Galatea

Chapter 10

Baptism

This chapter is dedicated to Josephine, who keeps insisting that Draco and Ginny want to have dozens of dysfunctional babies, to Lea, who kept me motivated, and to Whitney, who wrote me the loveliest email imaginable. I hope you had a wonderful birthday.

The yawning oven spits forth fiery spears;
Red aspish tongues shout wordlessly my name.
Desire destroys, consumes my mortal fears,
Transforming me into a shape of flame.

I will come out, back to your world of tears,
A stronger soul within a finer frame.

-- “Baptism” by Claude McKay

Shouts echoed off the vaulted ceiling of the hospital wing. Harry and Draco paid no attention to the beds full of wounded fighters; their entire concern was focused on the gray-haired bundle in Harry’s arms. Madam Pomfrey opened a door in the back and led them into a small room. There were five beds, and she jerked open the curtains of the one closest to the door. “Lay her here.”

Harry obeyed, and the Mediwitch began running her wand over Ginny’s limbs, muttering under her breath.

“Diagnostic charms are pointless!” Draco berated. “We already know what’s wrong. Just fix her.”

“Shut up and let her work,” Harry snapped, worried lines around his eyes.

“Both of you be quiet,” Madam Pomfrey said. “This is a delicate job.”

“If Ginny dies because you’ve wasted time with unnecessary spells –” Draco began.

“Oh, so you have a Mediwizard’s diploma now?” Harry interrupted, moving to the other side of the bed to give Madam Pomfrey more room. “I think she’d know better than you what’s best for Ginny.”

“Silence, or you’ll both have to leave,” Madam Pomfrey announced.

They fell silent, but glared at each other, their enmity etched on their faces. The door creaked partway open and Bill slipped in, followed by the rest of his family. The twins supported Mrs. Weasley, one on each side. Mike slid in after them, walking with a limp.

“Family only,” Madam Pomfrey ordered, glancing up.

“He can stay,” Harry said. Mike flashed him a grateful look. “You should have someone look at your leg,” Harry told him.

Mike shook his head. “Doesn’t matter,” he said hoarsely. “It won’t kill me.”

At his words, everyone in the room held their breath. Mike flushed, his eyes shooting to Ginny’s still, pale body. “She’s going to be all right,” he declared. “She has to be. Potter, you promised me you wouldn’t let her die.” His voice broke as he repeated, “You promised me….”

“If you go on like that, you’ll have to leave,” Harry said. His tone was flat.

Mike drew a shaky breath and murmured an apology. He looked like he wanted to draw nearer to the bed, but with Harry and Draco standing guard, he didn’t dare.

But for the Mediwitch’s rapid spell casting, the small room was silent.

* * * * *

Ginny turned in a full circle. The gentle sun brushed her face with its warm caress. Rolling green hills stretched out on all sides and the horizon was smudged with the purple of mountains. The soft, sighing breeze carried to her ears the quiet splashing of water flowing over rock, the trilling birds, and the gentle laughter of the people who lived there. In contrast to the Otherworld – where everything was sharp, clear, and immediate – this place seemed blurred at the edges, nothing more than a pleasant dream. “Where are we?”

Mórrígan said, “It is many things to many people. The Norse named it Valhalla, the Greeks, Elysium, and the Christians call it Heaven.”

Ginny’s lips thinned as she pressed them together. “I shouldn't be here.”

Mórrígan arched an eyebrow. “No? You believe you would be more comfortable in hell?”

“I shouldn't be here at all!” Ginny objected.

“Virginia, this is the land of eternal peace. Only you would be dissatisfied with it.” The goddess sounded like she was holding back laughter.

“But I’m not dead,” Ginny said through clenched teeth.

“Ah,” Mórrígan murmured. “How can you be sure?”

Ginny was taken aback, but only for a moment. “I would know,” she insisted stubbornly.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific than that,” Mórrígan said, her youthful eyes shining with wicked amusement. “The crone washed your robe. Not three hours later, you’re standing in the land where heroes reap their rewards. I’m afraid your situation is quite straightforward, Virginia.”

“But…” Ginny looked wildly around. “But Badb is in my world.”

The goddess’s red eyes sparked on hearing her sister's name. “Yes.”

“So I can’t be here. I haven’t set the balance right!”

“Perhaps you failed,” Mórrígan said, her voice flat, “because anyone can see that you are here.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Ginny insisted. “I couldn’t have failed.”

“No?” Mórrígan asked. “You’ve botched your first campaign every possible way, and finished it off by taunting your enemy until he killed you. I’d call that a spectacular failure.”

“He didn’t kill me!”

“How do you know?” Mórrígan demanded.

They stood nose-to-nose for an interminable time, Ginny seething, Mórrígan as inscrutable as ever.

“I’m not afraid of you,” Ginny finally said.

“It took you long enough,” Mórrígan taunted.

“You didn’t get me,” Ginny continued in that same, soft tone. “Do you understand what I’m saying to you? You didn’t get me. You washed my robe, and I didn’t die.”

“Some might call that denial.”

“I’m not in denial!” Ginny swore, frustrated.

“Oh?”

Ginny didn’t rise to the goddess’s bait, and Mórrígan chose another tack. “The crone washed your robe. You were fated to die. How could you have escaped the hand of fate?”

Ginny’s brown eyes held the Goddess’s crimson ones, hypnotized. Mórrígan was trying to tell her something. “There’s no way I could’ve escaped fate,” Ginny repeated, “but I did.”

The goddess was silent.

The next moment, Ginny’s entire reality fractured. Nothing was as she’d thought. Her knees were suddenly weak, and she grabbed a tree trunk to keep from falling. “Oh, no.”

“And now, you finally see,” Mórrígan murmured.

“There’s no such thing as fate,” Ginny whispered, astounded. “There’s no such thing. If there were, I’d be dead.”

The young goddess nodded. “Well done, Virginia.”

“But…but how is that possible? You’re the goddess of fate. Everyone has a fate set out for them at birth…. What do you do all day, if fate doesn’t exist?”

Mórrígan’s smiled vanished. “I am the Phantom Queen of the Otherworld,” she said coolly. “I also keep Macha and Badb from killing each other. It’s harder than it sounds. And I’m the goddess of fertility, and war, and –”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“Everyone has a destiny set out for them at birth, when the Universe decrees each person’s potential,” she explained, adopting a lecturing tone. “It is my job to point mortals in the right direction. This is fate. No one is obligated to listen to me, although they always do.” She tossed her hair. “I’m very persuasive.”

“You’re vain, is what you are.”

“And you are the most disrespectful champion I’ve ever known,” Mórrígan said with a censorious glare. “The point is, Virginia, the crone told you that you were fated to die, but you used your powers to escape that decree. You are the first person to ever attempt to exercise her free will when faced with an Otherworldly death sentence.”

“So you admit that I’m still alive.”

“Yes, for now. No thanks to your leadership tactics.”

Ginny gaped. “I beg your pardon?”

“An evacuation?” Mórrígan demanded. “Where did you get that stupid idea? It was overly risky, spread your people’s resources too thin, drained your own powers completely, and ensured that you had the defenseless Muggles and children all grouped in the same place for my sister’s minions to find!”

The goddess gripped Ginny’s chin and lifted it roughly. Her piercing, ruthless gaze made Ginny squirm. “The warrior mother taught you better than that,” Mórrígan growled. “You knew it was a disastrous idea; you must have. And yet you did it anyway. Why? What could have come over you? You are not careless by nature, Virginia, but tonight, when it really mattered, you….” She trailed off and shook her head, mystified.

Ginny didn’t know how to answer, and at last Mórrígan released her. She hadn’t found the answers to her questions in Ginny’s eyes. “Now, Virginia, you have a decision to make.”

Ginny blinked. “I do?”

“You are the guardian of balance in the mortal world, and I am the guardian in the Otherworld. Badb must eliminate one of us to seize control. She has weighed her options, and decided she had a better chance against you.”

“That’s why she broke into my world?” Ginny asked.

Mórrígan nodded. “You must choose a side. Will you formally declare your allegiance to the Phantom Queen, or will you stand with her enemies?”

Ginny licked her lips nervously. “I don’t understand. You bring me to the world of the dead and then tell me to decide whether or not to support you? If I say no, are you going to leave me here?”

The goddess was irritated. “Don’t be melodramatic.”

“It’s a legitimate question.”

Mórrígan shook her head. “The decision is yours, and you must make it freely or it is nonbinding. There is only one way for me to prove it to you; go back to your own world, Virginia. Give me your answer tomorrow.”

Ginny’s head was spinning. “I’m bleeding to death.”

The goddess arched a perfect eyebrow. “You just spent considerable energy insisting that you were still alive.”

“I exaggerated.”

“You are a provoking mortal,” Mórrígan said, but Ginny heard a note of grudging admiration in her voice. “Go back to your body. The Mediwitch will heal you.”

* * * * *

Ginny woke. She tried to sit up, but a fit of coughing stopped her. Her throat felt like someone had rubbed it with sandpaper. “Thirsty,” she croaked, tears squeezing from her tightly closed eyes. Someone lifted a glass to her lips. She took a sip, and then coughed again.

“I know it’s bitter,” said Madam Pomfrey’s soft voice, “but it will help you feel better. Drink it all.”

Through superhuman effort, Ginny dragged her eyes open. Her vision was watery and unfocused, but she saw enough blurry shapes with red hair to know she was surrounded by her family, and tried to conjure up a weak smile for their benefit. It wound up looking more like a grimace.

Bill stepped forward and cleared his throat. “I still have your sword, Ginny. What should I do with it?”

Ginny didn’t care. Her entire focus was on the driving pain in her head.

Once it became evident that Ginny wasn’t going to answer, Mrs. Weasley said, “Leave it under her bed, Bill. It will be out of the way there. She’ll know where to find it once she’s better.”

