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Chapter 2

This December

Harry opened his eyes and for a few moments was perfectly content. He looked up at the canopy and around at the walls bright with the reflection of snow. Then he looked across the room where Ron lay, an indistinct muddle of blankets, and a soft, stifling weight of remembrance settled on him.

I'm staying too, Ron had said immediately. Harry had tried to smile at him, but he was heavy with guilt. He and Hermione had never kept anything important from Ron. Not like this. Now it was Christmas morning, and at any moment Ron would wake up and Hermione would come flying in her ridiculous reindeer pyjamas and cast a warming spell and they would open presents and laugh. And two of them would know that it was a lie.

But when Hermione did come in, she was already dressed. Ron, who was lying on his back with the covers drawn up over his nose, eyed her in surprise.

"Where are your reindeer pyjamas?" he demanded, slightly muffled. "They were a tradition."

"A tradition that doesn't fit any more," said Hermione briskly. Hermione had not grown any taller in the past year, and Ron opened his mouth to say this, but then shut it.

"Oh," he said faintly, and was grateful for the covers hiding his reddening face.

Hermione ignored him. "First Christmas present," she said with resolute cheeriness, and cast a warming spell. Ron allowed the covers to inch down tentatively.

"Merry Christmas," he said, after he had emerged from his blanket cocoon. He bravely reached one arm out of bed and threw a large and squishy parcel at Hermione. She fielded it deftly and came to give him a rare kiss on the cheek.

"Merry Christmas to you too." She deposited something small and square on his pillow. Ron flushed and busied himself with the wrapping paper.

"Me too," said Harry plaintively. He sat up in bed, just in time to see the gaiety melt from Hermione's face. She gave the embarrassed Ron a swift calculating glance and then came quickly across the room. She put a package into Harry's hands but when her eyes met his they were empty of any merriment.

"Draco's gone. He sent an owl as he was leaving."

Harry stared at her.

"That means it's today," he whispered.

"Yeah," said Hermione bitterly. "Merry Christmas."

At that moment, Ron gave a whoop of jubilation and held up a pair of small silvery squares.

"Wow, Hermione, are these what I think they are?"

She nodded without turning round.

"What are they?" asked Harry, with a flicker of uneasy recognition. From the corner of his eye he saw Hermione glance curiously at him.

"Two way mirrors," said the oblivious Ron, happily. "You give one to your best mate, or whatever, and you can always communicate, wherever you are. You just call them in the mirror."

Harry bit his lips. "Yeah, I've heard of them." He tried to sound casual. It must have half worked, for Ron grinned.

"We really need three, don't you think? Go on Harry, have one for a bit, then we'll swap round." He gave Hermione a sudden grin. "Wouldn't want to call on you in the bath," he added. She smiled back at him but she was watching Harry as Ron muttered the elevation spell and sent the mirror neatly on to Harry's bed. Harry picked it up hesitantly.

"Ron," he said into it, and then, in spite of himself, looked at his friend's face and smiled.

**

Another December

"Lily's just coming," said Remus, sitting down tentatively on the first step of the girls' staircase. The siren didn't seem to have been activated so he relaxed, stretching spindly legs out on to the rug and watching the ice melt off his boots into two small round puddles. James shifted from foot to foot restlessly, looking meaningfully around at the common room, empty save Sirius. Its usual occupants could be heard through the windows, squealing in the fresh snow.

"She's so slow," he complained. "Even Peter's already out there."

"Snow's not going anywhere," Remus said with a grin. James opened his mouth to respond but at that moment the portrait hole swung open behind him, and he turned round. It was dark in the corridor and the entrant was small; James yelled cheerfully at them.

"Come in and get ready - in-house snowfight today in preparation for mashing those bloody snake-charmers into the ground."

Remus looked at Sirius, who was watching the snow fight from the window with immense concentration.

"Your family do much in the way of snake charming, Sirius?" he said, sounding amused. James laughed, but Sirius turned his head and scowled at them.

"Below the belt," he said shortly. He thought for a moment. "My uncle Archie had a cobra, though, I believe," he added, more cheerfully. "And I'd bet Bella is a dab hand with an...ahem....flute."

"I'm sure she is," said James, grinning. Sirius laughed, and turned to the portrait hole.

"Come on in!" he yelled. "You're letting in the cold."

There was the unmistakeable sound of a sob. Sirius and James looked at each other. Sirius rolled his eyes. It wasn't unusual to find homesick first years in the Christmas holidays even when, as today, it was only the second day.

