Whimsically Ginny

Chapter Two: Parallel

14 February 1991

"I once heard this story when I was in the orphanage, Ginny..."

The wind began sweeping up around her...around the diary, and Ginny shivered; shaking, she helplessly wrapped her cold arms around her cold body...

"It was the story of a foolish traveller. This foolish traveller was a kind-hearted man..."

A stab of pain spliced through her chest, and Ginny cried out blindly, her vision blurring as tears flooded her eyes. It was getting colder; she was losing the sensation in her limbs.

"But his kind heart was easily taken advantage of by the people he met in his travels. You see, he was so weak-minded he believed any tear-jerking story any old lady or supposed young widow fed him..."

She had never felt so much pain in her life - she dimly felt her body falling, hitting the icy marble floor.

"And consequently gave them whatever it was they claimed they would die without."

Her breath was coming out fast and feebly, lungs aching, her eyelids began to feel like lead weights.

"Eventually, of course, he was left with nothing, stripped to his naked skin. Embarrassed, he fled into a forest, where he stumbled into a demon's lair."

She felt as is an invisible force was ripping her body apart; a singular drop of blood, blackened, fell from her mouth. The wind became stronger, more merciless.

"The demon fed him lies, persuading the foolish traveller to allow him to eat his limbs, one by one, then his body...finally, the demon ate his eyes, leaving only the traveller's head."

She sensed movement not far from her, but she was too weak to move.

"Before the demon left him, he left him a note as a present. On the note was the word 'fool'. But the foolish traveller couldn't see that, of course, his eyes had been taken...he started tearing from gratitude, saying 'Thank you, thank you' - for nobody had ever given him anything before."

Slender, almost delicate fingers graced her face, cajoling her to look up. Ginny struggled to hang onto her consciousness, and then she felt someone's arms hold her up. Afraid, she numbly panicked as she forced herself to look at the person's face.

"It's me, Tom. Don't be scared, Ginny..." The boy smiled, a ghostly, beautiful, classic smile. "I'm here with you now. I'll protect you."

He moved forward, gently kissing her forehead. A tear finally broke from Ginny's eye, and she collapsed against the boy, exhausted, whispering.

"Thank you, Tom."

The boy gazed down at her with his dark blue eyes, not speaking. Instead he gently lifted up her chin, fingertips tracing the line of her lips, sliding down the fresh trickle of blood.

Her blood licked into his skin.

Contaminating that of the contaminated.

~

One Week Ago, 17 August 1995

The tall, thin boy leant over the high balcony which faced towards the north of the immense fortress, the home he had always known, the home of a long line of ancestors before him. Before him were the well-manicured gardens, with their severely kept, magically thornless blood-red roses (The irony, he thought, very mildly amused). Beyond them were the endless acres of thick, untamed forest. To the east, a black mirrored lake's waters were as still as the thick summer night air.

A sharp flash of lightning cut through the velvet sky, still heavy with the orange-red dye of the evening sun. Automatically the boy began counting the seconds between the flash and the first note of thunder. On the eleventh, a long roll of sound swept above the boy, and he felt a slight damp-edged breeze pass fleetingly, breaking the stillness. Approximately three kilometres away, rain was coming.

He closed his eyes, waiting patiently for the virgin drops of water to descend upon him. He let his mind wander, thousands of miles away from his prison...

"Young...young master!" quivered the familiar voice of a house elf behind him, breaking his reverie. "We is very sorry, sir, but young...young Master Malfoy...he is insisting, sir, that he sees you, sir. He is just arrived, sir, and he...he is very bloody, sir, and very angry...we is...we is..." the house elf's voice trailed off and he emitted a nervous squeak, jumping backwards as the boy turned his head towards him. But if the boy was annoyed, he kept it well hidden.

"What did you do to him, Nonky?" the nonchalance of his voice betrayed a slight French lilt.

"We...we lock him in a cupboard, young sir," whispered the house elf, positively trembling now, his lamp-like eyes wider than ever. "He is...very bloody, sir, he is bleeding all over Mistress's favourite Persian carpet, young Master..."

"Caused a very bloody mess, sir!" piped up another smaller, younger house elf, Binky, from behind Nonky.

The boy bit back a smile as Nonky scowled fitfully at Binky, then asked, "How did he get here?"

