Backfire

CHAPTER 5

Internal Battles

"Miss Weasley, stay after class."

Snape had turned back toward his desk before she could look up from her cauldron. Ginny smirked, but had to command herself not to turn around to her left to share a look with Andy, as was her usual practice after an run-in with the Potions Master. She knew her friends were becoming suspicious, since McGonagall had asked her to stay after double Transfiguration the afternoon before. At this rate, she was guessing that the new Defense professor would follow suit next period in double Defense.

Luckily, Andy wasn't sitting right next to her like he did in every other class. In Potions, she had partnered with Devon Pearce--gasp, a Slytherin! What would Ron say?--ever since the beginning of third year. It had started out as a mutually beneficial arrangement, and had surprisingly turned into an unspoken . . . dare she say friendship?

The first day of third-year Potions, Ginny had already found that she was no longer afraid of Snape, and had determined over the summer that she was going to do everything in her power to give him as good as she got. Coincidentally, that morning, Devon had been smarting from a heated fight with her then-best friend, one Olivia Flint who, besides being the Draco Malfoy of their year and Marcus Flint's younger sister, was Ginny's arch nemesis at Hogwarts.

In a turn of utmost defiance that would, unbeknownst to them, strangely bond the two girls together for years to come, Devon had forsaken her usual seat at the double with Olivia and took the seat next to Ginny. Inordinately pleased at the opportunity to hack off both Professor Snape and Olivia at the same time--two birds, and all that--Ginny played along like a champ. But then, something happened.

The first week passed, and the next, and still they sat next to each other.

When they had come back from the Christmas holiday that year, Ginny had been unsure as to whether they would continue their partnership, but when she dared to sit next to Devon yet again, and Devon didn't move away, she smiled to herself and they had carried on ever since.

What was more, her talent and meticulous work rubbed off on Devon, bringing her to third in the class in Potions (behind Ginny and another Slytherin Ginny found not to be terribly objectionable, Constantine Cardenas). The two of them became an institution. When exam time came around, their classmates had flocked to study with them and it eventually morphed into somewhat of a tradition. Once word of it had spread to the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, their now biannual review sessions (before Christmas and before finals in the spring) attracted a faithful following of 31 of the 33 students in their year.

Only Olivia and her new best friend (since Devon's third-year defection) Maxine Leyton did not deign to show their faces.

And while Ginny's skills and humor had improved Devon's academic position, Devon had given Ginny something in return: on the rare occasion Ginny edged too close to losing her composure in front of Snape--when his remarks became especially personal, leaving the familiar territory of her hair, her family's poverty, and her personality, and jumping head-long into quiet references to her first year--Devon would be there with a clearing of her throat or a faked cough, or she would drop her wand, effectively distracting Ginny from being caught up in the memories and reminding her of where she was, that she had an ally sitting right there next to her.

Ginny wasn't sure how much Devon knew about what had actually occurred with Tom Riddle's diary, but she had gotten the impression that most of the older Slytherin students had a pretty good idea. They were all purebloods, as far as she knew, and all the pureblood families were related, the Slytherins more so than the others. Thus, most of them also had ties, intimate or somewhat removed, to the Death Eaters.

The Pearces, much like the Ramseys, had never been involved with the Dark Arts, at least back to the days of Grindelwald. But Ginny was well aware that Devon's aunt by marriage had been a Black, a cousin of Sirius'. She had seen their names on the Black family tapestry.

Not that Ginny was suspicious of Devon--or the Ramsey twins, the Greengrass sisters, fifth-year Prefect Quentin Crowe, or the Quidditch-playing Skillman brothers, Adam and Grady--but she was deeply curious. Much like her curiosity where Snape was concerned, she wanted to know what it was about them in particular that they had broader minds, clearer eyes, straighter spines, or different principles than their more hateful, prejudiced housemates.

What it was that led seventh years Baron Ramsey and Adam Skillman, and fifth year Grady Skillman, to show their respect for her Quidditch abilities. Why Gretchen Ramsey flaunted her friendship with Katie Bell. What led Devon to sit next to her in Potions every day after that first morning in third year. Why Quentin Crowe had voiced his disapproval that she had not been made a Prefect.

What was it that would keep all of them from becoming Death Eaters?

What had caused Snape to renounce his conviction as one?

She was drawn out of such intense thoughts as she felt Devon trying to glare at her from the corner of her eye. Ginny shook herself out of her reverie and dove into the first Potions lesson of the year. She couldn't very well muck up the first assignment of O.W.L. year, now could she? Heavens, no. She had a reputation to uphold.

* * *

"I'll be along in a second, yeah?" Ginny said as her friends left her behind in the Potions classroom. She took a deep breath and turned to walk up to Snape's desk at the front of the room. Even as she stood next to him, he did not look up from his desk. Ginny rolled her eyes at his posturing.

"You wanted to see me, Professor?" He finished the sentence he was writing and looked up.

"Have a seat, Miss Weasley." It took all of her self-control to keep herself from shaking her head. Having gotten over her fear of him made his efforts at terrorizing his students almost comical at times. (Of course, there were still times when he could rattle her; the difference between Ginny at twelve and Ginny at fifteen was that she didn't show it). She sat, and waited for him to continue. He did, but not until he forced her to withstand his hateful scrutiny. She was proud of herself for every second that she was able to calmly return his stare.

"I have been informed of your intention to take your Potions exam at Christmas," he began, finally. Ginny didn't dare answer, outside of the slightest nod. Her close observation over the years had taught her that the less students spoke, the less abrasive he tended to be. "You must know that I haven't the slightest intention of helping you or giving you special treatment because of this."

"Yes, sir." That's the way. Keep it short and submissive.

"You will have to make up the extra material completely on your own time and at your own expense. I cannot spare ingredients or lab space for your extracurricular work." Yeah, because you've got your own "extracurricular work," right, Professor?

"I understand, sir."

"And on the chance that hell freezes over and you actually score the requisite grade for the N.E.W.T. Potions class, you will be responsible for all the material covered earlier in the year. You will be given no allowances there, either."

"I understand, sir."

Here he paused and his scrutiny of her intensified. He had almost a trace of concern at her calm, repetitive responses. He must think her to be a puzzle after dealing with all her brothers. She was neither as loud nor as vulgar as Ron and the twins, but she wasn't obsessed with pleasing him like Percy or Bill, either. It appeared that he honestly didn't know what to make of her. She decided to ask some questions of her own--might as well catch him while he's off balance.

"Can Professor Wrightman be trusted?" she asked, coolly and bluntly. He started ever so slightly, letting her know that her question had taken him as much by surprise as was probably possible. Of course, any trace of that almost-surprise disappeared in an instant.

"I find it strange and more than a little arrogant that you would ask me this question. Would it not be better to ask the headmaster for this information?" He was back to his casual snarky-ness, which, happily, was where Ginny felt most comfortable with him. It meant that he was most likely going to be sporting about his insults rather than vindictive and mean-spirited. It certainly helped that she'd peaked his interest with her question.

"With all due respect, sir, I have found the headmaster to be an unreliable judge of Defense Professors in the past. It would be much more prudent to find out your opinion on the matter."

"And why would you take my view over that of the headmaster, who dotes on your House and gives you whatever you desire?"

"Because you don't trust anyone. And you are an expert with regard to certain . . . matters of concern."

"Matters of concern?" A lesser man would not have been able to ask that question without betraying his own curiosity. Bravo, Professor.

"Whether she poses a threat to Harry. What it is that she's hiding from everyone." He smoothly ignored the first concern.

"What makes you so sure that she's hiding something?" Okay, now he was just plain patronizing her.

"Everyone has something to hide, Professor. You, of all people, know that."

"Me, of all people?" Now she openly let her exasperation show.

"I may have been stupid and trusting when I was eleven, sir, but I hope that, unlike some of my brothers, I have learned from my mistakes."

"How splendid for you." Ginny almost smiled at his response.

"Shall I humor you with my reasons?" She checked behind her to make sure no other students had come in through the open door. When she spoke again, she lowered her voice and leaned in a little. "You know that I know what your primary task is for the Order. From your comments in class I have no doubt that you're aware of the details of my first year. You were a Slytherin, just like Professor Wrightman.

"But more than all of this, you do not have the same deep loathing for her that you've had for every other Defense instructor to pass through this school while I've been a student. Your conversations and interactions with her lack the obvious hatred and resentment you reserve for everyone else, and what's more, your civility toward her is not forced. Formal, perhaps, but not against your will. You respect her, and you think highly of her. What I need to know is whether she poses a danger to me or Harry, and what skeleton she's got in her closet."