Ginny heard a note of desperate hope in her mother’s voice, and it was echoed when Mike chimed in, “So she’s going to get better?”

Cool, soft hands took gentle hold of Ginny’s wrist, pressing lightly on her pulse. Madam Pomfrey announced, “I see no reason why she shouldn’t make a full recovery.”

She heard Harry gasp, “Thank the goddess.”

No one else heard him over her brothers’ relieved laughter and Mrs. Weasley’s effusive, “Thank you, Poppy. Thank you for saving my baby girl.”

“Mum –” Ginny rasped.

She felt her mother’s plump, warm arms circle her. “I was never so afraid in my life as when I saw the Killing Curse coming straight at you.”

“Me neither,” Ginny confessed, blinking her eyes to focus them. “Mum –”

She heard her mother sniffle, and felt hot, treacherous tears spring to her own eyes. She closed them and willed them not to spill over, with moderate success. Her mother was in no shape to answer the question, so she went to another, less emotional source. “Draco, where’s my dad?”

Draco, occupied with being no less grateful than Harry for Ginny’s positive prognosis, was caught off guard at being directly addressed. “Um….”

Ron stepped in. “He wasn’t with the others in the Malfoy dungeon. But don’t worry; the best Aurors have been assigned to the case.”

Ginny’s heart plummeted. “Tom said he’s dead.”

“And we all know how reliable and honest he was,” Harry said, squeezing her hand. “We’ll find your dad; I promise.”

“You should stay overnight for observation,” Madam Pomfrey said, “just to make sure there are no complications.”

“If she stays, I’m staying too,” Draco announced.

“Both of us will sleep here,” Harry said, almost before Draco had finished his sentence.

“I meant all three of you,” Madam Pomfrey clarified. “You were all hit with a Killing Curse this evening, some more directly than others, and I want to make sure none of you suffer any serious side effects.”

“Have you seen Blaise Zabini?” Draco asked her. “Did you triage him to the hospital wing? Is he here?”

“Don’t worry,” Madam Pomfrey said. “I will ask the Headmaster to keep everyone out until the morning. You won’t be bothered.”

“No,” Draco protested, “it’s not a bother. I want to talk to him. I mean, I have to. It’s important. Do you know if he’s all right?”

“Whatever you have to say can wait until morning,” Madame Pomfrey declared.

“It really can’t.”

“As your medical caregiver, I’m telling you it will wait until tomorrow. You have been through a terrible ordeal this evening, and you must rest.”

He opened his mouth to protest again, but Ron spoke first. “Just shut up, Malfoy. Your Death Eater friends will still be there when you wake up, ready and eager to hear your newest plot against Ginny.”

Draco rounded on him, a terrible expression on his face. “I have never plotted against Ginny,” he hissed through clenched teeth, “and if you dare claim that I have –”

Ron’s wand was already in his hand. “I think I just did.”

Draco reached for his own wand, and found his robe pocket empty. “Where –”

“Looking for this?” Fred asked, twirling the stolen wand.

“Considering your delinquent behavior when you were at school, I shouldn’t be surprised you turned out to be a thief,” Draco said in an ugly tone.

“As far as I can see,” Percy said calmly, “there’s only one criminal in this room, and he isn’t a Weasley.”

Draco looked around him. Except for Ginny’s mother, every Weasley was glaring at him, disgust in their eyes. He lifted his chin, looked down his nose, and fixed them all with a disdainful sneer, aware to his toes that he looked just like his father, but it couldn’t be helped. Someone needed to put these peasants in their place.

“Quiet, everyone,” Madam Pomfrey ordered in a loud whisper. “You don’t want to wake her.”

Draco glanced down at Ginny, pretending to dismiss her family from his mind.

Harry, who hadn’t paid the slightest attention to the brief argument between Draco and the Weasleys, perched on the edge of Ginny’s mattress. “Did you drug her?”

Madam Pomfrey stood with a small, satisfied smile. “It’s a natural sleep. After what she’s been through, she must be exhausted.” When Harry nodded his understanding and reached out to brush a wisp of hair from Ginny’s forehead, the Mediwitch snatched his wand from his other hand. “I’ll hold this until tomorrow,” she declared, and took Draco’s wand from Fred. “You both may have them back when you wake up. I will not risk a brawl in the middle of the night. And as for everyone else,” she said to the crowd, “you may see Miss Weasley in the morning.”

“But –” Mrs. Weasley began.

“Molly,” Madam Pomfrey said gently, “I know you’re worried about her. But the best thing to do now is take care of yourself. Go to Hermione’s rooms and get a good night’s sleep.”

Mrs. Weasley nodded reluctantly.

“I have many more patients to see,” Madam Pomfrey continued with a pointed look.

Reluctantly, Ginny’s family left. Each brother pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead as he filed past her bed. Just before he reached the door, Mike turned back and, eyes fixed on Draco, said, “Potter?”

“I know,” Harry acknowledged. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Is this some kind of Gryffindor code?” Draco mocked.

“I’m a Ravenclaw,” Mike snapped.

Harry spoke over him, “Fletcher doesn’t trust you to spend an entire night in the same room as Ginny without trying to kidnap her, and neither do I.” He tone was matter-of-fact, his expression determined.

Draco blinked, truly caught off guard. “Kidnap her?”

“You’ve done it before,” Harry pointed out. “She was your prisoner for weeks.”

He laughed. “Not because I kidnapped her, Potter. As if I could. She appeared at the Manor as a gift from the Mórrígan, and was only my prisoner there for a few days. After we left, Ginny stayed with me of her own free will. She was every inch a willing participant.” He finished with a lascivious drawl, “And I do mean that exactly the way it sounds.”

Harry gaped. “You expect me to believe –”

“You filthy liar!” Mike shouted at the same time, a furious blush staining his cheeks.

Draco shrugged. “I don’t expect you to believe me. I’m a lying, thieving, murdering Death Eater, after all. When she wakes up, though, she’ll tell you the same thing I did.” He gave a wide, affected yawn. “Sorry to disappoint you both, but I’m too tired to kidnap and pillage this evening. Perhaps Madam Pomfrey could put a locking spell on the door? If we don’t have wands, neither of us can run off with her in the middle of the night.”

“If this is what it will take,” Madam Pomfrey said wearily.

Both protectors nodded.

The Mediwitch drew her wand. “I’ll unlock it when I make my morning rounds.”

Mike glanced once more at Ginny, sending her an encouraging smile, even though she couldn’t see it. Then he slipped through the door, and Madam Pomfrey followed him. Draco and Harry heard her mutter something, and the door rattled on its hinges, then stilled. The three of them were locked in for the night.

* * * * *

Harry didn’t know how he was supposed to sleep. He kept turning Draco’s words over in his mind – and I mean that exactly the way it sounds – wondering what could’ve happened during those missing two weeks. What had he and Ginny been doing while Harry waited at Mike’s for news? Ginny had said that they were going to Avalon to get her sword; they had obviously found it. He made up his mind that the rest was just venomous embellishment on Malfoy’s part. After all, hadn’t she told him how much she loved him before they’d gone to Privet Drive? She’d done it because she’d thought she was going to die, he realized now, and shivered at how close he’d come to losing her.

Ginny was just a few feet away, curled up on a twin bed identical to his own. Harry was so thankful to have her home, so profoundly grateful that Voldemort hadn’t taken her from him, that he could almost ignore his enemy’s presence in the room. Almost. Harry had pretended to drop off right away, the better to observe Malfoy without him knowing. Through barely cracked eyelids, Harry had watched Draco pace the room, glowering at the beds. After more than an hour, Malfoy had given up and thrown himself into an armchair with a disgusted sound. He’d sat there ever since, unmoving, a sulky look on his face.

* * * * *

Ginny made a sleepy noise. She stirred a bit, and then pushed herself up, dangling her legs off the edge of the bed. “Harry?” she croaked.

“He’s asleep,” Draco whispered. “Stupid wanker dropped off like he doesn’t have a care in the world.”

“Don’t talk about him like that,” Ginny whispered back. “Where are we?”

“Hospital wing at Hogwarts.”

“It’s so quiet in here.” Ginny glanced at Harry’s bed and bit her bottom lip, then rested her hand on the headboard to steady herself while she stood.

“Sit down,” Draco ordered. “You shouldn’t be walking around.”

“Stop telling me what to do,” Ginny snapped, “and keep your voice down.”

She crossed to the door on unsteady knees.

“It won’t open until morning,” Draco told her. “You’re stuck with me for the next few hours, at least.”

“I’m thirsty.”

“Madam Pomfrey left a beaker of the purple stuff you drank earlier.”

Ginny made a face, remembering the bitter taste. “Not that thirsty. Is there any water?”

Draco spread his hands. “Do you see any?”

“No.”

“Then probably not.”

“Do you have to be so unpleasant?”

“Do you really love him?” he asked, his tone dark.

Her knees buckled and he was out of his chair and across the room in two quick strides, bracing her on her feet, keeping her from crumpling to the floor. “Are you all right?” he murmured, his mouth very close to her ear.

“Do I really love whom?” she asked, taking a deep breath. Through her robes, Draco felt her heart racing.

“The boy-who-lived,” he said, jerking his head in the direction of Harry’s bed.

“I don't want to talk about this.”

“Indulge me.”

“He’s not a boy,” Ginny said softly. “You can let go of me now. I have my balance back.”

He slowly lowered his arms. “So, do you?”

Ginny looked at Harry in the far hospital bed, and then back up at Draco. Her face was shadowed, barely visible in the sliver of cold moonlight that slipped in through the drawn curtains. All he could clearly make out were her dark eyes, searching his face intently. For the first time, it dawned on him that without her powers she couldn’t see his thoughts, and had no sense at all of his feelings. She was lost, with no compass to guide her.

