Secrets

---------------------------------------------

CHAPTER 4: Sleepwalking

---------------------------------------------

Ginny got to Herbology early and wandered around Greenhouse One while she waited for the others to appear. The Gryffindors would be eating breakfast now, of course, except for Apple -- who was probably off plotting with Daphne. Where the Hufflepuffs were, Ginny had no idea; she hadn't thought to look for them at breakfast.

Shaking off those distracting thoughts, she walked curiously around the greenhouse, which she hadn't had enough time to properly explore on Friday afternoon. Sprout kept the herbs arranged in tidy plots, neatly demarcated with narrow stone walkways. The center section was open, with a set of benches and tables for lessons, and stacks of troughs, pots, and gardening tools. Everything was very green and pleasant, and comfortingly ordered.

On her third circuit of the greenhouse, Ginny spotted the troughs of mint they'd transplanted on Friday. They were sitting on a long, low ledge against the east wall, and the mint appeared to be thriving. Ginny smiled. Her trough was doing particularly well -- Xanthe didn't have to be worried about her marks just yet.

Hufflepuffs trailed in sporadically over the next few minutes, and Ginny perched on the end of a bench, parchment and quill ready in front of her. The Gryffindors came in together, talking loudly, except for Apple, who arrived a minute later on her own. She and Ginny glared briefly at each other before Apple sniffed and pulled Colin to one of the benches. Finally Sprout walked in, escorting Xanthe and two other Hufflepuff girls, and the class began.

This lesson was theoretical, dealing with the classification of herbs and the relation of magical plant species to non-magical species -- Sprout insisted that a thorough grounding in basic botanical theory was as necessary to a well-educated witch as any wand skills. "How else are you going to know what to use in those do-it-yourself Potions Professor Snape assigns? Well, he won't assign them until your sixth year, but never mind that -- how else are you going to learn to be a medi-wizard, if you want? How else will you know if you're buying proper ingredients for rituals? How else are you going to know what harmless Muggle species to disguise magical herbs as?"

Sprout raised her hands questioningly. Nobody responded. "You won't, that's how," she said triumphantly. "Because you need Herbology to do that! Never let anyone tell you this isn't proper magic, or that it's nothing but messing around in the dirt."

Ginny was thrilled -- there was so much more to plants than she'd ever dreamed, and she wanted to learn it all. As soon as she had a free hour, she was going to the library and finding some of the extra reading Sprout had mentioned on Friday. This was absolutely fascinating. And perhaps, just perhaps, it could come in handy talking to Xanthe -- that was, if she ever managed to get the other girl away from the rest of the Hufflepuffs, and managed to set up a study session.

Ginny sighed and returned her attention to Sprout's lecture.

During the fifteen-minute break in the middle of the double lesson period, the other students walked around in groups, talking. Ginny pulled Tom's diary from her bag and, after glancing around to make sure no one was paying particular attention to her, told him about her successful revenge against Daphne.

"That's wonderful, Ginevra," wrote Tom. "Apple was right, though, that you may have to keep an even closer eye on Daphne now -- Dark Slytherins are indeed prone to holding grudges. Still, I know you'll get the better of her."

Ginny beamed. "Thanks Tom, but you know I couldn't have done it without your advice. You're a great friend."

Sprout clapped her hands to signal the end of the break, and Ginny quickly scribbled goodbye and slipped the diary away. It took her several minutes to regain her enthusiasm for botanical theory -- she wished she could have talked longer to Tom. Nevertheless, the fascination of plants won her over eventually and she was lost again in a world of green.

She truly loved Herbology.

After class, Ginny shoved her notes into her bag and dashed over to Xanthe, who was sitting at the other end of the lesson area with her plaited hair unraveling and her nose smudged with purple ink. "Hi Xanthe," said Ginny, looking nervously at the other Hufflepuff girls, particularly Caroline -- the one who'd dragged Xanthe off last Friday. "Do you have any free time now?"

Xanthe smiled and said, "Oh, sure! We don't have History of Magic until after lunch. Let's go take a walk." Turning to the other girls, she said, "I'm going for a walk with Ginny -- I'll see you at lunch, okay?"

"Okay," said Caroline, shoving her parchment into her bag. "I'll save a seat for you." She stood along with the other Hufflepuff girls and walked off towards the castle, talking and laughing.

Xanthe watched them for a moment, then grabbed Ginny's hand with her ink-stained fingers and tugged her down towards the lake. "I'm really sorry about Friday," she said, "and it wasn't even as if they dragged me off to do anything interesting, you know, just to walk around the lake. But now I know where there's a bench, so we can go there and talk. I thought about you over the weekend, you know -- and anyway, I'll really need your help on that essay Sprout assigned today. Merlin knows I'll never get two feet otherwise!"

"Er, okay," said Ginny, hurrying to keep up with Xanthe, who went off on a rambling description of her walk around the lake and which Hufflepuff girl had said what, accompanied by much illustrative hand waving. This soon devolved into the story of how Caroline had tried to convince everyone that her grandfather was a king in Ghana, which Xanthe flatly refused to believe.

Ginny listened halfheartedly -- occasionally ducking Xanthe's wilder gestures -- but mostly absorbing as much of the scenery as possible. The Hogwarts grounds were beautiful, in a partially tamed fashion. The Forbidden Forest loomed darkly at the edge of the grounds, and calmer, more gracious trees lined the paths around the lake, often arching overhead to shelter students in green-tinged shade.

It would be splendid come autumn, thought Ginny.

"And then I told Caroline that my Aunt Psyche had lived in Benin for five years--" said Xanthe, flinging her hand upward before suddenly breaking off. "Oh, here we are! Anyway, I'll tell you about my Aunt Psyche later -- what do you think?" She waved at the water's edge, smiling proudly. A stand of young oaks clustered just ahead of them, and right against the shore a gnarled willow trailed its branches into the water, their tips rising and falling gently as tiny waves lapped against the narrow, stony beach. A bench was set against the willow's trunk, nearly hidden by the curtaining leaves.

"It's lovely," said Ginny happily, "like a secret world."

"I know," said Xanthe. "I made sure Caroline didn't spot it when we walked past, or I'd never have been able to get away from her, ever. She's awfully nice, but she can be a bit overwhelming -- you know how it is."

"Yeah," said Ginny fervently, thinking of Susan and Hermione.

The two girls sat on the bench, dropping their bags onto the surrounding moss, and looked tentatively at each other, wondering where to begin.

Xanthe spoke first. "Er," she began, then trailed off. After a brief pause she tried again. "I hope I didn't just drive you away forever, going on about Caroline. I really do want to be your friend, you know -- you're nice -- and I'm never going to get through Herbology without help -- so just tell me when I'm being an idiot and I promise I'll shut up. I've had tons of practice shutting up."

"I didn't mind, really," said Ginny, though privately she had wished Xanthe would shut up about Caroline and her grandfather. Hastily she changed the subject. "How was your weekend?"

"Oh!" said Xanthe, and rushed into a jumbled account of everything she, Caroline, and someone called Anne Wilkinson had done in the past few days. It sounded vastly more interesting than Ginny's own weekend, which had consisted mostly of reading, writing essays, and trailing around after Harry, Ron, and Hermione, or Susan and the boys. In fact, it sounded rather like what Ginny imagined Ron's first year to have been, or the things she and Sarah Peasegood used to do in Ottery St. Catchpole.

"So what did you do?" Xanthe asked suddenly, after tumbling through a breathless rendition of Caroline's narrow escape from Filch, by means of a moving staircase.

"Not much," said Ginny. "Settled in a bit, read up for Transfiguration, told jokes with Susan and the boys -- which does not include Colin Creevey, by the way -- he's an utter twit. Did you know he's been hanging around Harry Potter all the time, taking pictures of him? He's practically a stalker. And he thinks Lockhart -- that horrible, slimy git -- is wonderful!"

