The Phoenix and the Serpent

The Phoenix and the Serpent

The entire Harry Potter universe belongs to J. K. Rowling. Any original characters belong to the author and may not be used without permission.

Chapter X: In Memories: Ginny

"My one true love has stars for eyes

His face is wise and fair

The raven dark of midnight skies

Doth blaze upon his hair."

Ginny woke to the lilting voice of the enchanted book and her own verses, and the first thought that came to her was, "He's been gone a whole week."

She reached for her bedside table and shut the book. She had set it to wake her at six in the morning, but had no idea it would choose to read that wretched work of hers. Not today.

She lay still beneath the covers, staring up at the canopy of her bed as the dim morning light crept across her window. All around her were familiar morning sounds: the cheery songs of birds on the rafters, the wind sighing through the tall trees outside the dormitory, and in the next bed, a girl sniffling and whimpering beneath her blankets.

Saturday, she thought, closing her eyes. Today's Saturday, and not one atom of her body wanted to get out of bed. But sleep, her best refuge from her own thoughts, would not come back. Fingers of light were pushing the darkness from her eyes, and awake, she could not help but realize: it's been seven days since he left, seven of the longest days she'd ever known. 'Is he all right? Will he really return in two weeks? And when he does, will we go right back to ignoring each other? Or is it all going to change again?'

She had no answers. A nasty thought said she might not like the answers if she knew them.

No one else was awake at this hour. For a moment Ginny toyed with the idea of staying in bed the whole day, but remembered she had to speak privately with Hermione, and their dormitory was a poor choice for that sort of discussion. Then she groaned, recalling something else. She had to serve detention today for being ten minutes late for yesterday's Transfiguration class. She had slept badly the night before, worrying so much over Harry, that when she woke up the next day the sun was high and classes were about to begin. Funny how she woke up early now when she didn't need to.

She got up and walked into the bathroom. She was usually the first person up and about in the girl's dormitory. Today she was glad for it. Except for Hermione, she did not want to talk to anyone else. After her bath she collected her book from her bedside table. Maybe she could read the day away in the common room.

She stepped out of the dormitory, but came to a halt at the top of the stairs.

It was sitting there by the common room window, chin leaning on one hand as it gazed out at the courtyard. When the dormitory door shut, it lifted its head to look at her.

"Good morning," it said, smiling.

Ginny did not respond. Clutching her books to her chest, she bowed her head and took the stairs down. She paused at the bottom. Then, eyes still on the floor, she quickly crossed the common room to the door. She did not have to look up to know the homunculus still watched her. She caught a glimpse of it as she let herself out the portrait hole. It was still looking at her, though the smile had gone. The sunlight shone on the raven dark of its hair; its eyes glimmered like green glass.

"Are you well, dear?" asked the Fat Lady. She peered at Ginny, concern on her face. "You look rather pale. Is something the matter?"

Ginny took a step back from the portrait door. "It's nothing. I'm all right."

"Perhaps you should visit the infirmary?"

"I'm fine, really!" she said, laughing a little. Then she turned away and hastened to the stairs. She made it to the still empty Great Hall, sat down at Gryffindor table and opened her book. She stared down at the random, non sequitur phrases that had flowed out of her quill over the past few days. Thanks to her mood, her writing had become even more chaotic than usual.

She stared down at the last sentence she'd written.

"You left with the snows and the parting frost

Without memory of the happiness we had both lost."

Ginny shut her eyes. Something ached inside her, but whether she ached for Harry or for his ghost to leave her alone, she couldn't tell. Some days she could just lose herself in schoolwork, or beneath the covers of her bed. But sometimes there came days like today, when the past returned like a recurring dream and no place was ever a refuge.

~~@~~

It was two years ago, at the time of the Yule Ball when Ginny first discovered how quickly things could change when she wasn't looking.

It happened in Gryffindor Tower. She was comforting Ron from Fleur Delacour's rejection when Harry came in, just in time to hear about the whole mess.

"She looked at me like I was a sea slug or something," moaned Ron. "Didn't even answer. And then-I dunno-I just came to my senses and ran for it."

"It wasn't your fault," said Harry, "I bet you just walked past when she was turning on the old charm for Diggory and got a blast of it-but she was wasting her time. He's going with Cho Chang. I asked her to go with me just now...and she told me."

A while later, Ginny ﾭleft Harry and Ron in Gryffindor Tower and made her way to the girl's restroom on the third floor. There she stared at herself in the mirror for a very long time.

'So this is what heartbreak feels like,' she thought, brushing her eyes with her sleeve. Her skin felt hot but her insides felt cold. In her chest something was dead and heavy, and her mouth tasted of bitter, bitter wine.

She'd told Harry that she had promised Neville she'd go with him, but this was not entirely true. Neville did ask her earlier that morning, but she said she needed time to decide. "I've never gone out with anyone before," was her excuse. It was not a terribly nice thing to do to Neville, but part of her was holding out for a miracle-that at last, Harry Potter would think to ask her.

Now she had to say yes. She had to go find Neville and say 'I've finally made up my mind, sorry to keep you waiting.' It was the excuse she'd used to turn Harry down, and she had to stick with it; the moment Ron broached the idea of the two of them going together, a horrible image came to her mind: she would be in Harry's arms on the dance floor, yet his eyes would be drifting elsewhere, to another girl dancing past them.

Ginny had never seriously considered that Harry could grow to like someone else. He had pretty much ignored every girl who had shown any interest in him. She had imagined he was sealed away in a bubble, visible but apart from the rest of the world. That he would stay the same, waiting for her.

Well, the bubble had burst. Maybe there had never been one in the first place.

A substantial part of her hated Cho Chang. Hated her petite, lithe physique, her creamy skin and that shiny black hair that stretched down to her waist. Hated her charming smile and those sleek dark eyes that could've belonged to a fox. Hated it that everyone in school knew her name, that she loved Quidditch and was a natural on the pitch. All these had attracted Harry to her-and she wasn't even trying to! What did it matter that she turned him down today? She'd caught his eye-if she wanted to, anytime...anytime she could...

Ginny stared, despairing, at her red hair and the freckles that dappled her nose and cheeks-they really stood out when she paled. She had once liked the color of her eyes: a rich brown, like the color of peanut butter or cinnamon. But now brown seemed very dull. Why didn't she get something as mysterious as black, or as arresting as blue?

For days, the questions taunted her: why couldn't she be prettier? Why couldn't she be more interesting? Why couldn't she muster more interest in Quidditch? Why couldn't she have been born earlier?

It took little more than a week before her self-pity gave way to anger.

'You insensitive clod!' she railed at his back. 'You near-sighted dolt! Why didn't you at least have the decency NOT to mention inviting Cho while I was in the room? You know how I feel about you, don't you? Don't you!' And these moments were followed by visions of walloping him over the head with his Firebolt, or of turning him into a gnome and flinging him over their garden wall.

After another week, she woke up one morning and felt indescribably silly.

