Backfire

CHAPTER 6

To See and Be Seen

Ginny was so exhausted after Quidditch practice that she fell asleep in the shower--twice--and almost nodded off again when she sat down to put on her socks. She hung up her practice clothes in her locker to dry off, and collected her broom to head back to Gryffindor Tower.

She could barely keep her eyes open, and decided that the only reason she had been able to keep from falling off her broom during practice was a combination of the freezing cold rain that was coming down in blankets and her body's instinct to mindlessly adjust and adapt its hold on the broom, whether with her hand or her legs, as she moved through the air.

Ginny thought she had done a little better in practice that day than she had been performing of late, but she couldn't really be sure. As she looked around her, having re-entered the castle some time ago, she discovered that through the fog of her sleepy haze she had wandered past the Great Hall in the opposite direction of the common room (and more importantly, the common room fire).

Turning to her left, she saw the one staircase that could bring her swiftly to a shortcut begin to change into a most inconvenient direction. "Oh, sod it," she grumbled to herself, and proceeded to take the long way through the dungeons.

As soon as she had descended the steps down to the dungeon level, she became aware of two things. The first was that the temperature had dropped about fifteen degrees. Bloody insane Slytherins.

The second was that she was most definitely being watched. Or followed. Probably both.

Not particularly prone to bouts of paranoia, Ginny did not fling her head from side to side frantically searching for her clandestine observer. Instead she kept walking through the halls, broom securely in hand. Perhaps she was just too tired to care.

It was hard to say exactly what was going through her mind just then, because her body, at long last, threw its hands up (figuratively, mind you) and quit. She fainted dead away, collapsing in an exhausted heap in the heart of Slytherin territory, broom still tightly clutched in her hand.

* * *

The next thing she knew, Ginny was again aware of someone's eyes on her, only this time it felt as though the source of her scrutiny must be staring unabashedly at her from no more than two feet away. She squirmed a bit in annoyance and brought a hand up to wipe the sleep from her eyes, using the other hand to prop herself up in bed, at which point she was quite startled to discover that she was not lying in her bed at all, but was instead sprawled out on a floor somewhere, and that it was freezing.

She quickly opened her eyes to find, unsurprisingly, that there was in fact someone staring at her from about ten inches away. What did surprise her was that the someone was Draco Malfoy.

They stared dumbly at each other for almost a minute until Ginny's brain became slightly less foggy and she scrambled to find her feet--and her wand. Doing a quick inventory . . . wand, broom, limbs, clothes . . . (seriously, who knew what Draco sodding Malfoy was capable of? With a father like Lucius, one could never be too careful).

Everything seemed to be in order. Now she was confused. He was still staring at her as she gave herself the once-over and had not said a word. She found this as curious as his unexpected appearance at Grimmauld Place on September 1. With this in mind, she looked him straight in the eye--getting quite impatient with all the staring and no talking--and broke the strange silence.

"Well, Malfoy, do you like what you see?" she asked saucily. "Or do I still have mud all over me?" She looked down at her skirt and checked her shoes in mock seriousness. "Or maybe that's how you like it, yeah? Nice and dirty?" she added, taunting him with a feral smile.

"Hardly, Weaselette," Draco insisted, attempting to roll his eyes--though Ginny noticed that, with his apparent desire to keep them trained on her, his eyes did not exactly cooperate. "In your dreams, I'm sure." It was a jab, to be sure, but again, much like his behavior on the train, it was like he was simply going through the motions for the sake of appearances.

"So what's your deal, then, Malfoy--are you a little Death Eater spy or is your mum really trying to keep you out of all that nonsense? Whose side are you on?" Draco's expression hardened into--it was difficult to tell exactly what emotion was behind it (if in fact Draco Malfoy possessed human emotions), but it might have been a mix between worry and bitterness.

"I'm on my own side," he replied, colder than before, but still not quite able to sound as haughty and dangerous as he had in the past.

"Oh, yes," Ginny said indulgently. "Slytherin self-preservation and all that. Fair enough, I guess. I always wondered how all those Slytherins could stomach being Death Eaters, having to bow down to a master and what not. Only, I'm not so sure you're as stocked with self-possession as you'd like to think you are, Malfoy." Draco's eyes burned into her as she taunted him, but there was still that hint of bitterness that perplexed her.

And then something strange happened.

They were already standing relatively close to each other, certainly closer than she'd ever been to him before, and he began walking toward her. With each step he took forward, she took one back, until she was pressed up against a wall and he was very much intruding on her personal space. With his face only inches from hers, he let his eyes wander over her body, up and down her figure, as if they were slowly drinking her in.

She was immediately reminded of Harry doing the same thing when he had first arrived at Grimmauld Place during the summer, but he had sent through her body sensations that were very different from the ones she was feeling now. The way Draco looked her over made her feel violated. Harry had made her feel desirable. And his gentle, warm green eyes were the opposite of the cold, angry grey ones scanning her features now. She shivered in disgust.

"Merlin and Agrippa, you'd think you've never seen a teenage girl before, Malfoy," she said in hope of distracting him. She succeeded.

"I've seen enough of teenage girls to know you're nothing special, Weaselette," he shot back nastily, much more like the Draco she was used to.

"Then why don't you get a firm grip on your horses and quit ogling me like a piece of meat at the market," she demanded. "Nasty little toerag," she added under her breath, but just loud enough so he might hear.

"Oh, and who would be better?" he challenged. "I suppose you'd let your little bastard of a boyfriend stare at your," and here he gazed pointedly at her chest, "meager assets all night long if he wanted to, hmm? Oh, wait, that's right. Potter wouldn't notice you if you were naked and on fire in front of him. I guess he won't be making the same mistake his father did, disgracing his pureblood line with a dirty little redhead."

The fact that she was, in fact, a pureblooded witch mattered very little as Ginny's fist came around so fast that Malfoy never had a chance. As she shook her now-throbbing right hand, she heard purposeful footsteps approaching over the quiet cursing and stumbling of her adversary. She lit her wand to find the Head Boy walking up to them.

"What seems to be the problem here?" he asked, crossing his arms and looking every bit the part of a stern disciplinarian. Ginny massaged her right hand with her left.

"I was exhausted after Quidditch practice, and wandered the wrong way. I think I passed out here in the hallway, and when I woke up, Malfoy" she spat his name, "was practically on top of me and staring at me. Then he cornered me against this wall and started running his mouth, and really creeping me out, so I punched him." She looked at Draco, who was no longer leaning over in pain, but now standing upright, tenderly feeling out the extent of the shiner he was going to have tomorrow. "And he bloody deserved it, too. Jealous wanker."

"Is this all true, Draco?" Ginny thought it sounded funny to hear someone call Malfoy by his first name. Then again, Baron always called the students he knew by their proper first names. Draco scowled and glared at Ginny, still ministering to his slightly swollen face.

"Mostly, except that I wasn't on top of her--though I'm sure she wishes I was--and I didn't deserve a sodding right hook to the cheek just for telling the truth." Ginny lunged at him again, but Baron held her back. Her jaw hardened with anger as she stood there trying to control her magic. She liked Baron and didn't want to hurt him, and it would be a disaster if Malfoy found out about her wandless abilities.

"Draco, you will cease your unnecessary and improper comments, or you will exacerbate your punishment, do you understand?" Draco huffed and pouted, but shut up. Baron turned back to a barely self-restrained Ginny.

"Ginevra, I'm going to give you detention and take 30 points from Gryffindor. Regardless of what someone says, there is no excuse for resorting to violence." Ginny calmed down and nodded glumly in acknowledgement. She could care less about points and a detention. Clocking Malfoy in his oversized melon had been bloody worth it. Baron turned his attention to the ferrety git next to her.

"Draco, I'm taking ten points from Slytherin for harassment of another student. If this happens again, the consequences will be a great deal more severe, is that clear? And rest assured that if you even put one toe out of line, I will hear about it." Draco rolled his eyes and mumbled that he understood. "Go back to the common room," he ordered Malfoy, at which point Ginny relaxed considerably. She looked up to find Baron studying her thoughtfully.

"Do you need an escort back to your dormitory?" he asked, much less sternly than before. Ginny wondered if he wasn't used to dealing with girls trying to beat the crap out of arrogant little prats like Malfoy. His sister Gretchen really didn't kid around. "It is already well past curfew, and you would risk being caught again if you went by yourself." The fact that it was so late made Ginny wonder how long she had been out of it, lying in the middle of the floor with Creepy McFerretface ogling her.

