Perfection

Spinning, laughing, dancing to her favorite song

A little girl with nothing wrong

Is all alone

Eyes wide open

Always hoping for the sun

And she'll sing her song to anyone

That comes along

Fragile as a leaf in autumn

Just falling to the ground

Without a sound

Crooked little smile on her face

Tells a tale of grace

That's all her own

Spinning, laughing, dancing to her favorite song

A little girl with nothing wrong

And she's all alone

~Seven Years, Norah Jones

Perfection

Chapter 5: Discovery

Poppy apparated into the doorway, clucking as she saw the girl reclining on the sofa.

"What have you done to her, Severus?"

"Me? Excuse me," he retorted, "but I was the one that dragged her in here so that she wouldn't be lying in the hallway."

She arched an eyebrow. "A little defensive today, aren't we?"

He smirked. "Anyway, it's the second time recently, in my presence. Her magical reserves are dangerously low, so I thought you might want to know."

"Nice to know that common sense doesn't always escape you."

"You know, it isn't polite to talk about people like they aren't there," Hermione commented.

"Kept your tongue, I see," he shot back. "Of course telling people to fuck off isn't exactly common courtesy either."

"Go screw yourself."

He sneered elegantly, noting with amusement Poppy's more than slight shock. Turning to the nurse, he asked, "Is this females only, or do I get to stay in my hotel room?"

"Females only."

Looking irritated, he stormed out, muttering.

Poppy clapped her hands and smiled at Hermione. "Do you always keep such bad company?"

"Meeting him was a complete accident, believe me," she replied hastily.

"A bit annoying, isn't he?" Madam Pomfrey commented, a tad too cheerfully. "Now, let's see what's wrong with you, because I'm sure that you would like to go home."

Hermione made a contradictory sound under her breath, which the nurse either chose to ignore or didn't hear at all.

*

Severus sat impatiently in a chair in the lounge, tired of pacing. It was one of those nervous habits that was impossible to break, no matter how often he told himself that it was a waste of time and restless energy that could be better spent elsewhere.

He didn't know why he was so worried about her. She was nothing more than a thoroughly annoying student who was too eager and inquisitive for her own good.

Except--not recently... Now that he thought about it, since she had begun her sixth year at Hogwarts, her questions had been minimal and answering questions was involuntary. His mind leapt back to the woman screeching into the cell phone as she entered the house and Hermione urgently telling him to get out.

Could that have something to do with it?

He didn't know and wasn't sure if he really wanted to. Not if it was another mess to become tangled in.

*

It was almost Christmas, and Ginny had never felt so utterly alone. Since her outbreak, everyone had either avoided her or been irritatingly nice, and she hated it. She felt like everyone she saw knew, like everything was scrawled across her face for the world to see. So, seeking refuge, she had come back to the lake.

The wind whipped her hair in auburn ribbons, cutting through her skin and sending shivers down her spine while sleet streaked by her, entangling itself in her clothes. She loved it. It seemed like the weather was the only thing that had been honest with her all day.

Emotion filling her, she scooped up a handful of pebbles and threw them as hard as she could into the miniature breakers, causing a shower of stones.

There was something timeless about standing on the lakeshore amidst the storm. She was sure that pagans in ancient times, priestesses of Avalon, sorcerers had done it as well.

Ginny smiled at the thought. Ever since Hermione had lent her the book about the legend of King Arthur that first summer she had stayed with them, she had been in love with it. She had ignored the note at the beginning stating that there was nothing to prove that the stories were more than a traveling bard's ballad as the characters became real in her mind.

It was the only muggle literature she had managed to make it through.

Hermione had laughed at her, then tried to pile on more books--Jane Austen, Charles Dickens, Emily Bronte. Ginny had tossed them back at her and asked for more Camelot. After holidays, Hermione brought back with her an entire trunk filled with different versions and a poetry anthology. Ginny had grinned and said that she didn't want any more of the "classics" that had been so dull.

Instead, her friend had opened it to a page where the title read "The Lady of Shallot" and remarked that it was about Lancelot's wife, Elaine. Now, the poem came back to her, long ago memorized from constant reading.

Willows whiten, aspens quiver

Little breezes dusk and shiver

Thro' the wave that runs forever

By the island in the river

Flowing down to Camelot

Four gray walls and four gray towers

Overlook a space of flowers

And the silent isle embowers

The Lady of Shallot

This is my island, my tower, Ginny thought, staring out at the lake.

The wind began to pick up, whipping feeling back into her frozen muscles.