'Really,' scolded a mental voice, 'Why are you beating yourself up over all this? So Harry doesn't see you that way. So he prefers girls like Cho. Why should you blame yourself or the rest of the world for it? Do you really think it's anyone's fault? For Merlin's sake-grow up, Ginny.'

The voice sounded oddly like her mother's.

The more she thought about these words, the more she realized they were true. She was acting no better than a child who had been denied an expensive treat. She hadn't been fair to Neville, and she hadn't been fair to herself. What's more, with all the moping she'd done, she suspected everyone in the girls' dormitory already knew why she was so depressed.

'No wonder people still think of me as Ron's little sister. No wonder Harry doesn't see me as any more than a silly little girl. Maybe that's how I really see myself.'

Well, she decided she no longer liked herself that way.

'I'm thirteen years old now,' she thought, staring up at the canopy of her bed. 'I guess it's time I acted my age.'

In the months that followed, Ginny relentlessly pursued her grand scheme for 'growing up.'

The first item on her list was: Quit obsessing over Harry. Yes, she was still aware of the exact moment he sat down with them at Gryffindor table and yes, she still could not tear her eyes away each time he pushed his glasses back when they slid down his nose, but she was able to forgive herself of these habits. For the most part, she succeeded in prying her mind off of him, and that brought her some peace.

She also wanted to stop feeling like the Weasley 'little sister,' a brand that was beginning to sound suspiciously like 'the family pet.' She doubted she could escape it so easily, but something had to be done nonetheless. After some reflection, she thought that maybe she could set herself apart if she exceeded her brothers in some way.

Percy, for example, had been diligent in both his studies and duties, but had few real relationships in Hogwarts other than with Penelope Clearwater. In her turn, Ginny tried to be more open and friendly to people outside her own small circle of friends. She even went out of her way to create ties with those not from Gryffindor. Slytherins for the most part did not seem to be people, so her job was considerably easy.

Fred and George were outgoing, charismatic, and well-known for their mischievous sense of humor. They did lag behind with their studies, however. Ginny's own marks were far from failing, but they were nothing spectacular either. She pushed herself in that direction to see how far she could go.

Ron was perhaps the most well-known of the Weasley children in Hogwarts, being Harry's best friend and partner in their many adventures. However much she wanted to, she knew she could not exceed this closeness. She was, however, already Hermione's friend, so she decided to be as good to her as Ron was to Harry. She also resolved to listen more and talk less, a practice that required real effort on her part.

There was one more thing she wanted to change about herself: she resolved not to be so open with her feelings. Hiding them was like holding her breath; if she were happy, sad, or angry, she couldn't help but show it. What had her mother said to her? 'Don't give so much of yourself away, Ginny dear. Men like women who are a bit of a mystery'. She never understood that until now. Perhaps because she never made a secret of her feelings for Harry, she never caught his interest. Or anyone else's, for that matter.

'Well,' she decided, 'even though I've given up on him, I could still try for a little mystery. It might do me some good.'

Ginny diligently pursued her resolutions, and before long was organizing study groups for difficult subjects, members of which included Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. Her grades improved, as did her standing with her Professors. Professor Flitwick started relying on her for demonstrations in Charms (though he would take every opportunity to tease her about her first disastrous Wingardium Leviosa lesson). Her circle of friends expanded. People said hi and waved at her when she walked through the halls, and she often went with a group of friends to Hogsmeade, or on punting trips out on the lake.

Among these people, she found one best friend in Hermione. They spent many good times together, telling stories and sharing secrets-though Ginny now knew enough to keep her most secret thoughts to herself. Hermione tried to interest Ginny with some of her own books, and on Ginny's birthday gifted her with an enchanted book of her own. Ginny's experience with Tom Riddle's diary made her apprehensive at first, but since it did not have a mind of its own and only repeated what she wrote, she began to enjoy its odd company. It sang the songs she liked, recited the poems she wrote, and read her the stories she loved. When she felt like it, she made up her own verses. It didn't matter that her words made little sense. 'Sooner or later,' she thought, 'I'll be able to pluck something pretty out of this trash.'

The last weeks of her Third Year were bright with memories, of warm spring breezes and sunshine on melting snow, of laughter and lazy days spent in a boat on the lake, of quiet moments reading in the library or by the common room fire, of traded secrets and late-night discussions on the dormitory floor. She wrote down as much as she could in her little book, in a queer mix of code and poetry only she could understand. Ginny finally understood why her Mum said that her school years were the best ones of her life. It was nearly summer, and already she could hardly wait for her next year to begin.

The Third Task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament brought Harry back into her life with the suddenness of a waking dream.

It had all happened so fast. First Fleur Delacour and Viktor Krum had been dragged, dazed and dumbfounded, out of the hedge maze, but there had been no sign of the Hogwarts champions. The crowd muttered to themselves like trees in a storm wind, and watched the professors wandering up and down the edges of the maze. Then a scream rent the still evening air. People started running for the source of the commotion. The crowd obstructed Ginny's view, but they soon parted enough for her to see...

Cedric Diggory, prone on the ground. Dead.

Harry lay beside him, injured and bleeding. Maybe even dying.

Ginny watched as Mad-Eye Moody led Harry away from the labyrinth and towards the castle. All around her, people were whispering and pointing, but she could do no more than stare. 'How could this happen?' was the thought most prominent in her mind, and at the heels of that: 'Is he going to die?' She had merely thought those words when she felt a chill colder than the rain, and the world around dissolved into a cruel winter grey.

She started forward, but the crowd moved with them, shielding him from sight. Too small to fight her way through, she had no choice but to follow when their prefect led them away. The people she passed were faceless, frightened shadows, speaking in alien tongues. Someone nearby was sobbing Cedric's name, over and over.

Later, Professor McGonagall came up to their common room, looking pale and thin as a piece of chalk. She informed them that Harry was out of danger, but needed to rest for now. Many terrible things had happened but it was all over. There was no need for anyone to worry anymore.

But worry they did. Ginny stayed up long into the night, fragments of all she'd seen whirling in her head. Cedric Diggory, a fixture of normalcy in the Hogwarts studentry, was now gone. Gone also was the thought that they could count on Hogwarts as a safe place. And worst of all, she had nearly, very nearly, lost Harry for good.

She pitied him, yes, but she also felt oddly guilty. It was as if she had abandoned him these past few months-a silly thought, but it was there nonetheless. Was it fair that she shut him out of her life because he'd unwittingly hurt her? Didn't he deserve any friend he could get during these dark times? Ginny thought he did. There were enough people out there who would turn accusing fingers on him when they find no one else to blame. They already did so, once.

At last, several days after the Third Task, she went up with Ron, Hermione and some other Gryffindors to the hospital wing. Ginny hung back in the corner of the room as all the rest chatted with Harry, asking him if he was okay while carefully avoiding anything connected with the Third Task or Cedric.

Ginny simply watched them, but found no chance to say anything beyond 'hello.' Bruises stood out on his pallid skin, and there was a strange gravity in his eyes that filled each pause in his sentences. Still, he seemed all right. She saw that with her own eyes, and it comforted her. Ron, Hermione, Dumbledore and all the rest would take care of him now.