"Your concern for your fellow Gryffindor is touching. Or were you hoping that playing the informant would win you his affections?" Ginny didn't even blink at the dig. For some reason it was much easier to be teased about Harry by Snape than by her friends.

"Hardly. My own self-interest just happens to coincide with his in certain areas."

"Does it?"

"If I were to give you information, would it be at all vulnerable to being discovered by Tom Riddle?"

"Excuse me?" The blunt questions seemed to be working very well for her. He was obviously too used to students being afraid of him.

"I have given the headmaster permission to pass on sensitive information to you if the need arises. However, I find that I may need your advice, and I'm willing to tell you now, unless there is any way Tom Riddle could acquire it through you. My life--and others--may depend on it."

He kept up his stone-faced expression and Ginny had to admit that he was a bloody brilliant spy. She doubted that he already knew about her wandless powers (Professor McGonagall had given no indication that she had been informed) and she had very much come to suspect that he was the type of man who would bristle at being kept out of the loop. It was kind of ironic, but he and Sirius had been very similar that way.

"I can assure you that anything you might believe to be important is in no danger of being revealed by me." Just for that last jab of condescension, Ginny decided to show off a bit. A wave of her right hand and a mumbled "Colloportus!" seemed to do the trick. As the door to the classroom slammed shut and locked, she turned back to him.

"Anything?" she snarked back at him. Still, she was impressed. The only traces of his surprise were in his slightly open mouth and the slight widening of his eyes. He abruptly cast a silencing ward around the classroom, closed off the fireplace, and for the first time in their conversation, closed his papers and gave her his undivided attention. "Are we secure here?"

"Yes. I have warded the classroom so that there are certain places even the headmaster cannot penetrate. How extensive are your wandless powers." Ginny marveled at how he could make a question sound like a statement--just another small way in which he could avoid putting himself at someone else's mercy and maintain control of the conversation.

"I can conjure a Patronus and I can Apparate without a wand."

"Be serious, Miss Weasley."

"Serious as a heart attack, Professor."

"Then show me." Mother fucker. There was no way in hell she was going to let Snape see that her Patronus was Harry. No-effing-way. She knew what her weaknesses were, and she had no illusions about any temporary détente she and Snape might share for the next few minutes. As soon as she left, he would use that knowledge ruthlessly against her.

"I can't Apparate on Hogwarts' grounds." It was only a matter of time until he found the location of this particular weakness, but she wouldn't permit him to find out the exact nature of it unless it was over her cold, dead body.

"Conjure a Patronus, then."

"I'd rather not."

"And why is that." Again, it was a statement, not a question.

"Self-interest and all that. You're a Slytherin, you should understand." He narrowed his eyes at her, perhaps wondering how much of himself Tom Riddle had actually left behind.

"You have your own share of things to hide, then."

"Yes, sir. And I reckon you have enough for the both of us."

"Assuming, only for the sake of argument, that you can do these things wandlessly. What does this have to do with me." Yet another question-that-wasn't.

"I want to learn Occlumency."

"You do, do you."

"Again with the self-preservation. I have certain . . . shall I say, advantages over your esteemed master. Leaving my mind vulnerable to him or his servants would compromise that advantage. You were supposedly instructing Harry in the subject last year." A shade passed briefly over Snape's countenance, but it was gone so fast, Ginny thought she may have imagined it. "As you cannot possibly deny, I am much more receptive to your instructional methods than he is."

"Don't sound so proud of yourself, Miss Weasley," Snape replied, rising from his seat and turning away from her toward his bookshelves, sliding smoothly back into his bitter, mean-spirited posture. "That is certainly no difficult feat. I hardly think you would prove to be a better student at this particular subject."

"Except that my connection with Tom Riddle has equipped me with much more tangible benefits than Harry's. I have Tom Riddle's talent for mind exploration without the obstacle of his consuming hatred. I am very likely predisposed for it given the way my contact with him has enhanced my mental faculties. Think about it, Professor. It will be like getting a do-over with Tom Riddle, but without the bitterness and self-loathing; you could succeed where the headmaster and your predecessors failed. And something else I doubt you've ever had: A willing student."

As Snape was still turned toward the shelves and showing no sign or responding, Ginny glanced at the clock on the wall. She had barely enough time to exchange her Potions things for her Defense materials and race to class on time. She rose from her seat and addressed his back.

"If there's nothing else, sir, I ought to get to Defense class before it gets any later." She turned to leave, barely slowing down to grab her bag at her seat on her way out. Her quiet command of "Alohomora!" at the door was followed closely by parting words from the Potions Master.

"Miss Weasley," he commanded, causing her to turn halfway back around.

"Yes, Professor?"

"I can assure you that, whatever she may be hiding, Gertrude Wrightman poses absolutely no threat to Mr. Potter, intentional or otherwise."

"Thank you, sir," she said, trying desperately hard not to smile in satisfaction. She walked out and shut the door behind her.

* * *

Ginny slid into her seat next to Andy in the Defense classroom. Kerney and Nadine sat at the double next to them, an arrangement carefully chiseled and codified after the first three years of Hogwarts proved that under no circumstances could Nadine and Andy work together. Or, at least, work together without something dreadful happening to one of them. They had only been back to school for two days and already Ginny was struggling to keep a straight face around the two of them.

On the other hand, Kerney was past all stages of amusement, and had begun to just hex them whenever they started in on each other. Nadine had already been to see Madam Pomfrey on account of the disgusting mole Kerney had installed on her face the day before after Nadine had leaned over her to shout something not very lady-like at Andy during Herbology.

Kerney Scott was not the type to create a spectacle. Where Ginny was more powerful and direct (two words: Bat-Bogey), the Kernel was much more subtle. Ginny was glad to be on good terms with her, because if you got in the doghouse with the Kernel, it might be days before you realized, yes, that was indeed a tail you were growing, and bloody hell, you need to see Madam Pomfrey right now.

Luckily, Ginny had never been on the receiving end of that particular punishment. She knew not to get on Kerney's nerves; in fact, she wasn't altogether sure how everyone else managed to get caught in her friend's wrath. Kerney was not what one would call a high-strung or particularly needy friend--which was probably why Ginny had made an exception to her unspoken rule against being close mates with girls.

Ginny marveled at how the best looking and most easy-going bloke below sixth year could suddenly become so tense and self-conscious, but every time Andy blushed in front of Nadine (usually when another girl, whether older, younger, or fifth year, would throw herself at him . . . which was often) Ginny had to fight desperately to keep from laughing, even more so because it was quite obvious that Nadine didn't have a clue as to the reactions her jealous scowls (her mere presence, really) were having on him.

Ginny's thoughts were interrupted as the most graceful woman she had ever seen emerged from the office in the rear of the classroom and stood in front of the class.

If Weasleys were Slytherins, would we get metal rods implanted in our spines, too? Ginny wondered. Professor Wrightman had better posture than anyone she had ever laid eyes on. But the real kicker was, it didn't look forced, either by tension, as Snape's always did, or by virtue of having to train the body. She remembered a brief stage when she was very young, where her mother had attempted to force good posture upon Ron and the twins. One could imagine how that turned out.

As Professor Wrightman introduced herself and began to call the roll, Ginny noticed that her teacher would look up and catch the eye of each student after she called their names. Ginny wasn't sure if she was imagining things, but thought she noticed the woman pause a little longer when her eyes landed on Andy. A few names later, her own was called.

"Ginevra Weasley," Professor Wrightman said in a clear, articulate voice.

"Here," Ginny responded promptly, trying match her teacher's tone as best she could. She raised her hand slightly as the teacher grazed her eyes about the room to match a face with the name. "But everyone calls me Ginny," she added once she had been spotted.

And if she thought Professor Wrightman may have paused slightly on Andy, she was sure the woman was doing it now. Ginny calmly continued to return the gaze of her teacher, determined not to break eye contact or in any other way show that she was rattled.

There was an almost imperceptible squint to her eyes, as if Professor Wrightman couldn't quite make her out--but it was gone as fast as it had appeared, and the regal woman smoothly moved into teaching mode to begin their first real Defense lesson in more than a year.