James said to Remus, "Go on. You're better at this stuff than me." Remus looked irritated.

"Yeah, great," he said crossly, but he made his way over to the portrait.

In the gloomy corridor stood a very small girl who Remus thought was called Molly. She was crying so hard that she couldn't climb over the ledge, and in her hand was a candle, long extinguished. James held out his hand to her, a little gingerly.

"Need a hand?" he offered, feeling slightly stupid. She clearly needed a lot more than a hand. In fact, he thought idly, she was rather an ugly little girl, so perhaps offering a head would be more useful, if not so polite. At this point in his speculations, the small girl made a concentrated effort and gulped down a sob.

"The Dark Mark," she whispered.

From the corner of his eye, Remus saw Sirius freeze. He felt a preternatural calm settle on him, took the candle from Molly's hand and put it on the floor, lifted her over into the common room and set her down firmly on the floor.

Then he looked carefully at her.

"Molly," he said, "It is Molly, isn't it?"

The small girl nodded; she was crying again.

"What happened? Have you seen it?"

She nodded helplessly.

"From the Astronomy Tower. There were lots," she told him, and then, unstoppably, she seemed to fold in on herself and Remus grabbed at her too late to stop her hitting the floor. The shock galvanised James into action, he strode over and unceremoniously took Molly by the arms and dragged her on to the sofa.

"Shock," he said authoritatively, frowning down at her, and then he looked up and met his friend's eyes, and the fear was suddenly palpable between them. "Did she say lots of them?" he whispered. Remus nodded. He looked up to see what Sirius made of it, but Sirius had turned away.

Suddenly there were people, Gryffindors, flooding through the hole, pouring down from the dorms. James grabbed Remus by the wrist; the two of them stood there as the people swirled around them, the sound of panic and the smell of damp wool and the cold pouring in like an unstoppable tide. He didn't know how long he would have stood there had somebody not taken him by the shoulders. He didn't even understand what they were saying, and then suddenly Sirius was pulling them off and instead there was that familiar face, black eyes staring furiously into his, too bright, and fingers digging into the bones of his wrists.

"James, do you understand?" he was saying, over and over.

James opened his mouth but didn't seem to have any words, suddenly.

"The Dark Mark is over Lower Crooksham," Sirius hissed. "Do you understand?"

James stared at Sirius, his best friend, whom he had never till this moment seen crying. There were only two houses with any magic in them in that small Welsh border village, and he knew which they were. His and Lily's. Sirius saw James change under his eyes, saw the known planes of his face emerge from the terrible blankness.

"Lily," he said, and his voice sounded as though it had not been used for many days. Sirius turned, not letting go of his friend's arms, and scanned the tide of heads for that familiar colour. But her voice, when it came, surprised him from behind.

"What is going on?" she demanded, standing on the last step of the girls' staircase, in the powerful voice which was the result of generations of Welsh sheep-farming ancestors. Sirius and Remus both turned to her, but she was looking past them at James. Remus, reflecting on it later, could never remember how it was told or what was said. All he could remember was her upright back and the great swinging plait of her hair as she turned and went silently back up the stairs.

**

This December

It was known later as the Christmas Day Massacre, which had a certain ring to it and ensured its place in textbooks in years to come. But as it happened on Christmas Night, that day was spent like all other Christmas days, with hours alternately in the snow and in front of the fire, punctuated by eating. It was nearly nine o'clock when there was a tremendous thump on the portrait as it was flung open. There were several Gryffindors in for the holiday as well as the three seventh years, and all of them looked at the portrait hole in astonishment. In the space stood a short and chubby first year girl, shaking so much that she couldn't climb over the ledge. Her candle flickered terminally in her hand.

"That's Seamus' little sister," said Ron blankly, and went forward. "Hey, Finnigan minor, are you looking for Seamus?"

She opened her mouth and then shut it again, hopelessly. Ron took her candle in one hand and with the other dragged her into the common room.

"What's the matter?" he asked, with the resigned sympathy of one who has a younger sister and knows the protocol. The younger Finnigan looked despairingly at him and managed to swallow her sobs.

"The Dark Mark. The Dark Mark is out everywhere."

There was instant chaos. All the senior Gryffindors with the exception of Harry and Hermione converged on the small girl, whose name appeared to be Villy.

