The Trial

Ginny knocked firmly on the door. "Anyone in there?" she called out. No response. Ron must be out playing Quidditch with George and Bill and Charlie. She felt a little better thinking about that--at least it meant that George had finally moved on. That he wasn't going to let Fred's death haunt him forever.

Fred had been killed about a week before. Death Eaters, George said, who had threatened to kill Ron if the twins hadn't come after him. Someone had taunted them, said that it was not Ron, but the twins, who would be dying...and then the ceiling had collapsed. And when it was over, Fred lay dead under the rubble. Ginny suspected there was more to the story that George wasn't telling, but she couldn't exactly blame him. It had been a horribly traumatic experience for him.

Sighing, Ginny opened the door to Ron's room and struggled in with a load of his socks and sweaters. Mum was out shopping and Dad was at work, so Ginny had promised to take care of a load of laundry. She almost regretted the decision.

Unlike her mother, who generally just put their laundry on the beds, Ginny usually put everyone's clothing away. Her brothers tended to just sweep their clothes to one side, dumping it on the floor. Ginny had inherited her mother's neat-freak compulsion and couldn't stand that, so she put it away herself. This meant that she generally knew things her mother didn't know, and since the boys never questioned how their laundry came to be in their drawers they never knew she knew them. She had found out about the joke shop a couple of years before anyone else did, she knew when Percy had a girlfriend and had been writing to her all summer, she even knew that Charlie had once tried smoking. Not that she'd ever tell; her brothers were entitled to their secrets.

Sighing a little, she began folding Ron's sweaters and tucking them into his drawer, then pairing his socks and tossing them in his drawer, which was nearly empty. There was one lone pair of maroon socks...and a pile of letters. Ginny glanced at them curiously. They all began the same: "Weasley".

Normally she kept her brothers' secrets. Not this time. She couldn't keep this a secret. Putting the socks in the drawer--and thankfully, they filled it up--but removing the letters, Ginny quickly left the room. She knew what she had to do.

~~~

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Ginny winced. She knew what was going on. Her ears grew red, but she set aside her book.

Mr. Weasley met her eyes sadly, then got up to answer the door. She'd pulled him aside when he arrived home and told him about the letters, told him what she'd done. He'd been shocked and disbelieving until she showed him the letters.

A group of Aurors came in, all of them looking grave. Mr. Weasley followed, looking a hundred years older. Ginny's ears were so red now they hurt.

"Ronald Bilius Weasley?" said the one in the lead, looking directly at Ron.

Slowly, Ron got to his feet. "Can I help you?"

Two aurors grabbed him as the one in the lead continued. "You are under arrest in connection with the murder of Frederick John Weasley."

Mrs. Weasley shrieked. Bill sputtered. Charlie gibbered. George paled. Ron stood there, unmoving and silent, as the lead auror advised him of his rights. Once the other two led him out, the lead auror turned to Ginny. She told him everything she knew, handed over the bundle of letters, told him where she had found them. And when she had finished, the auror nodded to them all, turned, and left. The room was silent--save for Mrs. Weasley's racking sobs.