* * *

"Miss Weasley, would you stay behind a moment?" Professor Wrightman asked, as the class packed up their things to leave for lunch. Ginny looked up and nodded in response, turning back to her friends to find Andy and Kerney with annoyed looks on their faces.

"Dunno," Ginny said, shrugging, though she had more than just a hunch as to the subject of Professor Wrightman's request. Kerney's expression dipped into one of disappointment--and Ginny suspected her friend wasn't disappointed in not being told the reason for Ginny's sudden popularity with their teachers so much as she was disappointed in Ginny for such a patronizing and deceitful answer. Andy just sighed, as if he knew quite well that she wasn't telling them everything, but was resigned to waiting her out.

Ginny stifled a cringe. Outside of her brothers and Harry, Kerney and Andy were among the best people she knew, and she really hated that she'd been keeping things from them.

"I'll meet you at lunch, yeah?" she offered, with as much apology as she could inject into her tone.

They agreed and Nadine did not seem to share the knowing looks of the other two. After the three Gryffindors departed, Ginny left her half-packed school things and made her way into the back office where Professor Wrightman had gone.

"You wanted to see me, Professor?" Ginny said by way of announcing her presence. Her teacher looked up from a letter she had been reading and motioned for Ginny to sit down in the visitor's chair. She did, feeling the strange urge to straighten her back and cross her legs in the manner of her teacher.

"The headmaster tells me that you are taking your Defense O.W.L. early," she began. "Is that so?" Cuts right to the chase, doesn't she?

"Yes, ma'am," Ginny replied dutifully. Professor Wrightman nodded, though if her airtight demeanor had been inclined to give anything away, Ginny thought she might have been skeptical. Her professor resumed the scrutiny she had initiated in calling the roll.

"Forgive me, Miss Weasley, it's just that I don't recall anyone ever having done such a thing before." Ginny nodded in agreement, not having the faintest idea how to respond to such a comment. Her teacher continued. "May I ask if you are taking any others at that time?

"Potions and Transfiguration," Ginny supplied. At last Ginny received a reaction: eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Do you mind if I ask why you've arranged to do this? I know that your marks in Defense have been exemplary; in fact, given all your grades, I was surprised to see that you were not named a Prefect for your House. But why take them early?"

Ginny got the distinct impression that the woman across from her was not very comfortable with nonconformity, or, at the very least, she believed quite strongly in following custom and tradition.

"You may be aware of certain experiences in my life that lead me to expect future run-ins with Death Eaters, perhaps even Voldemort. I have certainly had more than my fair share already." Ginny paused to silently gauge her teacher's reaction, by which she was very impressed. Professor Wrightman had not flinched at all when she said Voldemort's name. Ginny continued:

"And frankly, I've already learned most of the fifth-year material." The professor took on a look of recognition.

"The D.A.?" Ginny smiled proudly.

"Mostly, yes. The rest I finished over the summer."

"Over the summer?"

"Well, I finished nearly all the theory from the fifth year text, but I've never had any trouble with the practical part of Defense . . . except for my Patronus, but I finally managed that this summer." Though Professor Wrightman showed nothing, Ginny got the distinct impression that she had piqued her teacher's interest with that last statement.

"Pardon me, but how were you able to practice magic outside of Hogwarts?"

"Oh, my friend brought me to Hogwarts to practice on my birthday." When her teacher pursed her lips ever so slightly, perhaps in disapproval (it was hard to tell with such a master of self-containment), Ginny explained further. "Professor Dumbledore knew all about it. He invited me, actually."

That wasn't a lie exactly, since Dumbledore had invited her. What did it matter if the invitation was for the purpose of receiving her letter from Sirius?

"So you and your friend practiced conjuring a Patronus."

"Yes. Well, I practiced. I suspect he's been able to do one for a long time."

"But you can now conjure one?"

"Yes."

"A corporeal Patronus."

"Yes." Ginny knew the inevitable, horrifying question was coming.

"What form does it take?" Ginny's cheeks burned. It was much more difficult to contain her reaction to embarrassing, Harry-related subjects in front of people who were not Professor Snape. At least Professor Wrightman seemed to be asking out of honest curiosity rather than doubt in her ability. But that didn't make her feel any less ridiculous about the form it took, or about having to dodge a perfectly reasonable question.

"Actually, I'd rather not say, if you don't mind. It's dreadfully embarrassing. I almost died of humiliation when I saw it, and I made Remus swear he wouldn't tell a soul." She felt like such an idiot to let this get to her, especially on the heels of such an admirable performance with Professor Snape. But she could not help thinking that it would be disastrous for more than just her pride if anyone found out.

Fortunately, this woman did not know about her history (if it could really be called that) with Harry, and would therefore not be the slightest bit suspicious about the true nature of her suppressed mortification. As Ginny calmed herself down, she noticed that her teacher was staring off in space a little. This was very unlike the behavior she had come to expect from her two Slytherin professors. When she noticed Ginny studying her, Professor Wrightman picked up her end of the conversation.

"Remus?" Ginny supposed it wasn't a very common name. "Is he one of your housemates?" Ginny smiled, not hiding any of her affection for the werewolf.

"Actually, I suppose he is, in a manner of speaking." He had been a Gryffindor, after all.

"In a manner of speaking?"

"Well, he was a Gryffindor when he was at Hogwarts. That's all I meant."

"But he's not anymore?"

"No. In fact, he taught Defense here my second year. He was the best one we've ever had. No offense, of course." But she might as well have not apologized, because for the first time Gertrude Wrightman seemed to be shaken by something. She looked quite stuck on the first thing Ginny had said.

"Are we talking about Remus Lupin?" Professor Wrightman asked, as close to surprised as Ginny thought possible. Which, compared to most people, wasn't very much. Ginny smiled again.

"Yes, Remus Lupin."

"And it doesn't bother you that he's a werewolf?" she asked. Ginny's temper flared in defense of her friend.

"No. Does it bother you?" she practically snapped.

And there it was again, emotional-Ginny rearing her ugly head, and getting regular-Ginny into trouble again. But she always got defensive on Remus' behalf. And now the same went for Sirius, as Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle had learned on the train. She calmed down a bit and didn't take time to be surprised at her teacher's reaction, which was less one of anger than it was curiosity.

"I'm sorry, professor. I didn't mean to snap at you. But he might be the only truly good man I know besides my father and my brothers. And if he hadn't been forced to resign by other people's ignorance and prejudice, we would have had him as a Defense teacher the last two years instead of an escaped Death Eater and a fascist ministry administrator who ruined our lives. If he'd been here last year instead of that horrible woman, then--" we could have gone to him and we would have known that Sirius was safe. And Sirius might still be alive.

Deep breath. Luckily she had cut herself off before saying anything she shouldn't. Seeing that Ginny was becoming distressed, Professor Wrightman cut in.

"I apologize. I had no intention of insulting either you, or your friend." Ginny nodded and sat back in her seat, thinking briefly that good posture could sod off. She was starting to believe that Professor Wrightman knew Remus. It would make sense if she really did know Snape from school.

"It's okay," Ginny offered. "I jumped to conclusions. I don't usually do that, but when people bring up the werewolf thing, it's usually the right conclusion to jump to."

"You are very protective of him."

"Well, yes, we all are." Ginny decided to try something. "Me, Harry, Hermione, and my brother, I mean. But Harry and I, especially." Ginny thought she was getting rather good a reading the new teacher's reactions, despite the older woman's impeccable ability to contain them. It probably helped to have had all that practice over the years with Professor Snape.

But in that first penetrating gaze during the roll call at the beginning of class, Ginny, who had already been blown away by how regally and gracefully this woman carried herself, had discerned that the one crack in her meticulously calm demeanor was her eyes. The shock of hearing Remus' name, and the affection with which Ginny spoke of him; the strong discomfort at Ginny's presumption in skipping ahead in three classes; and now sadness, were all absent from the professor's expression and body language, save the slight flashes of reaction in her eyes.

"Harry Potter." It was hard to tell whether the quiet acknowledgement was a question or a statement.

"Yes. Harry and my brother Ron are best mates. And Harry saved my life first year. You must have heard about the Chamber of Secrets . . . ." Ginny trailed off, not really in the mood to dwell further on that subject.

"Yes," her teacher confirmed, with no small amount of disgust in her voice. But it was quite clear that her disgust and disappointment were (thankfully) not aimed at Ginny. "I heard about the events concerning the Chamber of Secrets. I can't imagine the terror you two must have gone through." True enough, you can't, Ginny thought. "And at such a young age."