“Yes, I do,” she answered.

He asked, “Now that you’re home, are you going to be with him?”

There was a small note of uncertainty in her voice when she said, “I hope so.”

He seized on the doubt and insecurity he saw in her eyes, and knew it boded well for his plan. His eyes glinted in the faint light, and he enclosed her right hand in both of his and gently lifted it. The locator talismans had a dull silver sheen. In a low, silky voice, he asked, “Even though you’re wearing another man’s ring?”

She stiffened and tried to pull her hand back, but he wouldn’t let go. “These are locator talismans, not symbols of an undying relationship,” she said.

“I beg to differ,” he replied, pleased to see he was throwing her off-balance.

“I’m not wearing it because I volunteered,” Ginny objected. “It’s useless now anyway, since I opened the link again. You might as well take it off.”

Draco held her hand a moment more. “No,” he finally said, “I don’t believe I will.”

Ginny’s irritated, “Malfoy!” sounded more like a curse than an address. Almost immediately, though, she lowered her head and said softly, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.” She was silent a moment; he could almost hear the gears turning in her head. He hadn’t yet rolled his sleeves down, and before he could ask her what had brought on such an abrupt apology, she wriggled out of his grasp, caught his wrist, and pulled it up.

“What are you doing?” he asked, not impatient, just curious.

She gently touched the Dark Mark with the tips of her fingers, a butterfly caress. It was rough, like a scab, and slightly raised from the smooth skin surrounding it. She knew full well he was trying to make her unsure of her feelings for Harry – he hadn’t been very subtle about it – and a counter-plan flashed through her mind. The only way to best him, she knew, was to sink to his own manipulative level.

Draco cocked his head and waited for an explanation that was not forthcoming. “The Dark Lord is dead. It’ll never burn again,” he finally offered.

“Is that how it was put on? Fire?”

“Magic.”

She nodded. Her fingers rubbed the Mark a few more times before she finally raised her eyes to his. “I could get rid of it for you.”

He smiled wryly. “I’d believe it if you’d said so yesterday. But now? You’re nothing but a Squib.”

“I know, but you’re feeding the link between us. I could use your powers, if you’d let me.”

“Ginny –”

Her voice was earnest. “Let me erase it, Draco.”

He licked his lips nervously, wishing she hadn’t put him on the spot like this. If he flat-out refused…. “We can talk about it later.”

“No, now.” she whispered. “May I get rid of it?”

Her sudden intensity made him suspicious. “What are you really trying to do?”

Her eyes were wide and dark; he found her absolutely unreadable. “I’m trying to help you,” she insisted. “That’s all I want.”

“Let me make sure I understand this properly. To get rid of something that’s never even going to pain me again, you’re asking me to let you pull magic right out of my body? You’d kill me.”

“I would not. And the Mark will hurt you as long as you wear it. The most effective tortures aren’t physical,” Ginny replied, reaching through the open link and grabbing onto Draco’s power with all the mental strength she possessed.

He drew back with a hiss of surprise, but she didn’t release his arm. His harsh whisper echoed in the corners of the room, “That hurts!”

“I didn’t say it wouldn’t hurt you,” she retorted. “Only that it wouldn’t kill you.”

His eyes narrowed. “What’s your game, Ginny?”

She stood so near to him, their clothes brushed. Draco felt like the fabric might as well be an extension of his skin, sensitized and heated by her nearness. She lowered her eyes, and her lashes fanned over her cheeks in cinnamon crescents. He heard her low, slightly scratchy voice. “I don’t have a game. I just want to help you. It’s all I’ve wanted since this whole mess started.”

“Liar.”

“You saved my life today by taking on part of that Killing Curse. I want to help you in return. You must be able to understand that, at least.”

His thoughts were tied in a tangled knot. He’d never been a clear thinker where red haired women were concerned, and from their first confrontation he’d found this particular woman, with her smoky voice and strange, intoxicating hold over him, even more mesmerizing than the others. “If you really wanted to help me,” he said, “you would’ve just taken it off without asking and saved me from expecting the pain. It would all be over by now.”

Ginny’s palm hovered just above the Mark. “That’s impossible. I can’t do it without your permission. Will you give it?”

“We can do this another time. It doesn’t have to be this minute.”

Her expression didn’t change. “There is no other time. It has to be tonight.”

He arched an eyebrow and asked cynically, “Why? Because you say so? So much for altruism.”

“Because,” she explained, “if you don’t let me do it now, why would you agree later?”

“I’ve had this Mark since I was sixteen,” Draco protested. “Having it removed…it’s a big step, Ginny. I need time to think about it.”

“You need time to collude with your faction, you mean,” she countered, “and have Blaise help you decide on the most strategic course of action. Either you give me permission right now, so I know it’s completely your choice, or it doesn’t happen at all.”

He felt fine sheen of sweat break out on his forehead as the rational part of his brain shouted that she’d trapped him between a rock and a hard place. He looked at her small hand, so close to his arm he could feel the heat from her skin, and at her intense, dark gaze now fixed on his eyes. Panicked, he wondered what his faction would do if he agreed, and what she would do if he didn’t. He squeezed his eyes shut and made a snap decision. “Fine. Whatever you want. But get it over quickly.”

Her palm clapped down over his arm; a swath of magic ripped from his body and tore through the link. The pain was too intense for him even to cry out; the loudest scream still wouldn’t be enough to express the burning agony of the great rift in the fabric of his power. He stumbled to the nearest bed, shudders wracking his body. “What…what….”

She lifted his left arm and inspected it clinically, then crouched down so she could look in his eyes. Her smile was gentle. “You’re as good as new, Draco. Well done.”

“Goddess, that hurt,” he managed to gasp.

She tilted her head. “More than the Killing Curse?”

Draco had to think about that. “No,” he finally decided. “But just barely. You are never, ever to use my magic for anything again. You’ll just have to wait for your own to come back.”

“Fair enough,” Ginny said. “Will you be all right?”

He turned his face into the pillow and nodded, wondering with the shredded rational part of his mind, the one small corner of his brain that stayed unaffected by her, what the hell he’d just done. Ginny stood, but before she could move away, he caught her hand. He didn’t pull, he just held it, anchoring her to his side. She stood there a moment, and then squeezed gently. He squeezed back and released her. By the time she reached her own bed, he was asleep.

* * * * *

When Draco cracked his eyes open again, it was day and the other beds were empty. Potter was wandering around barefoot, and not making any particular effort to be quiet. The door was ajar, and someone had pulled the curtains back. The sunshine in the small room seemed to mock him. His head pounded with the kind of nauseating throb he’d known only once before, after a night of obnoxiously hard drinking. He filed this information away: a Killing Curse and a Dark Mark removal were more painful the next morning than even the most awful hangover. Then he groaned and pulled the pillow over his face. Listen to him! Was Ginny rotting his mind?

He heard the squeak of Potter sitting down on one of the beds, and figured he was putting on his shoes. “Some people are trying to sleep,” Draco announced from beneath the pillow.

Potter’s only answer was a curt, “Oh.”

Draco heard him filling the washbasin by the door with water left by some helpful house elf. When he finished, he set the pitcher on the floor with a loud thump. “Can’t you do that somewhere else?” Draco asked.

“No.” Soft splashes followed; Potter was washing his face.

“You’re the floor all wet.”

No answer.

“Where’s Ginny?”

No answer.

Draco gingerly sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Well?”

Potter didn’t pause his morning ablutions.

“She left and you didn’t ask where she was going?” Obviously not, if Potter’s lack of response was any indication. Draco sighed. “That’s part of being a protector of the Pendragon, you know.”

“I’m afraid I don’t,” Potter said through clenched teeth. He turned, a clear warning in his eyes. “Explain it to me.”

Seeing the look on Potter’s face – the man was obviously spoiling for a fight – Draco knew that if he had any sense of self-preservation, he should drop this line of conversation. He kept talking. “How can you possibly protect her if you let her wander off to goddess knows where, without even asking where she’s going or…you should’ve been watching her!”

“I’m not her keeper.”

Draco stood. “Yes you are. She’s a Squib; she’s practically defenseless.”

“If she could survive without magic for an entire month as Agent Jezebel, I doubt one morning on her own will be too much for her.”

Draco blinked. He hadn’t known that. Still, he continued, “I know it’s important for you to primp for your admiring public, considering you killed the Dark Lord last night, but you have other responsibilities to –”

“You’re going to lecture me on how to do my job? You? You only linked with her two weeks ago; I’ve been doing this for six years!”

“Then I shouldn’t have to tell you to keep track of her,” – Draco paused, a sadistic glint in his eye – “but if you’re deliberately avoiding her...”

“Don’t be stupid,” Harry snarled. “I’ve no reason to avoid her.”

“Unless you’re remembering what I said last night,” Draco drawled. “About Ginny and me, I mean. Tell me, Potter, does she scratch her nails down your back too? And bite your –”

Potter’s left fist collided with Draco’s right eye, putting a decisive end to the conversation. Draco grunted and swung back, a weak blow that the Auror easily blocked. Draco had just enough time to see another fist coming at him before it connected with his nose, crunching the cartilage.

“Oh!” a man exclaimed in surprise. Through the eye that wasn’t swelling shut, Draco saw one of the older Weasleys – the man he and Delia had pulled from the rubble at Ginny’s parents’ house – standing in the doorway. “What’s going on?”

Harry froze; his face hardened. He turned and said, “I was just leaving for the Burrow and Malfoy…” he glanced over at Draco, “Malfoy was just getting his nose broken.”

Draco knew that he was bleeding like a stuck pig; if his shirt hadn’t been ruined by the battle the day before, it was certainly beyond repair now. He kept his gaze straight ahead, because if he looked down and saw himself covered with blood, he knew he’d vomit, or faint, or something equally humiliating. The Weasley stared. Could this possibly get any worse?