My fortress, and no one is going to break me down and draw me out to my death.

She stood there, remaining totally unaware of the fact that she was being watched.

*

Harry kept his eyes focused on Ginny, never allowing his attention to waver. He had promised Ron to keep an eye on her, even though she was steadfastly ignoring both of them. What really angered him, though, was the way that she had greeted Malfoy at breakfast that morning, especially when she hadn't even said hello to him.

He refused to consider that maybe the blonde bastard wasn't behind everything. The idea was too ridiculous to entertain.

*

Severus re-entered his room an hour later and wanted to turn and run at the grim look on Poppy's face. But he'd always been too thick to bolt, all the way back to when he was seventeen and at his first Death Eater meeting, so he opened the tiny refrigerator in the kitchenette and removed a can of beer, having the feeling he would need it. As he popped it open, it was removed from his hand.

"Alcohol damages your liver," the nurse reprimanded, before gulping it down in one go.

Severus could only stare. How bad was it?

"I think your liver is slightly more at risk than mine at the moment," he finally commented acidly, when nothing else came to mind.

"I've got the ministry hounding me, trying to find a cure for the mental effects of the Cruciatus Curse because I'm the strongest medi-witch in Europe. More and more tortured people are being sent to me because they need to be treated. It was better when it was only Avada Kedavra--that way they didn't die after days of agony. It was over. And now I watch people destroying themselves more than the Dark Lord could ever do every day of my life." Her voice and hands shook slightly, although her eyes remained frighteningly calm. "I don't give a damn about my liver."

He made a questioning sound in his throat.

"She's been living off of her magic. That's why her reserves are so low. She hasn't had a decent meal since the beginning of summer holidays."

"But I saw her eating a--"

"How empty-headed are you?" she exploded. "Does 'bulimia' mean anything?"

Hermione chose that moment to step out of the washroom. Except this was a very different Hermione--her make-up was gone, and he could see why she would wear it. Her eyes were hollowed out, as were her cheeks, making her look almost skeletal. And now that she was no longer wearing the over-sized hoodie, he could see how small her frame really was. She looked so... fragile. And sad. The circles under her eyes only added to that, giving her a strange beauty. But at the same time it was frightening, sickening that she had done that to herself.

She shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, then lifted her chin proudly, saying, "My parents aren't coming for me until morning. They have to do some last minute shopping."

He continued to stare blankly.

"I don't particularly cherish the idea of staying with my relatives and I doubt my mother or father would be overjoyed to drive across London to pick me up," she added, as the silence became oppressive.

"Well, then," Severus commented after a moment of uncomfortable shifting, "the only logical thing would be for you to stay here."

Poppy raised an eyebrow.

"For heaven's sake!" he cried out, annoyed and slightly flustered. "I wasn't suggesting anything! I'm not a bloody pedophile!"

Hermione hid a smile behind her hand as the nurse back-handed him lightly. "I don't see why not. I could sleep on the couch or the floor or something and my parents won't know..." she paused before adding, "or care."

"Of course they care," Madam Pomfrey put in.

Hermione chose not to answer, only laughed bitterly.

Poppy winced. "Well, if neither of you object, I don't see why not."

*

"Dr. Granger, you have a patient waiting."

Agrippa turned to look at her secretary. "Just give me a minute. That's all I need."

Oh, if only... she thought, blowing her nose and wiping her eyes.

"Dr. Granger, are you feeling all right?"

"Yes, perfectly," she lied. "It's just that nasty flu that's going around."

"Would you like me to cancel the rest of you appointments for the day?"

"Yes, thank you. My stomach is a little upset. It wouldn't do for me to vomit on a patient, would it?"

The other woman ambled out of the room, and Agrippa sighed, then pulled herself together. She couldn't let herself be miserable for Christmas. She owed her daughter that much.

Scooping up her car keys and pulling on her coat, she stalked out, remembering to make herself look run-down and wan. Not that she really needed to try.

*

Hermione couldn't believe it. Bulimia. It was a harsh word. So unforgiving. It was also what she had.

Why? she wondered. It wasn't like pneumonia or the flu. It wasn't contagious. It wasn't like one of those genetic diseases that you got from your parents that you couldn't control.

But thinking about it, she realized how obvious it must have been. No one had ever seen her eating at school, when she did, it was a mad race to the nearest toilet. Someone must have noticed something. Her mother, Harry, Ron, anyone... Faint rage filled her at the harsh discovery that no one had..

No wonder she was always so exhausted after class. She was using magic that she needed for survival.