"By the back, sir...I thinks, sir, that the Thestrals went at him before he managed to run in to safety, sir...The Thestrals must have been attracted to the blood all over him..." Nonky paused for a while, and then proceeded to repeat, "Master Malfoy is very bloody and very angry, sir...he insists on meeting you, sir..." His voice trailed off slightly again, then he added, in an even more nervous voice, "If Master Malfoy is wanting to get violent, sir, we have already removed Mistress's vases and carpet...we must remind sir to try not to bring Master Malfoy into the Blue Room, Master is most fond of the artefacts there..."

This time Blaise Zabini let his lips curve into a bemused smile, knowing just what Nonky was afraid of.

~

"Draco..." Blaise knocked on the cupboard door as the house elves hovered about him in the background, the older ones who knew 'Master Malfoy' shaking with fear and dread, the younger ones who didn't but had heard of his legendary temper tantrums positively shivering with anticipation.

Silence.

Blaise had not known Draco for fifteen years and counting for nothing. He knew full well that Draco, obsessively clean, being this silent when locked in a dark and dingy cupboard could only mean that Draco was brewing himself into a dangerous temper. Four years ago, when Draco had lost his first Quidditch match to Gryffindor, he had almost immediately disappeared after his dressing down by Marcus Flint - Blaise had only found him three hours later in a forgotten classroom in the dungeons. Then, all Draco would say when he saw Blaise was, "Losing isn't romantic, life-enhancing or artistically inspiring. Losing sucks."

And then for the next five hours Blaise had had to prevent Draco Lucius Xavier Black Malfoy from demolishing the entire classroom.

"You've at least to tell me whether or not you're still alive, Draco Malfoy."

Silence.

"Draco."

"Young master..."quivered yet another house elf, Wonky.

"Yes?" Blaise asked, a note of irritation starting to seep into his voice.

The house elf pointed a shaking finger towards the floor beneath the cupboard door. A pool of dark liquid had begun to form.

Blaise cursed under his breath, then unlocked the door in a swift motion.

Out tumbled Draco Malfoy, having lost consciousness thirty seconds before Blaise had been called.

~

24 August, 1995

Blaise Zabini sighed softly, closing his eyes, letting the harsh glow of sunlight hit his skin. The strain of having slept less than usual for the past week were starting to show on his face: his dark grey eyes were ringed with lighter, powdery grey, and were beginning to dilate painfully when faced with the sun - a sure sign that he had not went out in a long time.

If only Draco had not showed - Blaise shunted that thought aside, knowing full well the stupidity of blaming his lack of rest entirely on his fellow Slytherin. Even if Draco hadn't showed on that Sunday night a week ago, Blaise knew that it would have been sooner or later that Draco would have come to him anyway. What with Lucius Malfoy's arrest and imprisonment -- "It's only temporary...Father's going to come out, I'm sure of it. We have the best lawyers...and there's nowhere that galleons don't speak for themselves," Draco had said.

Blaise's lips twisted ever so slightly into a sad smile. What was the use of the best lawyers when they didn't even want to represent you? Blaise had enquired for them for Draco; they had effectively cut off contractual ties with Lucius as soon as news of his arrest had leaked out. Blaise wasn't absolutely sure how they had achieved that, though he suspected that there were probably more loopholes for means of escape than Lucius had been aware of when he had signed on his lawyers. Lucius had always been a shrewd man, but in the field that was infamous for being made up of "scum", as Blaise's father would say. Blaise was sure that even Lucius could be cheated.

Anyway, even if Lucius's lawyers had stuck on, Blaise knew for a fact that they wouldn't have been able to represent him anyway. As soon as he and the other Death Eaters had been detained, the Ministry's parliament, paranoid as always, had pressed for the immediate passing of the Bill that would allow the full implementation of the Internal Wizarding Security Act, or the IWSA. Cornelius Fudge, so eager to please and appease that he had probably peed in his pants when signing the Bill, had decreed its first affected detainees as the "freshly-caught Death-Eaters" (Blaise had almost laughed when he had heard that from his informant - Fudge's statement reminded him remarkably of Gilderoy Lockhart's "freshly-caught Cornish pixies"). In other words, Lucius Malfoy and all other Death Eaters or people purported to be Death Eaters or supporters of Death Eaters were to be effectually thrown into Azkaban without trial, and could be held there for up to two months without the rights of a lawyer.