“Draco?” someone asked. Draco closed his eyes and groaned. Apparently it could. Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini were also crowding the doorway and gaping at him.

“I’m hung over,” he explained, knowing it was no excuse.

“You are not,” Potter said with loathing.

“I’m the equivalent, anyway,” Draco directed to Pansy and Blaise, “and if I weren’t, he’d look just as bad.”

“I’m leaving,” Potter announced, disgusted. “Bill, tell Ron I’ll let him know if we find any signatures.”

Draco missed the Weasley’s reply over Pansy’s order, “Don’t just stand there! Tip your head back! Sit down!” She pulled up the bedsheet and wadded it against his nose. “Hold this in place while I find a Mediwitch.”

“Tell Madam Pomfrey to bring my wand!” Draco called after her.

Pansy rushed off, and through his good eye Draco looked from Blaise to the Weasley and back again. Blaise took the hint and asked the Weasley ungraciously, “What do you want?”

“I’m looking for my sister.”

“She’s obviously not here,” Blaise said.

“I can see that for myself, thank you,” the Weasley snapped. “I want to know where she is, Malfoy.”

Draco gingerly felt his way through the link. “She’s in Hogsmeade.”

“Where in Hogsmeade?”

“I can’t tell you what I don’t know,” Draco said. With his nose pinched closed, he sounded like he had a head cold.

“Then guess.”

Draco thought for a moment. “Is the castle a circus today?”

“Of course,” Blaise said. “She and Potter killed the Dark Lord in front of the hundreds of people, and the general public knows she’s the Pendragon. Everyone is looking for her.”

“Then she’s probably gone to a pub,” he decided. “If there’s a situation that Ginny would rather not face, chances are she’s drowning it in firewhisky.”

Her brother frowned. “It’s only noon.”

“So?”

When the Weasley hesitated, Draco sneered, “She may be your little sister, but I know her a lot better than you ever will.”

Just then, Pansy bustled back in, Madam Pomfrey in tow. “Don’t worry, Mr. Malfoy,” the Mediwitch pronounced, looking at Draco’s swollen eye and bloody shirt. “A broken nose is fixed in five minutes.”

When Draco looked back to the door, the Weasley was gone.

* * * * *

“Look at this place, will you?” Mike said, surveying the wrecked bedroom.

“Tact, Mike,” Gwen admonished.

“No,” Ria said. “It’s all right. I know most of it's ruined.”

“Do you have homeowners insurance?” Esme asked. “If so, it shouldn’t be too expensive to replace most of the things the Death Eaters destroyed."

Ria nodded. “Yeah, but it’s for things like fires and floods, you know, natural disasters. I don’t know if dark magic attacks are covered.”

“I could take a look at your policy, if you’d like,” Esme offered.

Ria bit her lip. “Maybe we should come back another time. Ginny’s still at the castle; she probably needs us. This stuff isn’t going anywhere.”

“Neither is Ginny,” Esme countered. “I don’t even know if I could look at her right now. How could she have kept a secret like this from us for so long? We were supposed to be her friends.”

“We are,” Mike said sharply. “Don’t talk about Ginny that way when she isn’t here to defend herself.”

Gwen squeezed Esme’s hand. “It’ll be all right,” Gwen said. “She probably wants to be alone now, anyway. We’ll find her when we get back, after we’ve all had a chance to calm down.” Gwen turned to Mike and Ria and offered, “Why don’t Esme and I take the ground floor, and you two can work up here? We’ll put everything to rights as best as we can, and make a list of things that need replacing.”

Ria nodded. “Thanks.”

Gwen flashed Ria a quick, sunny grin. “What are friends for?”

After they’d disappeared down the stairs, Ria closed the bedroom door almost all the way and turned to Mike. “Tell me you didn’t know about Ginny being the Pendragon,” she demanded.

“Potter told me a few days ago,” Mike said, “when he was hiding at my flat.”

“You didn’t know before?”

“No, she never told me,” he said, folding Ria into a comforting hug. “It’s nothing to do with her not trusting you; she couldn’t tell anyone. Potter said that Dumbledore wouldn’t let her.”

“And she would’ve told us if Dumbledore had said she could?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No, I don’t think she would’ve. She wanted to keep us safe, Ria. The information was too dangerous for her to share. Ginny would’ve died before putting us in danger; you know that.”

Ria rested her cheek against his chest and sighed. “I know she must have thought it was the right thing to do, but I can’t help feeling betrayed.”

Mike tightened his embrace. “Yeah, I know.”

* * * * *

The air was stained with the acrid scent from decades of sweat and tobacco smoke. Sunlight streaked through the dirty windows in dull yellow bars, not reaching more than two or three feet into the Hog’s Head pub. The rest of the dingy room was in semidarkness, lit only by the half-hearted, anemic glow of the occasional candle. Bill spotted a red cinder, the lit end of a cigarette, in a booth in the back. The booth’s occupant was mostly hidden by the lank brown leaves of a spindly potted tree that had obviously seen better days, but he could see enough to recognize Ginny.

An ear-piercing voice shattered the gloomy silence. “Let me take your order,” said the warty hag behind the bar in a voice that could cut glass. Her hair stood out from her scalp in iron-gray wires and, humpbacked, she was barely taller than Bill’s elbow.

“Nothing,” he said, thinking he hadn’t been in a pub this foul since he’d finished his apprenticeship in curse breaking.

“Can’t stay if you don’t pay,” she sniffed.

“Pumpkin juice, then,” he said. “I’ll take it at that table in the back, please.”

“You’re wasting your time, dearie. That girl’s not in the mood for a man, even a tall, handsome one like yourself. You’d have a much better chance with me,” the hag cackled with a definite leer, grabbing his wrist.

Bill didn’t try to hide his revulsion as he jerked out of her claw-like grasp. “The table in the back,” he repeated.

The hag scowled. “She won’t want your pumpkin juice. Been here since morning, she has, swilling firewhisky. You could do far better than the likes of her.”

“She’s my little sister,” he said coldly, turning away.

Ginny only glanced at him when he slid onto the bench across from her, and then her eyes drifted back down to her glass. She stared into her drink, tracing a knothole in the table with one hand, and taking drags on her cigarette with the other.

He moved the whisky bottle out of the way so he could see her face and said, “I didn’t know you smoke.”

“Surprise,” she said dryly.

“How are you feeling?”

She sighed. “Like my body is one big bruise. And my head aches. I could give you a list of complaints, if you really want to know.”

Bill waited until the hag had delivered his juice and returned to the front of the pub before saying anything else. “What are you doing here?”

She swirled the amber liquid around the heavy bottom of her glass. “What does it look like?”

“It’s only two!”

“Is it two already?”

Her fingers dancing around the knothole were beginning to irritate him, but he reminded himself to be patient. “This isn’t a place for a girl like you.”

Her laugh was scratchy with smoke. “No?”

“You’re not going to solve anything with firewhisky.”

She drained the last of her glass. “Who says I want to? It makes me feel better, at least.”

“Are you happier than you were when you woke up, then?” he asked, already knowing the answer was no.

“My hair is gray,” Ginny cried, tugging on a lock that fell over her shoulder. “I look like that hag over there.”

“It’s not entirely gray,” Bill said, hiding a smile. “And I’m sure no one will mistake you for a hag. You still have some red. Maybe Gwen can dye the rest.”

“It isn’t fair. I shouldn’t have to worry about hair dye for another eighty years.”

“Your body and mind were was under so much stress last night, it’s only natural that it would’ve had consequences. You’re lucky to get off with only one serious side-effect.”

“Two.”

“Sorry?”

“Two effects,” she corrected. “I have a scar on my back. I found it this morning in the shower.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Really? What’s it look like?”

She splashed some more whisky into her glass. “Like Harry’s.”

“You can’t possibly be drinking because of your hair. What’s wrong?”

“Let Draco Malfoy bleed into your soul and then let me know how you deal with it,” she snapped. “He’s toxic.”

“It must be awful,” Bill acknowledged. “But really, Ginny. Sitting by yourself in this disgusting pub…have you even seen mum yet today?”

“You’re not my father.”

Bill’s jaw tightened. “No, but you might think of him while you’re here wasting time.”

Her shoulders stiffened. “Oh?” she said, somehow managing to pack that one syllable with a wealth of menace. “What do you think I should do instead?”

He frowned. She was not acting remotely like herself. “Ginny, this is me,” he said, trying to catch her eye. Still, her gaze stayed locked on her whisky. “I only want what’s best for you. You’ve been through so much in the past few days. Come back up to the castle and be with the rest of the family. Dumbledore is spearheading a rescue operation for dad and would welcome your help, I’m sure, and –”

“No he wouldn’t,” she interrupted. “I’m useless now; I’m not good for anything. I’m a Squib, Bill!”

“Well, yes, but only temporarily –”

She talked right over him. “I have no magic at all. I can’t see; I can’t hear; I can’t feel a thing. Everything is so dark and quiet…. How do you bear the silence? How did I ever… It’s been so long, I can’t remember anymore.”

He had no idea what she was talking about, but pressed on nonetheless. “What about mum, then? And the others? They were captured by You-Know-Who, Ginny. They’ve suffered an awful ordeal, and they need our support.”

“Harry killed him. There’s no reason you can’t say his name.”

“The point is, we love you, and we need you. Come back with me.”

“Back to the castle? Are you insane?” she choked, her voice breaking. She was beginning to sound slightly hysterical as she demanded, “Do you have any idea how many people are there right now? They’re all going to want to talk to me, and take pictures of me…I’ve seen it with Harry. I can’t do it, Bill. I can’t have all of them looking at me and following me and talking about me as soon as I leave the room….”

“You’re never going to be anonymous again. That life isn’t yours anymore. Hiding here won’t change that, and neither will getting angry with me. A Gryffindor wouldn’t shirk her responsibilities. You’re the Pendragon, Ginny.”

