I was kidding. At least I got you to look at me," he said. Ginny smiled.

"I wouldn't have seen if your fly was open anyway, do you take me to be, some kind of sick tart?" she asked, placing her hands on her hips melodramatically. Harry laughed.

"Not in the least." He smiled at her, and she felt her heart jump into her throat.

Harry Potter is flirting with me.

The two of them were silent for a moment, and Harry scratched the back of his neck. He tapped his foot on the ground, obviously waiting for her to say something.

Do something, stupid! She told herself. Don't just stand there like a bloody git, Say goodbye, walk away, just do something!

"I've got to go," Ginny croaked. Harry nodded, fixing his glasses.

"I had a good time flying today," he said, apparently wanting to start another conversation before Ginny walked out on him.

"Yeah, it was great."

"You're a good flyer," Harry said, looking into her eyes. Ginny laughed nervously. STOP IT!

"Hmm." She bit her bottom lip and turned to walk out the door, her hair flying behind her lightly. She made to close the door when Harry spoke again, his voice croakier than usual.

"Er, Ginny?" he said.

"Yeah?"

Harry opened his mouth, and then closed it.

"Never mind, it's nothing," he said quietly, staring at his, apparently, very interesting hands. "It's not important."

* * *

Ginny rapped on her brother's door fiercely. She could hear some rustling and then Ron's footsteps before he turned the doorknob and faced her. She glared at him menacingly.

"You're a conceited prat," Ginny said simply. Usually, Ginny saved this kind of language for when she met Malfoy in the Halls of Hogwarts, but she was ready to scream at her brother for hours on end.

Ron stared at her, and she knew that he knew why she was yelling at her.

"It's not like he didn't know that you liked him. Don't push it, Gin. He's obviously not interested, because he hasn't said more than twenty syllables to you at once," Ron said unkindly.

"Shows what you know," she said, spitting fire at him and crossing her arms immaturely. She wasn't quite sure if she knew what she was talking about.

Ron rolled his eyes.

"Fine. Spend the rest of your life running after Harry Potter. Here's my promise to you. If you two hook up, then I'll support you all the way, but I strongly encourage you to not get your hopes up. This just proves how sure I am that it's not going to happen," Ron said, closing the door in her face. Ginny smiled to herself, though she had no idea why.

* * *

That afternoon when Mrs. Weasley came home from the market, she cooked them all lunches of turkey sandwiches and chips. The kitchen was less crowded and looked larger now that all of the other Weasley children had moved out- Fred and George a year ago.

Ginny, still fuming at Ron, sat by Harry to his unconscious delight. He watched her eat a potato chip out of the corner of his eye. She stared at the pan, which was cleaning itself in the sink, her mind obviously a million miles away.

Her hair was pulled back by a black bobby pin, and Harry could see the full length of her eyelashes as he scanned her profile. Her face seemed to curve flawlessly at the base of her nose, and her lips formed a perfect "M" shape.

He had never really looked at Ginny before; he had always seen her, always known that she was there and alive, but had never really looked at her. Up close, studied her, took the time to notice her. He scolded himself for taking her for granted.

He snapped back to reality- this was Ginny.

So what? He barked at himself. Ron wouldn't mind, and she's a girl and she's pretty. So what's wrong? HE'S YOUR BEST FRIEND'S SISTER! THAT'S WHAT'S WRONG!

But deep down, even with this simple explanation, Harry really couldn't answer his own question.

* * *

Draco closed his eyes and felt his head sink into his feather pillow. He tried to ignore the screaming coming from below him. He'd gotten partly used to it now, but he never would completely.

The first time his mother and father had fought with each other was lost in his mind, but he could still remember what he had thought when it had happened: We're rich. Rich people aren't supposed to fight, they're supposed to be happy and have everything go right.

But he knew better now. Draco's mother had always tried to conceal what they quarreled about, but he had figured it out long before. His father was a death eater, and they had mountainous amounts of objects belonging to the Dark arts under their mansion.

Lucius had begun to practice some Dark spells on himself in his den last year, and Narcissa was slowly beginning to hate him for it.