Blaise had told Draco all his findings yesterday night. Until now the dozen or so house elves around the Zabini castle were still trying to remedy the mess -- and to call it a "mess" would be what Blaise knew his cousins from America would proclaim "the major understatement of the year" -- that Draco had caused immediately after that. Considering that three years ago a bunch of renegade vampires from Romania had stormed the castle when Blaise had been at Hogwarts, and would have successfully managed to reinstate it as a ultra-glamour vampire nest if Blaise's otherwise non-existent parents hadn't turned up in time - even then the house elves had somehow managed to restore the castle into its former spotless self in less than five hours: Draco's trail of destruction since he had arrived at the Zabinis' was comparable to a tornado sweeping through the hundred or so rooms. Blaise shrugged unconsciously as he thought of the scene. At least it had provided for entertainment.

And thankfully, thought a small voice in the back of his head, at least Draco hadn't found Xander's room.

Blaise opened his eyes again, and turned, twirling Draco's wand, which he had plucked out of his hand, starting into the room behind him. In front of him, in the stately canopy bed, having collapsed from magical over-exertion only an hour before, lay a sleeping Draco Malfoy. His white skin and silver hair were a stark contrast to the velvety black cushions, identical to the ones in almost all the other private rooms. Blaise's usual impersonal gaze softened slightly as he watched his oldest friend's ironically peaceful mien, knowing full well that not too long ago it had been utterly reckless and close to insane with anger. With loss. That was the problem with Draco. He always knew too well what he wanted, and always seemed to know what to do when it came down to getting it - now that he had lost his father, Draco Malfoy was only hanging on to the tenterhooks of his sanity from his helplessness.

From the collapse of all things he had taken for granted all these years.

It had not helped, Blaise knew all the more, that Narcissa Black-Malfoy had very conveniently decided to take off without telling Draco, leaving him to fend off the fast-descending Aurors at Malfoy Manor by himself. Draco had just managed to bolt on his Nimbus Two Thousand and One; he had taken a few curses, but had somehow managed to escape into the dense forest behind the Malfoy Manor estate. Blaise still couldn't decide whether that was the single most intelligent or single most stupid thing that Draco had ever done in his life: by running into the forest, he had effectively thrown off the Aurors, but that was only because they were at least bright enough to know that the Malfoy forest was full of enough Dark creatures and poisonous plants to make the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts look like a walk through a Muggle playground. Draco had refused to tell him, but Blaise guessed easily enough that he had taken his fair share of attacks to last him a lifetime: the house elves had been fairly put out by having to dress the scars and bruises of all the colours of the spectrum that had populated his fair skin on his first night. Still, of course the Aurors had caught up with Draco at the Zabinis'; Blaise had had to take on all the paperwork - with a bit of pulling of some rather long strings here and there - and had managed to get them off Draco's case, an appreciable achievement on Blaise's part, though he himself knew for a fact that the Aurors were more concerned with chasing after Narcissa to really care about Draco. To them, he was just another spoilt, troublesome prat, and they were not in the least reluctant when Blaise had put in the Zabini name as guarantor that Draco would not take off to Timbuktu on a very expensive raft.

Blaise Zabini, famous in Slytherin for having the emotional range of an iceberg, sighed again, knowing full well that he had already done all he could.

~

He felt the sensation of soft hair brushing against his skin, a slight weight against his body, slim arms around his back. He looked down, and for some reason started kissing the white skin of the girl in his arms. Gentle lips against tender skin. His fingers traced the elfin cheekbones of the girl, the damp trails of tears; he felt a slight shiver pass through his body as he ran a finger along the fine, straight brows.

The girl was still again, nervous; he knew she was pure from such touches, and he held himself back, afraid to hurt her, to destroy her peace. He began kissing her lips, carefully and slowly, savouring the slight taste of orange and salty tears on her mouth. She smelt like she always did - a mixture of orange and rain, fresh and honest. She closed her eyes, and he felt her muscles starting to relax, and he bent down, cradling her cautiously, as lovingly as he knew how, not wanting to lose her for this last time.

When he awoke, Draco Malfoy would not remember her.

~

Two hours later, Draco had woken up to find Blaise still watching over him, and had decided to start a rational conversation, considering that Blaise had removed his wand from him.