"Well, everything turned out well enough, I suppose," Ginny said, trying to steer the conversation away from that subject, and hopefully toward a conclusion. "Don't worry, Professor. I'm sure sometime soon I'll say or do something completely horrible and you won't feel the least bit sorry for me." She smiled in a way that she hoped conveyed her goodwill, and the professor's countenance eased.

But her posture remained impeccable. Ginny's resumed study of her teacher was interrupted by her stomach growling.

"If there's nothing else, Professor, I'd like to get some lunch before the Great Hall closes for the afternoon."

* * *

Not at all pleased with where that conversation had gone, Ginny resolved to work much harder at discretion in Professor Wrightman's presence. She made her way to the Great Hall, pausing in the doorway.

Everyone else was well into their lunch by now, and Ginny was caught between not wanting to eat lunch alone in the kitchens and wanting to confide in Andy and Kerney. She stood in the doorway for almost ten minutes before the Kernel happened to turn to the side just enough to catch Ginny's bright hair lurking there. At seeing this, Ginny put up her hand to catch her friend's attention.

Ginny held up three fingers and nodded toward the hallway, hoping that Kerney would catch on to her meaning. Sure enough, when there was a distraction from down the table (Duncan Moran's loud self-confidence could be very obliging, Ginny thought), Kerney leaned across the table and discreetly let Andy and Nadine know Ginny was there. Andy caught on and gently stopped Nadine from waving Ginny over to the table. Ginny smiled at this.

As her three friends appeared to be making their excuses for an early exit, her cover was almost blown when it looked like Colin had decided to join them in whatever they'd made up for the need to leave lunch halfway through. Ginny sighed audibly in relief when he was convinced to stay, and was turning to get herself out of sight, when Harry turned from smirking at whatever Duncan was saying to the older Gryffindor boys and spotted her.

Ginny held her breath again, praying that he would make no indication (particularly to Ron or Hermione) that he saw her, but there was no cause for anxiety. He made no show of noticing her, other than to furrow his eyebrows in question at her odd behavior (no doubt his concern had sprung from the apprehensive expression on her face). His attention was interrupted when Neville asked him a question, and Ginny took the opportunity to slide out of the doorway and out of sight.

A minute or so later, Andy, Nadine, and Kerney came around the corner. Nadine looked confused, to say the least; Andy looked expectant, and the Kernel appeared to be almost revoltingly pleased with herself.

"Kitchens?" Kerney asked.

"Kitchens," Ginny confirmed.

None of them spoke until they completed the hurried trip to the fruit portrait and Ginny tickled the pear.

"What are you doing?" Nadine asked, finally voicing the perplexity that had been all over her face since she'd come out of the Great Hall.

"Getting some lunch," Ginny answered as the painting sprang open and they all filed into the kitchens. She looked around and called out for Dobby.

"Miss Wheezy?" he answered as he trotted into view.

"Hi, Dobby," she said, smiling. Kerney looked amused at their exchange. Andy and Nadine had clearly never seen a house elf quite like Dobby. Then again, Dobby certainly was one of a kind.

"Oh, Dobby is so happy that Miss Wheezy has come with her friends to see him in the kitchens!"

"Of course I came to see you." She turned to her companions. "This is Andy, Kerney, and Nadine," she explained, pointing to each one in turn. "They are in fifth year just like me."

When the elves had scurried off to get them some lunch under Dobby's direction, the four Gryffindors found seats and Ginny jumped right into explanation. She had a feeling that if she delayed until after they ate, or thought about it too long, she might chicken out. And she really didn't want to do that. Kerney and Andy's faces had become more serious (though still expectant) and poor Nadine just looked relieved to finally be getting in the loop.

"What I'm about to tell you cannot, and I mean this in a life-or-death kind of way, it absolutely cannot leave this room. You can't tell a soul, and when I say that, you should understand that people's lives--including my own--could be at stake. So if you don't think you can handle that kind of pressure, you can go right now, no questions asked, no hard feelings."

Kerney and Andy both nodded soberly in response. Nadine's eyes went to Andy for some sign from him. She looked worried and unsure of what she was getting herself into. But Andy nodded at her in reassurance and then did something that Ginny (and Nadine, for that matter) had not been expecting. He grabbed her hand from her lap, gave it a squeeze, and did not let it go when he returned his attention to Ginny.

Nadine froze at the unexpected (but not unwelcome) contact, but recovered quickly and relaxed slightly, a blush running up into her cheeks. When Andy turned back to look at Ginny, she went on.

"Right then. You all know Voldemort's back." Andy and Nadine flinched at the name, but Ginny didn't notice. "What you don't know," among other things, Ginny thought to herself, "is that he's tried to come back before." Kerney didn't react to that, so as Ginny pushed on, she decided to keep her eyes trained on her calm and resolute friend. This was not going to be easy to begin with, and dealing with people's reactions was not something she looked forward to.

Hence Luna's extremely high value as a friend.

And so she told her friends about the Chamber of Secrets, and how she had been possessed by the diary; how she had trusted Tom and how she had been so horribly used. At the point when she got to Harry, how he had burst into the Chamber and talked with Tom, how she could see and hear everything but couldn't move or call out, she instinctively reached up to wipe her face with her arm, and discovered that tears were running heavily down her cheeks. She had no idea how long she had been crying.

The first sob shook her shoulders when the feeling of soul-shaking fear mixed with utter humiliation--feelings she had not felt with such intensity since that night in her first year--came pouring back over her.

As she went on through Harry's battle with the basilisk, the role Fawkes had played, and Harry saving her, she stuttered once and quickly recovered. The cause of the brief stutter was the markedly unexpected feeling of strong arms enveloping her from behind, but she did not look up to see whose they were.

She stared unseeing at Kerney as she finished the story, remembering how Harry had covered for her in Dumbledore's office when they had been confronted with her parents. When she was finished, she stopped to catch her breath, unconsciously leaning back into the embrace of her mystery comforter.

One glimpse of the scars winding around his forearms told her that she was being held by her brother. She was slightly surprised by this, but not so much by the fact that it was him, than the realization of how much bigger he was compared to the last time he had held her like this. Granted, it had been a very long time since then, and they had both grown considerably, but he still seemed bigger. It was almost like Bill holding her, except that Ron's arms were longer; longer and slimmer, but no less strong.

Upon realizing who it was, she closed her eyes and leaned fully into his chest. He smoothed her hair back out of her face, and replaced his hand back around her. When she had calmed down a little, when her breath had evened out, she stirred to sit up again, and offered Ron a small but appreciative smile. As she turned back to her friends to continue her explanations, her eyes found Harry watching her from the nook of the entrance to the kitchens.

If she had not been so distracted with her father's well-being at Christmas, Ginny would have recognized the intent gaze that Harry was giving her now. He had studied her the same way that night at Grimmauld Place as she lay curled up in a chair, staring into the fire and waiting for word on her father's condition. She thoughtfully noticed that she was not the least bit embarrassed by the spectacle he had just witnessed. She knew--though, admittedly, not first hand--that he was haunted by demons from his past quite as much as she was; indeed, probably more so.

Voldemort had dragged them both through unthinkable trials, and by the sober look on his face as he watched her, she knew that in witnessing her recollection he could see the familiar flashes of his own anguish. A squeeze from her brother reminded her of the four other people in the room, and she returned her full attention to her fellow fifth years.

Nadine looked shocked, now clutching at Andy's hand with not a little anxiety. Andy appeared to be in conflict between heartfelt sympathy and outrage on her behalf. Kerney, for once, did not have a knowing smirk on her face, and did not appear to be very sure of herself; instead she appeared shaken--but resolute. Ginny's "involvement" with the war against the dark lord and his followers was much deeper than any of them had anticipated.

As she continued illuminating her friends, her brother's embrace loosened so gradually that she only noticed its absence when he squeezed her shoulder to let her know he was leaving. Glancing toward the entrance, she saw that Harry was now standing rather than sitting scrunched up in the corner of the doorway, and she nodded thanks to Ron as he went to join his friend. The clicks of the painting opening and closing told her the fifth years were alone again.

At Harry and Ron's departure she dove into an explanation of the D.A., inviting them to join, ordering them to bring their siblings with them, and making sure they understood the gravity of commitment it required.