Ginny paused, struck by a sudden worry. "Er, you don't think so too, do you?" Oh, please let Xanthe not be in love with Lockhart -- Ginny didn't think she could stomach another girl going misty-eyed over that... that cretin.

Xanthe stared at her. "Love of light, no!" she exclaimed. "The man's an idiot -- I should tell you what he did to us yesterday morning. Or rather, I shouldn't, because it was just too embarrassing for words -- in fact, I've completely blocked it from my memory -- Dark Arts, what Dark Arts? -- I don't know a thing about that subject." She cleared her throat hastily. "That would be a no, just so we're clear on that."

"Oh, good," said Ginny, greatly relieved.

"Yeah," agreed Xanthe. "However, Anne thinks he's absolutely perfect and Caroline's almost as bad, so I wouldn't say anything about him when they're around, if I were you."

"Of course," said Ginny, grinning. "Susan, Gwen, and Jia-li are all giggly over him, and Apple's not speaking to me anymore, so I'm awfully glad you see through him, too." She grimaced. "It got kind of icky listening to them after our lesson Friday morning."

"I bet Caroline and Anne were worse. Yecch," said Xanthe, and shuddered theatrically. "Anyway, you said we should meet on weekends to study, which I think is an absolutely marvelous idea, particularly since I know I'll fail Herbology otherwise -- Caroline and Anne aren't any help at all -- and you said you had trouble with Astronomy. So... when and where?"

Ginny blinked, taken aback by the abrupt change of subject. "Well, I thought Saturday afternoon," she said, "maybe one o'clock? In the library?"

"Great!" said Xanthe. "I'll meet you in the library, then, and I'll bring my Astronomy charts with me. I don't know what you're doing, but it can't be too different, right?"

"Right."

"Now that that's settled, do you want to keep talking here, or walk some more?" asked Xanthe.

Ginny glanced at her watch, squinting to read the time through the chipped face. Oh, toad guts -- it was almost eleven already. "I have to get back," she said, scrambling to her feet. "I'm going to be late for Charms."

"Whoops!" said Xanthe. "We'd better rush, then. I'd hate for you to disappoint Flitwick -- he's too nice for that."

Ginny made a noncommittal noise, already running towards the castle. Xanthe charged after her, and the two girls raced along the shore, their footsteps falling in unison on the lightly graveled path.

---------------------------------------------

Ginny did reach the Charms classroom on time -- barely -- which seemed to set a pattern for the rest of the week. She felt she was only keeping herself above water with tremendous effort, and doing so against great odds.

The first of her problems was Snape, who had indeed taken a dislike to her. When she arrived at the Potions dungeon for her detention, he glared at her from behind his desk where he was grading essays. "You're two minutes late, Miss Weasley," he said.

"Sorry, sir," muttered Ginny, figuring it was useless to come up with an excuse. The truth -- that she would rather have been eaten by a dragon than be in the dungeons with Snape -- probably wouldn't go over very well either.

"I trust you won't be late for your lesson next week," said Snape, putting aside his papers and rising. "Come here. Stick out your hands."

Ginny walked to the desk and held her hands forward. Snape examined them, frowning. "Thin fingers, yes, but the nails -- woefully ragged -- they'll snag on everything," he muttered. "Nevertheless, you'll have to do."

He snapped his gaze up to Ginny's face. "Miss Weasley," he said, "you will spend your evening stringing swallowtail butterfly chrysalises onto raw silk thread. Fix each chrysalis in place with a knot, leaving precisely one quarter inch of thread between each chrysalis and the next. Stop after thirty-seven chrysalises, make a loop, and cut the thread. If you crush a single chrysalis, start the string over. I need at least twenty strings for tomorrow." He smiled mirthlessly at Ginny's horrorstruck expression.

"Begin."

Three hours, twenty-five strings, and nearly a hundred shattered chrysalises later, Ginny escaped to Gryffindor tower -- fortunately with a note to stave off Filch. The other girls were long since asleep when she crept into their room.

"They might have waited to find out how I was," she whispered to herself as she changed into her nightdress. "Some friends they are."

Susan snored and rolled over in her sleep.

Ginny wriggled under her covers and pulled the diary from her pillowcase. "Dear Tom, detention was awful," she wrote. "Snape made me string butterfly chrysalises on silk thread, and if I crushed one, or broke a bit off, I had to start the whole thread over. I was there for hours, and he sat at his desk the whole time, just oozing nastiness at me. It was creepy!"

"Well, creepy or not, you seem to have survived, Ginevra," responded Tom, a hint of laughter suffusing his writing. "I must say his bark is probably much worse than his bite. Remember, he's a professor -- if he did anything truly despicable, he'd be out of a job and probably taken to court as well. Think of that the next time he -- as you so eloquently put it -- oozes nastiness at you."

Ginny grinned. "Are you teasing me, Tom?"

"I?"

"Yes you. Who else am I writing to?"

"Oh, you must be mistaken. I wouldn't dream of taking over your brothers' job. I'm only your occasional friend, after all."

"You're not an occasional friend," wrote Ginny hurriedly. "You're my best friend! I'm awfully glad I got your diary, otherwise I'd be so lonely here."

There was a slight pause. "You really think of me as your best friend?" asked Tom.

"Of course! You always listen to me, you help me out, you tell me stories, and I like you."

There was another pause, and Tom's handwriting seemed slightly awkward when he finally responded. "I -- well -- thank you, Ginevra. I'm honored that you consider me such a good friend. I'll try to be worthy of your trust." Tom hesitated, as if to draw a breath; Ginny waited for him to write again, not wanting to be rude and interrupt.

"Now, isn't it a bit late for you to be up?"

Ginny groaned, feeling the grin in Tom's words. "Not you too," she wrote. "Just because you're a few years older than I am -- and spent Merlin knows how long shut up in a diary -- doesn't mean you're my mum!"

Tom refused to dignify this with a response.

Ginny sighed in defeat. "Oh, all right," she wrote. "You're right. Good night, Tom."

"Good night, Ginevra. Pleasant dreams."

Ginny didn't know that she'd classify her dreams as pleasant, but they were, at least, not unpleasant. She dreamed of a silk scarf winding around and around her neck and arms, the fabric whispering softly against her skin. She dreamed of a pillared chamber underground, filled with crackling magic. And she dreamed again of the princess in the ruined castle, looking for the dragon.

Recurring dreams were annoying, she decided the next morning. If only the princess would find the blasted dragon, maybe she'd be able to have done with the dream.

---------------------------------------------

The rest of the week passed quickly enough, despite Ginny's niggling feeling that she was somehow falling behind. She spent her free time -- after classes and homework -- exploring the castle and talking to Tom, often at the same time. She'd describe a corridor to him and he'd try to match it with his memories, or he'd tell her about a room that had once held interesting enchanted objects or chatty portraits and she'd try to find her way there.

Saturday she woke feeling unaccountably nervous -- before she remembered she had to meet Xanthe after lunch. She prepared furiously, reading the assigned pages of the Herbology text three times, and several other sections once. Lunch was a brief, hurried affair before she rushed off to the library to gather any books that might be relevant to their essay. Really, why only discuss the relationship between magical and Muggle plant classification systems when she could also write about the history of plant classification and the difficulties the concealment of magical plants created for Muggle botanists? Besides, the extra material might help Xanthe.

Ginny was determined to give fair value for Xanthe's time. Besides, she really did need Xanthe's help with Astronomy. She simply didn't have the maths to make sense of star paths, and how people saw pictures -- magically significant pictures, at that -- in all the scattered mess of the night sky was beyond her. Wednesday night's lesson had made that painfully clear.

Xanthe found her at a table in the back corner of the library, surrounded by stacks of books and scribbling notes on a closely-written roll of parchment.