"I would appreciate that, thank you," she replied, slightly taken aback. The extent of their acquaintance had never gone past greetings in the hallway between classes or brief words on the Quidditch pitch. She was intrigued, to say the least, as they began the trek to Gryffindor Tower.

"How is your hand?" he inquired when she started massaging it again.

"Sore," she answered honestly. "I've never punched anyone before, but I'm not sure I didn't hurt myself more than I hurt him." Baron nodded, but no hint of emotion or reaction crossed his features. Perhaps Malfoy had missed the day where all the rest of the Slytherins had learned to so precisely control their expressions.

"I would suggest you not make a habit of it," he proposed, and Ginny laughed.

"Baron Patrick Ares Ramsey, the fourth, was that a joke?" she asked sarcastically, still chuckling, eyes twinkling. He paused and looked at her for a moment as they walked.

"Only if you swear on Potter's Firebolt that you will keep it to yourself," he answered, the corners of his mouth twitching ever so slightly upward. Ginny laughed with delight.

They spent the rest of the trip discussing Quidditch, which was a relatively safe topic, seeing as their upcoming games were not against each other.

"You will, I fear, have very little trouble disposing of Ravenclaw," he admitted as they came up to the Fat Lady. "Miss Chang is simply no match for Potter, and the rest of their team is not nearly good enough to overcome the deficit. Particularly because one of Gryffindor's Chasers is the fastest flier in the school, and another is very experienced and, frankly, superb." Ginny smiled at Baron's compliments to her and Katie. "Your friend, Roman, is a superior keeper to your brother, but that will matter very little in the balance of things."

He was right; Roman Keselica was better than Ron, but this year the pool of Keepers might be the best since her brother Charlie was at school. Oliver Wood had been the only Hogwarts Keeper to go on to play professionally since Charlie had graduated. This year, however, boasted two that were at least as good as Wood had been in his school days--Baron and Roman--and two more that were still likely better than most of the other ring-tenders the school had seen since before Ginny started at Hogwarts.

"Hufflepuff has excellent beaters, you know," she offered in exchange. "And your Seekers should be pretty evenly matched."

"Yes, while it is true that no one is in the same class as your twin brothers, Bruce and Miss Bowen are certainly the best tandem in the school this year." Ginny glanced at the Fat Lady.

"Thank you for walking me back. It's really not like me to lose my cool like that," she offered apologetically. Baron nodded solemnly in understanding.

"You are very welcome. I trust our conversations in the future will arise from pleasanter circumstances. I enjoyed talking with you." Ginny smiled.

"Good night, Baron," she said with a playful curtsey, as she usually did in greeting him.

"Good night, Ginevra," he replied with a nod, and though he did not deign to smile, his eyes twinkled with what Ginny suspected to be mirth.

When he was out of sight, Ginny gave the password and finally made her way into the Gryffindor common room. As she entered through the portrait hole, she thought she felt something brush past her. But she hadn't seen anything around her, and was much too keen on finding her bed to investigate further. The exhaustion that had overtaken her in the dungeons was quickly returning, and she barely made it to her four-poster before she passed out again.

* * *

Her exhaustion had to catch up with her sometime, and tonight was the night. Her encounter with Draco and ensuing conversation with the Head Boy had raised her adrenaline level to a point which made her temporarily forget her exhaustion, as well as her desperate efforts against surrendering to the dream she knew was coming for her.

Not that she could have done anything about it, but having forgotten even for a couple hours made the shock and horror that much worse as the dream hit her at around one o'clock in the morning.

This time she fought, fought harder than she imagined was possible; fought Mrs. Black's whispered coaxing, battled the voice in her mind that kept reminding her of how incredible that rush of power would feel--this curse being the most powerful of all . . . .

. . . . and at this notion, this suggestion that Avada Kedavra, the dreaded Killing Curse, was the most powerful spell of all, Ginny thought of Harry--thought that the infamous and horrible flash of green light couldn't be the most powerful magic there was, because Harry had beat it; somehow when he was a baby, something about him had deflected the curse and all but destroyed Voldemort . . . if she only knew what the cause had been . . . if it had even been real . . . .

And just like that, the smallest sliver of insecurity about what had defeated Voldemort's Killing Curse, about whether it had really been conquered, subordinated to another, stronger power, or merely a fluke, a miracle, a once-in-a-lifetime meting out of justice, swallowed her defenses and she smoothly cast the Killing Curse on the Sirius Black in her dreams.

As the incantation left her lips, she felt like she was going to explode, like magic was rushing, flooding through her body, as if she were attempting a 500-foot vertical dive on her broom, blindfolded. Only it was better. It was like a drug, completely intoxicating, and she thought briefly as her hand made the appropriate wand movements, that she would definitely have to do this again.

And then the feeling, the power-induced drunken haze, passed, and she saw the curse hit its target.

But instead of the surprise, the utter disbelief that Harry had seen on his godfather's face a few months before, Ginny saw pain--pain and anguish written on the face and drawn on the body of the best and bravest man she knew. As the animated Mrs. Black cackled wildly about justice and revenge, all Ginny could do was wail, scream, and lash out.

Her heart broke as she realized how Harry must have felt when Sirius fell through the veil--except that in her dream, it was Ginny, not Bellatrix Lestrange, who put him there. It was her, the girl who thought she loved Sirius more than anyone after Harry and Remus, who struck him down, who snuffed out his life with the ease and calmness of his deranged cousin.

Yes, in that moment, as in the other two moments when she had succumbed to the darkness of her mind, Ginny was no different from Bellatrix.

She was the same kind of person--if "person" was still the right word--as the woman who had tortured thousands of innocent Muggles and Wizards, who had tortured Neville's parents into madness and destroyed his childhood, who had probably had a hand in killing the Potters, who had tried to kill Harry, and who had aimed the decisive curse at Sirius in the Department of Mysteries. She was becoming the woman who had threatened to torture her, "the smallest one," the "little girl," in the hall of prophecies at the Ministry, but then Harry . . . .

Harry had stepped in front of her. Like the Patronus that took his form, he had not hesitated for an instant to protect her, instinctively putting himself between her and the Cruciatus Curse Bellatrix was burning to cast.

Thoughts of Harry sent warmth flooding through her, and Ginny gasped as she woke up.

Knowing that the worst pain of her life would be setting in soon, she crept out of bed and made a beeline for the sixth-year boys dormitory. She was determined to get to her brother before it hit, desperately hoping that his proximity would help her feel safe. As she arrived at the door of the room, she slowed, and carefully opened the door.

Tip-toeing inside and straight for Ron's four-poster, a glance to her left told her that Seamus was out of bed, and that Dean and Neville were sound asleep in theirs. Ron's curtains were closed except for the side that faced Harry's bed, and as she crept forward in the darkness, she sensed that he wasn't there. Rushing up to the side of his bed, she confirmed what she had been dreading. He wasn't there. In her hour of need, the time she had needed him most, Ron had deserted her again.

A sob burst from her chest and she quickly slapped her hand over her mouth as she collapsed against his bed, now completely devoid of any hope or comfort as the aftermath of her dream approached. Choking down sobs, she immediately began casting the strongest silencing charms she could manage--and doubly fortifying them--over Ron's and Harry's beds.

As she did so, she failed to notice that the small commotion she was making had awakened Harry before she finished silencing the area around his bed. So, when he spoke, she jumped and whirled around to face him.

"Ginny, what's wrong?" he asked with urgency, concern etched all over his face. Ginny looked like a wreck, which was appropriate, since she felt like one. She was shaking, and flinched when Harry reached out to touch her arm.

It was as if his touching her set off the marathon of pain she had been dreading and anticipating. She collapsed as her face contorted with the silent screams that could not escape her throat. Harry immediately hauled her up onto his own bed, closing the curtains around them as he pulled her tightly into an embrace. As she thrashed and jerked and gasped for breath, he tightened his arms around her stomach, whispering continuously in her ear that she was going to be okay, that she was safe, that it was just a dream.

Both of them lost all trace of time; Ginny, because she knew nothing but the icy-hotness of the fire that sliced through her heart and, it felt like, her soul; Harry, because he fell into a trance of his own feeble attempts to pacify her. Everywhere that her magic seemed to lurk felt like it was being torn to shreds. The feeling that she wanted to die, anything it took just to make it stop, retuned stronger than ever.

And yet, there was a constant in the background; in the periphery of consciousness she felt a warmth flowing against the cold that was torturing her. She didn't know whether she felt it, heard it, saw it, or smelled it--as all of her senses were confused and slurred together in the pain and semi-consciousness--but she forced her mind to grab it and hold on for dear life. It was a life preserver in the sea of darkness that was trying to pull her into its swirling vortex. As long as she held on, she thought she might be able to outlast the pain.