It saddened her, and made her more than a little envious of the people gathered around him. Harry was always going to be a fixture in her life, but there had always been some unseen barrier between them, excluding her from his company. Her mother and brothers were no help, always trying to shield her from the darker details of Harry's life, as if she wasn't already thirteen years old. Did things always have to be that way?

'Maybe not,' she thought. Maybe Harry was never going to see her in a romantic light. Maybe that simply wasn't meant to be. But it didn't mean that she couldn't be close to him in another way.

As she left the hospital room, a fervent wish rose in her heart-that someday, Harry Potter might see her as a friend.

Before long, Ginny was back in the Burrow and the summer days were easing idly by. For a long time the world beyond their four walls lay quiet; it was easy for the Weasley children to forget that darkness had stolen back into the world. Ginny's little collection grew as she discovered Muggle poetry and stories; she spent hours recording them as she sat by her window, or under her maple tree in the meadow. In her spare time she took up knitting, intent on making herself a good scarf.

They all had one thing to look forward to-both Harry and Hermione had been allowed to spend the last days of summer with them. Hermione promised to bring stacks of storybooks for her to pore through, and Harry-well, she would see him again. That wasn't too bad either.

To be honest, that day had somewhat crept up on her. She had spent most of her time in the meadow, writing and drifting on daydreams. It was here that Harry found her, in a manner she least expected. She woke up to find him flipping through her book, and tripped all over herself trying to make herself presentable.

It was the oddest feeling, running into him that way, like they were two different people meeting for the first time. She was surprised to find he'd grown taller, and his voice had gotten a bit deeper. She liked the sound of it. But what surprised her most was that they were actually talking, having a real honest-goodness conversation-about books and stories and other trivial things. They talked some more the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that. Soon they were playing wizard chess, arbitering arguments between Ron and Hermione, and even sitting on the porch, watching the clouds go by. She had never imagined how these little activities could seem so extraordinary, or so new.

'I really shouldn't think about him so much,' she told herself. 'This might end up like Third Year all over again.' But when he spoke with her, when his eyes held a friendly light, she found it impossible not to.

In the days that followed, Ginny began to see new sides to this boy she had once hero-worshipped. He did not like to untie his shoelaces; he'd rather leave them as they were and slip his feet into his sneakers when he needed to. He hated peas, Brussels sprouts and olives. When flustered, he would brush his hair back from his forehead, exposing his scar. And when he thought deeply, he would stay very still, head tilted forward, green eyes unfocused as he stared into the distance. During these moments, Ginny honestly wished she could read his mind.

Still later, she made another discovery: Harry knew how to have fun. One of her favorite memories of him was that contest they had on who could wake up earliest to take a bath. That had been her idea, but he agreed readily.

And at Hogwarts, every morning when they met she would greet him as "Mr. Potter," and in turn he'd call her "Ms. Weasley." During meals they would often sit across from each other at the Gryffindor Table and chide each other's table manners.

"Mr. Potter, do keep your elbows off of the table."

"Your napkin's useful for something, Ms. Weasley."

And he would often tease her: "I know I'm supposed to get you something, but I just can't remember what they are..."

"Creampuffins!" she'd yell, "They're called Creampuffins!"

And he'd laugh. Ginny had come to cherish his laughter, since as the year wore on, she rarely heard it anymore. Especially after October, when he had that nightmare.

If she closed her eyes, she could still remember how she'd followed him to that willow tree by the lake, while the last dandelions were fading into the autumn breeze. She'd held his hand without any self-consciousness, comforting him, waiting for him to say what had hurt him so badly he needed to be alone.

He hadn't told her, but there was that promise that he would someday, when he was ready. That had been enough for the meantime.

She smiled, remembering how she picked up a dandelion and asked him to make a wish. It had seemed appropriate, she realized now, because one of her own wishes had indeed come true: they'd become good friends.

Strange how some things can come at you sideways, when you're not looking.

~~@~~

Ginny looked up from her book. The Great Hall around her bustled with activity as students from all Houses sat down for breakfast. The table before her was laden with food: cereal, oatmeal, bagels, croissants and cream cheese, smoked salmon, and pancakes with twenty different kinds of syrup. None of these appealed to Ginny. She chose a pomegranate from a plate of fruit and picked at it sullenly.

From the corner of her eye, she spied Ron and Hermione sitting together a few feet to her left. The homunculus sat across from them, completely absorbed by the box of cereal in front of it. It seemed particularly cautious of eating-at every meal it was keen on consuming only one kind of dish at a time. Today it looked like it was going to try cereal.

The homunculus looked from left to right, noting how people poured cereal from their boxes into their bowls. It seemed confused with exactly how much milk one was supposed to use, and if sugar and strawberries were necessary or optional. Finally, with the concentration of a Potions student, it filled exactly half its bowl with cereal, added half a cup of milk, a teaspoon of sugar and a single strawberry at the very center of its meal. It stirred experimentally, then scooped up a spoonful and sniffed it. After a minute of this, it gingerly stuck out its tongue to taste.

Before long, it lost its wariness and gobbled up its meal, a pleasant smile of contentment growing on its face. It finished in less than a minute, oblivious to the strange looks Ron and Hermione were giving it. But when it reached for the cereal box of its seatmate, Ron finally cleared his throat. The homunculus, looking abashed, withdrew its hand. Ron simply rolled his eyes.

'It's the same thing all over again,' thought Ginny. Every once in a while, the homunculus would do something bizarre, and Ron would glare or quietly hiss for it to stop. Ginny did little more than watch them and already she could tell so much. She had seen them doing their Divination homework in the common room, sitting neither too close together nor too far apart. Gone was the easy flow of complaints and jokes she was used to hearing, only cursory questions about work and the dry scribble of quills on parchment. Once she saw them playing wizard chess-but Ron gave up after the homunculus became preoccupied with wondering at how the chess pieces moved, rather than actually playing. Her brother treated the homunculus like a boring distant cousin whom he had no choice but to keep an eye on. The scenario was always like this: he and Hermione would walk together, sometimes hand in hand, while the 'Harry' trailed behind them, contemplating his surroundings.

Thankfully, no one else seemed to notice these oddities. 'How could they?' thought Ginny, gazing at the homunculus. The illusion was perfect to the casual onlooker. It possessed Harry's face, his expressions and his mannerisms; when flustered, it would even brush back its hair to reveal that jagged scar.

But no one could see how its laughter came a split-second late when someone cracked a joke, and that there was no real mirth in its eyes. No one could see how carefully it listened to someone talking, as if it were trying to decipher hidden codes behind the simple words. No one could understand that the look in Harry's eyes was detached and pensive, not a constant state of wonder at his surroundings. Indeed, even the simplest sight could capture the homunculus' interest. Ginny had often seen it stopping by the window to gaze at the shores of the rippling lake, or stare at sunrays highlighting the dusty air.