She glanced over at her professor and realized that she had to start somewhere.

"Do you mind ordering in room service?" she asked. "I'd like something to eat. I'll pay you back if you like."

Ten minutes later, when a steaming Styrofoam box sat before her with a single slice of garlic toast, she regretted it. Mentally, she calculated the calories that would be consumed, wincing. Then she thought of the stories in the news about girls dying of eating disorders, and felt sick at the idea that she might become one of them. She wouldn't have an identity anymore. She would simply become one of hundreds, thousands, maybe even millions of anorexic people who couldn't or wouldn't change.

Sucking in a breath of air, she raised the fork to her mouth. Paused. Then bit down and chewed.

With each passing second it was easier, the flavour kissed her mouth and warmed her throat as she swallowed.

Closing her eyes, she thought, Maybe it's true what the say. That it's all in the mind. If you can believe something then it's possible.

Except for her parents, something reminded her. No matter how much she told herself that it would be all right, the fighting never stopped.

The bread went stale in her mouth, but she forced herself to swallow anyway, battling nausea.

*

Severus stared at the girl curled up on his couch with her back to him. Part of him felt disgusted with her, with what she had done. But that part of him was rapidly disappearing as he realised that self-destruction was self-destruction, no matter what form it took, and gradually he felt himself reaching out with his eyes. As if sensing his gaze she shifted uncomfortably and settled against the armrest.

Lord, the silence was so loud it was practically deafening.

"Turn on the TV," she ordered finally.

He stared at her blankly.

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" she exclaimed. "That screen right there isn't a muggle art form."

She picked up the remote and flicked it on. He stared at the listings rolling across the screen and raised an eyebrow. This was entertainment?

"Oh! The Princess Bride is on!" she cried as a man and woman walking through a forest appeared on the television.

"What about the ROUS's?"

"Rodents of unusual size? I don't think they exist."

As he spoke, a large thing flew across the screen bowling the man over. Severus squinted at the screen in mortification, then glanced at Hermione in surprise as she giggled.

"How is that funny?" he asked, trying to keep the shock out of his voice.

She shook her head, eyes sparkling with mirth. "Anyone who's seen this before wouldn't take it seriously. It's comedy."

He shrugged and asked, "Is there nothing else to watch?"

"There is," she replied, "but I'm not watching it and since I have the remote you have to watch what I want. Now shut up. We didn't miss Miracle Max."

*

If it was physically possible, Agrippa's blood would be boiling. A simple goddamn request was transforming into possibly the worst argument yet. They were shrieking like toddlers over a favorite toy.

"All I'm asking is a pleasant, civil, Christmas. It isn't entirely unreasonable!"

"I'm trying, but you keep starting things!" he replied, his bellow shaking the house.

"I start things? Excuse me, I don't stagger in at three in the morning or run around with whores every night of the week!"

"What's it to you?"

"Oh, pardon me, am I out of line again?" she barked. "I'm asking this because I don't want our daughter to watch us fight on Christmas."

He looked at her blankly for a moment.

"Yes, our daughter. Remember? Sixteen years ago we reproduced." The sarcasm dripped off of ever word.

"Don't drag her into this!"

"Why not? You drag in arguments we had twenty years ago, just for the sake of pissing me off. At least I have a valid reason for asking this!"

He spun around and slammed a hand on the counter. "Fine," he muttered. "A civil Christmas."

Another point on her side of the tally.

*

Watching the movie reminded her of things that had happened so long ago. Happier times, before the walls shook from yells, before eating disorders and anger. Things long forgotten in the turmoil of the present.

She is sitting on the kitchen table, watching her parents swing dance to Big Band, sipping from a glass of orange juice. 'Don't Sit Under the Apple Tree' is playing and she hums along. The song ends and Mummy and Daddy collapse into their chairs laughing. Another song begins, a slower one now, and she hops up and starts twirling to it, giggling at the way her head spins. Daddy stands and begins to dance with her, spinning her carefully around the room while Mummy watches on, smiling the smile that lights up her entire face. Finally she comes and joins them, and they hold the little girl between them...

Hermione felt eyes on her and glanced over at Severus Snape. Sniffing, she wiped the tears from her cheeks and tried to smile.

"Do you mind watching something else?" she asked.

He shrugged, and for what was probably the millionth time, she felt as if he was pitying her. She waited for her temper to flare, only to discover that it was too drained to do more than form a knot in her lower abdomen.

She flipped channels, skipping over the news, feeling her stomach lurch. The remote clattered to the floor as she darted to the washroom and doubled over.