"Wow," she said, startling Ginny. "You're really serious about studying, aren't you? You know, more and more, I'm thinking this was a really good idea of yours."

"Oh," said Ginny. "I guess so. Er -- let me clear some space for you. And hello."

"Oh yeah, hello," said Xanthe, sitting across from Ginny and dropping her bag onto the table. She'd left her robes open, revealing a rumpled blouse and skirt, and her hair was pulled into a sloppy bun held by two knitting needles. Ginny made a small face at the other girl's appearance; even her brothers were tidier than that. Well. Except Ron.

"I didn't bring much," said Xanthe apologetically, "but then I'm not sure what you're doing in Astronomy so I didn't know what to bring. Sorry about that."

"It's okay," said Ginny. "Where do you want to start?"

"Herbology, of course! After you've gone to all this trouble, I don't want to waste your time! So start from the beginning and we'll see how far you get before we realize why I'm in Hufflepuff instead of Ravenclaw."

Ginny frowned. "You shouldn't say things like that."

"If you said it, I'd be angry, but I'm in Hufflepuff. It's different if I say it." Xanthe shrugged. "It's a Hufflepuff thing, you know. We're a family -- we look out for each other -- because everyone else thinks like that, even if they don't say it. I'll bet anything that you didn't want to be a Hufflepuff, even if you don't like hearing us bad-mouthed."

"No, I did want to be in Hufflepuff," said Ginny. "Well, sort of -- if I couldn't get into Gryffindor."

"See? Second-best, always," said Xanthe, sounding oddly cheerful about it. "I wanted to be in Ravenclaw -- you saw how upset I was at the Sorting -- yes, I noticed you trying to cheer me up. But that's not the point. The point is that I don't understand a blessed thing about this classification system and I need to understand so I can write two feet for Sprout by Friday. So start talking."

Ginny flushed, embarrassed, and sorted through her parchment for the first sheet. She started talking -- pausing occasionally to answer Xanthe's questions -- and was quite startled to realize that nearly two hours had passed by the time they'd gotten through all her notes, and several of the additional books as well.

"So what's next?" asked Xanthe, when Ginny trailed off.

"I have no idea. We finished the assignment a while ago, actually -- we just kept going. It's almost three and we haven't even started Astronomy," said Ginny.

Xanthe blinked and pulled a silver watch from her skirt pocket. "By the Founders, it is!" she said. "Wow. Sorry -- I had no idea we'd gone on so long. You just made everything seem so interesting, you know? I actually understood it."

Ginny flushed. "Er--" she said.

Xanthe was looking down, fishing around in her bag, and didn't notice. "We'd better start on Astronomy, then, before it's time for dinner," she said. "Get out whatever you're doing -- and some spare parchment -- and we'll see if I'm as good a teacher as you are."

The next hour made Ginny's head ache, but by the end she was reasonably sure her homework was in shape for next Wednesday and she'd be able to pick out the stars of various constellations -- though she still didn't see where the pictures were. Xanthe, however, had reached incredible heights of frustration.

"I don't see how you make this so difficult!" she'd said repeatedly. "It's so simple, really -- you just..." and then she was off onto another explanation that assumed Ginny knew things she didn't, and could make the same leaps of logic that Xanthe could.

"Now we know I'm never going to be a teacher," said Xanthe as she closed her book with relief. "Love of light, I don't see how you kept your patience with me for two hours when I'm sure I'm worse at Herbology than you are at Astronomy. You're really not as bad as you think you are, you know."

Ginny shrugged. "I'll be all right for this week, anyhow. Do you want to keep this up or is it too frustrating for you?"

Xanthe shot her an exaggerated look of disbelief. "Of course I want to keep it up!" she said. "I want to pass Herbology, don't I? Besides, I like talking to you."

"Really?" asked Ginny, surprised.

"Yes really. You're nice. And Caroline just drives me batty sometimes -- you don't."

"Oh."

Xanthe laughed. "Anyone would think you'd never had a friend before," she said. "Silly Ginny -- why wouldn't anyone like you? Anyway, I have to get back to the common room before dinner -- I need to put away my books and find Caroline and Anne -- and you probably want to get back to your other friends too. See you around?"

Ginny smiled. "Yeah. I'll see you."

Xanthe walked away humming, her bun half unwound from the times she'd grabbed her hair in frustration, and her bag slung carelessly over one shoulder. Ginny grinned as she watched her new friend. Xanthe was awfully nice, even if she was a terrible mess and wasn't much good at explaining things.

She pulled the diary from her bag, intending to tell Tom all about her afternoon. "Dear Tom, I just finished studying with Xanthe -- you remember her, from Hufflepuff -- and it went really well," she wrote, and then paused. Did she really want to tell Tom everything she and Xanthe had talked about? That felt... wrong, somehow. She hadn't told Xanthe about Tom; why did she have to tell Tom about Xanthe?

"That's good to hear, Ginevra," wrote Tom. "Have you made progress towards friendship, or is this still strictly a business relationship?"

"Mostly we just studied," wrote Ginny slowly. "We talked a little about how nobody wants to be in Hufflepuff, but that was all." She didn't need to say that Xanthe liked talking to her, or that Xanthe thought she was nice. That wasn't important -- and, well, what if Tom were jealous? She didn't want to lose her best friend for someone she only saw once or twice a week.

"Perhaps you'll get to be friends in the future," wrote Tom. "You've made a good start at any rate, and I'm always here if you need to talk."

Ginny smiled, back on safer ground. "Thanks Tom. I'm glad you're here -- you always understand, and I'm awfully glad to have you to talk to -- it's like having a friend I can carry around in my pocket."

"I see," wrote Tom, a smile in his words. "Relegated to your pocket, am I? Well, off to the pocket for me, then, and you should be getting back to your common room."

"Bye Tom."

Ginny slipped the diary back into her bag and gathered her scattered rolls of parchment into something approximating order. Dropping the extra Herbology texts on Madam Pince's desk, she escaped back to Gryffindor tower to start her Transfiguration homework. Maybe Harry would be there...

---------------------------------------------

Next Saturday, Ginny and Xanthe's plans to meet were disrupted by the Gryffindors' first flying lesson -- with the Slytherins. Ginny had forgotten all about it until Gwen reminded everyone Friday morning -- "Flying tomorrow!" she cried, glancing over her schedule at breakfast. "Finally, something fun! C'mon, it'll be almost as good as Quidditch."

Jia-li groaned, and Ginny hissed in irritation when she realized the lesson was scheduled from noon until three. Was the whole world against her?

She grabbed Xanthe as soon as the other girl arrived at the greenhouses after lunch and told her. "Oh well," said Xanthe, shrugging, "you know, I'd forgotten all about our first flying lesson too -- I think it's next Wednesday, with the Ravenclaws. Let's meet after dinner instead -- how about six-thirty?"

"Er, fine," said Ginny, who'd been expecting a bit more of a reaction, and Xanthe went to grab some trowels in preparation for the afternoon's lesson. Maybe Tom was right about inter-house friendships, thought Ginny -- Xanthe would have been much more upset if Caroline or Anne canceled a meeting.

Saturday morning the Gryffindors ate a late brunch and trooped out to the entrance hall to wait for Madam Hooch, the flying instructor. The Slytherins were already gathered on one side of the hall, and the Gryffindors stood to the other side of the door. Five minutes before noon, Madam Hooch strode briskly from the staff room, broom in hand, and nodded at the class.

"Right, follow me -- down to the lawn," she said, and strode out the door.

On the lawn, twenty somewhat battered broomsticks were laid in two neat rows facing each other. "Everyone pick a broom. Stand by it, and do nothing more until I give the word," said Madam Hooch, raking the class with her odd yellow eyes.