No one else noticed these things. All they saw was Harry smiling and laughing again, and all's right with the world.

Ginny picked up her books and left the Great Hall. It had been the longest seven days she'd known. And she had seven more to go.

Ginny had arranged to meet with Hermione at two in the afternoon, at a stone bench by the lakeshore. It was a lonely place, isolated by the surrounding trees. Ginny arrived first. She did not have to wait long, though, before she heard brisk footsteps behind her. "Oooooo, that Ron!" Hermione groused.

"What's the matter?" asked Ginny.

Bushy hair jumping, her friend dropped her bag full of books on the bench and sat down. "He...um...found out about something."

"About what?'

"I was keeping notes about ...you know...him, and when I left my bag open he saw one of them. Then he confiscated the lot."

Ginny gaped at her. "Hermione! You know you're not supposed to write about that!"

"I know, I know, but...but I'm never going to have another chance like this! When am I going to meet another honest-to-goodness-"

Ginny put a finger to her lips and Hermione fell quiet. Both eyed their surroundings, but the surrounding grounds were empty.

"Ginny," Hermione said, "you should have heard it today! The three of us were sitting on a bench in the courtyard, and I had just asked if anyone remembered what Potion chamomile was useful for. And you know what he did? He recited Professor Cowl's lecture on the uses of chamomile-word for word! He must have a mind like a sponge!"

Ginny simply rolled her eyes. "Look, just don't make any more notes, okay?"

"Oh, all right, all right," she sighed. "So, what did Dumbledore talk to you about when he called you up to his office? It's not about your detention, is it?"

Ginny shook her head. "No, McGonagall finished that with me yesterday. She told me to go to the West Wing garden today, at three o'clock. I'm supposed to help someone pick elderberries." She paused and stared out at the lake. The sunlight flashed on the onrushing waves.

"So why did he ask you to meet with him?" asked Hermione.

"I asked you here so we may discuss something important, Miss Weasley."

Professor Dumbledore gazed at her kindly from behind his desk. Still apprehensive, Ginny simply nodded in reply. She been in Dumbledore's office only once in her life, after her ordeal in the Chamber of Secrets. She remembered feeling incredibly small within its vastness, and now she felt no different. As her father used to say, no good ever came from being summoned to an office.

"Before we begin, however," Dumbledore went on, "I believe I should reacquaint you with someone. Here he comes now."

Ginny started as something fluttered above her and settled on the backrest of her chair. She looked up and met the benign gaze of the headmaster's phoenix.

"Surely you remember Fawkes?" said Dumbledore. "He certainly remembers you."

Dumbledore didn't even need to ask. Fawkes was easily one of the most beautiful creatures she'd seen in her life-of course she remembered him.

"H-hello, Fawkes," she said. The phoenix whistled its reply, sounding like raindrops falling on crystal chimes. Hearing its melody somehow put Ginny at ease.

Meanwhile, Dumbledore had uncapped a jar on his desk. "Would you care for some sweets, my dear? I heard you were partial to Strawberry Creampuffins. As it turns out, I have some right here." He reached into the jar, picked up two Creampuffins, and set them on a piece of paper in front of her. They lay flat on their backs, however. "My apologies. The enchantment seems to have faded already."

"I'm-I'm fine with them, sir," replied Ginny. "Please don't trouble yourself with me."

The headmaster retrieved a Chocolate Frog from the jar. "Fawkes likes Creampuffins himself, did you know that?"

"He does?" Ginny looked up at Fawkes again, who was eyeing the candy intently.

"Quite. An utter glutton for them, I'm afraid. But, you see, he is also a complete gentleman. If our guest does not eat, he won't either."

"Oh." Ginny took the Creampuffins in her hand and offered one up to Fawkes. The phoenix sang a single note of pleasure before snatching the candy from her hand. Ginny giggled and took a bite from her own.

Dumbledore smiled at them. "Now, Miss Weasley..."

"Please sir, call me Ginny."

"Well, thank you. Now, Ginny, I summoned you here because I need to speak with you about some important matters, matters meant for your ears alone. To ensure our privacy, I would like to cast a Security Charm on my office. Is that all right with you?"

When Ginny nodded, Dumbledore stood up and traced patterns in the air with his wand. Then, almost as if time had fallen asleep, the room darkened and all other sounds faded to silence.

The headmaster sat down. "Now then, to business. Firstly, you needn't worry: you are in no trouble of any sort. But I must stress the gravity of our discussion, and that it must not leave this room.

"Ginny, Harry came to visit you the night he left, did he not?"

Stunned, Ginny could not think of anything to reply. The look on her face, though, was enough for the headmaster, who nodded to himself and settled back into his chair. Suddenly she did not feel like eating candy.

"H-how did you know, Professor?" she asked.

The old man scratched his beard. "Let's just say Harry sometimes has trouble noticing things that are right in front of his face."

"As things stand," he went on, "I am in a bit of a bind. None of us involved have anticipated he would speak to you about this..."

"I'm terribly sorry, sir."

"None of this is your fault, my dear. It simply goes to show I had not been as observant as I thought I was." He leaned forward. "But here is the crux of it, Ginny. While Harry is not in Hogwarts, he is extremely vulnerable. Therefore, no matter what, no one else must know he has gone. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"So, I trust you will be discreet about this matter?"

"I will, sir. I promise I won't risk Harry's safety."

Dumbledore smiled again. "Excellent. But then, I expected no less from a child raised by Arthur and Molly." He paused, then said, "Perhaps, if you are amenable to the idea, there is a way to turn this little problem into an opportunity...

"He asked for my help," Ginny said to Hermione. "He asked if I could help...it...to adjust to life in Hogwarts. So it could complete the disguise. It would be easier if it had more people it could relate to, more..."

"Friends?" finished Hermione.

Ginny lowered her eyes and said nothing.

"And what did you say?"

"I couldn't think of anything to say. I just nodded. Then he let me go."

Hermione reached for her hand. "You don't want to do it, do you."

Ginny shook her head, eyes still kept low. "Hermione, imagine if everything you shared with Ron, every little memory and detail he knows about you, were put in someone else's head. Would you ever be comfortable around that person?"

"I see your point," Hermione conceded. "I'm sorry this is really hard on you, Ginny. And I'm sorry for not seeing how upset you were about the whole thing. I wish there could have been some other way. Maybe Harry visiting you was a bad idea."

"Oh, I'm all right," Ginny said, smiling a little.

"Very convincing," Hermione said wryly. "Look, Ginny, you must remember this one thing: it isn't Harry. It's only a mimic. It's a vessel for his memories, and that's it. So don't worry-in a week it it'll be gone for good."

Ginny did not miss the look of disappointment in Hermione's eyes, but her words did make sense.

"Anyway," Hermione went on, "Harry'll be back before we know it. In the meantime, Ron and I can handle things ourselves."

Ginny gave a snort. "From the way things look, Ron doesn't even want to go near it. I'm afraid people are going to think he's angry with Harry."