"Where?" they clamoured, a sort of Greek chorus of fear and despair. "How do you know? Did you see it? Is it nearby? Are there lots of them?"

Ron stood in the middle of the hubbub, staring blankly at her, the candle forgotten in his hand. He looked up slowly after a moment, and his eyes sought out his friends, standing quietly side-by-side in front of the fire, perfectly still.

"You knew," he said, half to himself. "You knew."

Hermione watched Ron raise his head and stare at Harry, and then turn like a sleepwalker and make his way out to the stairs, the candle wax dripping unnoticed on to his fingers. She knew in some part of her that Ron was hurt and that she should care - did care. But now all she could feel was a great and unstoppably spreading emptiness.

Harry looked sideways at her. He had known, really, when Draco had gone, how little hope there had been. It hadn't been a good spell. Draco would have had to drive his Death Eaters right into it for it to work, and they were clever, experienced men who would not take foolish orders easily. Draco had known this too, he suspected.

Harry risked another quick glance and saw that his friend was standing perfectly still. He thought that in books people who were shocked always turned white, but Hermione had great uneven patches of colour on either cheek, as though she had been slapped. Vaguely he was aware of Villy still crying, and of the portrait hole opening and closing as the Gryffindors gathered.

After what seemed like hours, Hermione turned to him and said flatly, "So it didn't work."

Harry reached out a helpless hand.

"It might not be yours." His voice sounded rusty, as though it had not been used for many days.

Hermione gave a horrible mirthless little laugh. "No, you're right. There seem to have been several tonight - Draco didn't tell us that, now, did he? But I think you and I both know that spell wasn't ready." Her words were so uncharacteristic that Harry was alarmed. He forgot his awkwardness and took her by the elbows.

"Hermione, don't -" he said, and realised too late that he had no idea what he was trying to forbid. His floundering was cut off as an angular silhouette appeared in the corner of his vision, making its way purposefully towards them.

"Miss Granger," said Professor McGonagall rather slowly. Hermione looked at her, and gave a sort of sigh.

"I already know," she said simply. McGonagall's mouth dropped open, showing a set of very fine, very white and only slightly too pointy teeth.

"You already - how?"

Hermione said without emotion: "The Headmaster will be able to tell you." Then she gently extricated herself from Harry's grasp and gave him a long look. After a moment, she turned away, and went carefully across the room and up the dormitory stairs.

**

She didn't come down again for two days.

"She's been asleep the whole time," reported Lavender Brown.

"In all her clothes," added Parvati, blankly. They looked at each other uneasily, and then at Harry.

"We went to get Madam Pomfrey," they said in a rush, sounding guilty.

"We were worried," said Lavender defensively. "It's unnatural to sleep like that."

Harry said unhappily, "And what did she say?"

"She said sleep was the best thing for her," said Parvati, disbelievingly. "She left some extra Dreamless Sleep potion by her bed. Like she needs it."

Harry suddenly stared at her. "Oh," he said. "Dreamless Sleep potion."

Parvati looked doubtfully at him. "Yeah, she was asleep before that though," she said patiently, as though he were a backward child. But Harry knew that Hermione was perfectly capable of brewing her own Dreamless Sleep potion, even though that was very advanced Potions. And Hermione had had some idea that this might happen. He realised that Lavender and Parvati were looking at him expectantly.

"Let her sleep," he said wearily, wondering in some corner of his mind when he had become responsible for her.

**

Pansy turned around and stared.

"You," she said, ungrammatically but expressively.

Harry said curtly, "Look, Pansy, I just need to know one thing, and it's important. You need never speak to me again. Has Draco been back since Christmas Day?" Pansy's surprise turned to watchfulness.

"Why would you care?"

Harry gritted his teeth.

"I have a reason." He searched for some suitably inimical arrangement. "He owes me money," he offered rather wildly.

Pansy snorted.

"Yeah. Because Draco needs to borrow from you." She made as if to turn round but Harry, almost without meaning to, reached out and caught her by the elbow.

"He might be in trouble, Pansy. I mean it."

Pansy opened her mouth to scoff but something about Harry's face silenced her.

"You will regret it if you don't tell me," Harry added, with a vague memory of a number of Dudley's horror films viewed in an impressionable youth.

Pansy looked startled and her pale eyes darkened.

"I don't know what your problem is," she said, after a moment, with the slight edge of

fear making her voice rasp. "He hasn't been back."