The Slytherins took one row and the Gryffindors the other, watching each other uneasily -- except for Apple and Daphne, who stood next to each other at the end of the Gryffindor row, whispering back and forth. Ginny -- who'd ended up sandwiched between Apple and Colin -- stared coldly at them.

"On my word, stick your right hand over your broom and say 'Up!" called Madam Hooch. "And then stand still, doing nothing, until I say otherwise.

"Mark!"

The class shouted "Up!" in ragged unison. Ginny's broom rose smoothly into her hand, and she grinned. Six Quidditch-mad brothers were finally good for something. Most of the others weren't nearly so well-off. Daphne's broom snapped into her hand so hard the Slytherin girl staggered, while Apple's twitched uncertainly, floating a foot and a half below her hand. Colin's simply rolled over on the ground.

Ginny felt smug.

"Very good!" barked Madam Hooch. "If your broom is still on the ground, pick it up and hold it in the ready position; it should float automatically. Now watch while I demonstrate the proper way to mount a broom. And stay still."

"Why does she keep telling us not to move?" asked Colin, leaning over to whisper in Ginny's ear.

"Because of what happened last year," said Ginny. "Neville Longbottom -- a year ahead of us -- pushed off too soon, fell from twenty feet up, and broke his arm. She had to take him to the hospital wing. Things got out of hand while she was away."

"Oh," said Colin, looking impressed.

"Shouldn't you already know that?" asked Ginny, suddenly irritated. "It was because of that that Harry Potter's on the Quidditch team. I thought you knew everything about Harry."

"I don't yet, but I will," said Colin, with perfect seriousness. "Will you tell me the story?"

"No," said Ginny, and turned away. Merlin's beard, the boy was a twit -- and creepy to boot.

Madam Hooch was now walking along the rows, helping students mount their brooms, checking their seats, and correcting their grips. She barked a few words of praise at Ginny, who again felt smug, particularly when Madam Hooch verbally ripped Colin's seat to shreds immediately thereafter.

Take that, Mr. Colin I-Stalk-Harry-Potter Creevey!

Madam Hooch stood between the lines of mounted students and pulled a whistle from her robes. "When I blow the whistle, kick off from the ground, hard," she said. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. Whatever else you do, remain calm. And don't angle the broom sharply either up or down. On my whistle -- three -- two -- one --"

TWEET!

Ginny kicked off, just as she'd done hundreds of times at home, rose five feet in the air, and hovered gently. Colin, however, was drifting further up and wavering madly, tipping back and forth in a desperate attempt to keep his balance. "Hey!" said Ginny, rising to his side. She stuck her arm out to steady him; he grabbed hold like a drowning man.

"It's all right, I have you," she said. Please don't let him panic, please... "Here, lean forward just a bit and we'll go down together. Slowly. On three, okay? One -- two -- no, not that far forward!"

Colin pitched forward, crashing to the ground and dragging Ginny with him. His broom handle plowed into the dirt, swaying drunkenly, while Ginny's broom lay quietly on the ground, tangled between her legs.

Ginny twitched her fingers experimentally. "Ow." She seemed to be spread out on her back, and something was digging into her thigh.

"Oh my God, I'm sorry!" squeaked Colin, picking himself up and frantically patting her shoulders. "Are you all right? Are you hurt? Is anything broken?" Ginny blinked, steadying her vision, and groaned -- why did he come out without a scratch, while she was in pain? Stupid twit -- see if she rescued him next time. And he was still babbling!

Ginny waved her fingers at him. "'M fine, go 'way. Just -- catch my breath."

"Oh." Colin rocked back on his heels. "I'm sorry!"

Suddenly Madam Hooch appeared in a swirl of black robes. "What happened? Are you hurt, girl?" She prodded roughly at Ginny's collarbone.

"I'm fine!" Ginny insisted, batting at the teacher's hands. "I just lost my breath when we hit. Go check on Colin -- he's the one who crashed us -- I was only trying to help."

Madam Hooch hauled Ginny to her feet and advanced on Colin, who squeaked again and started babbling a disjointed explanation. Taking advantage of her position behind Madam Hooch's back, Ginny grinned and stuck out her tongue at Colin. He paled further.

Once Madam Hooch straightened out the mess of the first flight -- "Nothing terribly unusual, only to be expected," she said, shooting disapproving glares at several students -- she fetched her own broom for a practical demonstration of flight. "After I demonstrate, you'll try this again. And for Merlin's sake, this time don't panic!" She mounted her broom, pointedly checked her grip, and took a deep breath. Ginny thought she heard a muttered, "Next year I swear I'll do this first," before Madam Hooch kicked off, but she wasn't quite sure.

Rising six feet into the air, Madam Hooch hovered for a few seconds before deliberately wobbling back and forth. "If you have trouble balancing in the air, the important thing is not to panic," she said, as she tilted left at an alarming angle. "If you panic, you're likely to tilt the broom up or down and lean forward -- which is the last thing you want to do!" She wrenched herself violently to the right, exacerbating the wobble. "That will send you shooting into the sky or crashing into the ground -- at high speed. Instead, just sit back onto the Cushioning Charm and relax."

Madam Hooch settled back onto her broom, letting the rocking motion die out naturally. "Remember -- don't overcompensate for a tilt -- that only increases the problem in the other direction and sets up a wobble. In other words, don't do what I was doing!

"Now, you'll try flying again, one at a time, so I can keep an eye on you. White, you first." She turned to face the Slytherins, pointing at the pudgy boy at the line's end. The class swung to stare at him; he flinched. "Mount your broom, check your grip, and kick off gently, on my whistle. Three -- two -- one --"

As Madam Hooch blew her whistle, three things happened at once. The pudgy boy wobbled into the air, a jet of purple flame shot at Madam Hooch's broom, and a voice to Ginny's left yelled, "Help! Attack! Run for your lives, it's You-Know-Who!"

General panic ensued.

Several students jumped onto their brooms and fled in all directions. Others followed on foot. A few stood petrified, staring at Madam Hooch's merrily blazing broom. Madam Hooch herself spun frantically in the air, trying to figure out what was going on, protect her students, and put out her broom, all at the same time.

Suddenly realizing she wasn't dead, Ginny blinked and closed her mouth, searching around for any signs of an attack. Beyond the fire and her fleeing classmates, there were none. And somebody to her left was... laughing? Not a man, not a monster, but a girl...

Ginny turned and stared coldly at Daphne, who had collapsed with laughter. Apple stood over her cousin, shaking her head with rueful amusement. That -- that utter -- that horrible -- Daphne had pretended that You-Know-Who was attacking? And she'd set fire to Madam Hooch's broom? And she didn't care that everyone was running, and would probably get in trouble, and that the other professors would come out to fight off You-Know-Who, and...

Madam Hooch stormed over, scorched broom clutched tightly in her left hand, wand in her right. "Rumluck! And Rumluck! Both of you, to my office now." She whirled and pointed her wand at Ginny, who flinched. "Weasley! Class is cancelled. Gather the remaining students, take them to the castle, and explain to them that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named isn't here, wasn't here, and won't be here -- it was a dangerous joke on the part of the Rumluck girls. I'll inform the Headmaster and suitable measures will be taken."

She seized Daphne and Apple by the necks of their robes and marched up the lawns to the castle. Ginny blinked, then slowly smiled. Well. It seemed Daphne would be punished for this, at least -- it almost made up for the first Potions lesson.

She looked around for anyone still out on the lawn. Two Slytherin girls sat huddled against each other by their brooms, Susan hovered several yards away on her broom, and Colin stood petrified nearby, hands working through the air and lips moving silently. Ginny waved to Susan. "Susan, Madam Hooch wants us to find everyone and tell them class is cancelled. You-Know-Who wasn't here; it was just Daphne and Apple playing a trick. Can you go get those two up?" She pointed at the huddled girls, and Susan nodded, drifting slowly over and downwards.