"It's not dying that I'm...afraid of, Blaise," Draco looked away, the twin red fevered peaks on his high cheekbones not abating. "It's living."

Blaise kept quiet, letting the fast deafening silence stretch between them.

" 'I, a stranger and afraid, in a world I never made.'" Draco quoted, lightly, and then seemed to scoff as his own words, shaking his head.

"You're a hopeless romantic." Blaise said abruptly, knowing it would catch Draco's attention.

"I am not a hopeless romantic." The edge had returned to Draco's voice.

Blaise shrugged, then nodded, nonchalantly. "You're not a hopeless romantic. You're a hopeless romantic who's still hopeful."

There was enough venom in Draco's glare to paralyse a Basilisk.

"Good," remarked Blaise, with utter casualness, "the real Draco Malfoy has privileged us so by gracing our earth again."

"Why do you bait me now, Blaise?" Blaise could not quite place whether Draco's tone was more world-weary or frustrated.

"Why do you torture yourself now, Draco?" Blaise retorted softly, looking directly into Draco's eyes. Draco flinched unconsciously, then snapped his head away, an angry look on his face. Another long silence stretched between them.

"Nobody ever tries to understand me, old friend," Draco suddenly remarked, his voice contorted into a fake, irritable falsetto, which he knew full well Blaise abhorred.

"That's because you never try to understand anybody, old friend." Blaise returned, his voice carefully emotionless, undulating. Outwardly he was still a picture of calmness, his cool façade completely unruffled.

"Funny, the last time I checked, shrinks loved alienated, self-piteous isolationists," Draco sniped viciously.

"The last time I checked, I did not have Draco Malfoy on my planner," replied Blaise, voice still in check. Another pause followed.

"Blaise..." Draco sounded drained again. "Just hit me, will you? Hit me. Please. I need it."

"Are you sure?" Blaise allowed the surprise be apparent in his voice this time.

Draco nodded, not taking his silver eyes off Blaise's metallic ones.

Taking that as a sealed confirmation, Blaise clenched his fist, then swung back, before hitting Draco squarely in the stomach, causing him to double over, wheezing, back into the bed.

"Ouch..." mumbled Draco, clutching his stomach. Leaning back, he lay very still for a while, letting the tears in his eyes accumulate. Blaise watched him, as he always did, then realised what he was doing. Silently, Blaise slipped past Draco and out of the room, leaving Draco to finally be able to somehow pick himself back together again.

Quietly, when Blaise Zabini was well out of earshot, Draco Malfoy wept himself back to sleep.

~

Around a hundred miles away from the Zabini fortress, Virginia and William Weasley were watching the famous Harry Potter hammering his cousin Dudley. Or rather, watching Dudley Dursley beating Harry Potter to a pulp, whilst Harry looked rather like he was valiantly and stubbornly not going down.

"Don't you think we ought to stop this, Ginny?" Bill's voice betrayed his anxiety.

Ginny nodded, albeit reluctantly, because Harry still seemed to have a lot of steam trapped within him...but she knew also that if they let them carry on they would be trying to wipe the playground floor clean of Harry's remains. Bill took that as an agreement, and made to move towards the boys; however, Ginny almost immediately restrained him. Bill turned back to her, looking somewhere between confused and impatient, but Ginny only whispered, "Let me handle this, Bill."

Bill looked extremely doubtful, but in the end he gave in to Ginny, as he usually did. Ginny nodded to him to assure him, then stepped towards the fray.

~

Ginny made sure to be in the position where Harry wouldn't see her, and neither would the other boys she didn't know, who were busy trying to get a scrape at him. She made sure that she was only in the line of vision of Dudley.

Dudley, panting fit to compare to a bulldog, was staring at her at first with a blank look, then a mean one. He was about to open his mouth, when Ginny let that smile which she had always so desperately kept hidden from her friends and family touch her lips.

It was a slow smile, starting from the right corner of her lips, then gradually spreading into the rest of her mouth. If one had just focussed on her lips he would have thought Ginny had just tried to pull of a seductive smirk, but Dudley had seen Ginny's entire face. Ginny knew exactly how her eyes looked - they were too light a brown to accomplish it as menacingly as his had, but nevertheless they were glowing with a devilish, sardonic threat. It was Tom's smile - Tom's legacy. She remembered it too well; it came almost unwelcomingly naturally to her. Ginny fought to stand her ground: it was a good thing that Dudley, now pale as a ghost, did not know that Ginny herself was now scared out of her wits as well, her fingers felt clammy and cold.