Finally, she enlightened them as to her wandless powers and her plan to take three of her O.W.L.'s early. Neither Andy nor Kerney seemed particularly surprised at these last two disclosures, while Nadine's eyes appeared to widen with each revelation. When Ginny was finished, the four of them sat in silence. After about ten minutes, Kerney spoke up.

"We should get to Transfiguration. Don't want to piss of McGonagall in the first week, do we?"

This suggestion got the foursome moving. They all gathered their school things and followed the Kernel out of the kitchens, absent-mindedl thanking the house elves as they went.

* * *

A significant portion of Gryffindor Tower was dead to the world, having just completed the last afternoon of Quidditch tryouts. All the students appeared to be fast asleep, but those who had been on brooms for nearly five hours were particularly spent. Harry had been carrying out his duties as captain with gusto, determined to make up for his absence the previous year.

The new roster had been posted at midnight, following several hours of discussion between Harry, Ron, and Katie Bell. She doubted that any of them had done any homework. Then again, it was Friday, so it wasn't like Harry and Ron would have done any in the first place.

Ginny had been named a Chaser, and with her new broom, had found that Roman was right: she was now faster in the air than both Katie and Harry. The third Chaser spot had been filled surprisingly by Betsy Moran, Duncan's third-year sister and, perhaps more significantly, daughter of the Moran from the Irish National Team. She badly needed experience, but it was quite obvious that she had inherited her mother's natural talent.

Much to Ginny's delight, Stephen McGrath had blown away the competition for the Beater spots, and would be partnering a reasonably improved Jack Sloper. Andrew Kirke had not tried out again.

More than two weeks had passed since Ginny had divulged several of her secrets to her friends in the kitchens, and since then she had barely seen Harry or her brother outside of tryouts, let alone talked to them about what had happened. After that day in the kitchens she had wondered why Hermione had not been with them, finding it hard to believe that she would have let them run off without an explanation. At voicing this out loud, Kerney had informed her that Hermione had been in McGonagall's office for most of lunch that day on Prefect business.

With the Quidditch season underway, O.W.L. studies beginning in earnest, and the commencement of D.A. meetings twice a week, Ginny hadn't a moment to spare for conversation other than at meals or walking in the halls. And she wasn't the only one. Harry had a full schedule as well, plus the added responsibilities of being Quidditch captain. Ron and Hermione's schedules were just as tight with their Prefect duties.

It had gotten to the point where Harry had resorted to using Hedwig to communicate with her, and it was only through Hedwig that they had managed to set up their Potions study sessions. Harry had been understandably surprised--and a little put out at first--when he'd arrived at their initial meeting to find that Ginny was not alone.

Knowing that she worked best in Potions when she had her partner, Ginny had succeeded in convincing Devon to join them in their lessons three nights a week. Harry had been predictably skeptical at first, but Ginny's assurances and Devon's discretion had brought him around eventually.

Harry actually seemed to take quite well to Devon's treatment of him--she didn't seem to care one bit that he was the Boy-Who-Lived, and her natural, casual behavior around him only sped up his acceptance of her. Ginny had told her Slytherin partner only that she was taking her Potions O.W.L. early, but she thought Devon had an idea about her other two as well.

At any rate, all of the Gryffindors were in bed, many of them sound asleep, and none more soundly than the supremely worn out Ginny and Harry. But this would not be the case for long, at least as far as Ginny was concerned.

Ginny crept down the stairs of Grimmauld Place. It was not an unfamiliar action, despite the fact that the house was dark and no one else seemed to be awake. But Ginny knew better. She knew that if she continued down into the foyer and back into the small parlor tucked away in the rear of the house--a room that no one knew about save its owner, until Ginny had stumbled across it one afternoon in her forced solitude due to exclusion from Ron and Hermione's hushed conferences--she would find the person who had become her companion in that solitude.

She had gone into the secret room one night when she'd had a nightmare and didn't want to be in the same room with the happily ignorant and slumbering Hermione any longer.

She stepped from the stairs to the hallway, traversing the rest of the route she could by now have walked in her sleep. Sure enough, she found Sirius lounging in a large, high-backed chair in the corner of the room. He had spread out what appeared to be a collection of photos and albums on the coffee table in front of him.

But he wasn't looking at them. It looked as though he had been going through them earlier, but now he was leaning back in his seat and staring into space. He did not seem to notice as she entered the room and came over to the table.

One glance at the pictures on the top of the pile startled her, as they appeared (at first impression) to be of Sirius and Harry. But a few additional seconds of examination quickly allowed to her to see that the young man in the first picture had crisp blue eyes (quite unlike Sirius' stormy gray ones) and a slightly shorter, somewhat stockier build than the man before her.

Sirius finally noticed her presence when she reached out to pick up the one of the boy who looked so much like Harry. He watched her closely as she examined it. The boy in the picture had on what were quite obviously Gryffindor Quidditch robes, only they were not the same style as any she had seen her brothers wear.

It wasn't the absence of a lightning bolt scar that told her he must be James Potter, but a combination of smaller details that made the picture appear to her as though someone had tried to paint a portrait of Harry but had messed up on some of his features. It was like a not-quite-right Harry Potter. Rich, twinkling hazel eyes stared back at her instead of the bright, uneasy green ones she knew so well.

The boy's nose was narrower and his chin and cheek bones a bit sharper. And he was taller. Ginny wondered briefly if Harry's shoulders would come to be as broad and strong-looking as his father's. She could certainly appreciate what Lily must have found attractive about a boy like James, seeing as she was attracted to just that--a boy who looked like James.

Ginny wondered who the two girls standing next to James Potter in the picture were. One was a good deal shorter than Harry's father, with light brown hair tied back in little pigtails and a laughing smile. The other girl looked taller and a little more reserved, and it was obvious that the first girl was better friends with James. Both were in the same Quidditch robes as Harry's dad. She turned to Sirius.

"Who are the girls?" she asked him.

"Tracy and Nancy," he replied softly. "Nancy was captain our sixth year."

"He really does look like his dad, doesn't he?" she asked, though it was hard to tell whether the question was rhetorical or not.

"He certainly does," Sirius replied, knowing exactly who Ginny was talking about. Her eyes strayed back to the first picture.

"Is that your brother?" She saw Sirius' eyes harden from sadness to bitterness, but his voice remained even.

"Yes. Regulus, my little brother." Ginny took one of the pictures in each hand.

"They look like someone set out to get pictures of you and Harry, but messed up in spots. Just not quite right."

"That's how Harry looks to me," he replied. "Like someone tried to give me another James, but couldn't remember exactly how to put him together. Instead of hazel eyes, I see green ones. Instead of mischievous and audacious, he's anxious and quiet. Instead of arrogant, he's almost completely unsure of himself. Even the one place where he is sure of himself, he plays the wrong position. That's fitting, at least. James was the flashy one, scoring loads of goals as a Chaser and happy to be the center of entertainment for most of the game.

"But Harry--he's just like a Seeker, isn't he? Quiet the whole game, flying under the radar, until he comes through at the last second because he knows the outcome depends on him. Everyone knows that victory or defeat in Quidditch almost always depends on who catches the Snitch; they rarely hinge on anybody other than the Seeker. He's the lynchpin, the key to everything." Sirius trailed off a bit at the end, and the slightly faraway look on his face, the sadness (but not pity) that crept across it, gave Ginny the feeling that he wasn't talking about Quidditch anymore.

"You were lucky," Ginny blurted out, realizing how terrible it sounded only after it was out. In her jealousy at Sirius' obvious affection for his friend, and even his brother, Ginny had not stopped to think.

"Lucky?" Sirius repeated, nearly incredulous. "I'm a lot of things, Ginny, but I seriously doubt that anyone would include 'lucky' as one of them."

"Well, you had a best friend who loved you. And Harry loves you. That sounds like a pretty good deal to me." Sirius stared at her for a long time.

Uncomfortable under his scrutiny, she began to look through more of the photos on the small table. She opened a box that was labeled "R. Lupin" to find a group picture lying on the top. Decorations in the background hinted that the photo had been taken on Halloween, by the looks of it, only a few months after Harry was born.

Harry's dad was showing him off proudly to the camera, as a lovely young woman with rich red hair--the elusive Lily, presumably--smiled from his side. Remus stood next to James and Sirius stood on the other side of Lily with his arm around her waist. Ginny noticed that Lily kept trying to shake Sirius off, not unkindly, but more as if it was a practiced joke.