Ginny turned her attention to Colin, snapping her fingers in his face. He blinked and turned to her, eyes glowing with excitement. "Did you see that?" he demanded. "Did you see? How the broom caught fire? How everyone flew away? I wish I'd had my camera! And if You-Know-Who had been here? And Harry Potter had come to face him? Oh, I wish I'd had my camera!"

"Colin. Calm down. Nothing happened, it's all over, and class is cancelled. We have to get back to the common room," said Ginny.

Colin sighed. "Oh, all right. But wasn't it amazing?"

"No it wasn't," snapped Ginny, losing all patience with the idiot. "It was scary and stupid and dangerous, and I hope Daphne and Apple get in loads of trouble -- even if it does lose us points -- and if You-Know-Who had been here, we'd all be dead, whether or not you'd had your camera. Now go on -- I have to look for everyone else." Ginny shoved Colin toward the castle and watched for nearly a minute to make sure he was really going inside.

Susan had bullied the Slytherin girls into standing up and was leading them up the lawn -- she winked at Ginny as they passed. Ginny smiled back. "Thanks Susan!" she called.

Sighing, she prepared to look for anyone who'd flown away from the castle. Bother Madam Hooch for making her responsible. Bother Apple for going along with Daphne -- Ginny was sure the joke had been Daphne's idea. And she was going to hex Daphne the next time she saw her.

Ginny kicked off and flew slowly across the grounds, peering through the trees for her classmates. She smiled mirthlessly to herself -- Apple was going to be in endless trouble when her classmates saw her again.

Dinner that evening was a tense affair for the Gryffindors, particularly when neither Apple nor Daphne appeared in the Great Hall. "Perhaps they've been expelled," suggested Jia-li as she ladled gravy onto her baked potato.

"Nah," said Susan, "probably just in detention for the rest of their lives. And I'm going to kill her when she gets back." Murmurs of agreement rose from the other first years.

Ginny remained distracted and angry through her after-dinner study session with Xanthe, to the point where the other girl broke the meeting off early, saying Ginny was never going to learn anything useful in that mood, and she'd see her later. Ginny felt a momentary twinge of conscience, but when she reached the common room and walked in on a discussion of various ways to vivisect Apple, she forgot her worry.

When Apple finally returned from detention late that evening, sweaty and disheveled, the first years confronted her in an angry group, closing in on her near the stairway to the girls' dorms. "What in God's name were you thinking?" Susan asked, waving her hands dangerously close to Apple's face. "You could have gotten someone killed!"

Apple waited silently through the scolding and accusations, clutching her long plait to her chest. "It wasn't my idea," she said finally -- and held up a hand to forestall protests -- "but it was my fault. I bet Daphne on the train that she couldn't cause truly spectacular mayhem in every class within the first two weeks of fall term, and she wanted to prove me wrong. I had no idea she'd go that far, however -- it was dangerous and stupid -- and you have my sincere apologies.

"Now may I go to bed? I've been scrubbing bathrooms for six hours, with no dinner, and I'm exhausted."

She pushed through the crowd, forcing people to shuffle out of her way, until she reached the doorway to the staircase. Jasper slid over to block her path, arms crossed over his chest and a scowl fixed on his face. "Let me through, dimwit," said Apple. "I'm too tired to argue."

Jasper eyed her consideringly, then suddenly grinned. "You stink," he said cheerfully. "You absolutely reek of moldy bathrooms, and you deserve it. You're also stupid and stuck-up, but you have good ideas and your cousin is cool -- even if she's a Slytherin and she made me run like a baby this afternoon. It was funny."

He stepped aside and waved her up the stairs. Apple stared blankly at him for a moment, then stumbled forward and through the doorway. "Idiot," she said, and vanished around the curve in the staircase.

Ginny clenched her hands furiously. How did Apple get away so easily, after what she and Daphne had done? Particularly since Apple wouldn't forgive Ginny for defending herself against Daphne? Jasper didn't even mind that she'd called him a dimwit!

It wasn't fair!

Ginny trailed up the stairs after the other girls, tuning out their conversation. Mechanically she slipped into her nightdress, brushed her teeth, and wriggled under her covers, dropping her head into her pillow. She was nearly asleep -- angry thoughts still chasing themselves in circles through her mind -- before her hand slid under the pillow and brushed against the diary, a tingling jolt of energy jumping between the cover and her fingers.

Ginny yanked the diary from under her pillow and stuck her head through the bed curtains, checking for observers. The other four girls seemed to be asleep, so she snaked her wand, quill, and ink off the night table and into her safely enclosed bed. A whispered "Lumos" filled the curtained space with a soft glow, just enough to read by.

"Dear Tom, you'll never guess what happened today," wrote Ginny. "We had our first flying lesson, and first of all, Colin Creevey -- the twit -- crashed me into the ground when I tried to help him get down from our first flight. But that's not the really interesting part.

"After lots of people crashed, Madam Hooch decided we should fly one at a time. When she blew her whistle for the first boy to try, her broom caught fire and somebody yelled that You-Know-Who was attacking! Everyone panicked, but it turned out it was just Daphne playing a joke. Ha ha. Only Apple thought it was funny -- she stood there all prim and trying not to laugh, instead of telling people it was a fake." Ginny paused and shook the tension out of her hand before continuing -- she always pressed too hard when she was angry or upset.

"I got stuck rounding everyone up and telling them it was safe, while Madam Hooch took Daphne and Apple off to be punished. It took me an hour to find everyone, and I was so mad Xanthe walked out on me this evening; she said I wasn't going to learn anything with the mood I was in. And then -- when Apple finally got back -- instead of throwing her out, the others just yelled a little and forgave her. Where do they get off forgiving her when she's still mad at me even though the explosion in Potions was Daphne's fault?

"Tom, I don't know, talk to me. Make it make sense. Please?"

"Ginevra, I would love to make the world logical for you, but I'm afraid that's a bit beyond anyone's power," wrote Tom. "All I can say is that this seems like fairly common behavior for children -- which you must remember your classmates are. They are as quick to forgive and forget as they are to anger. You shouldn't blame them for acting according to their natures.

"Instead, you should be proud of yourself for keeping your head well enough that a teacher gave you the responsibility of finding and calming your classmates. If your fellow Gryffindors didn't notice or care, perhaps that's not a bad thing. The popular and openly powerful are easy targets for resentment. Those who are quieter often have more true power and influence, and are better liked.

"I'm proud of you, Ginevra."

Ginny smiled. "Thanks Tom. I'll keep that in mind. I'm still glad Apple had to spend hours cleaning bathrooms, though."

"As am I," wrote Tom, his handwriting taking a lighter cast. "Nobody should get away with insulting or hurting you, Ginevra. You're too special for that. Now say goodnight; you need your sleep."

Ginny sighed -- Tom was so overprotective sometimes -- but she loved knowing he cared. "Goodnight Tom," she wrote.

"Goodnight Ginevra. Pleasant dreams."

Ginny closed the diary and pushed the quill and ink bottle away. She stroked the battered cover of the book lovingly before slipping it back under her pillow and whispering, "Nox." The light blinked out, and she tugged her quilt around her chin, one hand lightly resting on the diary as she slid into sleep.

The princess searched for the dragon again that night.

---------------------------------------------

After Jasper's admission, the first years found it difficult to keep up the full traditional animosity toward their Slytherin counterparts, particularly Daphne and her friend Ruth. Susan in particular declared Daphne a kindred spirit, and made sure she and Apple sat near the Slytherin pair in Potions.

Ginny was only too happy to have Daphne distracted, but she felt disgruntled by the desertion of her housemates. They were supposed to support her, not Daphne. Didn't they notice how Daphne went out of her way to aggravate Electra before Potions -- and drew Snape's attention to every mistake Electra made, by blaming it on Ginny?