Hermione threw up her hands. "Oh, all right, I'll admit that's a problem. Ron's wants about as much to do with it as you do. Honestly, if he could only be more open-minded, see how fascinating it is..."

Ginny, who knew enough to keep her most innermost thoughts private, didn't mention that her friend was more interested in studying the homunculus than getting along with it. Overall, neither Ron nor Hermione were making a terribly convincing portrait of the usual Hogwarts Trio.

'Maybe that's why Dumbledore asked me to help.'

That thought stayed with Ginny on the walk back to the castle. But the more she considered the possibility, the more she shrank away from it.

Dumbledore wanted her to help it?

She felt she had every reason not to.

~~@~~

When did she begin to notice them, those little things?

It was January of her Fourth Year when she became aware of it all. Sometimes she thought she imagined seeing them; how people would walk slower and watch them whenever they were together; how other girls glanced at them, sometimes with interest, sometimes with envy. Some whispered and giggled to each other behind cupped hands. Others would regard them with a kind of knowing smile. She would see this smile often on Hermione's face.

"What?" Ginny would ask.

"Oh, nothing," Hermione would respond, with the air of one who knew the inevitable when she saw it.

Part of Ginny was afraid of what Harry would think about all this, but somehow he never noticed any of it. She felt relieved, but when she laid her head on her pillow at night, she would find herself wondering if, despite her wish of becoming friends, this was as good as it was going to get.

"Stop being silly," she'd scold herself. "You and Harry are good friends. That's the best thing there is for you, isn't it?"

But as she closed her eyes, she would remember that time by the lake when she'd held his hand, and how he pulled her into a hug when her Ron and the twins won the first Quidditch match of the year, and how striking he looked wearing the scarf she'd given him for Christmas. What lingered most, however, were those times when she thought she'd see him staring at her; it had only been once or twice, but his eyes had been so intent she'd given anything to know what thoughts lay behind them.

These were all she could think about that day when he walked with her from the library. Hermione had been all tied up with studying for a Charms report, and needed more books to continue her research. As Ron was still practicing for his upcoming Quidditch match, she had asked Harry to borrow them for her, and provided her with a list. Unfortunately, the list measured a foot length, so Ginny offered to help carry the books back to the Tower.

It took many minutes of searching and several trips back and forth from their table before they could finally assemble the items on the list.

"Honestly," puffed Ginny. "I'm beginning to think it was a bad idea to befriend a bookworm."

Harry smirked. "At this point I get to say, 'The pot calls the kettle black.'"

"Hey, I'm strictly a fiction reader! I'm not interested in manuals on magical theory."

"No, I guess not. Just story books."

"Yes, just story books."

"And poetry."

"Yes, poetry."

"And a nice big history tome every now and then."

"All right, you've made your point, Mr. Potter," she sighed. "Could you wait a moment? I just need to fix this." She started gathering up her hair to tie into a ponytail.

Harry was busy checking his stack. "What for? You look better with it undone."

She'd heard a few compliments from him before, but nothing that gave away his opinion on her looks. This was the only one that made her stop to stare at him. But if he was aware of what he just said, he it didn't show on his face. "I think we've got everything," he mused. "Why don't we go on up to Gryffindor and wall Hermione in with these?" He picked up his stack and started for the exit.

Ginny briefly considered tying her ponytail, then let her hands drop. Picking up her stack, she followed him out the door.

She noticed something while they were walking in the hall. "Hey, that's not fair!" she admonished. "We agreed I could carry half of the books on the list!"

"Ginny," Harry replied, "we're carrying the exact same number. You've got nothing to complain about."

"You're not fooling anyone, Harry. You took the heaviest ones from my stack while I wasn't looking, didn't you?"

"I didn't!"

"You most certainly did! I specifically remember putting Charming Chants on my stack. How can you explain how it ended up on yours?"

"You're seeing things, Ginny," he laughed.

He had been sweating from the strain of lifting the books, and as he laughed his glasses slipped off his face and landed on the books he was carrying. He lurched forward to catch it, only to let out an exasperated sigh as it clattered to the floor.

"Here, I'll get them," said Ginny, smiling.

"No, I can do it."

"Let me get them, Harry. After all, I DO have the lighter stack." Setting her books on a nearby table, she bent down and picked up his glasses. "That's what you get for acting like such a he-man."

"Are they broken?"

"Fortunately, no, but you ought to tighten these. Hold still."

He did so. Ginny faced him and paused, smiling. There something undeniably sweet about how helpless he seemed, blinking and peering at her, as if he were staring at a mirage or a dream. A sudden tenderness swept though her. If she could only take a picture of him this way.

He was still looking at her expectantly. "Ginny, these books aren't going to get any lighter," he said. "Could I have my vision back now?"

"Say please, Harry."

"Please, Harry."

She stuck her tongue out at him, reached over the stack of books, and carefully slipped his glasses back onto his face.

Her hands paused as they brushed his skin. His eyes were the greenest green, like the sea near white shores. She smiled as his gaze focused on her. The tenderness did not abate; it grew within her, strong and clear as music in an empty hall. She did not feel self-conscious; there was no urge to run away and hide.

Now she wanted the world around them to disappear. She wanted only to stay like this, close to him, gazes meeting.

On their own accord her fingers slid down from his glasses, tracing the curve of his cheeks. He was looking at her in silent surprise, lips slightly open as if to speak. He did not pull away. As her little finger touched a vein beneath his jaw, she felt the quickness of his heartbeat, and realized hers was no slower. And as the expression in his eyes changed, her own smile faded away. She could neither move nor speak; she couldn't remember where they were or what they were supposed to be doing. Only his eyes seemed real, giving her a look that at once dizzied her and drained the strength from her legs. She could have stood with him in that deserted hall forever, surrounded by a warm space that had no room for words or thoughts, no room for anything except ceaseless wonder.

But then he spoke, his voice sounding odd and low:

"Thanks."

That seemed to break the spell. She nodded and stepped back, at once regretting the action. He still looked a little stunned.

He said, "We should...Hermione might be...gotta get going..."

"Yeah," she replied. "Let's."

They began walking again, side-by-side, looking at anything but each other. When they got to Gryffindor Tower, Harry put the books down on her Hermione's table and sat beside Ron, who had come in from practice. Ginny said a quick hello, and before Hermione could notice the look on her face, dashed up the stairs to the dormitory.

She looked back once before she disappeared behind the door.

Harry still sat there with Ron and Hermione, a random book in his hands. But his eyes were on her, holding warmth and silence within them. She instantly felt as if someone had taken the bones from her legs, and leaned on the doorknob for support. It swung in for her and she almost spilled onto the floor.

She looked about wildly, but there was no one around. She ran to her bed, threw herself facedown on it, and flung a pillow over her head. She lay unmoving for many minutes, warm all over, as if she had drunk a glass of heady wine. She'd thought she had put these feelings aside for something more lasting. It surprised her now they'd been there all along, waiting to be rediscovered.