**

Parvati Patil lay on her front. The hangings of her four-poster were drawn back so that the paper she was doodling on was illuminated by the firelight. Parvati was dealing with a serious problem, which was that true love did not compensate for the fact that Parvati Finnegan was an awfully stupid name. She wrote it out in neat copperplate. Then she signed it with a flourish. P Finnegan. That was all right. She had a pleasing vision of a small array of coffee coloured children, and drew two columns which she headed tidily 'Boys' and 'Girls'. 'Priya,' she wrote under 'Girls' . It occurred to her that Seamus might object to this. It might not go down very well in Ireland - they probably couldn't pronounce it. Perhaps they could have two names each - then she could give them one and Seamus could... there was a thud, and a peculiar crackling noise. Parvati started up and there before her, in the girls dormitory, looking very pleased with himself and holding his broomstick, stood Harry Potter.

Harry had always thought that dark-skinned people couldn't blush, but Parvati was doing a very fair impression of it. He wondered vaguely what she had been doing.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded fiercely if predictably.

Harry said firmly, "I've come to wake Hermione up."

Parvati snorted. "Good luck," she said. "I don't think she's been awake for three days now."

Harry said, "Well, we'll have to have a go. I need her." Parvati gave him a wary look.

"We, is it?" she said.

Harry said impatiently, "Come on, Parvati, this is important."

Parvati sighed. "Yeah, it always is with you," she said, without irony. "Come on then."

Harry looked at Hermione. She lay peacefully on her side, covers pulled up over her shoulders, on her small triangular face a look of concentration, as if sleeping was hard work. With a sort of sadness slowing him, Harry sat down on the edge of her bed.

"Hey, Hermione," he said, patting her arm through the quilt. "Hermione." She didn't stir at all, and Harry, glancing at her nightstand, saw the vial of Dreamless Sleep potion standing almost empty.

Parvati said derisively, "Good effort. Watch this." She crossed the room, bent down and put her mouth to Hermione's ear, and bellowed: "LOVER BOY'S HERE, YOU SWOTTY COW!"

Hermione's face wrinkled and she made a small indistinct noise, and then she was still again.

"Oh," said Harry. "Right."

"You could kiss her awake," suggested Parvati with a faint grin. "Romantic." Harry gave her a cross look.

"I am not her..." He couldn't bring himself to use Parvati's suggested terminology, so he flushed and tried again. "She isn't bloody Sleeping Beauty. This is serious."

"So am I," said Parvati, smiling to herself.

Harry ignored her. He leant over and gave the sleeping girl the best shout he could muster, which had no effect but to bring Lavender Brown to the door of the dormitory.

"Parv?" she said wide-eyed. "I heard you yelling..."

Parvati said rather unnecessarily, "Harry wants to wake her up."

Lavender fell silent.

"I don't think you can," she offered, finally.

"I'm starting to believe you," said Harry glumly. "What about a counter-potion?" The girls looked at each other.

"The only person who's know is probably her," said Parvati, nodding at Hermione's bed.

"Oh for heaven's sake," said Harry, "Why on earth did she take so much?"

Lavender came carefully round to the side of the bed and gave Hermione a long considering look.

"Harry, go outside for five minutes," she said, rather slowly.

Harry looked doubtful. "What are you going to do to her?"

Lavender raised her eyebrows. "You want her awake, or what?"

A long friendship with Hermione had taught Harry when he was beaten. "Okay, okay," he said grumpily, and, giving his friend a last alarmed look, backed through the door.

**

"I am fine," said Hermione. Harry looked behind him at Parvati and Lavender. They gave him innocent smiles.

"Hermione..." he began and she glanced at him and shook her head minutely.

Harry turned around and said, "Do you think we could have a moment?"

Lavender rolled her eyes.

"Whatever," she said, making her way to the door.

"Yes, thank you Lavender, thank you Parvati," said Parvati meaningfully. Harry gave her a sudden gleaming grin.

"How about as a reward, I don't give this to Seamus?" he said, holding a small piece of paper aloft. Parvati's eyes and mouth made perfect Os.

"You - Harry Potter! Give that back!" Harry laughed a little and held it out to her.

"Sorry," he said, sheepishly. "And I think it's a nice name. Um, original."

Parvati grinned.

"I hate you," she told him without rancour, closing the door behind her.

Harry turned back to Hermione with the smile sliding from his face.

She said, watching him, "I took a potion."