She always knew that Tom would never truly leave her.

My eternal damnation.

A flash of dreaded recognition crossed Dudley's large face, and then he dropped Harry, whom he had in a headlock, to the ground. Not bothering to explain to his friends, he spun around remarkably fast for someone of his stature, running away as fast as his fat trotters could carry him, his hands kept faithfully behind his rump. Ginny would have laughed if not for the fact that she was close to shaking with a sickening sort of fear. She felt sick; her lips seemed to turn to rubber. Dudley's cronies, confounded beyond belief, seemed caught between staying to further torture Harry and following their leader, but Bill effectively decided for them by stepping in at this precise moment, clearing his throat loudly.

Harry was left on the ground, close to motionless.

Ginny tried to avoid Bill's eyes, knowing that they held questions that she knew too well the answers to.

~

"Harry?" Ginny asked softly, pulling gently at him as she and Bill tried to peel him off the ground. His lip was cut and swollen, his left eye was turning a nasty black, and he had a vividly violet bruise on his cheekbone.

Harry's eyes fluttered open tentatively, and then they widened in surprise as he stared up at Ginny. "Ginny? What? How? Dudley -"

"Seems to have gone," said Ginny carefully, "He was the one who did this to you?"

Bill shot Ginny a sharp look, which Ginny ignored.

"Er..." murmured Harry, then winced, as he tried to get up on his own.

"Hold still, Harry, I'll fix you up," sighed Bill, looking around cautiously first before taking out his wand from his right pocket. "If mum saw this, there'll be no end to it..."

A few healing and concealing spells later, Harry's cut lip had returned to normal, the painful violet tinge had vanished, though Harry still cringed when Ginny tried to touch the bruise. Harry's black eye had subsided tremendously, but there was still an obvious grey-blue ring of colour around it, which Bill conceded he did not know how to fix.

"Thanks," said Harry, still mumbling, "How come...?"

"We were supposed to fetch you today, Harry," said Ginny patiently.

"Oh," said Harry, now looking rather sheepish, "I'm sorry...was carried away, I forgot. Is everyone looking for me?"

"Well, er, yeah, pretty much," replied Bill, "though we don't mind, really. I mean, Dad's probably over the moon with the opportunity to snoop around a Muggle town."

Harry grinned ever so slightly, then lapsed into silence, leaving Ginny and Bill to try to conduct a conversation over Harry's head, all the time knowing that they had probably done as much as they could for Harry.

~

"So Harry...how were your O.W.L results?" asked Fred, when they had all settled into the Volkswagen, with Ginny lying through her teeth about what had happened to Harry's eye ("You see, Harry was polishing the Dursleys' brass doorknob when Petunia had opened the door suddenly...rammed right into his eye..."). Bill shot her even sharper looks, which Ginny was still steadfastly ignoring. After Molly's typical mothering of Harry was over, Harry had seemed much more cheery, though Ginny suspected it was more because Ron had practically pounced at Harry with joy, as if their few weeks apart was equivalent to a few centuries, than Molly Weasley's offer to blow at Harry's eye to help reduce the pain.

"Great!" said Harry, seeming to brighten up even more, then he subsided slightly, somewhat embarrassed-looking, "I got 'Outstanding' for Defence Against Dark Arts and Transfiguration - that came as a total surprise, I didn't expect it to come out that well, 'Exceeds Expectations' for Charms and Care for Magical Creatures, and 'Acceptable' for both Potions and Herbology."

"What about your other subjects?" asked Bill.

"Well...I got 'Poor' for Divination and Astronomy, and a 'Dreadful' for History of Magic...so I guess I'll have to drop those for sure..." Harry said, looking sufficiently quelled but sounding far from doleful. "What about you, Ron? You didn't send me any news about your OWLs..."

"Well..." said Ron, grinning; "I got 'Exceeds Expectations' for Transfiguration, Defence Against Dark Arts and Care for Magical Creatures, 'Acceptable' for Charms, Herbology and History of Magic...and an 'Outstanding' for Potions!"