After a while, she turned herself on her back and looked up at the canopy of her bed. Now that she had the time and space to catch her breath, she could feel embarrassed about the whole thing. But oh...if she could only will her memories into shape and form, she would keep them beside her pillow, to look at everyday.

"Harry," she sighed, closing her eyes.

~~@~~

In the weeks that followed, Ginny found she was no longer sure about what exactly her relationship with Harry was. She had no basis by which she could judge it, no experience to serve as a beginning. Were they more than friends? Were they becoming like Ron and Hermione?

They had somehow forged an unspoken agreement to try and go on as before. The awkwardness was there, though, from the moment they met each other's eyes at the Great Hall to the moment one of them thought of something to say. They still greeted each other with the ritual "Mr. Potter" and "Ms. Weasley," and once a conversation started it would be the usual free-flow of jokes and anecdotes. But sometimes there would be the awkward pause, then their gazes would refuse to meet, until someone came up with a new subject. She found she could not look at him for very long, as if he were too bright to gaze at directly. Her nervousness would form a tight lead ball in her stomach each time he looked at her. 'Come on, Ginny,' she would scold herself, 'you're not a First Year anymore! Stop trying to shrink into your seat each time he tries to talk to you!'

Ginny wanted nothing more than to tell Hermione about what was happening between her and Harry, but stopped herself each time. She had no doubt Hermione would help somehow, but Ginny felt it was too soon to talk about it. Maybe it was wiser to sort her feelings out first.

She recalled that look on his face back in the hall. No, she couldn't have misread it. It had to be. He must feel the same way. That's why they were both nervous. That's it, isn't it?

But a day passed, and another, and another, and still neither one of them spoke about the incident in the hall. Before long, February arrived. A warm breeze started to blow, and the stalactites on the roof edges dripped cold tears on the castle stones.

Ginny noticed none of these things. One thought occupied her mind-Valentine's Day was fast approaching, and she didn't know what to do about it. Should she say something to him? Should she get him something? Or should she wait for him to act first? But then, what if neither of them did anything?

She let the days pass, because waiting seemed to be the easiest solution. Soon, however, her worries were overtaken by a different kind of disquiet. Harry was starting to act strangely.

It was subtle at first, not as if he just stopped paying attention to her. He talked with her often, always meeting her in the morning, ready with a story he'd heard somewhere. But the more they spoke, the more Ginny became aware of their silence. It only gaped wider with each passing day; the more Harry talked, the less he seemed to be saying. Sometimes their conversations run dry and empty, like rivers that turning into trickles in the dust.

She once asked, "So, how's Ron doing with Quidditch practice?"

"Same old story," he replied. "He keeps complaining about how the twins are working him to the bone."

"Oh, that's not good."

"No, it isn't."

"Not good at all."

"No."

A short pause.

"So," he asked, "It looks like you've been studying hard lately."

"Oh, not at all. I've got loads of free time to spend, actually."

"You do?"

"Yes."

"Oh. That's good then."

"Yes. Well."

"..."

Ginny hated it, hated it worse than keeping quiet. More, she hated how he seemed to maneuver things so they were always together with Ron and Hermione. Unlike before, he no longer seemed to be comfortable being alone with her.

Now she was even less sure of the situation between them. That day in January had changed everything; the normalcy they had was gone and she didn't know how to get it back. But neither could she find the courage to move forward. If she were to confront Harry, what would happen? How would he react?

So still she waited, and waited. Until one February morning, Harry stopped talking altogether.

When she met him at the Great Hall, he did not reply to her usual greeting of 'Mr. Potter.' He only nodded, then turned his attention back to breakfast. Her attempts at conversation were met with a marked disinterest, and anything he said always fell short of the usual warmth she had grown accustomed to. After a few minutes, he abruptly got up and said, "I've got to go now. Professor McGonagall wanted to talk to me about something." He did not elaborate, but collected his books and simply walked out of the Great Hall.

Bewildered and wondering, Ginny watched him go. This wasn't like him. Was it something she said? Something she did? Something she didn't do?

When his behavior did not change over the next two days, her doubts doubled. What did she really know of Harry's feelings? What did she really see in his eyes that day he walked beside her from the library? Did she imagine it there? Did he really like her the way she liked him? How in the world could she be sure?

The questions taunted her endlessly, until one night she found the pain of keeping silent had surpassed the fear of speaking out. There was only one way to know how Harry really felt.

She came down the Great Hall for breakfast the next day, fully intending to find out. But Harry was not at his usual place at the Gryffindor Table. She waited a little while longer, but soon the Hall was nearly full and he was still nowhere in sight. She craned her neck to look over the heads of the other Gryffindors, and soon spotted Ron and Hermione coming towards her. Before she could say anything, Hermione asked, "Have you seen Harry?"

Surprised, Ginny shook her head. "I thought he'd be with you."

"He's not," Ron replied. "Neville said he saw him get up early. He took the Firebolt from beside my bed. Thought we'd catch him here, but..." he trailed off, exchanging a worried glance with Hermione.

"He'll come for breakfast," Hermione said, to put them at ease.

Harry proved her wrong, however. There was no sign of him at all that whole morning. Though Ginny wanted nothing more than to look for him, she had no idea where to start, and her first class was about to begin.

She languished through the day, terribly aware of the trickling of the hours as she moved from class to class. After each period she would search the crowd for any sign of that familiar, messy crown of dark hair. But she never caught sight of him.

Finally her last class ended, and Ginny ran up to Gryffindor Tower to deposit her bag. Harry was not there and no one had seen him. Ron and Hermione were nowhere to be found either; most likely they were looking for Harry. More worried than ever, Ginny left the dormitory and began searching through the halls of Hogwarts.

It was near dark when she finally caught up with him. She had been walking through a deserted hallway in the castle's north wing. She had never been in that place before, but her concern for Harry overshadowed any fear of sanctioned areas. The hallway seemed a mile long, lined to her left by tall glass windows framed by ochre curtains. Just ahead, however, the windows gave way to a series of glass doors that opened to a wide balcony. Ginny approached one door and peeked through.

Beyond the glass she saw a small garden. The flagstone floor was swept clean of snow, but puddles had formed here and there, reflecting a lush blue sky. The hedges were still bare, waiting for the first blossoms of spring. In the center of the balcony stood a small elm tree ringed by a low stone partition. Sitting on the ring, a racing broom clutched in his hands, was a lone boy. Harry.

Ginny's felt her insides lurch as she pressed her hands against the frosty glass door. She reached for the golden doorknob, but paused as her hand touched it.

If he needed to be alone so badly, was it right that she disturb him?

Deja vu struck her then. She had asked herself that question once, on a grassy hillock beside the lake. She had made the right decision then; she would make the same one now. More, she had promised herself to end this uncertainty between them. She had to do it today, while she had the courage.

'Harry comes first,' she told herself, 'I'm responsible for him, too.' And she opened the door and stepped onto the balcony.

The air was chilly, promising mist. Harry sat facing the view and did not see her enter. He held the Firebolt upright in both hands, his forehead touching the handle. His eyes were half-closed and unaware, but he turned to her when she approached.