Harry sat down on the edge of her bed. "Yeah. The bottle kind of gave it away."

She glanced sideways at her nightstand and grimaced. "Oh."

Harry said diffidently, "I hope it helped."

She shrugged. "Kind of. What's been happening?"

Harry fiddled with the edge of the quilt uneasily. "Draco hasn't come back."

Hermione sat up straight, the drowsiness falling from her like discarded robes. "What? Since then?"

Harry shook his head. She stared at him.

"But - why not?"

Harry said, "Well, that's it. I don't know. I'm worried about him."

Hermione gave a faint smile. "I never thought I'd hear that from you," she said. "Worried about a Malfoy."

"I know," said Harry ruefully. "But I am. There were loads of attacks on Christmas night, you know, but there haven't been any since. No reason for him to stay at home. And it makes him look suspicious, so they should have sent him back. I think he's got himself into trouble."

Hermione looked at him. "And you have a plan." She sounded resigned.

Harry looked shame-faced. "Well. Not really a plan. More of an idea. Well, not even a-"

"Harry!"

"Well I just thought we should go and find him," admitted Harry sheepishly.

There was a moment's silence.

"You're right," said Hermione. "That isn't a plan."

Harry said defiantly, "We can't do nothing. He risked his life for you." Hermione looked startled.

"I suppose he did," she said uncertainly. "But even if we went to find him, where would we look?"

"He'll be with his father," said Harry, immediately.

"Yes," agreed Hermione patiently. "And where might that be?"

"Oh," said Harry. "I see."

"Shame he doesn't have one of the mirrors," mused Harry. "They'd find him wherever he was. I wonder how that works. Or an owl. How do owls find people, for that matter?"

Hermione gaped at him. "Owls!"

"Yeah, how do they know where to fly to? Can they even read the envelope? Or is it when you say it to them?"

"Who cares?" said Hermione, surprisingly. "Who cares? If they can do it, then so can we."

Harry looked blankly at her. "What, turn into owls? I'd like to see you try."

Hermione snorted. "Shut up," she said kindly. "Why can't we follow an owl?"

Harry gave her a look. "Hermione, I know you don't fly, and that is a great idea and all, but have you any idea how much faster an owl goes than a broomstick?"

Hermione gave him an indignant look. "Not flying doesn't make me stupid," she said sharply.

"No," agreed Harry. "Probably makes you cleverer. Lot less head injuries."

Hermione ignored this. "We'd need to follow it on another animal," she told him sternly.

Harry paused.

"That is a good idea," he said, after a minute.

**

"Oh," said Hermione. "I had something more like Buckbeak in mind." Her voice was slightly quavery and Harry gave her an amused look.

"Yes, because you liked Buckbeak the first time round, didn't you?" He grinned at her. "Charlie says this one is completely safe."

"Nothing is safe six hundred feet in the air," Hermione said irritably. She scrubbed at her eyes, and Harry glanced sideways. With a start he saw that her eyes were red-rimmed and that the skin was blue under them like a bruise. He knew better at that moment than to offer her comfort; instead he took her by the wrist and led her to the dragon.

The pair of them stood side by side and considered their mount. As dragons went, it was rather small. It was a sort of iridescent dark grey and was notably lacking in any of the spiky or otherwise alarming features of the Triwizard dragons.

"It's Australian. Its name is Barbie," said Harry after a moment.

"Like the doll?" Hermione spluttered incredulously. "On account of its obvious blondeness and fondness for pink dresses?"

"More like what it does to things when it breathes on them," suggested Harry.

"Oh, right. Now I really feel better."

Harry grinned at her. "Come on. I don't think its neck is bendy enough to grill us whilst we're on it. Only one danger at a time." He set off cheerfully towards the dragon's forequarters.

"You are enjoying this far too much," muttered Hermione, but he didn't seem to hear.

**

Draco sat disconsolately on his bed.

"Tea's cold," he remarked, idly poking a finger into his cup.

Narcissa said crossly, "Well it has been sitting there for ten minutes. Draco, I want to know what happened."

"Yes, don't we all," agreed Draco tonelessly.

"You mean you don't know?" said Narcissa hopefully.

"I think I mentioned that before," said Draco. "Oh, about a thousand times. Some of them under Veritaserum, I believe."

Narcissa blanched. "Did he use Veritaserum? I'm sorry, Draco." Draco gave a lordly shrug; out of the corner of his eye he saw his mother look despairingly at him.