“So what if I am?” she muttered. “Aren’t I still fed from the same food, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means as everyone else?”

If his sister was paraphrasing Shakespeare, she wasn’t as far gone as he’d thought. The old Ginny was still there, somewhere.

She continued, “If you prick me, do I not bleed?”

Bill grinned. “Well, yes, but it’s the wrong color.”

A burst of laughter tore from her lips. It was too loud and had a desperate, drunken edge, but it was something, at least. It was hope, and Bill clung to it.

“Very true,” she finally said. “It’s the wrong color. And now everyone knows it. That’s why I’m not going back to Hogwarts with you.”

“You’ll have to sometime.”

“But that time is not right now.”

She reached for the bottle again, but he grabbed its neck and pulled it out of her reach, placing a folded parchment in front of her with the other hand. “All right. Here’s a list of things mum wants from the Burrow, assuming they survived the cave-in. If you get them for her, it’ll buy you a few more hours before you have to go back to the school.”

“You go. I can’t Apparate.”

“You can use the Floo network. Harry went there awhile ago with some other Aurors to collect evidence. He said something about signatures?”

“Magical signatures,” she explained dully. “Every person’s magic leaves a unique signature behind, like a fingerprint. A few years ago the Auror Division figured out how to read the signatures and match them to the wizards who cast the spells.”

“Anyway, they’ll have finished by now. You’ll have the run of the house.”

Ginny slumped down on her side of the booth. Bill set a small jar of Floo powder on the table in front of her, and laid a flat silver flask beside it. “I’ll take care of your bill.” He stood, and squeezed her shoulder. “I love you, sweetheart,” he said before he walked away.

She picked up the flask and gingerly unscrewed the top. The strong, bitter stench of sobriety potion stung her nostrils. Ginny sighed, held her nose, and took a deep swallow.

* * * * *

The house was silent. Ginny stood in front of the fireplace in the kitchen and looked around, taking in the soot-streaked walls, ransacked cupboards, and splintered furniture. Had she really been here only yesterday? The Aurors had made a valiant effort to clean things up; the unbroken chairs had been righted, and her mother’s cookbooks – the ones that hadn’t been burned or torn to shreds, at least – were back on the shelves. The old family clock stood tall in its corner, its glass shattered. A few jagged shards still clung to the face, reflecting Ginny’s eyes back at her as she studied it. Her brothers’ and mum’s hands were on School; hers pointed to Home. She reached up, carefully avoiding the broken glass, and gently nudged her clock hand aside, uncovering her father’s beneath. Ginny frowned. “Home?” she whispered. “Dad, where are you?”

She turned slowly, half expecting him to be standing behind her, or sitting at the table, as she had seen him thousands of times before, but she was alone. She unfolded the stiff parchment Bill had left on her table. First on her mum’s list: the family photo album. Ginny started for the den, moving slowly and as quietly as she could, although she didn’t know why. It was her family’s house, after all, and she was ostensibly the only one in it; there was no need to sneak. All the same, she felt very odd, like there was still danger lurking in the air.

There was a deep gouge in the wall, and she remembered that this was where Delia had found Tom’s note, stabbed to the wall with a Death Eater’s dagger. The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood up and gooseflesh raced up her arms. He had been there, in that very room. He had stood where she was standing right now, and had written her a letter, demanding she surrender herself or face the consequences. Ginny looked ruefully down at her hands. There certainly had been consequences – a worthless Squib for a Pendragon; no doubt Badb was thrilled – but Tom had received the worst of it. She straightened her shoulders a bit; she might be powerless, but she was alive. She had won that battle, at least. Delayed victory, Draco’s tarot cards had promised her. Well now she had it. It tasted almost as bitter as defeat, but it was better than nothing.

The photo album was still in its place in her mother’s keepsake chest. The pages were intact and, flipping through, Ginny could spot no photos out of place. The next few items on her mother’s list were various sets of robes and hats. They would be harder to salvage; her parents’ room had been blown to pieces in the attack. Ginny tucked the photos under her arm and started for the stairs.

She was halfway up when she heard the squeak of floorboards above her head. She froze, clutching the album to her chest with white-knuckled fists. She wasn’t alone; someone was in her old room. Her first thought was of the clock downstairs – had her dad found his way home? – but then she remembered her nervousness in the den. Was it more than just Tom’s residual aura? Was she sensing danger? Should she make a run for the fireplace and go back to Hogwarts? As soon as she had that idea, she dismissed it. If it was her dad then she couldn’t very well run away from him. He might be frightened, or hurt. And if it was a dark wizard, magic wasn’t necessary to thrash someone. She set the album down and silently crept up to the landing, remembering to step over the creaky stair at the top.

Her bedroom door was slightly ajar, and Ginny heard the rustle of papers within. A dark wizard surely wouldn’t read her books, would he? But, then, neither would her father. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, willing herself to be calm, and then swung the door open and stepped inside.

“Ginny!”

“Harry?”

He was sitting on the floor beside her bed, a small wooden box open on the floor next to him. The rug all around him was strewn with papers, and he clutched a few more in his hand.

He explained, “I stayed behind to look for more evidence.”

Her expression went blank. “Under my bed?” she asked in a deceptively mild tone.

“Well…” He looked at the papers scattered around him. “Yes. I mean, I looked under other beds too. Not just yours. And in wardrobes and trunks and anyplace something may have landed.”

“And did you stop to read everyone else’s personal letters?” she demanded.

Harry’s eyes flashed, and he raised his chin defiantly when he answered, “They’re all addressed to me. When I saw my name at the top, yes, I read them.”

Her cheeks burned with humiliation, thinking what he would have seen in those letters. She tried desperately not to cry.

Her silence prompted him to continue, “Gin, why didn’t you ever tell me any of this? About how lonely and helpless you were feeling? And how…and how much you loved me? And the other things too. I didn’t know any of it! Why didn’t you report that you suspected Delia Silvermoon was a Death Eater?”

She protested, “You don’t understand.”

“What is there to understand? There are letters from as early as your fourth year, and even one from the night of Ron and Hermione’s wedding! Why would you have written them, addressed them to me, and then hidden them under your bed?” He looked utterly mystified.

She didn’t know what to say. How could she tell him that she had lived her life full almost to madness with joy, and fears, and dreams, and darkness, but the thought of pouring it out to a diary terrified her, and so she had spent sleepless nights writing letters instead; letters to her hero, her idol, the one person she was sure would understand anything she had to say. She couldn’t explain; her humiliation was deep enough as it was. “You were never supposed to actually see them.”

“They’re addressed to me!” he cried. “What do you mean, I was never supposed to see them?”

“Should I have trusted you with them?” she countered. “You’ve known about Draco since your seventh year, and you never said a word to me.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “No, I didn’t. If you had known, you would’ve linked with him right away, just to spite Dumbledore. You wouldn’t have thought about the consequences, about what would have happened if Voldemort had found out about his coup, and how dangerous that would have been for your parents and brothers.”

“You think I don’t care about my family?” she gasped, stung to the heart.

“I’m not questioning your love for them. I’m saying that, six years ago, you would have acted without thinking things through and put them at risk.”

“If you had told me about Draco, I might have been able to prevent Badb coming into this world! This mess is all your fault!”

“No, it’s not,” Harry insisted. “It’s Voldemort’s fault for sacrificing to the goddess in the first place, and Lucius Malfoy’s fault for thinking he was strong enough to control her. It has nothing to do with me.”

“Are you actually trying to justify yourself? I can’t believe I’m listening to this.”

“I’m not justifying anything,” Harry snapped, finally losing patience. “All I’m saying is that you were a terrified, angry child, Ginny. You didn’t even trust yourself; can you blame me for not trusting you either?”

“And this is what you think of me!”

“It’s what I thought of you then. Now –”

“What about now?” she demanded.

“Malfoy told me about the two of you,” he said in a tone laden with accusation.

Ginny’s expression was incredulous. “The two of us?”

“How you were…together…while you were at Malfoy Manor.”

“He told you what?”

“Did you kiss him?”

After a long silence, she finally whispered, “Yes.”

“Did you sleep with him?” Harry’s face was as blank as hers, but she saw violent emotion seething in his eyes.

“No!”

“Did you want to?”

Ginny thought furiously. How could she answer the question without lying to him?

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Thank you,” he said coldly. “This has been an informative conversation.” He stood and strode on long legs toward the door.

Ginny grabbed his arm to stop him. “Wait! Don’t leave!” she said, but he shook her off.

“There’s nothing you can say that I’d want to hear.”

As he passed her, she clenched her teeth and launched herself through the air, tackling him to the floor.

“Ow! Are you insane?” he gasped, face pressed to the rug.

She inhaled sharply, every nerve ending in her body screaming in pain at the sudden exertion. “I can explain,” she managed to gasp. “Don’t you remember anything I said before we went to the Dursleys’? I meant it all!”

“You only said it because you thought you were going to die.”

“So? That doesn’t mean I was lying. Just because I’m angry with you right now doesn’t mean I don’t still love you.”

“Ginny, let me up. I don’t want to hear it; don’t make this any harder than it has to be.”

“I’ll let you up if you promise to listen,” she said.

“What if I don’t?”

“Then we’ll be here for a while.”

An unhappy, tired sigh escaped his lips. “Fine.”

Ginny scrambled off of his back. “It was the goddess’s fault.”

“All right,” Harry said, jumping to his feet. “I really am going now. Blaming the goddess for your own –”

“No,” she cried, grabbing his wrist with both hands. “You promised to stay and listen, and that’s what you’re going to do.” As quickly and concisely as she could, Ginny explained how she had to kiss Draco in the forest to fool the other Death Eaters, Mórrígan’s plan to tighten the bonds between Draco and her and how she’d resisted, and then her appeal to Macha for an alternate plan and the resulting trip to Avalon. She finished and looked at Harry, a mute plea in her damp eyes. “In my heart, I was never unfaithful to you. I’ll swear it on anything you want. Whatever he told you, it was a twisted version of what really happened.”