Apparently they didn't. If she hadn't had someone to talk to, Ginny confided to Tom, she probably would have gone mad.

Her mood was not eased by the incessant rain that plagued the early weeks of October, nor by the cold she acquired at the third flying lesson. Percy found her sniffling in the common room the next day, hauled her to the hospital wing, and bullied her into taking Pepperup potion every morning for a week.

The smoke drifting from her ears, combined with her flaming Weasley hair, made it look like a miniature bonfire had alighted on her head. Ginny refused to look up from her feet, but she could practically feel everyone snickering as she walked past, even her brothers. Ron even pointed her out to Harry and Hermione one morning -- if Harry hadn't been there, she would have smacked him for embarrassing her. Instead, she flushed like a tomato, making herself look even sillier.

Ginny was not happy. At all.

She managed to avoid Percy on Sunday and hoped that she might escape more brotherly care on Monday as well, but he caught her at breakfast and dragged her off for more Pepperup potion. "I'm fine!" she protested. "Really. I've been taking potion for a week now, and I'm not sniffling. Let go of me!"

Percy renewed his grip on her arm and frowned at her. "You are not fine. You're too pale, you've been pale all week, and I don't want to have to tell Mum I let you catch a fever. Act your age."

Oh, so now he was willing to pay attention to her, thought Ginny, as Percy banged open the door of the hospital wing. Did her brothers care if she was lonely? Did they care if she wanted to spend time with them? Of course not. But let her look the slightest bit pale, and it was "Take your potion, Ginny -- you're our responsibility and we're afraid of Mum." Ha. Some brothers they were.

Madam Pomfrey, the school nurse, was distractedly measuring out potion to a crowd of coughing, sniffling, shivering students -- and little Professor Flitwick, who seemed in danger of flying across the room with the force of his sneezes. "Oh, you again," she said as she came to Ginny. "You still look a bit peaked -- make sure you get enough rest. Swallow now." She popped a spoonful of potion into Ginny's mouth, tipped it down her throat with the ease of long practice, and moved on to the next patient.

Ginny looked around for Percy, intending to slap him, but he was already striding out the door, no doubt in search of more first years to bother. Smoke poured from her ears, itching and tickling, and she pushed her way out of the hazy infirmary, collecting her bag from the floor. If Percy had made her late for Potions he was going to die, brother or no brother -- there was no way on earth she was going to walk into Potions late, with her ears smoking, and face both Snape and Daphne.

She wound her way through the castle, absent-mindedly avoiding trick steps, riding staircases as they creaked and swung through the cavernous stairwells, and waving hello to some of the friendlier portraits. The routine of her passage was calming, and by the time she reached the door of Snape's dungeon classroom, Ginny felt ready to face anything the Slytherins might throw at her. She squared her shoulders and walked into the room.

Susan looked up from her ingredients and smiled. "Ginny! I like the new look -- very dramatic, all fire and brimstone. Better luck avoiding Percy tomorrow."

Ginny walked over to her table, sighing. "I hate him," she said, dropping her bag to the floor. "I really, truly hate him. He wouldn't have anything to do with me all September, but I sneeze once and suddenly I can't get rid of him! He's a total prat."

Susan sighed sympathetically and patted Ginny's shoulder. "Such is life," she said. "Such are brothers. Still, think of it this way -- now you know for certain he'd miss you if you died!"

"Oi, shut it," grumbled Ginny, pushing Susan's hand away. "Some comfort you are."

"Of course -- and for no cost, too." Susan looked up and grimaced. "Psst -- Electra's coming in. I have to set up my things for the lesson. Talk later?"

"Mmm," said Ginny, glaring coldly at her partner, who was talking with her friends on the other side of the room. She'd hoped Snape would realize the pairing was not productive for either of them, but unfortunately Ginny was good enough at Potions to scrape through each class despite Electra's indifference and Daphne's occasional meddling. And Snape attributed all their successes to Electra and took points off Ginny every week!

Ginny seethed, the rush of heat to her face forcing more smoke out of her ears. She squirmed uncomfortably in her seat, wishing it the smoke didn't tickle so much.

"Looking good, Weasley -- the smoke haze around your ears? -- it's definitely you." Daphne's amused voice snapped Ginny back to herself. "Feeling a bit weak this morning, were we? You do look dreadfully pale -- perhaps Hogwarts is a bit much for you. Are you sure you're keeping up with all the work?"

"I'm fine," snapped Ginny. "And I'd spend less time worrying about my marks and more about your own, if I were you -- you don't learn much just chucking messes into my potions."

Daphne fiddled nonchalantly with one of her hair-clips, looking innocent. "Me, put things in your potions? I don't need to do anything at all -- you spoil things all by yourself, Weasley. For instance, I was only asking after your health as a concerned fellow student -- you're the one who snapped at me. Now be a dear and let me set up in peace, mmm?"

"Toad-licker," Ginny muttered under her breath, setting out her supplies with more force than strictly necessary. "Blood-sucking, bilious, scabrous... erm... pestilent, toad-licking scum." She glanced up as Electra sat down beside her, having left her friends at their table. "Good morning, Electra."

"Good morning, Weasley -- I love the smoke, by the way; it goes so well with your hair. Snape's marking us on today's potion, so I hope you're ready to do a good job." Electra smiled sweetly at her partner. Ginny smiled back, hands curving into claws under the cover of the table. She was going to kill Percy. And Daphne. And Electra. Snape hadn't appeared, so he hadn't yet given her fresh cause for murder, but she'd kill him on general principle. It wasn't as if anyone would miss him, after all...

The lesson was fiendish. Snape assigned each pair a different potion using salamander scales and porcupine quills as the key ingredients, and left it up to the students to determine in what order to add the ingredients and what amount of scales to use. "If you have read your assignments, you should understand the sliding scale of effects produced by varying proportions of salamander scales to porcupine quills. Therefore you will be able to determine the minimum quantity of scales necessary to finish your potion, given the quantity of quills listed in your recipes," he said, glaring at the class.

"Failure to produce a usable potion will be taken not only as a failing grade on this test, but also as confirmation that you have not completed your assigned homework. Points will be deducted accordingly. Begin."

Electra picked up the recipe for Scrubb's Patent All-Surface Mildew Removal Solution and eyed it disdainfully. "Ick. Eye of newt, rattlesnake venom, dragon's blood diluted in white wine vinegar... Weasley, you get the ingredients. I'll stir the cauldron."

"Yes, your highness," muttered Ginny, snatching the recipe from Electra's polished nails. She ran an eye down the list of ingredients, noting their amounts and ticking off adverse reactions in her head. Potions was a set of logic problems in many ways -- this ingredient had to be added before that one, but only after a third one, and these two had to be added in combination if they were in unequal amounts, but separated by those furry things if in equal amounts, to prevent explosions... it was fascinating, really.

Luckily, even Snape couldn't justify assigning potions recipes using ingredient combinations he hadn't already made them study, otherwise this would have been impossible. As it was, Ginny was still guessing at the characteristics of their final product.

Given the amount of quills, and considering they were probably aiming for something only mildly caustic and corrosive -- just enough to attack mildew without damaging the surfaces underneath -- they would need at least two and one seventh ounces of salamander scales, but absolutely no more than two and five eights, or they'd have something fizzy and alcoholic that would only turn mildew neon pink. Best results probably obtained by using two and three sixteenths ounces, which was good since she didn't have the equipment to measure in sevenths of an ounce anyhow. Scales to be added after the quills, but before the dragon's blood, which would be the final ingredient.