If Harry had stopped talking to her for even a second, if he had loosened his grip on her the smallest bit, she may have surrendered. But like the sound and sturdy walls of the school they loved, he did not waver, and he did not fail. For the second time in their lives, Harry Potter saved her soul from the heavy and all-consuming darkness that threatened to swallow her whole.

When, at length, the horror had passed, Ginny's body fell limp and Harry loosened his grip on her, afraid that he would hurt her. Both of them were panting as if they had just run a sprint around the lake, and they were sweating profusely from the exertion. Harry glanced at the clock on his nightstand through a slit between his curtains. It was already after three in the morning. When he moved to get a drink of water from where his half-full glass stood next to the clock, Ginny froze, clutching to him to keep him from leaving her.

Her own sudden movement seemed to wake her from the stupor she had been in, and she blearily turned to look up at the boy whose bed she had unknowingly commandeered. It took her muddled brain a few seconds to realize she was laying half-way in his lap, gripping him at the ribs, but when her eyes finally registered his face, she sprang to the other side of the bed, flushing with embarrassment and trying to remember what in the name of Merlin and Agrippa she was doing there.

She gulped and choked out a sob, the first noise she was able to make since being overtaken by the pain. When she had calmed down, she finally bolstered herself enough to look Harry in the eye. His face was ashen with concern.

"Are you past . . . whatever it is that was?" he asked tentatively, both horrified at what he had witnessed and worried at the prospect of it happening again.

In later years, after Ginny had been forced to endure the Cruciatus Curse on several occasions, she would be able to decisively declare that the pain that followed this particular dream was, in fact, the worst of the two. While she would know it for the horror that it was, the Cruciatus Curse could not compare to this. In a foggy attempt to answer Harry's question, she blinked and responded in a scratchy voice that barely rose above a whisper.

"How long was it?" she asked. Harry cleared his throat.

"Um, it was about an hour and 45 minutes from start to finish," he said, roughly working out the math in his head. Ginny sighed somewhat in relief. She didn't think she would have to endure anything else, tonight, at least.

"I don't think there will be any aftershocks. So far the bouts of pain have only ever been about twenty minutes long. This went much longer, and I doubt there would be more than six times the normal amount. The first time there were two waves, and there were four the second time. This time ought to be six, give or take some, and this was pretty close to two hours. No, I think I'll be fine, now." At this Ginny lay back against the foot of the bed, closing her eyes.

"Wait!" Harry said, believing very urgently that going to sleep was not the wisest coarse of action. He pulled her back up to the head of the bed, shaking her softly awake and situating her next to him.

"Ginny, what is this all about?" He asked the question earnestly and without scolding or pity, and so she told him. Told him that she didn't know what was going on, that she was scared, frightened, that she thought it was Tom, and that he was going to make her do things. Her voice became frantic as she plunged into her worries that Tom was coming back for her, that he would use her to hurt him, and so he wrapped his arms around her once more. Her head fell to his shoulder as she tried to paint for him the images she had seen and the sensations she had felt in her dreams.

She sobbed as she told him about Sirius, and what she had done to him in her dreams, and she didn't dare look up at him, so that he could cry for his godfather if he wanted to, without embarrassment. At certain points in her explanation, he squeezed her tighter, as if his grip on her would keep him from falling apart. Ginny still didn't know what mysterious knowledge had been eating at him and weighing his shoulders down ever since she had watched him in the hospital wing in June, but she thought, as he tightened his embrace yet another time, that it might make him explode.

Because it wasn't just his grief that he was reacting to, but her own fears as well. Her utter disgust and horror at what she had done, even if it hadn't been real. Because it had been real to her; she'd heard Mrs. Black goading her on, she'd felt the intoxicating power of the curses, and as Harry had just found out, she'd endured the aftermath of them as well.

When she had told him everything about her three dreams, her lack of sleep, and her concern about being a puppet of evil in the war, she leaned back next to Harry, and watched him. He had drawn his knees up, and leaned his arms on them as he thought.

After he had scrutinized her face, her pajama-clad body, and his bed linens several times in various sequences, Ginny realized rather abruptly that all she was wearing was a pair of thin cotton boxer shorts and an old, well-worn Gryffindor Quidditch t-shirt from George's first year on the team, which was, she noticed self-consciously, nearly two sizes too small for her.

"You're limp like a ragdoll, Ginny. Are you hurt?" he asked nervously. In a fresh moment of clarity Ginny felt a wave of sympathy for Harry, who she thought must have been completely baffled by what he had been presented with over the course of the last few hours. While he had been somewhat less socially awkward this year, she realized suddenly just how difficult dealing with her might currently be for him.

"No, not hurt. Just exhausted. And scared. And sore," she admitted, truthfully. "My heart hurts." She paused as she felt a furry little someone crawling on her. She broke from their conversation just long enough to lean forward and snatch up Herpo from where he was exploring her legs. Harry watched them as her shoulders and neck relaxed the more she petted and nuzzled his cat.

She was obviously one of Herpo's favorite people, and at one point he stopped cuddling with her to stare back at his owner while she was distracted. Whether some kind of silent communication traveled between cat and boy, is hard to say. But to an observer it might have seemed as though the little grey furball was silently demanding something of his owner, and that the owner was silently, steadfastly agreeing to the charge.

"Ginny, can I ask you something?" he said, trying to gauge her emotional state, but earnestly, as Luna might have asked, and without the pity she had come to expect from her mother or Hermione. She transferred her eyes from the cat curled up against her chest to the intense green stare next to her.

"Sure, Harry. I'm all right for now. We probably ought to deal with whatever this is." Harry nodded in pained agreement.

"Can you speak Parseltongue?" he asked more quietly, as if whispering would make the reference to her experience with the diary a little easier to swallow. She smiled slightly, heartened by his small attempts to be comforting. What he did not realize was that he had already gone well beyond the call of duty in that department.

"I've never actually tried since you came and got me out of the Chamber of Secrets," she admitted. "At first, it scared me, and then I guess I just didn't want to discover anything else that would make me different. I've always sort of suspected that I'm still a Parselmouth, and Dumbledore does, too. But I've never checked to be sure." Harry nodded knowingly.

"You know, if we could both speak it, we could have private conversations in front of Ron and Hermione and they wouldn't have a clue what we're saying," he offered, in an effort to lighten the mood. Ginny smiled somewhat warily and closed her eyes, concentrating very hard on the mental image of a snake. When she went to answer him, her words came out in hisses and sharp breaths.

"It looks like we have our own secret code," she confirmed, turning her head slightly to see Harry's eyebrows pop up a little in surprise. He closed his eyes, too, presumably to answer her in the same language.

"Well, I suppose that's one issue resolved," he hissed back, nearly smiling. She felt a strange comfort at the fact that they both had this particular ability. She wasn't sure what he made of it, but she felt as if her ability to communicate with him this way, just like his discovery that her nocturnal trauma had come to rival his own, finally might make him see that they were two of a kind, that he actually had more in common with her than with anyone else he'd ever known.

"Harry, did I wake you up when I came in here?" she asked, somewhat out of the blue. By her tone, she might have been asking him to name his favorite ice cream flavor; not at all prosecutorily, as he had come to expect from his other friends.

"No," he answered softly.

"Were you going to stay up all night?" she asked in the same, innocuous manner. It was a little while before Harry replied this time.

"I was considering it, yes." At this he leaned his head against hers, and Ginny smiled to herself, partly because she was surprised at the frankness of his answer.

"I wish you wouldn't," she said. "It's only going to get harder from now on." She felt more than heard him sigh, and could visualize him running his free hand through his messy hair.

"I know." He sounded resigned to the imminence of darker times, and she hoped that he knew that she understood what it meant. He gave her shoulder a little squeeze and continued. "I've been watching you for the past few weeks, you know. You could stand to take a little of your own advice." Ginny couldn't help but smile fully at his admission.

"I know, Harry. I suppose we both need to be better at taking care of ourselves." She paused for a moment, wanting to test the boundaries of their ever-expanding friendship. "Harry?"

"Hmm?" She had a feeling his eyes were closed.

"If I went back to my dormitory right now, would you go try to get some sleep?" she asked plainly.

"Yes," he replied, aided by a yawn bursting up from his lungs.

"Are you lying?" She could feel him smile at the question, with a half-chuckle, as if he had been expecting it.

"No." Ginny closed her eyes to indulge the exhaustion that was creeping up on her again.