"Miss Granger..."

She vaguely heard footsteps following her as she tried with everything she had to keep her meal down. Forcing herself to swallow the bile filling her mouth, she grimaced, but her willpower was stronger.

Cool fingers gripped her head as she collapsed onto the edge of the bathtub and dissolved into sobs. She hated herself for crying in front of him, hated herself for what she had done to herself. The tears were more angry than upset, fury at the world, a scream for help. She hated being so helpless against the turn her life had taken.

If she could never hear her mother's muffled sobs from down the hall, never hear the way it echoed as her father yelled, never hear another fist pounding on the table in anger again then she would never ask another thing from anyone.

But at the moment, it didn't seem likely.

Pulling away from Snape, she walked calmly out and sat back on the couch, as if nothing had happened out of the ordinary. He followed, apparently taken aback.

"What is this?" he asked, gesturing at the screen in disgust.

"Oh, don't tell me that you've never heard of the cult classic Star Trek," Hermione replied sarcastically.

"It's so..."

"Strange?" she finished for him. "It takes place in the future, with some strange government for the entire planet. I think."

He studied the screen for a moment. "Is this supposed to be advanced technology?" he commented as someone was beamed away.

"Sad, isn't it?" she replied. "There's even some poor delusional people in the world that think it's real. They have a school for Trekkies somewhere in California, I think. Personally, I don't see what's so wonderful about it."

He arched his eyebrows. "Neither do I."

*

Ginny sat up in bed, panting, bangs plastered to her forehead from sweat.

No, please, go away...

She hugged herself to stop the trembling, but it didn't help.

Just a dream, just a dream, she repeated over and over in her head.

But the fact was that it wasn't just a dream, and turning on a light wouldn't frighten reality away. It was her fault that Voldemort had almost returned to power four years ago, and for some reason or the other, he seemed to want her back. Either that, or she was going insane, with the whispers echoing in the corridors and the images wavering before her eyes that disappeared as she drew nearer.

Given a choice, she would choose insanity.

*

Across the castle, Draco Malfoy was tormented by another type of pain. The stinging in his left arm was steadily growing, as it had been for the last week. But that was nothing to the heaviness in his chest, preventing his breaths from coming evenly.

He looked across the room into the mirror, wasn't fooled by the features that could almost be feminine if it wasn't for the slightly squared jaw. He was a monster.

*

Hermione shifted into a position that was, if possible, even more uncomfortable than the last. The armrest was making her neck stiff, something on the couch was digging into her back, and, despite the blankets wrapped around her tightly, she couldn't stop shivering.

On the other side of the room she could hear the sheets rustle as Snape tossed restlessly. Sitting up, she hugged her knees to her chest, moonlight casting shadows on her face. Turning her head so she could see him, she watched on, confusion rising in her chest.

Why was he being so nice to her? Out of pity? A sense of duty? Because there was no one else?

A thought hit her. He had seen her mother, that day. Watched her come up the front steps shrieking into the phone at her father. Did he suspect something? Did he know? Did he even care?

A week ago, she would have said no, without a second thought. Severus Snape was a bastard who didn't give a damn about anyone.

And to Hermione, that was admirable.

No matter how much she tried to convince herself, she wasn't--would never be--indifferent. Not caring didn't cause bulimia or the constant weight on her heart and lump in her throat. It didn't cause tears late at night, sobbing into her pillow to stifle the sound. It didn't cause her blind fury towards the world.

She had been certain that Severus Snape had never felt any of these things.

But now, now he was human to her. He had cared enough in the café to help her up, not take her instantly home like he had wanted to. And again, today, when her uncle... when... when he had... When she had taken her cousin and ran away.

But what had she changed, really? She had stopped him from being hit once, but what about the next time, and the time after that?

Don't be ridiculous, she told herself. You did what you could.

What was sending him back?

What could I have done?

She could have told someone. But who? Her mother?

She could hear the distracted don't be silly, darling in her mind already. And her father wouldn't get past the Dad, there's something important I need to tell you before losing interest. And if he did listen? Well, he might think that his sister deserved what she got, which was absolutely sickening. Just thinking about it made her jaw clench in anger.

Sometimes, she decided, it was better to keep these little secrets, even if they sometimes made it hard to breathe. Because telling might make things worse.

Even as she thought this, her own cowardice made her ill.

*

Blood was spilling onto the earth, staining it the rusty color that was only too familiar to him. It was flowing from thousands, lying on the ground in a desert. Even the sun was red as it hung just over the horizon, giving everything an eerie glow. He looked down and yelled in horror at what he saw.