“What about the things I’ve seen with my own eyes?” Harry asked, his face unreadable.

“With your…. I’m sorry, I don’t understand. What?”

“You and Malfoy are wearing matching rings. I saw it last night, when you both thought I was asleep. Just like wedding rings –”

She thrust her right arm toward him so he could look closer. “It’s on the wrong hand for a wedding ring. If you were awake last night long enough to see the rings, then you were awake to hear that it’s just a locator talisman, and I’d get rid of it if I could. It’s charmed so he’s the only one who can take it off, but he won’t because he knows it will make you jealous to see me wearing it.”

“But why would he –”

“Because he’s a bastard, Harry. I don’t know! He enjoys being horrible, especially to you!”

“Last night, Ginny, you removed his Dark Mark. I watched the whole thing. You begged Malfoy to let you do it, and you said that all you’d ever wanted was to help him. Why would you do that if you don’t have some kind of feelings for him?”

“Think about it," she said, scrambling to her feet. "When his faction sees that he let me remove his Mark, they’ll suspect that I’m replacing them in his loyalty, that he’s not committed to their cause anymore, that he’s going to betray them…and without its head, Harry, the snake is nothing but a rope.” Her eyes gleamed. “He and his father have been publicly exposed as Death Eaters, so he’s lost all his standing with the wizarding world. Any influence he might have had was through his faction, and last night I cut that power off at the knees. They’ll turn on him, and without him to hold them together, they’ll turn on each other too, one by one. He won’t get anywhere, unless it’s through you and me. It had nothing to do with helping him. It’s just like what he did to Shannon. Poetic justice.”

His eyes widened as he realized the truth of her words. “Goddess above,” he murmured, shocked at her cool manipulation of the other protector. “You sound just like him.”

“I am like him now,” she replied softly, “in some ways, at least. But not where it’s important. At the core, I’m still the same Ginny you’ve always known.”

Harry shook his head. “You’ve changed so much in the past two years – the past two weeks – I hardly know what to think of you anymore. I love you so much, Ginny, but I just don’t know if I can trust you anymore. Not as long as you have part of him inside of you.”

She bit her lip. “I love you too. I love you so much it hurts, and when you find love like this, you don’t just let it go. You’re what got me through Shannon’s death, and everything that followed.”

Harry shook his head. “I just – I’ve hated him for so long –”

“I’m not Malfoy!” she insisted. “I’m not! And, for better or worse, we’re both stuck with him for the rest of our lives. At least I’ve set it up so he’s dependent on us –”

“And what’s to stop you from manipulating me into something next, Ginny?”

She gaped, her mouth open like a fish. “What?”

“You’ve done it to one protector, why wouldn’t you do it to the other?”

“Because I respect you, Harry. You’re not a Death Eater.”

“But I’m an Auror. You hate them too.”

“Are you deaf? Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said?”

“I’ve heard all your words, Ginny, and that’s why I don’t know what to think. I need some time.”

She felt as though she’d been punched in the chest. It was a struggle just to draw breath, but she choked, “All right, fine. Take your time.” It was the least she could do after all he’d done for her, but her voice was tight with tears.

Harry opened his mouth to say something, then closed it and sadly shook his head. The next thing Ginny knew, he’d turned on his heel and left without a word.

* * * * *

“I had to do it,” Draco said, holding out his arm for their inspection. “Imagine what she’d have thought of me if I’d said no. What kind of damage would it have done to my relationship with her and to our cause?” He’d decided it would be better to tell his faction himself, rather than let them find out sometime down the line.

“That’s all very well for you,” Neil said. “We still have Dark Marks. I heard that the Aurors are determined to hunt down all former Death Eaters and put them in Azkaban. All you’ll have to do is roll up your sleeve to prove –”

“Have you forgotten that I walked into Hogwarts yesterday with my sleeves rolled up? Every student, teacher, and Auror in the castle knows I’m one of you. Even if I don’t have a Mark now, I had one yesterday and the whole world saw it.” With all his force of mind, he willed them to understand. The eyes looking back at him were wary, but not yet untrusting. That was a small victory.

“Your relationship with her?” Pansy asked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That’s my plan,” Draco said, seizing on the change of subject. “She told me on Avalon that her love for Potter is what’s keeping her from joining us. If we can make them hate each other, the barrier will be removed.”

“Is it really that simple?” asked Pansy.

“Leave it to me,” Draco said.

“Are you sure this isn’t a little more personal than that?” Blaise muttered under his breath.

Draco cocked one eyebrow, silently ordering his friend to explain.

Two spots of color appeared on Blaise’s cheeks, and he pushed his curls out of his eyes, obviously nervous. He licked his lips and pressed ahead. “Do you have an ulterior motive for volunteering this…course of action? If you do, we deserve to know.”

Draco lifted his chin a notch and looked down his nose at Blaise, wrapping himself in the safety of cold, aristocratic aloofness. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

Blaise’s jaw tightened. “I don’t know what happened between you two after you left the Manor, but we all saw the way you looked at her last night, when you thought she was going to die.”

“I was concerned with how her death might affect the faction –” Draco began.

“It wasn’t concern,” Blaise snarled, “it was bloody terror, and the faction was the furthest thing from your mind.”

Draco’s tone was arrogant, “Just say what you want to say, Blaise, because I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“That’s because you’re being deliberately obtuse!” Blaise exploded. “Everyone in this room – including you – knows exactly what I’m saying. If you have feelings for her, just admit it now!”

Draco’s eyes narrowed. “Even if I did, I have worked too hard, for far too long, to risk it all for a Weasley.”

The room was silent as the two men stared each other down. Draco broke eye contact first. His eyes scanned the crowd. “Why isn’t Delia here?”

Blaise’s shoulders slumped. “She hasn’t been seen since last night. We’re all worried.”

There was another long silence, finally broken by Blaise’s question. “What are we going to do next?”

Draco visibly relaxed; he was relieved beyond words that, for now, Blaise had decided to continue trusting him. “I have no idea. I didn’t exactly plan on my father getting possessed by a goddess. Give me some time and I’ll figure it out.”

“I don’t know how much time we have,” Blaise whispered.

“We have enough,” Draco said. “We’ll meet again in a few days. Everyone, stay safe and don’t make any trouble. Keep a low profile.” With those parting orders, he turned and swept from the room in a swirl of navy blue robes.

“Blaise?” Pansy asked quietly.

Blaise pushed his hair out of his eyes. “Draco’s never betrayed us before,” he told the room. “For the next few days, we'll wait and watch. He or I will contact you when it's time to meet again.”

“And after that?” said Neil.

Blaise shook his head. “I don’t know.”

* * * * *

“You!” a woman shouted. “You there, stop!”

Draco froze. Surely she couldn’t be calling to him. He looked up the hall; there was no one else in sight. He slowly turned around, and saw three very odd people rushing toward him. One was a beefy man with the bushiest mustache Draco had ever seen. The second man was younger, and so wide he took up nearly the entire corridor. The woman who had called out looked like the result of an unfortunate mating between a broomstick and a hyena.

“Yes, you,” she said. “We have a list of grievances. Our room is nothing more than a cupboard! This is unacceptable. Do you have any idea who we are?”

“No," Draco answered. "Should I?”

The woman talked right over him. “We are the Dursley family,” she said, as though that should have been obvious, “and not only is our room disgraceful, but this morning at breakfast, they tried to serve my Dudley this…this brown liquid…”

“Pumpkin juice?” Draco guessed, realizing these strange people were Potter’s relatives.

“Who ever heard of making juice out of pumpkins? You people are all mad. And an old man with a long beard spoke very rudely to us when my Dudley took food from a woman’s plate. Well, it wasn’t as if she were eating it, and my Dudley needs sustenance.”

“I’m sure,” Draco deadpanned, looking to the whale-like man standing behind her, his fat quivering with his vigorous nods. “And what makes you think I can do anything about it?”

“We saw you yesterday with Harry Potter,” the woman said, her voice reminding him of nothing so much as the high-pitched shrieks of a tortured house elf.

“So?” Draco demanded.

“Well, you were standing right next to him last night, with that nasty red-headed woman, Jenny. He’d never help us; he has no gratitude. But if you were to use your influence to get us a better room and some proper food….”

He stood a little taller. “My influence?” he asked, indicating she should elaborate. If even these Muggles had heard about the Malfoys, then perhaps his standing within the wizarding world hadn’t been entirely lost.

“Your influence,” the woman repeated. “Harry Potter is your people’s biggest celebrity, and you’re his friend. You could use that to –”

A murderous expression contorted his face, so fierce it stunned the woman into silence. “I am not his friend,” Draco said, his voice all the more menacing for its softness, “and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave me alone. I’ve more important things to do than waste my time helping the Mudblood family of Harry fucking Potter.”

The woman sneered. “I don’t think you understand –”

Draco drew his wand and said calmly, “If you’re not gone by the time I count to ten, I’ll remove your ears.”

The young one let out a frightened squeal, so high-pitched Draco almost felt embarrassed for him. He waddled away as quickly as his feet could carry him. The mustached man followed, and the woman chased after them on her bony legs.

“Malfoy!” someone shouted behind him.

Draco turned away from the family’s departure, only to see another group coming from the other direction. He closed his eyes and groaned at the red-haired phalanx bearing down on him. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Weasley, other Weasleys,” he greeted, his tone beleaguered.

“Where’s our sister, you son of a –”

“Fred!” Mrs. Weasley squawked.

“Tell us where Ginny is,” Ron demanded, wand in hand.