"Promise?" Another smile, this one more affectionate, though she could not see it.

"I promise."

"Okay," she replied. And it really was.

"Do you believe me?" he asked, somewhat more cautiously than she would have expected. Her eyes were still closed.

"Yes."

"Are you lying?" he repeated back to her. She smiled. It was a two-way street, this honesty thing.

"No."

"Good." Ginny opened her eyes and sat up straight, at which point Harry continued. "So, about these dreams you've been having."

"Yeah." He must have been the only person in the universe besides Luna, who could speak to her mechanically and without some level of pity about Voldemort. And she was grateful.

"I've been thinking about what you said about the feelings you get when you cast these Unforgivables," he admitted, scratching his head with his left hand, as it finally left the warmth of her shoulders. "You said you can't remember ever experiencing that kind of sensation before."

"Not that I can remember, no," she confirmed.

"But it still felt familiar?"

"Yeah, that's the strange thing."

"And Tom left some of himself inside you just like he did with me."

"Looks like it."

"Remember last year when you chewed me out for not remembering that you'd been possessed by Voldemort?" Ginny looked a bit sheepish at the memory.

"Yes." Harry must have heard it in her tone, because he softened a bit.

"I deserved it, you know. You have a tendency to be right about that sort of thing. I acted like a first class git last year, so please don't feel bad about yelling at me." Ginny smirked a little.

"Okay," she heartily agreed. "I promise never to feel bad about yelling at you. Not ever again." He chuckled at her.

"Fair enough. So you remember how told me that you could never recall the periods of time when he possessed you? Like you blacked out or something?

"Yeah," she urged, sensing that he had a theory about what was happening to her.

"You think maybe you felt the same rush of power, the same intoxicating sensation when you were possessed and that's why it feels so familiar even though you can't remember it?" Ginny's head perked up at this suggestion and the gears in her mind began to turn. It certainly made sense.

"It fits what we know so far," she agreed.

"Ginny, were you angry when you cast those curses?"

"No, not at all. It was more that I was just fighting the temptation to do it." Harry furrowed his brow in consternation, and looked at her.

"Nothing leaves this room, yeah?" he asked.

"Right," she assured him.

"Well, at the Department of Mysteries, do you remember how I went running after Bellatrix Lestrange?"

"Yes."

"Well, once we got out into the atrium, I hit her with a Cruciatus Curse. Or, I tried to." Ginny turned her head to watch his face as he spoke.

"But it didn't work?" she asked, trying not to get emotional at his admission. She couldn't say that she was surprised that he had tried it, given the circumstances that brought it on. She was surprised, however, that he was inclined to tell her about it.

"It threw her off her feet, and I think it may have hurt her for a minute or so, but nothing even close to what happens with the real thing. Actually, she heckled me for not being able to carry it off. She told me that righteous anger would never make it hurt her as much as she could hurt me with it. And she was right. I only knocked her down for a second. The Cruciatus is completely debilitating. It's horrible."

"But I could do it because I wasn't justly angry, I was tempted. I wanted to feel that rush of power again." With renewed shame washing over her, Ginny put her face in her hands. "Merlin, what is happening to me?"

"I think we need to tell someone about this."

"Does this mean you don't hate me?" she asked warily. Harry scowled.

"Of course, I don't hate you." Her eyes lifted in hope. "Ginny, if anyone knows how you feel, it's me. In all my nightmares last year, I was the one throwing curses around; even if I was in Voldemort's mind, it still felt like I was a part of it." He paused for a moment, and when he spoke again, it was in a quieter tone.

When I saw the snake attack your dad in the dream, I felt like I was the snake. Whenever I saw Voldemort torturing Death Eaters, it felt like I was the one doing it." He shivered and cocked his head slightly then, and gave her the impression that he had had an epiphany. He looked her in the eye quite intensely.

"You know, I think it's safe to say that the only person I can stand to talk about this with, is you."

And at that moment, with that last sentence, Ginny felt, for the first time, that Harry saw her. Truly saw her. Not as Ron's little sister, not as his study partner or another Quidditch teammate, but as Ginevra Molly Weasley, the one who knew, who understood, and yet was still there at his side.

Though she had been ignored, overlooked, underestimated, and excluded, she had always been there--perhaps in the background, but still always there. And he finally realized that she understood his anger, his sorrow, his guilt, his fear, but most of all, his resolve not to falter, his determination to avenge and protect the people they loved. Because it was her determination, too.

"I'd rather not go to Dumbledore just yet, if it's all the same to you," he said, watching her for a reaction. That was perfectly fine with her. Other than Remus, however, there was only one individual she felt she could tell, and she doubted Harry's resentment toward the headmaster was quite that strong.

"Are you still mad enough at Dumbledore that you're willing to go see Snape instead?" she asked. "I know he's terrible, but he's always told me the truth. And who would know about this stuff better than him? Even if it wasn't full moon, Remus isn't exactly the most accessible guy around. It's up to you, Harry, but I would rather talk to Snape." Harry was openly frowning now at the decision before him. But distrust and dislike were not the same thing, and Ginny hoped that his head was clear enough to make the distinction. Finally he nodded.

"Okay, Snape it is." He paused and looked around. "Dobby?" he called out quietly. Having the complete devotion of a rather resourceful house elf was freaking awesome, Ginny decided. Dobby appeared and left quickly to see if Snape was awake. Upon returning, he made it clear to Harry and Ginny that they were not the only ones saddled with deep personal concerns about Voldemort, or insomnia. They had been instructed to meet him in the Potions classroom. When they set off for the dungeons, Herpo was still tucked snugly in Ginny's arms.

* * *

Ginny was about to walk through the door to Snape's classroom when Harry grabbed her arm and held her back.

"Wait," he said with a little urgency in his tone. Ginny looked at him with curiosity and not a little expectation. "Before we go in there," he continued, "a little while ago you said that it's only going to get harder . . . ." Ginny nodded slowly, in anticipation of where he was going with this speech. His face was showing more concern by the second.

"I thinks it's going to start as soon as we walk through that door, if it hasn't already. And if I'm right, the two of us are going to have it much harder than anyone else. I don't mean to scare you, but you don't deserve to have something this big and this horrible sprung on you with no warning. It was sprung on me, and you saw what happened. Sometime soon I'll explain all of it to you, but I've been having extra lessons with Dumbledore and I think I know what we have to do. And you're not going to like it. Suffice it to say, I'm pretty sure I've got to stop Voldemort." He gulped and gazed worriedly but intensely into her eyes. "And you've got to stop yourself from becoming him."

He spoke so earnestly and so calmly that she couldn't help but remain calm herself. She nodded in acceptance, continuing her ministrations to Herpo absent-mindedly. When she made no move to speak, he pressed on, starting to pace.

"I think the high you felt in your dreams was the pull, the seducing factor of the Dark Arts. And I think the cold and the pain you felt afterwards is like the letdown, the equivalent of a hangover. In the research I've been doing with Remus and Dumbledore, the Dark Arts are often compared to a drug addiction--can you see now, how someone would want more and more of that wonderful, powerful feeling, how a wizard might even come to crave it after going to through the pain you just felt?"

He stopped pacing, and looked deep into her eyes, and she was frozen in awe at the bravery, the concern, and the pain she saw in them. She wondered what he was seeing in hers.

"If I'm right," he continued, grabbing her hand--though she wasn't sure if it was to steady her or himself--"Tom didn't just leave his knowledge and his ability to speak Parseltongue behind, he left his susceptibility to the Dark Arts, his craving for them, in you as well. You're still Ginny, of course, but I can't help thinking that you've got some tough battle ahead of you. I do, too, but I'll have help. You probably won't."

She was careful not to break eye contact with him the entire time that he spoke. He glanced at the door and then back at her.

"You ready?" he asked, obviously unsure of what her response would be, given what he had just dropped on her, but she didn't flinch. In the back of her mind she had always thought that Tom would come back to haunt her. And sure enough, even though it was in an indirect way, it looked like he was about to. She squeezed his hand and nodded once.

"Let's do it."

Harry turned to the door of the classroom, and led her inside.

When they entered the familiar, if disdained, classroom, no one was there. Harry had only just begun to scowl, when the familiar snap of the Potions Master's robes came whipping around the doorway as he entered. He closed and charmed the door, and charmed the room the same way he had when Ginny had spoken to him after class during the first week of school.

"What is so important that the upstart Miss Weasley and the famous Mr. Potter feel the need to disturb me at such an hour," he spat at them. Ginny was not fooled. She knew that if he didn't have some interest in what they had to say, he wouldn't have instructed them to meet him at all. She hoped Harry would be able to keep his cool.