"Right," said Ginny, straightening from her calculations. "Get the dragon's blood from Snape. I'll start mixing the potion." Electra sniffed but moved off. After the spectacular disaster of their third lesson, they'd come to a tacit agreement that Ginny would be the one who actually handled the more distasteful ingredients, but Electra would get them from Snape -- Electra and slimy things, the class had learned, were a dangerous combination, while Ginny was apparently as apt to throw something at Snape and storm out of the room as she was to fetch the required ingredients. This way caused less trouble for all concerned.

Electra stirred the potion slowly, making disparaging comments about Ginny's chopping technique. Ginny bottled up her instinctive retorts, only snapping occasional instructions, such as, "Twenty times widdershins, then toss in the basil leaf. Keep the heat steady." Barely two minutes before the time limit, Ginny poured in the diluted dragon's blood, using it to trace a careful figure eight into the brown sludge in the cauldron, then nodded at Electra to stir twelve times clockwise. She counted off the strokes, watching for any signs of an adverse reaction, and breathed a sigh of relief when the potion thinned, burbled, and quietly changed to a pale sky blue.

"Yes! It worked," she said, smiling at nobody in particular.

"Cool," said Electra, forgetting for a minute that she disliked Ginny. "I'll have to owl my mum and dad about this." The two girls grinned at each other, before suddenly recalling that they were enemies. There was a long pause.

"Good stirring, Electra," said Ginny awkwardly.

"Of course," said Electra, sniffing. "I suppose you aren't half bad at measuring and mixing," she added grudgingly.

"Of course," said Ginny.

Snape was unable to find anything to criticize about their potion, though he did remark disparagingly on the state of Ginny's work area -- for which he deducted two points from Gryffindor. Ginny bit her tongue to keep from screaming. Someday she was going to prove to him that Weasley or no Weasley, Gryffindor or no Gryffindor, she was the best Potions student in this class -- and she was going to shove his face in it! Slimy git.

Snape moved on to Daphne and Ruth, relieving Ginny of the immediate temptation to punch his nose. He praised the Slytherins' Cheering Concoction, even though it was salmon colored instead of yellow-orange. Then he complimented Daphne on an excellent use of ingredients, despite the remains of unevenly chopped mistletoe scattered over her table. Ginny seethed; Daphne grinned at her.

Finally the lesson was over. The students exploded into the dank corridor, desperate to escape the oppressive reek of Snape's classroom. Granted, the corridor air had distinct overtones of mildew, rot, and things better left unnamed and unseen -- but it was still better than the aroma of poisonous fumes, explosions, and various unpleasant concoctions that had seeped into the walls of the Potions dungeon over the years. Ginny heaved a sigh of relief.

"Hey," said Susan, tapping Ginny on the shoulder. "Can we talk for a minute?"

Ginny shrugged. "Sure. But hurry -- I want to get some lunch before History of Magic."

Susan nodded and led Ginny into a nearby storage room. "Listen, Ginny," she said, talking fast as if expecting to be interrupted, "the boys and I decided to talk to you about Apple and Daphne. See, we know Daphne ruined your potion our first lesson, and you had to clean up after the flying lesson, but we can't figure out why you're so angry about it. She's a great person, really -- and there's no reason to be angry with Apple just because of her cousin. Besides, according to Apple and Daphne, you haven't been very nice either, which isn't like you.

"So what's going on?"

After a few seconds, Ginny realized she probably ought to be reacting. She shook her head slightly. "Come again?"

Susan looked exasperated. "What's going on between you and Daphne? The boys and I want to know, because we like her, and we like you, and it's no good if you two hate each other. Clear?"

"Yeah, clear," said Ginny, clenching her hands. A lingering tendril of steam rose from her ear. "I don't like Daphne because she lied to me. She ruined any chance I had of doing well in Potions -- which was practically none anyhow, just because I'm a Weasley. She was cruel to one of my friends before the Sorting. And she almost got people killed during flying!"

Ginny took a deep breath. "She's not a 'great person, really;' she's evil. And she made Apple hate me, too, and now you and the boys will hate me, and it's all wrong because you're supposed to be on my side -- you're Gryffindors! Why can't anyone see that?"

Susan held up her hands, looking apprehensive. "Breathe, Ginny. Be calm. Think peaceful thoughts -- deep breaths now..."

"I will not calm down!" yelled Ginny. It felt good to yell; she'd bottled up her frustration far too long. "I hate Daphne and Apple and Snape and Colin and all of you, too! You're all a bunch of damned, stinking traitors. Go away and leave me alone."

Susan backed away, never taking her eyes off Ginny. "Fine, then -- if that's what you think -- if that's what you want -- we'll leave you alone. See how you like it!"

Ginny watched with satisfaction as the other girl stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind her. She'd made Susan go away, all by herself. She'd made Susan afraid. Was that what Tom meant by power?

The ridiculousness of the situation struck her suddenly -- one eleven year old girl chasing another out of a dungeon room filled with dented and rusty cauldrons. A fit of giggles rushed up from her stomach, and she leaned against the wall, laughing. "'Go away and leave me alone,'" she gasped between giggles, "and she went. Power -- may they all smell like mildew and turn neon pink! Please Merlin, let that happen too..."

The fit passed as quickly as it began, leaving Ginny drained and achy; her bones felt heavy and her hair seemed to be made of fine-spun lead wires, pressing her down. What on earth had she just done? All that work to befriend Susan and the boys thrown away in five minutes, because of stupid Apple and Daphne. It wasn't fair! It wasn't her fault she was angry -- it was Percy, and Electra, and Snape, and Daphne -- always Daphne.

Ginny checked her watch absent-mindedly and yelped. Toad guts -- she was going to be late for History of Magic. Tucking her hair behind her ears, she ran toward the stairwell.

---------------------------------------------

The princess walked through the twisting corridors of the castle, her steps sure and quick, carrying her past the shattered doors and bloodied corpses. The dragon slumbered in the hidden chamber, spelled into the sleep of generations, awaiting the call of the heir. Awaiting her call.

She hurried through the passages and down the shifting stairs, following the whispers of the dragon's dreams, drifting upward through the walls. The entrance to the chamber -- the secret gateway -- was nearby; she could feel it in her bones.

The battered stones of the corridor were cold against her bare feet, and her thin nightdress billowed around her legs. Pale moonlight shone through the shattered windowpanes, illuminating her path...

The princess paused in confusion -- nightdress? Bare feet? Moonlight? She wore thick robes of finest wool, as befitted her station, and she walked in daylight -- she had no secrets to hide -- and she was looking for... for the... the...

What was she looking for? Where was she? What was happening to her?

Ginny slid to the floor, back pressed against the wall, shaking her head in confusion and blinking in the darkness. Right. First things first -- she plainly wasn't in her bed, where she ought to have been. It was night. She'd been dreaming about the bloody princess and her bloody dragon again. And now she was barefoot, in her nightdress, in what seemed to be a corridor near the first floor girls' bathroom -- the haunted one.

She was obviously losing her mind.

"Sleepwalking," she muttered. "I was sleepwalking. But I don't sleepwalk! I didn't think people really sleepwalked -- it doesn't make sense -- oh God, I'm going mad."

A faint noise jerked her head up, and she peered down the faintly-lit corridor. Two reflective eyes stared balefully back at her from the shoulder of a massive marble statue. Ginny squeaked -- Mrs. Norris, Filch's cat, had spotted her.

Gathering herself, Ginny pushed herself upright and ran straight for the cat, hoping Filch was sneaking down the other end of the corridor. A hoarse shout from behind her confirmed her guess, and Ginny felt a spark of hope -- maybe she might escape. Dashing to the nearest stairwell, she tore up the steps, muttering under her breath, "Please move, please move, please move, please don't let me get caught, please--"

"Bastard stairs!" Filch's angry yell was far too close for her peace of mind, and Ginny rushed up another flight of steps before daring to look down. The flight on which Filch stood was hovering indecisively in mid-shift, seemingly unsure of where to redirect itself. Filch, his line of pursuit cut off, beat furiously on the banister, cursing to no avail.