"Hi," she said, and barely stopped herself from following it with "Mr. Potter." She smiled, hoping to evoke the same from him.

Harry remained silent.

"We've been looking all over for you. Ron and Hermione must've organized a search party by now. I certainly hope you didn't miss your classes." 'I'm sure I did,' she mentally added. 'I didn't hear a word of what my professors said because I was worried sick about you.'

Again he said nothing. His eyes remained expressionless.

She said, "Wow, you could see for miles up here! And it's so quiet and peaceful. I guess that's why you came up here to think. You...must have a lot to think about, right?"

He spoke at last, his voice low and toneless. "Not really. I just wanted to try flying again. That's all."

"Oh. Did you...did you enjoy yourself?"

Harry shrugged. "I'm done now. Guess I'll head back to Gryffindor." He got up and walked past her. The click of his shoes sounded like the locking of doors.

"Wait!"

Harry stopped and looked back at her, his eyes emptier than the air between them.

'Harry, won't you tell me what's wrong?' The words sounded so easy in her head. Now was the time to ask. She wanted to help him, and she wanted to be close to him again. If he had problems, she could offer to share them. If only he would reach out to her...

She drew a deep breath and opened her mouth to speak. But the words came out horribly wrong.

"I was hoping...that is, if you want to, we could...go to Hogsmeade again. J-just the two of us. You know...like old times. We could, we could go to The Three Broomsticks, or sit beside the lake...and talk. Maybe you...would you like to...for, for V-Valentines?"

'Oh no, oh no no no no no no no no no...!'

She tried to think of something else to say to cover up her mistake, but he spoke first, shattering all her thoughts.

"Why?"

For several seconds, Ginny was too shocked to reply. Then she blurted out, "Because it's been so long since we talked! I mean really talked! It's like we hardly even know each other!"

"Talk about what?"

"Anything at all! Harry, are you mad at me? Did I do something wrong?"

"I'm not mad. Why would I be?"

"Then won't you tell me what's bothering you?"

"Nothing's bothering me." He turned and started for the door again.

"Harry, please!" She stepped forward, closing the distance between them. "You don't talk, you don't meet with your friends, you don't even say hello anymore! Won't you tell me what's wrong? Is it your scar? Are you having nightmares? Is it-"

Before her hand could reach his arm, Harry whirled to face her. His eyes were emerald knives. "THERE'S NOTHING WRONG WITH ME! NO, IT ISN'T MY SCAR OR MY DREAMS OR ANYTHING THAT HAS TO DO WITH YOU! ARE YOU SATISFIED NOW? DON'T YOU EVER JUST SHUT UP!"

He turned on his heel, stalked through the doorway, and vanished into the dark hall.

The evening had come at last. Above, the last orange hues had faded from the sky, and the first stars were taking their places. Mist began to roll in from the hills and spill onto the Hogwarts grounds.

Ginny was aware of all this as she stood there in the balcony. All her other thoughts, however, refused to make sense. She shivered, though not from the cold. "I'm not going to cry," she said, as if to command herself. But a numbness was spreading from her heart to the rest of her body, robbing skin of sensation, so much that only when the gaping doorway before her vanished into a haze did she realize there were tears in her eyes.

She clenched her fists and tensed her legs, trying not to shudder. "I'm not going to cry," she repeated. "I'm not going to cry. Please, don't let me cry. Not over this, not over this, not over him."

She bowed her head as the first drops landed on the cold flagstone floor.

~~@~~

Ginny she stared at an empty page of her book, then set her quill down and gazed out the window beside her bed. At last, after several days, the words had finally run dry. What was there left to say?

'An epilogue, I suppose,' she thought. She had resolved never to speak with him again. For days she refused to even look at him, and for a while her indifference was being returned in kind. It would've probably been easier if things stayed the same, but last week, after months of silence, he had come to her at last. He offered apologies but not explanations. She accepted them in words if not in her heart. If her resentment still lingered, like frost that wouldn't melt with the spring, so what? So what if it wasn't like her to be so unforgiving? After all, he'd hurt her badly and he hadn't even said why. He hadn't told her exactly what she meant to him, if she meant anything at all.

'Did you get tired of me, Harry? Did you think it's too much trouble to be with such a careless, graceless girl? Why couldn't I've known better? And why, why, WHY do I always wear my heart on my sleeve?'

At last, Ginny opened her bureau and put her book away. She had thought all these things before, and it was useless to go through them again. She could lose herself with the mindless task at hand. The thought did little to cheer her, but it was better than nothing.

She left Gryffindor Tower and arrived at the West Wing gardens at precisely three o'clock. The balmy autumn afternoon and the clear sky above promised a comfortable hour's worth of menial work. The place was not as well manicured as the rest of the castle grounds; it seemed as if Nature had been allowed a free hand here instead. The grasses grew tall amidst the trees while dried leaves and white stones littered the short dirt path before her. The trail ran down several yards from the castle, past a pair of aged acorn trees, to a peaceful little grove of elders. At the end of the path, a longhaired figure clad in a purple work robe stood facing the grove. 'My partner, obviously,' thought Ginny.

She picked her way down the path towards the figure. As she approached the grove, her eyes grew round in wonder. Rainbow-colored mushrooms, some as tall as the socks she wore, formed a fairy ring around the patch. Despite the autumn season, the arrow-shaped leaves of the elder trees still glowed a healthy green. Was this place under some kind of spell?

The girl stood at the edge of the fairy ring, a straw basket in either hand. Her long hair was tied back in a sleek, ebony ponytail. She was merely standing there, but Ginny noticed how straight and tall she looked, like the portrait of a queen.

"Hello," called Ginny, approaching her. "Are you here to pick elderberries? I was sent to- "

The words died on her tongue as the girl turned around, and she found herself face to face with Cho Chang.

Ginny froze in mid-step, feeling as if she had just swallowed a lead weight. 'Oh no,' she thought, 'I don't believe this!' The two of them stared at each other for an uncomfortable minute.

"I'm sorry," said Cho, looking apprehensive, "I thought I was going to be alone today."

Ginny forced her mouth to work. "W-well, Professor McGonagall thought you might appreciate some help, so she sent me here..." And inwardly, she fumed, 'How in the world am I going to stand one hour working with her? Of all the people in the Hogwarts! As if spending the day slipping in and out of depression wasn't enough!'

"Professor McGonagall asked you?" inquired Cho. "That mean's Professor Dumbledore...but I already told him I'd rather..."

That surprised Ginny. "Professor Dumbledore? What do you mean? What does he have to do with this?"

"Um, no...it's nothing. Don't mind me." Cho put a basket down and offered her hand. "I'm pleased to meet you. My name's Cho Chang."

'I know,' Ginny mentally groused, noticing how white and delicate Cho's skin was. She shook hands out of pure reflex. "Nice to meet you too. I'm-"

"Ginny Weasley, correct?"

Ginny blinked. "Um, have me met before?"