At the far left, on the other side of Remus, stood a shorter, chubbier young man, who could only be the infamous Peter Pettigrew. She wondered for a moment if he'd already begun his betrayal of his friends when the picture was taken, but then her attention was distracted by the people standing to the right of Sirius.

Immediately next to Sirius was another family of three, though the infant looked slightly younger than baby Harry. The parents were both tall and had blonde hair. The man was handsome and kind-looking, and in a very familiar way. She wondered where she possibly could have seen his face before. His dull blue eyes radiated contentedness. And his wife beamed alternately at him, the baby, and the camera. She would occasionally say something (though Ginny had no way of knowing what) and cause Lily and the father of the baby Ginny didn't know to chuckle.

Finally, at the right end of the picture were two boys who looked like they were either fresh out of Hogwarts, or in their last year. Ginny thought she wouldn't mind being asked to Hogsmeade by a bloke who looked like either of them.

But of all the people in the photo, the one that drew her attention was Lily, Harry's mum. She was a bit of a mystery. Everyone knew about James Potter, of whom Harry was the spitting image, the Head Boy, the Quidditch player, the Marauder, Sirius Black's best friend. But from what Sirius said, it sounded like Harry wasn't a thing like him outside of his looks.

Ginny wanted to know what Lily Potter had been like. Did Harry take after her instead? Was she as fierce and selective in her loyalty and affection as her son had come to be? Was she as unsure of herself as Harry was, despite the fact that everyone around her liked and respected her? She finally turned and met Sirius' gaze.

"What was Harry's mum like?" she asked. Sirius smiled sadly. Ginny's heart clenched.

"She was something else. Harry is like her, in some ways. She never believed that she was anything special, even though it was impossible for anyone else to deny that she was. She had a few very close friends that she trusted and protected with her life. She knew the difference between right and wrong, and stood up for what was right. She didn't ask to be a leader, but she always stepped up to the challenges that were thrown at her.

"In one way she was a lot like you, actually. Her sense of humor was magnificent. You have the same mix of sarcasm and spunk with a tiny hint of mischief that she had. Some of the things that come out of your mouth have me doing a double-take to make sure that I'm really talking with you and not her. But if I could say just one thing about her, it would be that that woman lit up every room she ever walked into. And she was my constant reminder that I didn't need this house," he paused, looking around the eternally dreary room, "or any of the things it represented."

Just then, the dream shifted, and Ginny found herself in the foyer of Grimmauld Place, still with Sirius, but joined by a real live version of Sirius' mum, as if the figure in the portrait had come to life. The horrible woman's voice was coaxing her in the same tones in which she had spoken to Ginny the night the painting had finally been destroyed. But it was encouraging instead disparaging her. Ginny could feel that she was trying to persuade herself to cast the Imperius curse on Sirius, who was sitting at the base of the stairs.

Ginny's mind (or was it her heart? Her soul, maybe?) protested the idea vehemently, but Ginny felt a small rush of adrenalin just at the idea. Mrs. Black kept telling her how good it would feel; how it would feel better than flying, better than kissing a boy. Sirius said nothing, but looked at her from his seat on the stairs with pleading eyes, eyes begging her not to give in.

But, just as she had eventually done with Tom Riddle, Ginny gave in. A twist of her wand, and a strong pronunciation of "Imperio!" brought her in control of Sirius' brain and body, and as she cast the spell and began to force her will on him, she felt a rush of power like nothing she had ever known.

She felt strong and untouchable; like she could take on Dumbledore and win. She wondered why a spell that created such a wonderful feeling could possibly be classified as "unforgivable." Sirius began to fight the curse, leading Ginny to attempt a stronger cast, but right as she was flicking her wand and about to say the incantation, she happened to meet Sirius' eyes again, briefly out from under the spell, and the utter sadness and regret in them tore Ginny from her sleep.

Ginny gasped as she awoke suddenly, drenched with sweat and breathing hard. Once it evened out, she peeped out of her bed hangings and saw that it was well past two in the morning. She sighed. It was only a few weeks into the term and she really couldn't afford to lose anymore sleep than she already had under her hectic schedule.

But she just couldn't shake the feeling--the utter high she had felt in her dream when she'd let that Imperius curse fly. And she couldn't shake the eerie feeling of familiarity that had come with it. She could not ever recall feeling that way before--the rush of power, like a mix between flying at top speed on her broom and the moment right before she had destroyed the painting at Grimmauld Place.

Except that this feeling was much stronger.

So much stronger that it scared her. She wondered why it did, when the feeling itself was so fantastic, and when there were so many other things that were darker, scarier, and more painful that didn't frighten her. She was certain that she'd never felt that way after casting a spell before.

And yet . . . it felt awfully familiar.

Ginny sat up in bed, momentarily wishing that Herpo would come and jump into her lamp. She'd found recently that when things got too hectic or she felt out of sorts, Harry's spunky little kitten had become a source of comfort. Petting him as he snuggled in her lap had the marvelous effect of calming her down and allowing her to sort out her thoughts.

With this in mind, Ginny got up, grabbed one of Charlie's old jumpers, and headed down to the common room on the slight chance that Herpo would be there. With one last (jealous) look at Kerney and Nadine's sleeping forms, she crept quietly out of the room and down the stairs.

The fire was low, nearly burnt out. A casual flick of her hand and a mumbled "incendio" brought it quickly back to life. Putting on her brother's sweater, she curled up on the couch in her usual manner, tucking her bare legs up near her wool-covered chest.

As she stared into the fire, she began to feel a piercing coldness gradually expanding inside her. It was hardly noticeable at first, but as it grew in intensity, Ginny froze, held her breath, and quickly started trying to think of how she could possibly describe what she was feeling. As strange as the feelings in her dreams had been, the coldness that was escalating in her now felt almost as if it was an aftertaste of them. Like it was part two or a continuation of the earlier, much more pleasant sensations.

She briefly remembered the exhaustion she'd felt the morning after she destroyed the portrait of Mrs. Black, but this was completely different. Rather than drained or exhausted, she actually felt bolstered in magical strength, despite the discomfort of the cold.

Her musings were interrupted as a stab of sharp, ice-cold pain shot up through her abdomen, feeling as though it pierced her heart. The pain was completely debilitating.

Her body, usually so warm, soft, and full of life, was crumpled in the fetal position on the couch as she endured pain beyond imagining; pain so gut-wrenching that it choked her to the point where she couldn't even scream.

When it finally subsided, Ginny lay stunned on the couch, limp like a rag doll. She had never endured the Cruciatus curse, but she couldn't imagine that it was worse than what she had just experienced. It took more than twenty minutes for her breathing and her heartbeat to return to normal. Her heart still ached, but at least it no longer felt like it was on fire. Sitting up, she felt her face with her hand, and discovered tears running down her cheeks.

As she stood up, a wave of exhaustion overcame her, and she had to hang on to the arm of the couch to keep from falling. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on her broom and whispered "Accio Retro," holding her hand out in expectation. Unfortunately, she found the last bit extremely tiring, and she could barely keep her arm up to receive it. Moments later she could see her broom floating down the girls' staircase and she sighed in relief when it finally came to hover next to the couch.

It seemed like an impossible task to get seated on it, but she finally did after several unsuccessful attempts, though she was still slumped over and unbelievably weary. Once she was confident of her balance, she pulled up slightly on the handle and made her way over to the stairs, where she paused as she considered whether to wake her brother up to tell him what had happened.

But all her thoughts were jarred once more as a second wave of coldness overtook her and the same frozen pain pierced through her heart again, nearly causing her to fall off the broom.

It might have been comical to watch if she didn't honestly believe that she was going to die from the pain. The broom was still suspended in the air, and she was jerking as though she were having a seizure. The broom twitched this way and that as she clutched tightly onto the handle through her agony. All she could concentrate on was hanging on to it, though by the end she was doing so more for her own sanity than to keep from falling off.

When the pain finally relented, she started sobbing uncontrollably. She wanted to know what she had done to deserve this. She wanted to know what was happening to her. But most of all, she wanted to know what it meant.

Maybe Dumbledore had been wrong. Maybe the past few years had only been quiet for her so that Tom could lull her into a false sense of security. It wasn't like she'd been on her guard constantly like Harry had. But that was understandable, right? After what had happened to her in first year, she just wanted to be normal. To walk through the common room or the Great Hall without the paranoia that people were whispering about her.