"WHAT?!" Harry stared at Ron as if he had just told him he was planning to elope to northern Mongolia with a giant spider.

"Yeah, I know, Snape's going to flip," said Ron, "if he hasn't already, that is. I'll bet he checked my theory paper a couple of dozens of times just to make sure the examiner hadn't added in half a mark by mistake. Heck - I'll bet he tried to deduct marks for untidy handwriting or something. It's the kind of lower life-form thing that he would've thought of."

"But...but..." sputtered Harry, "that's great, Ron!"

"Yeah, well, I know...thanks, Harry," said Ron, at an effort to look modest, "though I did get 'Poor' for Astronomy and 'Dreadful' for Divination - not that that's a big surprise," he added wryly, and everyone laughed, knowing that Ron had informed to his examiner in full detail about the ugly man with a wart on his nose in his crystal ball, realising only after the entire description, that he had been in fact staring at his examiner himself through the crystal ball.

"Anyway," continued Ron, "if Hermione hadn't cornered me to test her the night before the exam on all the potions we had done last term, and made me repeat the definitions of every inch of detail out loud to double-check, I probably wouldn't have passed it - and we were lucky anyway, the practical section wasn't half as bad as what Snape would have given for a test...sadistic old bat..."

"And I kept checking the instructions, you know, calming myself down mentally...there was this voice in my head going, 'You've done this before, if you don't panic, you'll pass this - even ace it!' And I just kept going, you know, and tried not to lose my head..." Ron shook his head, then smiled. "It was just like that match against Ravenclaw..."

"So...I've got six OWLs, and you've got seven...so..." started Harry, "that means we can both get NEWT subjects that'll get us in contention for Auror positions!"

Ginny, suddenly realising that although Ron had had one less 'Outstanding' than Harry, he still had one more OWL than Harry, was surprised, somewhat, at Harry's complete lack of jealousy.

I guess that's what makes them best friends, she thought, as Ron bounced ecstatically as if he had just realised that what Harry said was true.

But then, knowing her brother, he probably did just realise it.

"So what NEWT subjects are you taking, Harry?" asked Molly Weasley from the front passenger seat, twisting her head around to get a full view of Harry. "We've discussed and decided with Ron already - he's taking Defence Against Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Charms, Care for Magical Creatures, and of course," said Molly Weasley, casting a significant look at Ron, who was about to open his mouth to say something, "Potions. If he ever wants to become an Auror, he'll have to learn that."

"And live through Snape for another two whole years," muttered Ron mournfully, causing all of them to grin again.

"Well...I suppose I'll be taking the same subjects as Ron, then," said Harry, grinning fully at Ron, who grinned back again enthusiastically, looking exceedingly pleased.

"What are the both of you, Siamese twins?" said Fred.

"Pot calling the cauldron black," retorted Ron automatically, glaring at Fred.

"You know...I've always wondered about Harry and Ron's relationship..." said George, slyly, winking at Fred, "so very platonic, don't you think?"

"GEORGE!" yelled Ron, and pummelled him with an old car cushion, setting loose a good handful of stuffing and causing Hedwig, who was somehow wedged between Ron and Harry, to hoot loudly and ruffle her feathers in a highly disturbed manner.

"So, erm, Mrs. Weasley, where are we going now?" asked Harry, clearly trying to divert the subject of conversation, "Not to the Burrow, right?"

"Yes, Harry dear; Arthur's going to drop us off at Diagon Alley first while he goes off to do some work at the Ministry, then at around noon we'll all go down to Grimmauld Place after having tea."

"Oh." Said Harry, suddenly rather quiet upon the mention of Grimmauld Place.

Ginny supposed that he would, of course: the memories of Sirius were still fresh and hurting. She glanced at Harry; his bottle-green eyes had darkened considerably, and seemed hopelessly distant.

Ginny reflected that perhaps it was too much to ask that Harry have completely healed; already before Sirius had passed away he had been so emotionally volatile when they had first met him in Grimmauld Place. In fact, it was already a lot, in terms of Harry, that he could now be laughing and talking to them, at least until now, as if Sirius hadn't died, as if he had a really great summer, despite what the Weasleys themselves knew on the contrary.

If Harry had been Harry a year ago, he wouldn't have been able to hide his emotions this well, thought Ginny. He must have been through a lot.