It was himself.

"Professor Snape... sir? Are you all right?"

Someone was shaking him awake, somewhat desperately.

Opening his eyes, he saw the Granger girl peering down at him worriedly.

"You were throwing things," she told him, picking up the broken lamp that had been sitting on his night-table previously. "Unless you want to pay, I suggest you fix it. Your pillow is somewhere over there."

Her voice was calm, but it didn't escape his notice that she wouldn't meet his gaze and her hands trembled violently as the lamp she was holding fell to the ground once again.

"I'm sorry for waking you up. I didn't know what to do."

He felt the need to say something, but his tongue felt like a foreign object.

She sat down on the mattress beside him, and he could hear her ragged, uneven breathing echoing out into the silence. The inches between them seemed like miles, he had forgotten how silence could magnify things.

"You're shaking," she told him, fingering the blanket.

"I'm fine," he barked, losing patience with himself more than her. He didn't want or need her pity, and he was a fool for putting himself in this position.

She jerked away from his sudden anger, and he felt guilty. None of this was her fault. She hadn't asked to have to put up with him. But the apology caught in his throat.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, standing up.

He raised an eyebrow. "It's hardly your fault," he replied, finding his voice again.

She snorted derisively. "Isn't it always my fault? You're the only one who doesn't realize it. It's my fault that... that I'm like this. It's my fault that my cousin went back. It's my fault that my parents can't get along. They were fine until I went to Hogwarts. If it wasn't for me, they still would be."

She had said it all in a quiet, calm voice, but it would have been better if she had shrieked it. Then, maybe it would have seemed more like something said in anger.

"What do you mean?" The strange, dreamlike quality of this encounter allowed him to be more frank that he would have been otherwise.

"Never mind." She seemed to have collected herself. "It isn't important."

I think it is, he answered her silently. But he didn't have the nerve to say it. Somehow he felt that it would only hurt her more.

*

Agrippa climbed out of the cold bed and pulled her house-coat on, shuffling down the stairs to the kitchen. It seemed that lately she was always sleepless, had been blaming it on the coffee she drank each night as she waited up for Steve. But tonight she had made sure that it was decaf, so the only logical conclusion was that it was either her eyes malfunctioning or the empty space in the bed beside her.

She preferred to think it was the former.

Warming a mug of milk, she stirred honey into it and cupped it in her hands, inhaling the steam rising off of it. Then, migrating to the living room, she shifted through their collection of movies until she found the home-made one entitled Hawaii, 1985.

Curling up on the sofa and sipping her drink, she began to watch the film.

The little girl is building a sand castle on the beach as her father builds a moat around it with an orange plastic shovel, small face framed by wet curls and intent on her task. Some other children run by, splashing her and she squeals in delight.

"What are you doing, Hermione?" her mother asks, and she squints up at the camera.

Her sun burnt and peeling nose only make add to the sweetness of the image, the perfect picture of a little girl.

"Making a castle," she replies, her solemn.

"And who's going to live in it?"

"The queen," she answers promptly. "And sometimes the king. But after a while he'll leave."

"Why?" Agrippa questions.

"Because he's mean and the queen doesn't like him, so she makes him go away."

"So why did they get married, then, squirt?" her father asks.

Hermione cocks her head for a moment, as if listening to someone. "She says he used to love her, but then the evil monster took over him and he doesn't anymore."

"I think you've been watching The Little Mermaid too much," he tells her, splashing her lightly, and hitting the camera lens at the same time. "It doesn't work quite like that."

*

Hermione sat on the couch, staring at Snape, only this time, he wasn't sleeping, he was staring back. Only they weren't quite meeting each other's gaze. Every time he caught her looking, she suddenly became fascinated with the ugly gray carpet covering the floor. It was well past three in the morning already, and both of them had given up entirely on sleep.

"So why are you in London, anyway?" she asked, meeting his gaze directly this time.

Yeah, great way to start a conversation, she thought. It was practically like saying, Why are you intruding on my territory?

He grimaced. "The beloved Headmaster decided that I needed to get away from the stress in Hogwarts. He seemed to feel that my tasks were too... demanding."

She didn't miss his pause, nor was she oblivious to the shadow passing across his face. "So, living in muggle London isn't your choice?" she asked, pretending that she hadn't noticed.

"You might say that," he replied.

"Oh."

There was an awkward pause, before Hermione began to giggle quietly.

He raised an eyebrow in question, wondering if it had something to do with female hormones or the result of lack of food. "Would you care to explain what is so funny about that?"