Only when her family moved to Grimmauld Place the summer before fourth year had she really been involved again. And of course, the trip to the Department of Mysteries. But between her first and fourth years, she had been left out of all the troubles caused by Voldemort and the Death Eaters. Maybe there was a reason. Maybe she'd been left alone so that she'd be far enough detached from her memories to get complacent . . . only for Tom to strike again, but harder and deeper this time.

She knew that the headmaster was right; no one--certainly not Lucius Malfoy or Tom Riddle--had expected her to be able to fight the diary for the whole school year. Tom had become increasingly agitated the more she resisted. The more she had questioned him, the angrier he got.

Half of the terror during her possession had been waking up from a blackout covered in rooster's blood or not knowing how she had gotten into Moaning Myrtle's bathroom; but the other half had been caused by her fear of what Tom would do to her as he continued to get angrier and angrier.

What could he hope to gain by messing with her again? Was he going to possess her and make her do horrible things? He couldn't do his Chamber of Secrets act again since Harry had destroyed the basilisk. Was he just in it to torture her for his own amusement? Or was he trying to get at Harry? She wasn't sure how he could do anything to Harry through her, since she amounted to practically the least important of his friends. Why wouldn't he try to use Ron or Hermione? Surely they would be a better choice.

Maybe because of my powers, she thought grimly. As their recent D.A. meetings had demonstrated, Ginny and Hermione were the only two students who could rival Harry in Defense, and Ginny's athleticism gave her a decided advantage over Hermione.

Ginny sighed and squeezed her eyes closed as the next thought hit her.

He's not trying to use me to get to Harry, she thought with anguish. He's going to make me kill him myself.

She felt ill.

But that had to be it. She couldn't be bait for a trap; Harry certainly didn't care for her like he did Sirius. His reaction would never be the same gut instinct imperative to save her that it was for his godfather. Or Ron, or Hermione. Or, now that she thought about it, Remus either.

And while Voldemort may have been many things--arrogant, for one; psychotic, for another--he was not stupid. He would know that Ginny would be a poor bargaining chip, and an even worse lure, for the Boy-Who-Lived. After all, couldn't he read Harry's mind? Wasn't that how he'd lured him to the Department of Mysteries in the first place?

No, he must have found out about her powers somehow and was now trying to bend and exploit them to his own demented ends.

Her nausea intensified. She couldn't stop Tom from controlling her when she was eleven--was there any chance that she would be able to stop him now? After all, this wouldn't be the young, inexperienced Tom Riddle, this would be Voldemort, the most feared and perhaps the most powerful wizard of the age; certainly the most dangerous dark wizard.

This was the thing she feared most of all, perhaps the only thing she really feared: herself. Herself, helpless as she was controlled by the one person (was he really even a person anymore?) she hated, the one who had stolen part of her childhood. The one who haunted her at night and made it harder to face the day.

After she had finally begun to heal a little after the Chamber of Secrets, the fear of being possessed again had faded with time. But the thought had always lingered in the back of her mind that someday it would happen again; that since she'd been tarnished that one time, she'd be more vulnerable to him the next time.

Bugger. Life just wasn't fair. Forget fair, it was just plain horrible.

Knowing what she did now, how could she ever look Harry in eye? How could she play Quidditch with him and study Potions with him, and endure D.A. meetings with him? She felt like by just living her life she would be undertaking the worst kind of betrayal. She recalled the commotion made by everyone the year before about the "weapon" that the Order was trying to protect from Voldemort.

Well, now it looked to her like Voldemort already had the weapon he needed. Her.

She didn't even want to think about what to do with this information. If she mentioned it to someone, Harry (and, in all likelihood, everyone else) would never trust her again. Forget "again"; who was she to say he ever trusted her in the first place? How well did he really know her? She knew him like the back of her hand, like she knew the Burrow with her eyes closed. But even if his first reaction was to trust her, she knew he would eventually come to the realization that he actually didn't know her very well at all. And that would be it.

They would never be good friends, let alone anything more . . . intimate than that. Not that she could blame him. As it was, she had half a mind to put in for a transfer to Beauxbatons, in the hope that the English Channel might be enough of a barrier to keep her from hurting the one person in the world that she wanted to protect the most.

But if she didn't tell anyone, then no one would be on their guard about Harry's vulnerability. And it wasn't like she had ever been able to stop Tom from forcing her to do things when he possessed her. Sod it all.

For a brief moment, she thought that perhaps she was overreacting; that maybe this was just her extremely powerful imagination running away with her at a moment of weakness, exhaustion, and fear. There wasn't really any part of this ghastly experience that indicated Voldemort was behind it, right?

But that wasn't exactly true. While the pain was unlike anything she'd felt before, the coldness of it was familiar. It reminded her of the coldness that had filled her as Tom had funneled her own soul out and poured in his own. She shuddered at the memory, and shuddered again at the realization that the coldness of the pain was much, much more intense.

That clinched it. This had something to do with Tom. The coldness was the same, and with something as significant in her life as this, there was no mistaking it. She closed her eyes and calmed herself down until she was able to guide her broom back up the stairs without running into the railing. She didn't want to be in the common room if she had another round of pain--anyone could come downstairs and see her.

When she got back to her bed, she found Herpo sitting on her pillow, waiting for her. The rush of relief she felt at such a small thing made her start crying again, as she tumbled off her broom and onto her bed. Herpo climbed into her arms as she shoved her legs under the covers and when she was sufficiently tucked in, she glanced at the clock again. 4:30 in the morning. She stifled a groan. Herpo licked her chin affectionately and she sighed. In minutes they were fast asleep.

* * *

The next morning Ginny didn't wake up until after lunch time, and Herpo was no longer snuggled in the covers with her. Instead he was sitting up, right in front of her face, flopping his tail around and looking at her impatiently. She cracked a smile and tugged him back against her chest, enjoying one genuinely pleasant moment before the memories of the night before came crashing back to her.

She had to squeeze her eyes tightly shut to keep from crying again. Herpo made a valiant attempt to distract her by meowing and tugging at the collar of her sweater, but to no avail. She was quite unaware of anything around her, too caught up in the nightmare to notice anything else.

That she could have given in to the prodding of the visage she detested and thought she had destroyed began to eat away at her. "Your soul is dark, Ginevra. I can sense it in you." Mrs. Black's words from the night she had done away with the painting came back to her. Ginny had adamantly denied the suggestion at the time without a second thought. What if the painting had been right? Ginny decided she didn't want to find out.

But the thought that (even in a dream) she could have turned her wand on Sirius--Sirius, who was the model against which all loyalty, sacrifice, and friendship ought to be measured, who had fought the hardest battles against darkness of anyone--made her want to die. How unworthy if his friendship and protection she was turning out to be.

Thoughts of the pain of losing Sirius, followed soon after by the notion of Harry having to withstand the Cruciatus curse sent a rush of love (and not a little sadness) through her, driving out some of the pain from the night before, just enough that she could get a hold of herself. She took a few deep breaths and sat up in bed. The worst part was not knowing how much worse it could get.

* * *

The following Monday, breakfast was interrupted by the arrival of the Daily Prophet, but did not resume as it usually did. Silence blanketed the Great Hall as the students read the headlines that proclaimed the untimely (or, politically speaking, timely) death of Cornelius Fudge.

Ginny looked up toward the sixth years and found her brother and Hermione, but saw no sign of Harry.

Amelia Bones had been elected Minister of Magic. At least Lucius Malfoy was still in prison, though it was unlikely that something as negligible as being locked in Azkaban would keep him from interfering with the election. The emergency aspect of the election was probably the only thing that kept a Death Eater puppet from stealing the show.

At least Amelia Bones was fair-minded and not intoxicated by power and money.

* * *

Ginny didn't see Harry again until Quidditch practice the next afternoon, but they didn't talk, and he seemed to be distracted. For her part, Ginny was hardly more alive than a zombie. She barely spoke to anyone, and played terribly at practice. Not that Harry noticed, because he was too concerned with his own distraction to pay attention to her, and Ron was too preoccupied with concern for Harry to notice either. Katie had been frustrated and helpless, and Stevie and Betsy had been worried. Jack didn't seem to notice that anything was wrong.

* * *

That night, Ginny had another dream, but this time she cast the Cruciatus curse at the end. The power she felt was incredible. So she did it again. It was even better the second time. And better still the third time. Better, that is, until she woke up, realized what she had done, and quickly cast a silencing charm around her bed when she felt the coldness creeping over her again. The bouts of pain were even worse than after the last dream, and there were more of them. When Ginny woke up the next morning, she couldn't speak; her throat was raw from the silent screams that had ripped through her as she fought to stay conscious.