Or rather, perhaps Harry had grown up a lot over their few weeks' parting, even despite what both Ginny and Bill had witnessed earlier.

"Hey - Bill, I thought you were dating Fleur? How come you've been staying at home, then?" asked Harry, seeming to have broken out of his momentary spell.

"Well, Fleur's went home to Normandy for the summer; she had wanted me to go along, but, alas," said Bill dramatically, "I missed my darling younger siblings so much, you see, that I decided to sacrifice a summer of French countryside to be with them."

"Which explains why the first thing he did when he got home was to pounce enchanted Egyptian jack-in-the-boxes in our faces," said Ron, and Harry laughed.

"Then...what about Charlie? Still in Romania?" asked Harry.

"Yeah. He's not coming back 'til a few days later; he says he'll most likely not be able to make it back in time to see us off, though," said Ginny, joining in with the conversation.

"Charlie's got himself a girlfriend, you know," said Fred, leaning in to whisper so that Mr and Mrs Weasley wouldn't hear him, with a mischievous gleam in his eye, "This, and I quote, 'really cute', Chinese girl called Audrey Ooi. Mad about dragons too, I hear."

"Really?" asked Harry, "That's good for him."

"Yeah, well, he'll get Audrey as his girlfriend, anyway, as soon as he has the guts to ask her out, and not just talk her into giving him free Mandarin lessons in between mucking out the dragon stables," remarked George, an equally mischievous gleam in his eye.

"He'll get Audrey," said Ginny staunchly. "Charlie's really nice, and he's good-looking too; there's no reason whatsoever for Audrey not to like him."

"Ginny, you are too naïve," said Fred, shaking his head.

"So simple-minded," agreed George, nodding his head.

"What?" said Ginny, defensively.

"Ever heard about the forbidden fruit syndrome?" asked Fred.

"What forbidden fruit syndrome?" asked Ginny irritably.

"Well, my dear misinformed, innocent little sister, the forbidden fruit syndrome, basically, is that people will always go for other people who are completely unattainable. You see, it's human nature - the grass is always greener on the other side; what I can't get is surely better than what I can, et cetera, et cetera," said Fred sagely.

"So basically, if Charlie's going to be such willing and easy fodder, this Audrey's not going to be so easily attracted to him. She'll sooner be attracted to the first bloke who'll be all blonde and dangerous or tall and dark or something like that." Finished George.

"That's the most ludicrous and senseless thing I've ever heard," said Ginny. "Why wouldn't anyone want someone who loves you?"

"Because that'll cut all the fun and thrill of the chase out of it," answered Fred, and George nodded again.

"Nutters," murmured Ron under his breath.

For once, Ginny had to agree with him.

~

"Do come over when you're done at whatever you're going to look at!" yelled George over his shoulder, as the twins made towards their joke shop, now officially co-owned by the twins' best friend Lee Jordan, though their shop and goods' label still said 'Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes.'

Ginny, Ron, Bill and Harry all nodded, as Mrs. Weasley herself disappeared into Madam Malkins' shop, though not before instructing them at least ten times to meet at twelve o'clock 'sharp' at the Leaky Cauldron, where Mr. Weasley would be joining them for lunch.

"So...where do you guys want to go first?" asked Bill, looking around at the three of them as the twins disappeared into the crowd, and Ginny was grateful again towards him for that moment, as he had included her in his sweeping glance. He seemed to have forgotten the previous sharp looks he had directed at Ginny...though Ginny did not doubt that as soon as he caught her lying again he would give her a lecture long enough to outlast any of Professor Binns' or Mrs Weasley's.

"What about Quality Quidditch Supplies?" asked Ron immediately. He turned to Bill, Harry and Ginny: "You guys okay with it?"

"Sure," said Harry, and Bill and Ginny nodded. They followed Ron as he practically ran towards the Quidditch shop, his tongue already running away from him at top speed about the latest whatnot of the Quidditch world.

Ginny smiled to herself. Although Ron was a year older than herself, there were times when she felt as if he were the younger one - Ron was eternally awkward and self-deprecating, and yet at the same time he never did seem to have much of any care in the world: Ginny supposed that was what led to Ron's best qualities - his selflessness, loyalty and humour.

"Bloody hell!" came Ron's awed voice as he gazed covertly into the glass window display of Quality Quidditch Supplies. Ginny and Harry exchanged looks, and moved forwards to have a better look themselves.