He had kept his head high at school, pretending like everything was going perfectly, and if anything he had gotten more stuck-up. But he knew. Deep inside his stomach, the cold and icy feeling grew every day.

Draco's life was falling apart.

* * *

Inside his room, Harry was packing away his cloths into the dresser I the far corner when someone knocked on the door quietly.

"Come in," he said loudly, picking up a pair of boxers patterned with a golden snitch.

Ginny opened the door and Harry felt his ears redden as he tried to hide the boxers behind his back. She snorted.

"I guess this means the end of the rhetorical boxers or briefs question," she said. Harry laughed nervously, shoving them into the open drawer sloppily. "Anyway, I just wondered if you were done unpacking yet or if you brought enough shirts to cover the country of China." She leaned coolly n the doorway. Yes. Yes! THIS IS GOOD!

"You know, you've changed a lot since last year. Is his the new Ginny, or is it just a hormonal thing?" Harry asked.

"A little bit of both, I guess," Ginny replied, looking thoughtful. "I never really thought about it."

She walked over to the suitcase on the bed, Harry following her, and took out an ash colored sweatshirt with a picture of three golden Quidditch hoops printed on the front.

"Is everything you wear related to Quidditch?" she asked him. "I didn't even know they made Quidditch boxers."

"I have Quidditch socks, too," Harry said, remembering Dobby the house elf vividly. Then Ginny suggested something Harry would have ever thought her to ask of anyone, let alone him.

"Model for me."

* * *

Dear Mione,

Not much has been going on at the burrow. Harry arrived yesterday via his broom and we went to play Quidditch today. Ginny followed us and tried to get Harry's attention by flying around in the orchard. She ended up making him smack into a tree branch headlong, and it's safe to say she got her wish. She's still tagging along after him, and it's really quite annoying. Other than that, we've all had a great time playing around in the backyard and doing impressions of Malfoy snogging Crabbe- don't worry, it wasn't with each other. Tell us if you're going to stay over in your next letter, and I'll tell Mum.

Your friend,

Ron

He scanned over the letter quickly and opened the door I Pigs cage; He fluttered out madly, nearly upsetting the ink bottle on the desk. Ron rolled his eyes and grabbed the minute owl in his right hand, wrestling the note onto its foot.

He let it go and it dove out the window with a small clink as the note hit the sill. Ron stared after Pig for a moment before returning to his desk and pulling Hermione's note out of the study drawer, her neat cursive inked in black.

Dear Ron,

How has summer been treating you? Not much has been going on at my house; Mum and Dad have been at the dentists' office. It seems that all of England has a nasty bout of cavity decay. All of my holiday homework is finished (big surprise, Ron thought) an It's deadly boring not having any lessons. How's Ginny? Tell her love from Hermione. If Harry's there tell him I said hello as well. If it's okay with everyone over there, my parents said it was alright if I stayed at your house for summer. Owl me soon!

Love from,

Mione

Ron smiled to himself slightly as he thought about her bossy, overachieving, and all-around lovely voice telling him to do his homework for the umpteenth time.

* * *

"Have you gone completely bugger?" Harry asked exasperatedly as he stared at the grinning Ginny. She smiled wider. HAHAHA! YOU ARE IN CONTROL OF THE SITUATION!

"Just do it. I dare you." Harry rolled his eyes.

"Awe, come on, I'm not going to fall from some stupid little children's game," he said, his arms crossed on his chest. Ginny laughed and threw her head back.

"If you model for me, I'll model for you," she chorused. GOOD! GOOD! BAIT HIM! Harry's gazed snapped to her, a mischievous smile forming on his lips.

"Okay. I'll do it, only because if the tension here doesn't turn into hideous laughter I'm quite likely to explode," he said. "Where do I change?" he asked, afraid that the answer might be "here", with Ginny's lost-and-then-found-again attitude.

"There's a bathroom down the hall," she said. He sighed from relief.

"Okay. Give me those jeans and that ash sweater," he said, gesturing to Ginny's hand. She stared at him, moving it slowly behind her head.

"Who said anything about modeling in your clothes?" she asked him. Harry gulped.