"I have been having terrible dreams," she began, and launched into a somewhat shorter explanation than the one she had related to Harry, though she was careful to mention all the important facts. Snape's countenance began to darken the more she went on, and he was scowling deeply by the time she finished. Harry kept looking back and forth between them anxiously. When Ginny finished, she took a deep breath and waited for his response, which turned out to be very similar to what Harry had theorized.

"The coldness feels so familiar, I'm almost positive, because it is causing you to recall the sensations you felt when Tom was pouring his soul into you. That coldness is the inherent state of Dark Magic. Tom Riddle's soul was already so permeated with Darkness at the age he possessed you, that when he tried to invade your body with his own, it felt almost the same as raw Dark power. Tell me, when you call up your wandless magic, do you feel warmth when it is especially powerful?"

"Yes, I do," she replied, nodding sternly as things fell into place. Well, at least Voldemort wasn't using her directly; she didn't have to be constantly on her guard against being possessed or used as a weapon to kill Harry. Then again, having to basically fight a constant and completely internal battle with Tom Riddle didn't sound like a day at the beach either.

"As you might have guessed by now, the warmth is the natural state of light magic, the kind we normally associate with being wizards. You have inherited an incredible amount of lightness through the unique circumstances of your birth and your experience with the diary. Unfortunately, your enhanced powers also make the lure of the Dark Arts that much more tempting. You have a very difficult struggle ahead of you, I daresay."

He abruptly turned and left the room for a moment, to go back into the small office in the rear of the classroom. He emerged with two vials.

"Potter, I believe you have also been having difficulty sleeping recently?" Snape asked rhetorically. "These vials contain enough dreamless sleep potion to last you until the Christmas holidays. A cap-full every night before bed should do the trick. While the potion will give us more time and allow the two of you to catch up on your sleep," he turned and looked pointedly at Ginny, "about which, I am told, you have been sorely delinquent of late, you will have to work very hard on top of your required curriculum in order to be able to adequately protect yourselves by the end of the term, after which I will be forced to allow you the potion only sparingly. It has dangerous and addictive properties if relied on too extensively." When they had taken the vials from him, he walked toward the door, unlocking it and removing the wards as he did.

"And Miss Weasley," he said, pausing in the doorway. "You will report here for remedial Potions every Monday and Thursday at ten o'clock." And he was gone.

Harry explained to her that "remedial Potions" likely meant "Occlumency lessons," which made sense, considering her earlier request for them and her well-known lack of deficiency in Potions. When they reached the stairs separating the boys from the girls' dormitories, they stopped and watched each other. Harry broke the silence with his worried tone.

"Are you going to be all right?" Ginny carefully handed Herpo back to his owner, and smiled grimly.

"Yes, but I don't want to talk about it right this minute. It's quite a bit to take in, and I'm not ready to discuss it. You can understand that, right?" Harry nodded.

"Of course, I understand. You're taking this much better than I did." Her eyes met his with curiosity. "I trashed Dumbledore's office when he told me about the prophecy," he watched her reaction intently, now, "when he told me that I'm the only one who can destroy Voldemort, and that I have some power that is the only way to defeat him." Ginny willed her eyes not water at his admission, and she bit her lip to keep her countenance even.

He remained still as her eyes searched out his scar, and she reached up to touch it gingerly with her finger. Herpo stopped his squirming to watch the interaction. Harry closed his eyes as she touched his forehead, and she finished her attentions by tucking a lock of his shaggy black hair to the side. When he opened his eyes, she was not quite smiling.

"You're not going to stay up the rest of the night, are you?" she asked him, glancing out one of the common room windows to see that the sun would be rising soon. His face relaxed and his eyes twinkled.

"No," he replied as Herpo began to climb up onto his shoulder.

"Are you lying?" she asked, biting her bottom lip.

"No," he said, as the corners of his mouth began to twitch.

"Okay."

"Do you believe me?" he asked her, earnestly.

"Yes," she said nodding once, and reaching out to give Herpo an affectionate scratch behind the ears.

"Are you lying?" he prompted her, smiling fully now. She returned it in kind.

"No, I'm not lying, Harry."

"Good night, Ginny," he offered, watching her as she started to make her way up the girls' staircase. Before rounding the corner to find her bedroom, she turned back to him.

"'Night, Harry," she said, and resumed her way back to the dormitory.

* * *

Signs for the first Hogsmeade trip of the year went up the day before Halloween. The next few weeks looked promising for the students at Hogwarts, as Halloween week was followed by the first Quidditch match of the season, Slytherin vs. Hufflepuff. Hogsmeade was scheduled for the weekend after, and Gryffindor's first match (against Ravenclaw) was set for the weekend after that.

Except that Ginny couldn't be bothered. The date of their first Quidditch match was the only important one, as far as she was concerned. She was somewhat surprised at how little she cared about the approach of another Hogsmeade weekend. But then, things were different this year, weren't they?

Last year her brothers had still been around, and Hermione had called the meeting at the Hogs Head, so trips still held the excitement that she'd felt in her third year. But this year she no longer had a boyfriend and would, in all honesty, be perfectly happy to spend that entire day sleeping if she thought for a moment that she wouldn't be spending the whole time studying.

As December approached, Ginny reckoned that she'd almost caught up to where the sixth-year N.E.W.T. classes were in their studies. But with her three O.W.L.'s getting closer every day, Ginny had begun to alternate her studies every seven days, learning new material one week and revising for her exams the next.

Transfiguration was the only one giving her a little bit of trouble, but staying after class for help from Professor McGonagall had cleared her problems right up.

At any rate, it was safe to say that Ginny had quite forgotten about the planned outing to Hogsmeade by the end of the first week of November.

She had forgotten, that is, until Duncan Moran sauntered up to her in the hallway after classes ended that Friday.

"Ginny!" he called to her, causing her and Kerney to turn as they came out of the Charms classroom. She smiled. It was hard not to do that when a boy as good-looking and charming as Duncan Moran was approaching you, regardless of whether you fancied him or not.

"Duncan!" she responded in kind, earning a smile from him, and a snort of amusement from the Kernel. She thought she heard her friend mumble something like "and now, it starts," but couldn't tell for sure.

"Nice to see you again, Miss Scott," he said kindly to Kerney, who, despite her fervent belief that Duncan was for the most part a useless git, shared a humorous acquaintance with him by virtue of their connection through Ginny. She also had been forced to admit once, in the course of playing the question game, not only that she thought Duncan was one of the best looking blokes in the school, but that she would not be averse to a good, thorough snog, should the occasion ever arise. So his attentions were not the least bit unwelcome, on either account.

"I have to go meet Matt and Gabe just now, but I was wondering, Ginny," and he focused his light brown eyes on her rich chocolate-y ones as he leaned in a little closer, "if you'd go with me to Hogsmeade next weekend." Ginny blinked and didn't respond for a moment, out of sheer lack of understanding. It wasn't until Kerney elbowed her in the ribs that she came back to the conversation.

"I'm sorry, what?" she asked incredulously. Kerney sighed and shook her head.

"I asked you on a date to Hogsmeade," he replied bluntly. Luckily for Ginny, Duncan Moran was not the type of boy who was either shy or easily deterred by a girl's lack of positive response to his overtures.

"Oh, right. Hogsmeade." Ginny was quite at a loss. More for lack of anything else to say than an actual inclination to go, she looked up at Duncan and said, "all right, sure." He smiled his big, lovely, toothy smile, and leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. Ginny continued to stand in the middle of the hallway, blinking dazedly as he did.

"Talk to you later, then, Ginny," he said happily as he walked away. "Bye Kerney!" he shouted jubilantly. The Kernel waved back overzealously (to say nothing of mockingly). At Ginny's continued look of shocked numbness, Kerney began to laugh heartily. Ginny did not appreciate this.

"What the hell was that?!" she shouted insistently, pointing in the direction that Duncan had gone.

"I was wondering when this was going to start," the Kernel said cryptically.

"What do you mean this?" Ginny asked suspiciously. She did not like being out of the loop, whether it had to do with the Order or stupid boys who were stupid and hot and asking her on stupid Hogsmeade dates. Oh, Ron is going to go ballistic, she thought with exasperation.

"I just mean that I won't be surprised if you get asked to Hogsmeade 47 more times before next weekend." Ginny groaned. Kerney laughed again at her pain. Then Ginny's head seemed to clear for a moment.

"Wait a minute," she started, her suspicion building. "You're full of it, Scott. Complete bollocks. Since when were you expecting Duncan bloody Moran to ask me to Hogsmeade?"