“I don’t know,” Draco said, leashing his impatience. He might despise Ginny’s family, but if he wanted her on his side, he couldn’t afford to make the rest of the Weasleys hate him any more than they already did. Besides, he was outnumbered.

Ron’s ears turned pink, and the tip of his wand twitched. “Have you seen her?”

“Not since last night. Do you always travel in a pack?”

Mrs. Weasley’s frown was censorious. “If you find her, tell her that we’re waiting for her in Hermione’s rooms. We’re not in the mood to celebrate, although Harry will have to appear, of course, and if Ginny feels up to it…”

“Celebrate?” Draco asked. “What are you talking about?”

“The festival tonight,” Ron supplied, “to celebrate the death of You-Know-Who. Harry killed him, so he’ll have –”

“Ginny killed him,” Draco said curtly.

Ron blinked, thrown off track by the interruption. “Well…yeah…I suppose so. But Harry delivered the death blow, so he’s the guest of honor. If Ginny doesn’t want to go to the festival…”

“I can promise you she won’t want to go,” Draco drawled, “and I know she won’t want to see you for a while either.”

“Me?” Ron asked.

“Any of you,” Draco said. “She feels responsible for her father being missing, and she’s afraid you’ll all blame her.”

“But that’s ridiculous!” Mrs. Weasley exclaimed.

“How do you know what she’s thinking?” the oldest brother demanded.

Draco recognized him from the hospital wing and gave him a look that plainly said, You’re an idiot. “I just know. Did you find her in Hogsmeade?”

“Yeah.”

“Is she all right? Did she say anything?” he asked. “Anything weird?”

The man looked wary. “She said a lot of weird things. She was drunk.”

“Anything I might be interested to hear?”

One of the twins sputtered, “She’s none of your business.”

“I don’t have any business but her,” Draco snapped with a quelling glare.

The Weasley took a deep breath. “She said she has a scar on her back –”

“I know; I saw it yesterday.”

The Weasley frowned. “She asked me how I could bear the silence. I had no idea what she was talking about, but…” He frowned at the unmistakable look of concern on Malfoy’s face. “What? What’s the matter?”

“I hadn’t thought about that,” Draco murmured. “I mean, it’s obvious now that you mention it, but I hadn’t considered…” His sentence trailed off, and he looked each Weasley in the eye. “Listen. You can’t bother her, or push her for anything before she’s ready.”

Mrs. Weasley glared. “She’s my daughter. Wanting to know where she is isn’t bothering her.”

“I know,” Draco said, reminding himself to be polite. “But imagine, for a moment, losing your father, your powers, your sight, and your hearing, all in one day.”

“She was seeing and hearing just fine at the pub,” the oldest Weasley supplied.

“Her physical eyes and ears are fine,” Draco said, “but not her Otherworldly ones. She’s blind, deaf, half-orphaned, and powerless. Between us, it’s a miracle she still has her sanity. She needs to be treated very carefully until her magic comes back.”

“She’s not half-orphaned. Our dad isn’t dead,” Ron said coldly.

“If you say so,” Draco countered, his tone condescending. “The point is, Ginny’s extremely fragile right now, and if she’s mishandled at all, she could break. I don’t want that any more than you do.”

* * * * *

The vague silver nimbus around the goddess’s body was the only light in the dungeon room. She sat on the rough wooden bench as regally as if it were a jewel-studded throne. Delia knelt at her feet, neither noticing nor caring that her robes were dirtied by the cold stone floor. Rapturous, she gazed up at Badb’s face. Dana leaned against the wall a few feet away, her legs crossed in front of her.

“It was unfortunate, of course,” the goddess said, absently trailing her long fingers over Delia’s greasy hair, like an owner caressing a favorite animal. “I had planned to take Tom’s body, but when it became unavailable, I had to act quickly.” She looked down at Lucius’s slim white hands and fashionably expensive robes. “The outer trappings are more attractive, I will admit, but this body does not contain nearly as much power as the other.”

“You can take another form,” Delia said worshipfully. “You’re all-powerful.”

Badb favored the young woman with an amused look. “Not yet, my pet. I will change form, but I do not have the power I need. First this body must be made as strong as Tom’s would have been. You and your sister will help me.”

Dana felt like her thoughts were moving through treacle. They inched along so slowly, it was almost more trouble than it was worth to have them. She summoned what little strength she had and asked, “What if I don’t –”

A crushing pain exploded behind her eyes, cutting off her words. Sure she was about to be violently ill, Dana crumpled into a ball with a pathetic moan. “What if you don’t want to?” the goddess asked. “But, dearest, you don’t have a choice. You never did. You and your sister belong to me.”

Dana felt her eyes being drawn inexorably to the goddess’s. Badb’s words were slow and hypnotic, “You can not fight what you are, so it’s easier if you don’t think about it. Thinking only leads to pain. You will not win this battle; you must see that.”

When Dana nodded, the pain vanished completely. She felt like she was floating, and the goddess’s eyes were all she could see. “I can’t fight you,” she whispered. “I’m only fighting myself.”

Badb’s eyes gleamed, and in them, Dana saw destruction. Her silver power leapt in her body, and she knew with bone-deep assurance that this was what she had been made to do. When the goddess held out her hand, Dana crawled closer and knelt at her other knee. Badb rested a palm on each twin’s head, as one bestowing a benediction. “My two perfect knights,” she murmured.

“Yes,” Delia vaguely.

“What about the Pendragon?” Dana asked, her voice as dreamy as her twin’s.

“Ah, the Pendragon,” Badb said thoughtfully. “She is helpless, but will not always be so. I must speak with her. If she joins me, my sisters’ defeat is assured.”

“And if she won’t?” Dana said. “She’s stubborn and proud.”

The goddess bared her teeth in a grotesque imitation of a smile. “Then you two must bring me power,” she commanded. “Enough to fill this body and make me a match for her.”

“How?” Delia asked.

“You are both predators, are you not?” Badb asked. “An owl and a wolf? Your prey will be human.”

Delia licked her lips. “And when we catch them?”

“Bring them to me alive,” Badb ordered. “They are no good to us dead. Once I am strong enough to face the Pendragon in battle and win, you two will eliminate her protectors. If she refuses to join us, I will kill her too. The world of mortals will be mine, and Mórrígan will fall.”

* * * * *

“What are you doing over here?” Mike asked over the loud music. He had a bottle of Butterbeer in one hand and a noisemaker in the other. The cracking wood in the raging bonfires and joyful revelry of the people on the castle’s front lawn nearly drowned out his words. “Everyone is looking for you!”

Harry scowled and walked a few steps deeper into the Forbidden Forest. “Leave me alone.”

“Are you serious? The wizarding world is holding a festival in your honor!” Mike said, trailing after him. “You-Know-Who is dead, Potter! You killed him in front of a thousand people! You don’t have to sulk and play the tragic hero anymore.”

“Go away. You’re drunk.”

Mike laughed. “Not quite, but I’m so happy I feel drunk. Is it the same thing?” Potter’s eyes didn’t show even a flicker of interest, and Mike was suddenly sober. “What’s wrong, really? Is it something with Ginny?”

“Didn’t I ask you go to away?”

“Is she all right? Is there anything I can do to help her? What’s the matter?”

“She’s turned into a Malfoy clone, that’s what’s the matter!” he exploded. “He…he bled into her through the link, and now she’s just like him! She’s turned into this…devious, manipulative Slytherin.”

Mike frowned. “Oh.”

“That’s all you can say?” he raged. “Just oh? She removed his Dark Mark last night, Fletcher, and she tried to tell me it was because she wanted him to be dependent on her, but it was a lie!”

“A lie?” Mike repeated.

“She said that it wasn’t because she cared about him, but I could see that she does. I could see it in her eyes; she wasn’t telling me the truth.”

“She doesn’t care about him, Potter," Mike protested. "She couldn’t. Not in the way you mean.”

“She was lying to me!” he shouted. “He’s bled into her so much that she stood right in front of me and told a bald-faced lie. I hate him. I hate him, and I swear that if I ever catch him alone –”

“Stop it. You’re making me nervous,” Mike interrupted. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t you know all along that she was going to have to link minds with him someday?”

“Yes.”

“And didn’t you know it would mean that some aspects of his personality would bleed into hers?”

He didn’t answer.

Mike continued, “Then you have to decide: do you love her more than you hate Malfoy?”

“Don’t try to quantify my feelings,” Harry snarled. “It’s insulting.”

“You knew that this would happen sooner or later,” Mike said. “Don’t hold it against her; she can’t help the way she is. Even if she does have some of Malfoy’s talent for manipulation, she’s still Ginny. She can’t have changed that much; goddess knows he hasn’t.”

“You know what kind of person he is,” Harry said, disgusted. “He’s evil; he’s worst kind of dark wizard, and if she actually cares for him, then she’s someone I don’t even know anymore.”

“If he’s become a part of her, you can’t expect her not to care,” Mike pointed out, leaning against a tree.

“You don’t know the history Malfoy and I have,” he said, sinking to a fallen log and resting his elbows on his knees and his forehead in his palms.

Mike rolled his eyes. “Please. Everyone in the world knows the history you have. You were rivals at school, and for the last five years, he’s been clawing his way up the Death Eater ranks and you’ve been trying to put him in Azkaban.”

“You can’t just expect me to forget –”

“No, Potter,” Mike said, exasperated, “no one is expecting you to forget anything, but the least you can do is try to understand where Ginny’s coming from.”

“You sanctimonious little b –”

“Use your head,” Mike cut him off. “She’s not in love with him. She loves you, but if you can’t see that, you’re going to lose her. And trust me, you will never find another woman like her, and you will regret it for the rest of your life.”

Potter’s voice was hoarse. “Speaking from experience, Fletcher?”

Mike rolled his eyes. “Does it matter? Go talk to her before it’s too late.”