"Think about it. This is possibly the strangest situation we could be in. You, obeying orders rather than giving them, and living in the muggle world for Christmas holidays. Me, with my perfect little life that's not-so-wonderful after all, sitting in a hotel room with you at almost four in the morning, carrying on a civilized conversation. A bit ironic, don't you think? And we were watching Star Trek, of all things..."

The corner of his mouth twitched.

"And you almost smiled for a moment," she added wryly. "I think the world should start worrying about slipping off the axis."

"Was that an insult, Miss Granger?" His voice was soft and dangerous, but she didn't miss the glint of humor in his eyes that hadn't been there before.

"Of course not, Professor Snape," she replied. "If it was, you wouldn't have to ask."

Her light-hearted words seemed to strike a chord with him, however, and noting the way his face closed, she felt a pang of guilt strike her.

"I'm sorry," she burst out quickly. "I didn't mean to offend you--"

"Don't trouble yourself," he snapped, returning to the man who had taught her potions for the last six years, cold and unyielding.

"Fine, then, I won't," she snarled back. "I don't know why I even bothered."

"Neither do I!"

There was no logical explanation for the sting his words gave her, no reason for him to affect her like this. She tried to shrug it off, but found that she couldn't.

*

Agrippa started to leave the living room, started to walk away from the memories the film held for her.

She made it halfway up the stairs before turning back.

Why torment herself with the past?

But letting go wasn't possible. Not yet.

For a few moments, she had felt safe inside that world, the world before shrieking and door-slamming. The world that existed before confusion and late nights waiting up for someone who wouldn't come. A safe world.

She settled back down onto the couch and pressed the remote control, closed her eyes as the image came onto the screen, heard her sharp intake of breath.

The scene is now a dinner cruise. The little girl is now wearing a sarong and tank top that hangs loosely off of her. Now Steve is holding the camera, which is focused on Agrippa, smiling affectionately at her daughter.

Hula dancers step between the tables, serving meals of seafood and traditional Hawaiian dishes. Behind them, the sun sets over Maui, silhouetting the rounded mountains against the blood orange sky.

"Can I look in there?" Hermione asks, pointing at the camera.

"But then you won't be on it, sweetheart," Agrippa refuses gently, as her husband replies, "No reason why not."

The scene becomes blurred as the camera is passed from his hands to hers. When it focuses, Steve has his hand resting on Agrippa's protectively, almost dominantly. Carefully, she draws it out from under his, and he covers it again, leaning over and nuzzling her ear.

She draws away, laughing, "Not in public."

He smiles and kisses her gently, ignoring her teasing shrug.

The camera begins to tremble slightly in the six-year-old's hands. Steve notices this, and is distracted, removing it, careful not to let it fall.

Food is placed before them, and the camera turns off, leaving the screen blank.

That was their last night on the island, Agrippa remembered, turning off the television. Watching it left her with mixed feelings. Yes, she had been happy, but something as simple as his hand being placed on hers confused her. She felt angry about it, certainly angrier than she had then, but it was such a small, trivial thing.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, she moaned. It was four-thirty in the morning and tomorrow was Christmas Eve. She should sleep. But she doubted her ability to be able to.

*

Ginny opened her eyes to the darkness pressing on them, and sighed. Once, just once, she would like to sleep without interruption. At least this time, it hadn't been from the dream, just insomnia.

With a sigh, she stood and shuffled out of bed, looking down at the common room.

Harry was sitting in one of the winged chairs, staring into the embers pensively.

Again, she reflected.

This time, she didn't go down and talk to him. She didn't feel like dealing with him just now. For some reason or the other, she was more than faintly annoyed with him and Ron, and didn't feel like starting arguments with either of them.

Recently, it seemed that she honestly disliked Harry. She couldn't explain it. It wasn't that he was a snob or a prick--he was just too... Harryish.

And nosy, in a way. He was always there exactly when she didn't want him, sticking his nose where it had no business being. Why couldn't he just go away? She could understand Ron's concern. He was after all her brother. But his friend had no right at all to be taking responsibility for her.

Calm down, Ginny, she told herself, taking a deep breath. She was already worked up about it, and she hadn't even spoken to anyone. You're as jumpy as a Hippogriff on crack.

She began to leave, but crashed headlong into Ron on her way.

"Ginny?" he mumbled, bleary eyed. "It's five in the morning. Go back to bed."

"Yes, mother," she replied sarcastically, but watched him descend the stairs to talk to his friend.