"Since he stopped shagging Marcia McLean two weeks ago and started staring at you in the common room," the Kernel replied simply. Ginny closed her eyes and sighed in resignation.

"No, but for real, Duncan Moran? Did I just imagine that?" Ginny asked, with not a little shrillness in her tone, and wondering why she wasn't the least bit excited when the fantasy of every other girl in the school had just come true for her. "Wait, he was shagging Marcia McLean? That girl's built like the prow of a ship! What in the name of Agrippa does he want with me, then?"

Kerney gave her a patronizing look.

"Well, he's not getting anything from me other than a healthy dose of my winning personality." She paused for a moment to reconsider. "Okay, and maybe a good snog." The Kernel laughed quite hard at this and patted Ginny on the back as they continued on their way to Gryffindor Tower.

The Kernel proved to be very wise, indeed. By the end of the weekend, ten more boys had asked Ginny to Hogsmeade, and she had to admit that she appreciated Duncan's invitation in one regard, at least, as it gave her a legitimate reason to turn all the others down. She became extremely disgruntled as she sat in the stands at the Slytherin-Hufflepuff game, and could barely track the progress of the match with the number of blokes who tried their luck.

Ginny was amazed that Ron hadn't yet become aware of her new-found popularity, and not a little relieved. Half of the anxiety she felt at all these boys asking her out was in anticipation of the rows she would inevitably have to face when Ron found out. The other half was embarrassment and discomfort at being so singled out (often by blokes she barely knew) and then having to say no.

She felt badly, like she was being mean, and she hated to contribute to the inevitable beating down their self-confidence would suffer in being rejected. But not so much that she would rather get their hopes up. At least Duncan would be the least put out when she decided to break things off. She didn't feel the slightest bit bad about that. The bloke was practically a god at their school, and would find a replacement for her soon enough. And she had the feeling his affections weren't exactly the deep, profound sort to begin with.

In the end, Slytherin did beat Hufflepuff, though it was only by 40 points. The game had gone on for over six hours by the time Malfoy barely out-reached Barry Summerby to get the Snitch. And although Hufflepuff had scored eleven goals to Slytherin's zero, Baron Ramsey had played an inspired game as Keeper for Slytherin, seeing as Hufflepuff had pretty much poured a six-hour assault of shots down on him.

Jamie Bowen and Bruce Healy had wiped the floor with Crabbe and Goyle, and had so frustrated the Slytherin Chasers that seventh-year Dante Caulfield had been thrown out of the game four hours in, after he tried to knock Jamie Bowen off her broom. Bowen and Healy's stellar play had allowed the Hufflepuff Chasers free reign on poor Baron, who had made spectacular save after spectacular save to keep his team in the game.

And despite the fact that she utterly loathed Draco Malfoy, and even though he had never been able to beat Harry to the Snitch, she couldn't deny that he was an excellent Seeker in his own right. She wasn't the least bit confident that she could beat him in head-to-head competition.

He was smaller than Harry now, and a little lighter, but it was hard to believe that those advantages would change the outcome of their rivalry this year. Roman had been right in his initial estimation that Harry would be much harder to bump and shove off the Snitch, and there was just no competing with a Firebolt--or Harry's complete disregard for his own health and safety when he was in hot pursuit.

At any rate, it looked as though the match-up of the year was still going to be her and Katie Bell against Jamie and Bruce. If the Gryffindor Chasers got in over their heads, Harry was certainly up to the task when it came to getting the Snitch in time, but Ginny was determined to prevent that from happening.

They would really have to bring their "A" game, and Ginny was thankful that they didn't play Hufflepuff until the last game of the year, so that Betsy would already have two games and a whole season of practices under her belt by then. By the spring, Ginny believed Stephen would be able to hold his own against the Hufflepuff phenoms, but she had no doubt that the duo was going to make Jack Sloper look like a clown. Ron would need to put in a solid performance, and Katie and Ginny would have to play the best games of their careers.

But first they had to play Ravenclaw in two weeks, and Ginny was curious to see how Harry would cope with playing against Cho Chang for the first time in two years.

* * *

Ginny had planned it perfectly. She had asked Harry one evening after their Potions session when the D.A. was going to revisit the Patronus Charm. He'd told her that they would start working on it the first meeting after the Hogsmeade weekend. So Ginny would just make up some excuse not to go to the first several meetings after that. Easy enough. It appeared that she would be able to move forward in her life, dignity still intact.

Except that, by the last meeting before the Hogsmeade weekend, everyone ended up mastering the conjunctivitis curse much faster than Harry had anticipated . . . so the group voted to dive right into Patronuses. Ginny's insides seemed to disappear. She couldn't very well just up and leave the meeting--Harry would wonder why, and she was determined not to lie to him. Even about something that would so completely sabotage their new friendship.

Leave it to Hermione to unknowingly try to ruin her life by taking it upon herself to make sure that Ginny could do the charm.

"Hermione, I'm good. Seriously, I can do it now. I don't need to practice." Ginny was trying to keep her tone casual and light, but the agony of anticipating the one question she didn't want to answer was making it very difficult.

"Oh, really?" Hermione brightened significantly at this development. Here it comes, Ginny thought to herself. "That's wonderful, Ginny! What form does it take?" she continued, her enthusiasm almost causing Ginny to feel guilty about not telling her.

"Er . . . well, actually," she really hated doing this. "I'm not sure," she lied. Or did she? Ginny suddenly got an idea, and forced herself to match Hermione's interest. "In fact, I was hoping you could help me figure it out." As Ginny knew it would, that got Hermione, hook, line, and sinker.

"Sure, Ginny, what do you need?" She would have to word this carefully. It was a fine line between outright lying and just not correcting other people's assumptions. But it was a line that might let Ginny sleep better at night. Plus, if Hermione ever did find out what it really was, she would be the one most likely to understand and sympathize with Ginny's motives for keeping it a secret. Besides Harry, of course, who would, in all likelihood, be horrified with embarrassment if it got out.

"Well, I was wondering if you could do some research and find out what it is. What with O.W.L.'s and Quidditch and the D.A., I just haven't had the time to do it myself." Hermione nodded in earnest understanding. So maybe the bit about O.W.L. studies was a little manipulative. But if Ginny was going to pull off this ruse, she really had to sell it. "It's not a big deal, or anything, but it would be nice to know more about my protector." And wasn't that the truth.

"Oh, Ginny, of course it would. It's always fascinating to analyze the connections between wizards and their corresponding animals, whether you're talking about your Animagus form or the manifestation of your Patronus. I'm pretty busy with Prefect duties and N.E.W.T. classes, but I wouldn't want you to skimp on your O.W.L. revision. I'll try to get into the library whenever I can, okay?" Ginny smiled.

"Thanks a lot, Hermione. I really appreciate the help." Now there was one last thing Ginny had to get over before she would be safe for a while.

"Well, do you think you could show me what it looks like so I can get an idea of what the mystery animal is? This is so exciting, I bet it's a mythological creature, and those are so rare!" Ginny stifled a cringe at the suggestion of a demonstration, and dove into the next manipulation.

"Actually, I doubt I could do it right now, Hermione. I haven't been sleeping lately and it's draining my practical ability. I've been just horrid in my O.W.L. classes lately. Thank Merlin we don't need a wand for Potions, or Professor Snape would be making my life miserable!" Ginny decided that she would much rather deal with Hermione mothering her about not sleeping than reveal the real reason she was declining to perform the spell.

"Why haven't you been sleeping? Ginny, you know that sleep is a very important aspect of good study habits. You need proper sleep to maximize your learning potential during the day."

"I know, but there's so much work, and I've been having," she leaned in and lowered her voice for effect, "I've been having nightmares recently," which wasn't a lie, either. Only she neglected to add that the nightmares were making her believe that she'd be possessed and used as the weapon to destroy Harry.

"Oh, Ginny, why didn't you say anything?" At least to this question, Ginny could respond in earnest.

"Hermione, really, it's okay. You and Ron need to concentrate on Harry. Don't trouble yourself with me. It's not like I've never had them before, right? I've been dealing with them ever since my first year. I have good friends in my year that will be there if I need them." Hermione considered Ginny's words thoughtfully, and it seemed to remind the older girl of something.

"Oh, the fifth year Prefect, Kerney Scott, she's one of your friends, right?" Ginny used quite a bit of self-control to keep from sighing with exasperation. Ron wasn't the only one who needed to open his eyes to the rest of the school. Yes, Hermione, Ginny thought in annoyance, she's only like my best friend at Hogwarts.