What they both saw just about took their breath away.

There it was - the epitome of broom perfection. A beautifully streamlined, polished maple handle, the sloping words 'Quicksilver' carved neatly into its body, shimmering in the sunlight. Its tail twigs were made of the finest and obviously the most exquisitely chosen birch, even compared to those on Harry's Firebolt. To its right was a little silver signboard that announced in the same sloping font as that of the engraved 'Quicksilver' on the broom:

The Quicksilver,

the NEWEST and MOST SUPERBLY engineered broom around

honed to aerodynamic perfection

Price on Request

"Exactly like it was with the Firebolt," muttered Harry, but the expression of utter awe was still stuck on his face.

"Yeah," said Ginny, struck inarticulate yet again.

"You'll probably have to rob Gringotts before you could get this," said Ron, spellbound.

"Would advise you against that, Ron," said Bill, who had caught up with them, lightly, though he added, "as much as I would love to have one of them too, and I'm not even an ardent supporter of Quidditch."

"It's beautiful." Said Ginny, finally able to string more than one syllable together, "All silvery and everything..."

"Yeah," said Ron, voice still caught somewhere in his throat, making him sound amazingly like Professor Trelawney.

"Yeah, it sure is beautiful," muttered Harry, the tone of his voice suddenly curt. Ginny, Ron and Bill looked up, surprised; Harry's words had broken the spell the Quicksilver had cast on them.

Harry turned away, and resolutely started marching in the general direction of another shop.

Bill looked puzzled for a moment, and so did Ron; then both he and Ginny realised why: Harry was being fully reminded of how it had been in his third year, when before the start of term he had been similarly captivated by the then brand-new Firebolt, after which, when his Nimbus 2000 had been ripped to shreds by the Whomping Willow, Sirius had secretly given him a Firebolt as a present.

Nodding to Ginny to clear away with Bill, Ron ran towards Harry, and from a distance Ginny saw him pulling at Harry's arm, leading him to a corner, obviously to talk.

Again Ginny was struck by the extent of Ron's and Harry's relationship - Ron, who was as good at words as he was at predicting the future in crystal balls for Divination, was actually going to try to talk to Harry. Previously, the year before even, Ron would never have done such a thing.

Well, if Harry can grow up, don't see why Ron can't, as well.

"What happened?" Bill asked Ginny in confusion, clearly still not getting the gist of the matter. Quickly, Ginny explained everything to him - about Harry and his Firebolt and Sirius.

"Oh," said Bill, his eyes squinting towards where Ron and Harry were still deep in conversation. "I see." He looked down at Ginny again, a small smile lighting his face, "Well, I guess it's just the two of us for the present, then."

His words were spoken lightly, and Ginny knew that he, too, was worried about Harry.

"Why don't we...go over to erm...Gringotts?" suggested Ginny lamely. "I mean, you did mention earlier this morning that you had to check up some accounting with one of the goblins."

Bill shrugged, "Okay, but it's your suggestion, so don't come whining to me that you're bored later, Gin."

"I do not whine!"

"Yeah, and Snape uses his home as a shelter for orphaned bunny rabbits," retorted Bill, and ducked, laughing, as Ginny tried to hit him on the head with her wand.

~

"Yes, and when are the next accounts coming in?" questioned Bill patiently, and nodded understandingly as the goblin opposite him mumbled yet another grumpy-sounding answer. Ginny, leaning against a huge pillar, yawned tiredly, checking her wristwatch for the umpteenth time.

Bill had not been lying when he had said she could become bored; in fact, reflected Ginny sourly, he could have been more of hiding the complete truth: Ginny was not only bored, per se. She was so utterly, completely, absolutely bored out of her mind that even History of Magic with Professor Binns would have been a refreshing change. And Ron and Harry had not appeared at all - they must have assumed Ginny and Bill had disappeared on their own accord and thus decided to disappear on their own accord as well.

So now Ginny was left to entertain herself - or more likely try to keep herself sane as she was trapped in the monotony of the goings-on around her - as Bill conducted his interrogation of an increasingly irritated and reluctant goblin.

Blearily, Ginny swung around the pillar, though before she knew it, she had headed right smack into the arms of a stocky, tanned -

"Charlie?!"