* * *

Days passed and Ginny was barely aware of what was going on around her. Everyone was busy these days, so very few people noticed that something might be wrong. O.W.L.'s, N.E.W.T.'s, Quidditch, Prefect duties, and the D.A. occupied everyone's attention so that if Ginny Weasley happened to miss a meal (or three), fall asleep in Herbology, or lose a duel in a D.A. meeting, no one thought anything of it, let alone picked up on a pattern of behavior.

And if she had any hope that her brother would show some concern, like that day in the kitchens during the first week of school, it was dashed as he became more and more preoccupied with Harry's return to his own dark moodiness. At their Potions study sessions, Harry and Ginny were both quiet except for the necessary exchanges involved in group revision. Neither wanted to think (or talk) about their own distress, and if Devon noticed that something was off, she didn't say anything.

The rare times she saw her brother and Hermione, it was from across the common room or down the lunch table; but even then, she could tell that

Hermione was more jittery than usual, and the bags under Ron's eyes became more pronounced every day. They looked shaken. Ginny wondered what had happened for them to look that way.

For her part, Ginny was trying to avoid sleeping as much as possible. The first dream had involved the Imperius curse, and in the second she had cast the Cruciatus. It wasn't hard to guess what she might do in the next dream, and besides the horror of doing such a thing as aiming the killing curse at someone, she knew two things: that the high she got from performing the curse would far surpass the sensations of the first two Unforgivables, and that the after-effects would correspondingly be the worst yet.

Tests and essays came and went, and she performed all her school tasks mechanically and with little recollection. The small upside to her miserable condition was that the knowledge she had inherited from the young Tom Riddle responded automatically to questions, tests, and assignments, and prevented her from falling behind in her schoolwork.

But it also meant that her teachers did not notice the changes in her personality and behavior--well, all of them save one, but he was not ready to confront her yet. For all that she had become very good at not rising to his attempts to bait her, he could always tell in the past that what he said hit a nerve or made her think. Now it seemed as though she didn't even hear him; as though his words evaporated in the air before they reached her. But he said nothing.

As for her other teachers, if perhaps she chatted with her partners in class less than usual, who were they to complain that there was less noise among the students? It was, after all, O.W.L. year, and a girl like Ginny Weasley could achieve great things if she put in the time and dedication.

It wasn't until Luna stayed behind after a D.A. meeting one night that anyone seemed to notice something was wrong.

Ginny was trying to think of which of her early O.W.L. subjects she wanted to work on when everyone else went to bed when she tripped and fell on her way to the door of the Room of Requirement. Displaying the first significant bit of emotion that she had felt in several weeks, Ginny got up and scowled as she turned around to see who the culprit was. She was surprised to see Luna staring at her, but even more surprised to see a stern look on the blonde girl's face.

It was decidedly odd to see Luna Lovegood standing in front of her with her arms crossed angrily, her chin set sternly, and for once standing straight at her full height.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong?" she asked. Ginny's shock and strength went out of her in a rush. She looked down at the floor, not wanting to face Luna's disappointed gaze.

"What are you talking about." It wasn't a question. Ginny knew she couldn't lie to Luna. She'd never been able to, and was therefore now just going through the motions.

"You're not sleeping, you're barely eating, and the audacious, brilliant girl I used to know has become a zombie. You're practically falling off your broom at Quidditch practice. Why aren't you sleeping?"

"Nightmares," Ginny replied, sitting down on one of the couches to relieve her tired body. Luna joined her, wrapping one arm around her shoulders. Ginny was grateful and used her friend's shoulder as a pillow.

"Is it him?" Ginny didn't need to ask who "he" was.

"I don't know for certain, but I think so."

"You know, Harry looks terrible, too." Ginny pondered this for a moment. She glanced over to the opposite corner of the room where Harry and Ron were sifting through Defense books. She couldn't see him very well, though looking at him reminded her that Harry had been tormented in his sleep by Voldemort, too. She wondered if it was time to go ask Professor Snape about Occlumency lessons again.

"I reckon he does," Ginny agreed, though she couldn't say she had first-hand knowledge. As she tried to remember how he looked at Quidditch practice lately, she found that she couldn't. She tried to picture him at their last Potions session, but couldn't come up with anything there, either.

"How bad is it." Ginny had always appreciated Luna's calm and patient demeanor. It made a world of difference in situations like this.

"Pretty bad," Ginny replied, trying not to dwell on what her dreams could mean.

"How bad is pretty bad," Luna returned.

"I reckon I could give Harry a run for his money in the horrific experiences category. I haven't ever been hit with a Cruciatus, but I can't believe it would be worse than some of the nonsense that I've been hit with recently." This was met with an affectionate squeeze from Luna.

"Bugger-fucking-hell."

Ginny couldn't help but chuckle at Luna's angry exclamation. She'd never heard Luna curse before and it was decidedly amusing to hear it now.

"Well I'm glad I've been able to make you laugh, at any rate," Luna replied with a hint of a smile in her voice. Ginny looked at Harry and tried to remember the last time she had seen or heard him laugh. She couldn't remember.

Just then, he turned around and caught her watching him. His face softened slightly, and Ginny remembered that she was curled up on the couch with Luna. She smirked a little a waved at Harry, who gave her a small smile and a wave in return. Ron looked up as if to see why he didn't have Harry's attention, and tugged his friend back to their task, whatever it was. Ginny leaned her head on Luna and continued to watch the boys.

"I'm scared, Luna," Ginny said quietly, as she watched Harry shake his head and point something out to Ron. Luna stiffened very slightly.

"It is bad, then," she affirmed. Ginny sighed and nodded, though it was not like Luna could see her. "Do you want to tell me what's going on, or aren't you ready to do that yet?"

"I'm pretty confused," Ginny admitted truthfully. "I'm not sure myself what it all means, and that would be enough to worry about, except that the few things it could be are either bad, worse, or disastrous." Luna leaned her head on Ginny's, and Ginny could feel her friend's body slouch into the couch.

"I suppose it's going to get worse before it gets better."

"Yes, unfortunately that always seems to be the way of things."

"You'll tell me if you need anything, right?" Luna asked, as close to displaying fear as Ginny had ever seen.

"I'll tell you as soon as I possibly can." Ginny felt like the conversation needed to get out of the bleak direction it was heading into. She wasn't enthralled with the idea of reviewing the past few weeks just now, particularly when she was feeling more like herself than she had in a while. So she went to the old fallback, a game that she and her friends had been playing ever since third year. "Ron Weasley or Sheldon Wilde?" she asked nonchalantly.

"Oh my. Sheldon. Certainly Sheldon." Ginny's attention piqued at this response. Luna had never given such an earnest answer before. Usually she livened up the game by giving odd answers that no one was expecting, and then supporting them with hilarious explanations.

The best one had been during fourth year when she'd chosen Theodore Nott over Andy McGrath, because he 'is attractive to pluckbutters,' and she would be able to get them to dance on her toast (thus buttering it) at the breakfast table without any coaxing. Apparently coaxing pluckbutters to dance on your toast was heady business. It had been quite the coup for the squirrelly Slytherin.

"Got a bit of a thing for the younger Mr. Wilde, do you?" Ginny inquired playfully. Yes, it was nice to be herself again, even for a little while.

"Maybe I do."

"I like him. He respects you." Luna's friends knew that she wasn't treated very kindly by most people, even in her own House. Sheldon was a marked exception, and had fairly broken his best friend (and good friend of Ginny's) Roman of the habit of making fun of her. Ginny wondered if he didn't have a thing for Luna as well. It would certainly be nice to find a bloke who thought Luna was as pretty with radish earrings and bottle-cap necklaces as she was without.

"He does, and he doesn't have albino brain-chiggers in his hair either," Luna replied. A virtue, indeed, Ginny thought, as her smile grew. The two girls burst out laughing, and drew the boys' attention once more. Harry smiled again (and a bit bigger this time), while Ron looked a bit put out at having been interrupted by his pesky little sister and "that nutter" Loony Lovegood. Ginny stood up an grabbed her friend's hand to pull her up as well.

"I'm starving, let's go get some snacks from the kitchens." Luna's eyes lit up as if she had been hoping against hope that Ginny would say exactly that. Ginny shook her head in amusement and they left the boys to their mysterious work.