"Yes, of course," she answered out loud.

"Oh, wonderful. I just thought maybe you could let me know what kind of job you think she's doing as a Prefect so far." By Hermione's tone, Ginny got the feeling that Hermione was fishing for a less than positive response. Putting aside, for a moment, the fact that Kerney was doing an admirable job in the position, Ginny's loyalty to her friend incited her protective instincts.

"She's great," Ginny said as Hermione frowned. "She gets on very well with the younger kids, and manages to keep Colin and Holden from making terrible nuisances of themselves. She and Othello seem to be working very well as a team." Ginny crossed her arms in front of her as she waited for Hermione's response.

"Well, I guess that's good to hear. I just hope she isn't getting too chummy with the younger years. We can't have them thinking the Prefects are their buddies instead of proper guides of house behavior." Ginny raised her eyebrows patronizingly at Hermione. Oh, for the love of Merlin.

"I think Kerney and Othello have found that they actually have fewer discipline problems when they cultivate the good faith of the students," Ginny countered. "And besides, aren't Prefects supposed to be leaders of the student body, rather than student versions of Mr. Filch? Good relations lead to trust, respect and openness, which are much more important that perfect attendance and an iron-handed curfew, don't you think? I mean," and Ginny tried not smile as she said this, "I know how strongly you feel about student cooperation and respect. And we'll never see it between the houses if we can't realize it within our own house first, right?" Hermione looked as though she was not the least bit pleased with how Ginny had turned her own argument against her criticism of Kerney.

"Well, of course you're right, Ginny, I just worry that if she keeps up with the sarcastic remarks and things like that," Ginny was barely containing her laughter now, "it will undermine our authority as Prefects."

"Hermione, I'm sure if you said something to her about your concerns," she might laugh in your face, "she would keep them in mind in her future dealings with students." And ignore them completely. Man, the Kernel was going to just eat this up. And if Hermione had thought Ginny was going to be her go-between with other Prefects--who were, technically, equal in status to the sixth years--she could take her passive-aggressive power trip and go jump in the lake. Hermione huffed at Ginny's side-stepping of the issue.

"Well, I'm not sure how soon I'll be able to get a spare moment for some research--" Ginny could see where Hermione was going with this, and actually had to fake a cough to keep from laughing in the other girl's face.

"Oh, I understand completely, I know you're probably very busy, too," Ginny said sympathetically. The fact that Hermione thought that withholding research on Ginny's Patronus would at all incline her to do what Hermione was asking was absurd and laughable when doing so would far exceed Ginny's expectations for the request she had made. She had only come up with the plan to stall Hermione, but if Hermione wanted to suspend the topic indefinitely, all the better.

When Ginny rejoined Kerney, Andy, and Nadine on the other side of the room, she was surprised to learn that Andy could already do the charm. His Patronus was, oddly enough, a giraffe. Ginny was at a loss as to what the connection or hidden meaning was. Kerney and Nadine laughed heartily at the strange pairing of the handsome, sturdy Andy McGrath and this great big, strange-looking, awkward animal. Then again, they were both very gentle. It was hard to tell.

Ginny glanced over to where Stephen and Nadia were being instructed by Harry. The first few meetings had been terribly amusing, as far as those three were concerned. Stephen had obviously still not gotten over his awe of Harry's Quidditch ability, while Nadia had not been very subtle about her view of Harry as being particularly dishy.

Harry, not one who was used to being touched, let alone by girls, was much less comfortable with Nadia's behavior than, say, Andy, who was well used to the girl looping her arm through his or holding his hand. Luckily for Stevie, Harry quickly discovered that the younger McGrath's star-struck reverence was due to Quidditch, not his identity as the Boy-Who-Lived, and became much more easy and comfortable in his presence.

At the moment, it seemed that while Nadia was at least succeeding in producing the white mist of a weak Patronus, Stephen was faring not at all well, and becoming visibly frustrated. Harry was trying to coax him into doing something, and Nadia was cheerfully trying to improve his spirits. Ginny, who was not practicing anyway, went over to see what was going on.

"Hey Nadia, why don't you go show Andy what you can do? I think he'll be mighty impressed." Nadia brightened at the idea and skipped off to find the other three. Stevie scowled. Then he realized suddenly that the two people in the world he most admired (granted, in different ways) were standing with him. Ginny grinned at how he could not contain his emotions at all.

"What seems to be the problem here?" she asked Harry, glancing back and forth between him and Stevie inquiringly.

"Stephen's having trouble getting the beginning of a Patronus." Stevie nodded his head with a pout.

"Well, maybe your memory isn't happy enough," Ginny offered. Harry nodded, and turned to his pupil.

"That's a thought," he said. "Do you mind if we ask what memory you're using?"

"When I made the Quidditch team," he said happily, in the presence of his two older teammates. Ginny and Harry started speaking at the same time.

"That's what I--" they halted and stared at each other, amused at each other and smiling.

"I was just going to say that I made that mistake, the first few times I tried the charm," Ginny offered. Harry nodded knowingly.

"Yep, me, too. It didn't work." He turned to Stevie. "And seeing as it didn't work for Ginny either, maybe you should pick something else?"

"But I don't know what else I'd choose," Stephen admitted with no small amount of anxiety in his voice. He looked from Ginny to Harry and asked, "What do you use for your memories?" Ginny and Harry both froze, thinking of the extremely personal nature of their memories. But Ginny adored Stevie far too much not to offer him what she knew.

"Well, I think of, now don't laugh," she glanced at Harry a bit nervously, "but I think of when Harry showed up in the Chamber of Secrets. I was dead sure no one would come looking for me down there. No one even knew where it was. But then Harry showed up, came rushing up to find me, and I reckon in my whole life I've never been as happy as I was just then."

She smiled slightly at Stephen, who looked rather startled that she was talking about Harry Potter (who was standing right there!) coming to save her and the equally enthralling subject of the Chamber of Secrets. For his part, Harry was studying her curiously.

"I didn't know you could do a Patronus," he said thoughtfully. "I don't remember you being able to do it by the end of last year." And here we go again.

"You're right, I couldn't," she answered, matter-of-factly. "Remember where we went on my birthday?" she asked a bit cryptically, so as not to clue Stevie in on what she was referring to. A light bulb may as well have lit up over Harry's head with the obvious look of realization that fell over his face.

"Yeah, when Remus and I left you guys, we worked on spells and things. The one thing in Defense I've always had trouble with was my Patronus. He asked me about my memory, which," she snuck a look at Stephen, "happened to be the one where I stole the Quidditch Cup right out from Cho Chang's nose." Stevie laughed and beamed at the memory. Harry looked intrigued, both because he had not actually seen the Quidditch final and perhaps because it seemed like he was ruffled at hearing Ginny speak so easily (and not particularly fondly) of Cho.

"Ha!" Stevie laughed. "She was so mad! It was brilliant!" Ginny couldn't help but smile at the boy's characterization of the events. It had been brilliant. She turned to share her delight with Harry, but he was back to scrutinizing her.

"So, what form does your Patronus take?"

"Not telling." Harry's eyes shot up to meet hers.

"What?" he asked, incredulous at her blunt denial.

"What?" Stephen repeated, obviously appalled at the notion that someone would actually be able to do the Charm and not want to talk about it.

"Sorry, boys. Not telling."

"That's completely ridiculous," Harry insisted.

"Oh, and I'm supposed to pretend you've never done anything completely ridiculous in your life, Harry James Potter?" she countered. He stopped, looking quite surprised at her frank (and not inaccurate) sizing up of the situation. "I'm sure there are quite a few things you wouldn't tell me if I asked. And that's all well and good as long as you remember that you don't have a monopoly on the whole secrecy thing, yeah?"

Harry was obviously not used to being spoken to in this manner, and Stevie looked every bit as dumbfounded as his Quidditch idol, shocked that someone, even Ginny Weasley--who was everything he thought an older girl should be--would dare speak to Harry Potter like that. The identical expressions on the boys' faces would have been quite funny if Ginny hadn't been concentrating so hard on keeping the massive butterflies in her stomach from inciting her wandless magic.

"So Harry, I believe you were going to tell Stevie, here, what memory you use for your Patronus," Ginny resumed, as if to drive home the point that she was very much done with the previous topic of conversation. Harry stuttered slightly as he continued to look curiously at her while trying to regain the power of speech.

"Er, yeah, right. Memory." He shook himself slightly and turned his attention back to their third-year pupil. "Right. Actually, I think of my mum and dad." Stevie looked curious at this, and seemed to forget that Harry Potter the Quidditch prodigy was the same Harry Potter as the Boy-Who-Lived. When he failed to react with any sort of recognition at Harry's admission, Ginny prodded the conversation along.