"Thank you," whispered Ginny, patting a banister. It twitched under her hand, as if embarrassed. She was sure the stairs would be blushing, if only they could.

Taking advantage of her sudden reprieve, Ginny hurried back to the Gryffindor common room and knocked gently on the Fat Lady's portrait frame. "Please wake up," she whispered. "I need to get in before Filch comes up here."

"Eh?" mumbled the Fat Lady. "What on earth are you doing out so late, young lady?"

"Never mind that -- flibbertigibbet! Filch is coming -- let me in!"

Grumbling, the Fat Lady swung open and Ginny scrambled through the portrait hole, pulling the painting gently closed behind her. "Sorry!" she whispered, hoping the Fat Lady heard.

Ginny crept through the common room, weaving cautiously through the furniture. The fire was banked to embers, its ruddy light lending no additional illumination to the streaming moonbeams, but its flickering making the shadows jump and twist, obscuring the familiar room. Twice Ginny barked her shins on chairs that sprang out of nowhere -- she was sure they hadn't been in those positions earlier that evening -- but she reached the relative safety of the stairs without disaster. The stairs, being solid stone, were mercifully silent.

Ginny slipped into the dorm room with her breath held and fingers crossed. The door squealed softly as it closed behind her, and across the room Susan shifted and grumbled in her bed. Ginny froze. Susan shifted again, sighed, and fell silent. Soft, regular breathing whispered through the room; the four girls were asleep.

Collapsing on her bed, huddled into a tight ball under the covers, Ginny gave way to the hysteria she'd been fighting since waking in the corridor. "Oh God, oh God, oh God," she whispered, hugging her knees to her chest. She shook violently as the warm quilt leeched the chill from her body -- the icy fear in her bones remained.

After several minutes, she uncurled enough to snag her quill and ink from the night table and pull the diary out from under her pillow. She hesitated -- it was nearly midnight; would Tom be awake? It didn't matter. She needed to talk to him.

"Dear Tom," she wrote, "wake up. I need to talk to you."

Tom responded instantly. "Hello Ginevra. What happened? Are you hurt?"

Ginny hissed out a breath she hadn't known she was holding. "No, I'm okay. Sort of. Tom, I've been having a strange dream since I came to Hogwarts, and tonight I woke up from it and I was sleepwalking down on the first floor. And then Filch chased me all the way back here, except the stairs shifted and he didn't catch me, and it was so cold and dark and empty, and I don't know what's going on, and I think I'm going crazy, Tom!"

"Ginevra, be calm. Breathe. You're safe now."

Ginny took several deep breaths and relaxed her hands before she risked snapping her quill and upsetting the ink bottle. "Thanks. Sorry," she scribbled.

"It was nothing." An intangible shrug seemed to radiate from the diary. What else would a friend do? Now, Ginevra, please tell me what happened tonight -- calmly."

Ginny scrabbled for the ink bottle, dipping her quill slowly and trying to be calm. She forced some organization onto her thoughts and began writing. "Since I got to Hogwarts, I've been having a recurring dream every few nights. I dream that I'm a princess walking through a ruined castle. It's always empty; I'm the only one there. I'm looking for a dragon that sleeps in a secret room at the castle's heart. The dragon will save my kingdom from whatever threatens it -- sometimes it's a dark witch, sometimes it's people who are related to monsters, and once or twice it's been an army.

"Tonight, I was having the dream and I woke up on the first floor, near the girls' bathroom, the one that Moaning Myrtle haunts. Then Mrs. Norris spotted me and I had to run from Filch. One of the staircases moved or he would've caught me. I had to wake the Fat Lady to get in, and she was awfully put out with me.

"It was dark down there, and cold, and I didn't even have my slippers on. I've never had a recurring dream before. And I don't sleepwalk -- only crazy people sleepwalk, right? Tom, I think I'm going mad."

"Ginevra, you are NOT mad," wrote Tom, his words almost raising reverse ridges on the paper. "Trust me. It's perfectly normal to be shaken after sleepwalking, particularly if you've never done so before. And I believe being chased through a dark, old castle at midnight -- by Filch, no less -- would unsettle anyone.

"As for your dream, you say it started at Hogwarts, correct?"

"Yes," answered Ginny.

"Well, that explains the castle. As for why the castle is deserted -- you've never been away from your home and family for any extended period of time before this year, correct?"

"Yes," wrote Ginny, wondering what Tom was hinting at.

"I suspect you're missing your family. And since, for unaccountable reasons, you haven't found close friends here, you don't have much to distract you from that sense of loss. Therefore the castle is deserted. As for the violence and destruction, that may well be caused by a sense of betrayal over Daphne's deception on the Hogwarts Express. That would also explain the dark witch who is sometimes the cause of the devastation.

"The dragon is something that will 'save' the kingdom. In other words, you're searching for something that will help you replace your family, find friends, or possibly get revenge on Daphne.

"The sleepwalking I can't explain offhand, but I'm sure it's nothing serious. You had a bad day, after all -- remember your argument with Susan. That's enough to throw anyone off for a night. I wouldn't worry much about it."

Ginny nibbled on a fingernail, brushing the feathery tip of the quill back and forth across her cheek. It seemed almost too easy an explanation... but it did make sense. Tom obviously knew a lot more about dreams than she did.

"I guess you're right," she wrote. "Thanks, Tom. I think I can get back to sleep now."

"Wonderful!"

Ginny groaned under her breath. "You're not supposed to tease me after I've almost had hysterics. I could start crying again."

"Hysterics?" scoffed Tom. "Hysterics? Not my Ginevra -- she's a Weasley. Who are you, imposter?"

"Oi! You leave my family out of this, Riddle," wrote Ginny, grinning. "And I could so cry if I wanted to. I could. I bet it would get awfully damp in there after a few minutes..."

Tom scribbled a tiny drawing of a face with its tongue stuck out. "Perhaps, but the spell on the book collects all liquids and saves them for me, so I'd dry off soon enough. Besides, I don't have a physical form. I'm only a memory -- not quite real."

"You're real! You're my best friend -- nobody's ever understood me like you, Tom. Don't put yourself down."

There was a short pause. "Am I really your best friend, Ginevra?" Tom's hand was hesitant.

"Of course you are," wrote Ginny firmly. "I don't care that you're a memory in an enchanted diary -- you're more real than most of the people here. I wouldn't trade you for any of them."

"Well," wrote Tom, seemingly lost for words. "Well. Thank you. I wouldn't trade you either, Ginevra. A few people have written in the diary since the real me created it, but you're the only one to treat me as a person. Thank you."

"You're welcome. Good night, Tom."

"Good night, Ginevra."

Ginny set the ink and quill on her night table, killed the Lumos spell, and stretched out under the covers, one hand resting lightly on the diary. She smiled. Repeating dreams and sleepwalking weren't much -- Hogwarts was full of oddities, after all -- and she could face anything so long as she had Tom. The only thing better would be for him to have a physical shape, to be able to leave the diary. It would be nice to see him -- she was sure he was handsome, with dark hair and elegant hands.

As she drifted to sleep, she mumbled her wish aloud, caressing the diary. The book quivered and grew warm under her hand, straining towards something. Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, a translucent mist seeped from the pages of the book and hovered over the sleeping girl.

"You'll get your wish soon enough, Ginevra Weasley," the mist whispered. "Just keep writing and you'll get your wish." A cool, insubstantial hand -- elegant and long-fingered -- brushed over Ginny's hair. The mist smirked as she shivered. "Sleep well, Ginevra. I'll see you soon enough."

In her sleep, Ginny smiled.

---------------------------------------------

End of Chapter Four