"But something must have gone wrong. Your father was - furious."

Draco glanced at her, knowing that she had had another adjective in mind and wondering what it was. She met his gaze coolly.

"How did it go wrong, Draco? Did you make a mistake?"

Draco's mouth tightened. "They died, didn't they?"

"The girl wasn't there."

"How could that be my fault? Really, mother!"

She persisted. "Something has gone wrong. Your father's not a fool, Draco, and he knows this business well. Don't try and outsmart him. You'll pay for it." Her words were threats but her tone was so sad that Draco stared at her.

"Are you speaking from experience?" he said, at last. Narcissa's eyes flickered up to his.

"Of course not!" she said sharply. "What makes you say that?" Their two grey gazes met and mingled.

And might have held for many minutes, had there not been a curious click at the window and then a great flapping of curtains and feathers. Narcissa jerked round.

"It's just an owl," said Draco calmly, but his eyes were fixed on it. It was a strong white bird with a gentle face and he had never seen it before.

Half of him had thought that once he didn't return he would be forgotten. After all, he had not really been what you might call a successful spy. And he was a Malfoy. He had organised the killing of Hermione's family. Oh, and Harry and Hermione hated him. So he thought the chances of an unofficial rescue party were pretty slim, and Dumbledore had made it rather clear to Draco that he himself could not openly oppose Lucius. So Draco was almost as startled as his mother. Springing to his feet, he took the note from the bird's leg and impassively regarded Hermione's dark green writing on the front.

"Who's it from?" demanded Narcissa, recovering herself.

"A girl," said Draco dismissively. "There are hundreds of them, believe me." Narcissa looked at her son meditatively.

"I don't know where I went wrong," she mused, half to herself.

Draco seemed to be staring out of the window. "Perhaps in your choice of husband," he suggested absently, and then in one smooth movement, he kicked open the window and jumped out on to the ledge.

Narcissa stood quite still for one endless moment, staring at her son standing on the window ledge. If anybody had been watching they could have seen her vapid prettiness suddenly replaced with a different aspect. She looked hard at her son, and at the roof below the ledge, and then she looked out into the lowering clouds. Coming towards her with a wingspan as big as the bedroom was a dragon, glittering metallically in the late afternoon sunlight, and sprawled flat on its enormous back she could just make out a strangely-shaped figure. Narcissa looked at all of these things with eyes that were suddenly hard and bright. Then she shut the window behind Draco, watched him for a few brief moments as he swung neatly down on to the roof, and went quietly from his room.

**

"Well, well." said Charlie, "I'm starting to feel practically resident in this fireplace, I must say." Ginny smiled at him.

"Sorry," she said. "Really, it is important. I only call you for important things."

Charlie grinned at her. "Yeah. Like, 'Did you throw away my old fish tank?'" he said in a bad falsetto.

Ginny laughed a little. "I had a new fish!" she protested.

"I was in Romania," Charlie reminded her good-naturedly. "Anyway, what's eating you this time?"

Ginny sobered and said quietly, "You know that painting - the portrait." She saw her brother's face age suddenly, so that she remembered he was a grown up man as well as Charlie.

"Yes," he said, searching her face. "Ginny, they can be dangerous, they have minds of their own -"

"I found out who she is," Ginny interrupted him hastily.

Charlie stared at her. "I thought it was a self portrait?"

Ginny squirmed. "She sort of turned into someone else half way. I didn't mean her to, honestly. I just thought it would be nice to cut down on the freckles a bit, and have her hair a bit darker, and then suddenly she was just somebody else altogether."

Charlie eyed her warily. "And who was that?"

Ginny swallowed. "Charlie, she's Harry's mum."

There was a long pause.

"Harry's mum died before you were born." Charlie's voice was strained with the effort to be rational. "I suppose you've seen photos. It must be one of those...you know. Subconscious things."

Ginny said desperately, "I think she's from my dreams, Charlie. I know it. I almost remember. Almost. She's so sad, that's all I wake up knowing." She looked cautiously at him. "I need your help."

"Burn the painting, that'll be a good start," said Charlie sharply.

Ginny bent her head. "If you think I should, I will."

Charlie sighed. "All right, so what do you need from me then?"

"A potion for remembering dreams," said Ginny, quietly.

**

Next chapter: Ginny dreams, Lily speaks, Harry and Hermione interrogate Draco, and Lupin finds things are becoming very familiar. And I promise you'll start to understand why...