"See, Stevie, Harry thinks of his parents. Maybe you could try that."

"But my mum died when I was a baby," he pleaded. "I can't really remember her." Ginny was grateful to see Harry pick up the slack on this.

"Mine did, too. I can't remember her either, really." At this reminder, Stephen seemed to remember very quickly that both Harrys were one and the same. His face took on a look of horror at having said such a thing in front of someone who had lost not one, but both of his parents.

"Oh, bugger, I can't believe I said that. Oh, Harry," he began desperately, "I'm so sorry. What a little prat. Here I am weeping because my mum died, when you've never known your dad either. Oh, bollocks." Harry smiled sadly, watching the younger boy's self-flagellation.

"Stephen," he said calmly, startling Ginny a bit since she had never heard him speak so quietly without sounding meek or resigned. Stevie reluctantly brought his eyes back up to meet Harry's. "It's okay, mate. What you said, I mean. I've quite accepted the fact that my parents are dead, and I suppose, other than Neville, you probably know better than anyone what that's like. So no harm done, yeah?" Stevie's shoulders visibly relaxed.

"Okay," he replied softly.

"So, do you have any memories of your mum? Or even of your dad? I bet they'll both work," Ginny encouraged.

"Or, you could do like I do, and just imagine what your mum was like. Since I was so little when my parents died, I don't think I have any real memories, so much as I just think about them. Sometimes just talking to me, or to each other. Sometimes they watch me play Quidditch, sometimes they're talking with . . ." he paused a second here, and Ginny mentally inserted the name Sirius into the sentence. "er . . . their friends."

Stevie nodded and closed his eyes, probably trying to conjure up images of his parents in his mind. As he did, a small smile gradually came over his face. Seeing this slightly heart-warming development, Ginny and Harry shared a look, though Ginny's was more proud and grateful, while Harry's was thoughtful and a little surprised.

"Okay, I think I've got it," Stevie said after a few minutes, opening his eyes and jarring Harry and Ginny out of their silent exchange.

"All right, go on then," Harry said by way of invitation. Stevie narrowed his eyes in concentration and commenced the appropriate wand movements, yelling "Expecto Patronum!"

Sure enough, a thick, white mist shot out of the end of his wand. Ginny and Harry clapped and complimented him approvingly.

"Thanks!" he said to them excitedly. "I have to go tell Nadia!" he insisted and rushed off to find his friend. Harry watched Ginny smiling as her eyes followed Stevie around the room.

"He's quite a kid," Harry said, and on top of the way he was scrutinizing her, Ginny got the impression that he was fishing for something.

"Yes, he is. And he's good at Quidditch," Ginny added, turning her attention to Harry as soon as Stephen had found Nadia, his brother, and the others.

"So that's your boyfriend, huh?" he said and Ginny laughed. It was nice to laugh again, and it was particularly nice to laugh with Harry.

"Yeah, but I think he's safe from Ron for a while, at least until after the match against Ravenclaw," Ginny said. Harry smiled and nodded knowingly.

"I was so surprised at tryouts, because he's so young, but then I remembered that your brothers must have been awfully young when they started playing on the team, so I guess it's not so strange. I just wish he had a twin brother, you know? I'd have much less to worry about this season if he did." His gaze strayed over to where the McGraths, the Ryans, and Kerney were alternately chatting and practicing.

"I don't suppose your friend, ah, Andrew, plays, does he?" He seemed a little nervous about asking her this, and Ginny was baffled at why he would ever be nervous about such a simple question.

"No, he doesn't play. He likes it well enough, but I think he'd rather cheer for his brother. Plus," and here Ginny laughed, drawing a confused look from Harry. "I can't imagine he'd be all that comfortable with the extra attention. He's already traumatized enough with girls throwing themselves at him all the time, I think being a Quidditch superstar would put him over the edge." She smirked as she watched Nadia hanging on him and Nadine looking on enviously.

"It's a shame. If he was half as good as Stephen, I'd sleep better at night. At least Sloper isn't as much of a goon as he was last year. And we didn't lose nearly as much ground as I thought we would from Angelina and Alicia graduating." He said the last words with a small, but proud, grin at her. She smiled back.

"Oh, Harry, was that a backhanded compliment?" she joked, pretending to sigh. "Be careful, I might faint from your overwhelming charm." Harry laughed at her sarcasm and she grinned at her achievement in making him do so. Getting Harry to laugh was not exactly an easy task these days.

"So, are you really not going to tell me what form your Patronus takes?" Ginny's smile drained.

"I'm really not," she assured him.

"Come on, I won't tell anyone! I've kept your other secrets, haven't I?" he reminded her.

"Sorry, Harry. The only person who knows is Remus, and he's not going to tell you. Trust me, you really don't want to know what it is." Unless you've taken a liking to paralyzing embarrassment or you've started to fancy me, neither of which have happened, I'm sure.

"I don't?" he asked, amused and somewhat unhappy.

"No, you don't. In fact, I think, after me, you are the one who would most want this to stay a secret."

"But how is that possible if I don't even know what it is?"

"It's possible, I promise. Would I lie to you?" she asked jokingly, but Harry's face, as it so commonly did these days, abruptly turned more serious. He looked at her searchingly for a moment.

"No," he replied, still considering her. "I reckon you never would." He said it earnestly, but a bit sadly, as though he knew she was the only one for whom that was true. Ginny shivered as he kept looking at her. Luckily, Andy strolled up to them before she could blush.

"Harry," Andy said as he nodded in greeting, and then turned to Ginny. "Whatever you lot said to Stevie, it really helped, so thanks. He's been moping around ever since my dad taught me how to do it last summer. Dad will be thrilled to know that he can get the beginning, at least. He's been worried about him ever since the Dementors started going haywire. I think he had a bad experience with them back when You-Know-Who was around the first time."

Harry's curiosity was visibly piqued by this, and Ginny could tell he wanted to ask Andy about his father, but held back since they didn't know each other very well.

"What's your dad's name?" Harry asked instead.

"Matt McGrath." There was a pause, and Andy seemed to sense what Ginny and Harry wouldn't let themselves ask. "My mum was Christine O'Connell before she married my dad." Ginny's brain clicked on something.

"Your middle name! That makes sense." Andy nodded in affirmation.

"Yep. Stevie's middle name is after our Uncle Will," he added. "And rightly so, since my dad says Will and his best friend Chad used to get into quite as much trouble as the runts do, and he would know, seeing as he was Head Boy.

"My dad was Head Boy, too," Harry added, looking as amused and interested at the coincidence as Andy did.

"Whoa, really?" Ginny asked, attention still on Andy. "I didn't know that. Wow, no pressure Andy, yeah?"

"Nah, he's cool about it. He's never pushed us to be Prefects or anything. He's dead excited about Stevie playing Quidditch, though. And our Aunt Tracy's been more excited than we've ever seen her. She's always been pretty quiet, but ever since she heard the news, she's been writing us and asking about how the team is and everything." Harry looked a bit confused, so Ginny thought she'd enlighten him.

"His aunt was the girl beater from twenty years ago. She played for Gryffindor!" Harry nodded in understanding, but as Ginny and Andy continued their conversation, Harry suddenly froze as if he'd been blindsided by the realization truck.

He spun quickly and asked Andy, somewhat desperately, "What's your aunt's name?"

"Er, Tracy Merton. Well, she was Tracy McGrath when she was in school." Harry nodded and turned to Ginny.

"Tell Hermione to wrap up the meeting, will you? I need to go check on something and it can't wait." Ginny nodded dumbly, curious as to what Harry was on about. As Harry practically ran from the room, Ginny and Andy shared perplexed looks.

"What the blazes was that all about?" he asked rhetorically. Ginny was in the middle of shrugging her shoulders, when the light bulb switched on in her brain, too. When she gasped in realization, Andy looked at her with concern on his features. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, Merlin, Andy, you know what this means? I can't believe I didn't suss it out before! How could I have been so thick!"

"What? Slow down, Ginny, what are you being thick about?"

"Your Aunt Tracy was one of the Gryffindor beaters twenty years ago!"

"Yeah, and?"

"Well, think about it--Harry's dad was a Chaser for Gryffindor. And he was here about twenty years ago! That means they must have known each other!" Andy's eyebrows flew up in surprise, and he had to run to keep up with Ginny as she tore out of the classroom after Harry, completely forgetting about relaying his message to Hermione.

* * *