Potter opened his mouth, looking like he wanted to say something, but in the end, he just nodded and left the copse of trees the same way he did everything else: with a fierce, determined urgency.

* * * * *

Draco found Ginny in the conservatory. It wasn’t one of the long, low buildings reserved for students’ classes, but was built into an upper floor of the castle. Its curving glass ceiling arched far above his head, elegantly flowing into the tall windowpanes that lined the walls. The air was warm and thick with the heady fragrance of flowers. He had fond memories of this room from his school days; he’d frequently come here to study, or just to be alone with this thoughts.

He snapped several white roses from a trellis near the door and stripped their thorns with silent spells. As he twisted the stems, he kept one eye on his work and the other on her. She sat on a patch of grass near the window, her sword on the ground beside her. The starlight above and the flickering flames of the bonfires below illuminated the deep red of her robe. Her hair, silver-gray streaked with threads of crimson, fell in loose waves about her shoulders. Soft strains of music from the festival below filled the room.

Draco crouched quietly behind her and gently placed his wreath of roses on her head. She turned in surprise, and a gasp of pain escaped her parted lips.

“Oops,” Draco said ruefully. “I thought I’d found all the thorns.” He touched his wand to her temple and, with a whispered incantation, the spot of silver blood vanished. “Sorry.”

“I didn’t hear you coming,” she said. “It’s been a long time since anyone sneaked up on me.”

“You look so sad,” he murmured, his breath fluttering her hair near her ear. “You’re missing the festival.”

“The last thing I want to do is be in a crowd,” she explained, her voice as soft as his.

Draco noticed the goosebumps that raced up her arms and was pleased. “You killed the Dark Lord –” he began.

“Thank you. I remember,” she interrupted, an irritated spark in her eyes.

“You should be celebrating.”

Ginny looked down at the crowd on the castle’s lawn. “Not if it means going out there.”

“Then celebrate here.” He stood and held out his hand. “Dance with me.”

Ginny looked up at him, astonished. “Dance? With you?”

“Why not? We can hear the music up here.”

“I don’t dance with Death Eaters.”

“Lucky thing I’m not a Death Eater,” Draco said, a genuine smile crinkling the corners of his blue eyes. “Go ahead, check my arm. Not a Dark Mark in sight.”

Ginny smiled in spite of herself. “Only because I removed it.”

“Only because I let you,” he countered, his smile turning into a full-fledged grin. “Stand up. I won’t step on your feet; I promise.”

She was still for just a moment more, and then she took his hand and let him pull her to her feet. He rested a hand on her lower back and gently drew her close.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” Ginny said, her words muffled by his robe. “The only reason you asked me to dance is so you could have a chance to charm me.”

“You said yes,” Draco pointed out.

She sighed and leaned her head against his shoulder. “That’s true.”

They didn’t talk anymore. In the silence, the room’s warmth and perfume surrounded and slowly bewitched them. With her body gently entangled with his, Draco felt a deep satisfaction bloom in his chest. He had just leaned his cheek against her hair to better enjoy the scent of the roses when he noticed a slight movement. He lazily raised his eyes and saw that Potter had just walked in the door and stood, frozen, watching the slowly revolving dancers. Draco met Potter’s eyes, and then looked back down at Ginny, deciding to ignore him.

Unfortunately for Draco, Potter wouldn’t be dismissed. “Ginny,” he said, his voice unnaturally calm.

Ginny froze. Draco felt the muscles in her back tense under his palms, and she jumped back as though his robes were on fire. She whirled around to look at the intruder.

Potter asked bitterly, “Was this the goddess’s doing too?”

“No,” Ginny said, “it’s just a misunderstanding. There’s no reason to be angry; nothing happened. Let me explain –”

And right in the middle of her sentence, she disappeared in a flash of silver light.

* * * * *

Ginny was so disoriented, she spun in a full circle before realizing she was in the Otherworld. Mórrígan laughed at her. “I told you that you would give me your answer today,” the goddess said. “Why the confusion?”

“It was just so sudden,” Ginny said, turning toward the goddess’s voice. “This is a bad time. What do you…. Oh! Very funny.”

Mórrígan ran her fingers through her hair. Despite her youthful face, the locks were gray, threaded with long garnet streaks. A crown of white roses topped her head. “You don’t like it?”

Ginny scowled. “No.”

Mórrígan smirked. “I wanted to see how it looked.”

“And what do you think?”

“It’s ugly,” the goddess pronounced, “but it suits you.”

“If you’re only going to make fun of me, send me back,” Ginny said impatiently. “I was in the middle of something important.”

Mórrígan’s mirth vanished without a trace. “You’ve had a day to consider the ramifications of your decision. I now require your answer.”

“I’ve forgotten the question,” Ginny said, just to be difficult.

The goddess was unfazed. “Will you pledge yourself to the Phantom Queen and become her champion, or will you side with her enemies? Consider carefully before you reply, Virginia, because this decision will bind you for the rest of your days.”

Ginny’s features slowly settled into lines of determined resolve. There was only one right choice; she’d known it since last night. The intervening hours hadn’t changed her mind. “Yes, I’ll pledge myself to you,” she swore, fully aware of the enormity of the promise she was making.

“Then today I will become your general,” Mórrígan declared, “and you will truly be my champion. Because you gave me your vow, I will give you one in return. I will protect your people with the same dedication and strength that you will show to mine, and together, we will restore the balance or die trying. I swear this to you, Pendragon.” She reached out her hand and used her thumb to trace a rune on Ginny’s forehead. “You have promised yourself to me, and I protect what is mine.”

“Can you bring my magic back?” Ginny asked.

“No,” Mórrígan said. “I have no power to undo what the Universe has done. Time is the only thing that can bring your powers back.”

“What about my hair? Can you do anything about it?”

“I can, but I won’t. It will be a lesson in humility. Come here, Virginia.”

Ginny stepped closer.

“Kneel,” Mórrígan ordered.

She did, and closed her eyes, a little nervous about what was coming next.

The goddess drew her sword and gripped the hilt with both hands. She gently rested the tip of the blade over Ginny’s chest, and Ginny felt an immense current of heat fill her limbs, starting at the tips of her fingers and toes, converging in her chest and leaping out of her body. She cracked one eye open and saw silver threads of magic flowing from her heart to the sword and back again, weaving an unbreakable chain of power and loyalty. Satisfied, the goddess slowly lowered the weapon, and the light faded. Ginny took her proffered hand and let Mórrígan pull her to her feet.

As Ginny stood, the long sleeve of her robe slipped to her elbow. She gasped at what she saw. A long, crimson dragon wrapped about her left wrist and wound up her forearm. She pulled up the other sleeve and saw an identical dragon on her right arm. “The physical marks of our contract,” Mórrígan said.

“Tattoos? My mum is going to kill me,” Ginny predicted. “The sword on my hip can at least be hidden, but these? She’s going to have a heart attack and die, and it’ll be your fault.”

“These are not ordinary tattoos,” the goddess said. “Explain to your mother how you got them, and she will understand.”

It finally occurred to Ginny to ask, “How am I here physically? It’s not a calendar feast.”

Mórrígan’s crimson eyes narrowed. “It no longer needs to be. The barrier between the mortal world and the Otherworld is broken. You must go back; your disappearance frightened your protectors.”

“Whose fault is that?” Ginny asked.

The goddess ignored the question.

* * * * *

Wand out, Harry demanded, “Where did she go? What did you do to her?”

“Nothing!” Malfoy insisted. “I swear I have no idea what’s going on.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“What’s that?” Malfoy breathed, eyes wide.

Harry turned, and couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Beneath a tree with low, drooping boughs, silver threads were spinning through the air, slowly sketching in the outline a door, standing free in the middle of the room. It shimmered with every breath of air.

“Oh!” Malfoy gasped, for suddenly, they could see a landscape through the opening.

While the greenhouse was dark and warm, the other place was oppressively bright and Harry could feel its cool, refreshing breeze drift across the room. Two figures stood, enclosed by the gossamer tissue of the magic frame. One stepped through, into the room. She turned and Harry recognized Ginny’s voice saying, “I’ll try my best.”

“You’ll do a lot more than try,” the other woman said and, with a small hiss, the door vanished.

Ginny turned slowly, looking first at Malfoy and then at Harry.

“I was here by myself,” she said, a slight tremor in her voice as she bent down to retrieve her sword. “He came up and asked me to dance. I said yes because I was lonely. That’s all there was to it. It has nothing to do with the locator talisman, or the link, or with anything he might have told you last night. I was pulled into the Otherworld before I could explain, but that’s what I was going to say.” She watched at him carefully, waiting for a response.

He stared back. She had not been a beautiful girl when he first laid eyes on her, at platform nine and three quarters all those years ago. Her hair had been too red, her freckles too numerous, her body too clumsy with puppy fat. The intervening years had lightened her hair to an attractive red-blonde, reduced her freckles to a buttery sprinkle over her nose and cheekbones, and molded her pudgy body into a figure soft with curves. She had exuded an earthy sensuality, but the Otherworldly delicacy that had appeared after her stay on Avalon had now permanently taken hold of her. The Goddess had touched her features and consecrated them, bringing out delicate moldings and purity of outline never seen before. Looking at her, standing within the castle’s bower, Harry knew he was seeing the face the Mórrígan had always intended for Ginny to have.

She bit her lower lip and tugged the sleeves of her robe further down over her hands. “It’s all right,” she said in a small voice. “You don’t have to say anything right now. You know where to find me if you want to talk. I’m going to see my mum.”

He didn’t call after her, because he wasn’t sure he could even speak English at that point, much less remember his own name, so great was his astonishment. As the door silently shut behind her, Harry turned to look at Draco, and saw his own shock mirrored in the Death Eater’s eyes.

For a moment, when both goddess and girl stood framed by the magic door, they had been utterly unable to tell who was who.

The End