"No, but you know Jane Ryemark from Hufflepuff, don't you?"

Ginny remembered her. Jane was a quiet, mousy girl who used to come to the study groups she had organized back in Third Year. "You know Jane well?"

"We come from the same neighborhood," replied Cho. "Jane's told me a lot about you. She swore that the only reason she passed Potions in Third Year was because you created funny mnemonic devices for the recipes in the final exam."

Ginny blinked again. "She told you that?"

"Yes. Let's see if I remember one-ingredients for the Slowfalling Potion: 'Boil Malfoy in cauldron till He Tenders Up Quite Nicely' means Buckwheat and Mottlewood in cauldron first, followed by Half a Teaspoon of Undiluted Quicksilver and lastly a Numfeather. That's about right, isn't it?"

"Um, yeah."

"Jane said you had a way with words."

Ginny forced a smile. 'Why, why, why did Cho Chang have to find out about me through a stupid little thing like that?'

"A good thing Malfoy never heard it," Ginny quipped. "He'd have a different opinion altogether."

"I guess he would."

Ginny kept her smile plastered on her face, trying to come up with something more to say. Cho preoccupied herself with plucking a loose straw from her basket, then she looked up again and said, "Well, I suppose we should get started. Here." She offered the other basket.

Relieved, Ginny accepted it. "Lead the way, then."

The grove had a dozen trees scattered within the fairy ring, their branches drooping within easy reach due to the weight of the clustered berries. Chrysanthemums ran rampant along the circling toadstools, and nearby, Ginny could hear the gentle buzzing of lazy bees. As they stepped over the fairy ring, she wondered again if the grove was indeed enchanted.

"I've seen this place from a window," she said, "but never up close. It's quite pleasant, isn't it?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes it is," said Cho, without looking back.

"So, what are the berries for?" she pressed.

"Hmm? Pardon?"

"The berries," repeated Ginny, the tiniest twinge of exasperation in her voice. "Do you know why McGonagall needs the elderberries?"

"Oh, she doesn't need them herself. I do. I come here every year to pick them. Dumbledore knew that, so he probably asked Professor McGonagall to send someone to help. I already told him I was fine by myself, but I suppose he insisted."

'Great,' Ginny said to herself. 'I've been pressed into becoming Cho Chang's servant for a day.'

"Why do you need them, then?" she asked.

Cho hesitated, then replied. "I'm going to make wine."

"Really? Sounds like advanced magic." 'And incredibly bourgeois,' she silently added.

"I won't be using magic. I'll be doing it by hand."

That took Ginny back. "By hand?"

"It's not complicated, but it's a lot of work." Cho stopped beside an elder tree and took out a pair of clippers from the basket. "First, I'll need to mix the berries with sugar, water, and wine yeast, then let it settle for a week. Afterwards, I have to strain the mixture into jars and leave them alone for a few months so the wine can ferment."

"It does sound like a lot of work."

"It's mostly waiting. And you'll never taste a better wine once it's done."

"Will you sell it? The wine?"

"I-no. I won't be selling it." Cho's eyes flicked towards her before turning away. "The air smells nice because of the flowers," she said abruptly, "but try not to crush any leaves or you'll change your mind fairly quickly."

"I'll...remember that," Ginny replied, and thought, 'I wonder what she's so uptight about.' She picked up her own clipper and began snapping off the berries from the nearest elder. They worked in silence for several minutes, cutting off bunches from soft stems and placing them in their baskets. Soon they each took separate paths, wandering from tree to tree.

'This isn't so bad,' thought Ginny, wiping her brow. 'At least the weather's nice, and the task's not hard.' She looked down at her collection. Half an hour's work had filled only a quarter of her basket. 'Of course,' she sighed inwardly, 'she just had to bring an enchanted one.'

To her left, a curious chipmunk poked its head out from a pile of leaves to stare at her. Ginny idly picked a berry from her basket and flicked it in the animal's direction. The chipmunk crept forward, grabbed it, and scuttled off to its secret stash.

Ginny wondered if Cho was doing any better. She threw a casual glance over her shoulder, but the older girl was nowhere in sight. Ginny looked around, and finally spotted Cho's basket on the ground beside an elder. Behind the tree, she could see a section of a long purple work robe.

'Is she taking a break already?' thought Ginny, frowning. 'I hope she doesn't expect ME to shoulder most of the work.'

She was about to turn away when her ears caught a familiar sound, and she paused.

'I must've imagined it,' she told herself. 'I'm sure I imagined it.' But it came again, more distinct this time, and Ginny realized what it was: a suppressed sob. She hesitated a moment, then tiptoed forward a few steps. From her new angle she could see Cho leaning a slender arm against the elder tree. Her pale hand covered her mouth, and she shuddered as she breathed.

Ginny was struck by the unreality of the scene. She couldn't actually be seeing elegant, porcelain-doll Cho Chang standing there, on the verge of breaking down. It simply couldn't be.

'Should I do something? Should I go talk to her?' Ginny almost stepped forward, but stopped herself. 'Maybe,' she thought, 'maybe I shouldn't. Maybe it's more polite to pretend not to notice.'

She edged away, ducked behind a nearby tree, and tried to preoccupy herself with berry picking. The work did little to distract her, however.

What if she really needs help? What if she's hurt herself, or-?

'Look, she's Cho Chang. She can take care of herself just fine. And Cho did want to be alone today, right? She said so herself. If she wants to cry, it really isn't any of your business, is it?'

Ginny cut away at the bunch before her, but the stem somehow refused to break. She tugged harder until, finally impatient, she gave it a yank. The bunch broke off with a tiny snap. Ginny grimaced as she looked down at her palm, stained now by the juices of crushed elderberry.

As she stared, a different voice spoke in her head.

If you're going to be an insensitive clod, you can at least be honest. The real reason you don't want to help her is you simply don't like her. Which means you're only kind to the ones you like, Ginny. Is that what you mean by growing up, then?

Ginny felt herself redden in shame. Again, the voice sounded just like her mother's.

She carefully peeked from behind the tree. Cho still stood there, looking so lost and alone that at last Ginny was compelled to be truthful: she did feel sorry for her.

"Cho?"

The other girl neither moved nor answered. Ginny put her basket down and quickly approached. "Cho, are you all right?"

Cho half-turned, drawing her hand across her eyes. "I...I think...that is..."

"What's wrong?"

Again Cho didn't answer. Her breath hitched in her lungs as her reddened eyes stayed focused on the tree beside her. Ginny dug out her handkerchief from her pocket and offered it to her. After waiting a moment, Cho accepted it.

"Would you like to sit down for a bit?" Ginny asked. But the other girl vehemently shook her head.

"No!" she said, "I'm sorry, I can't stop. I mustn't stop now. W-we have to gather the elderberries, and quickly."

"I'm sure that can wait!" Ginny insisted. "If you need to rest-"

"I'm fine. I'll BE fine." Cho wiped the last of her tears and fought for composure. "I'm sorry. You don't understand any of this, and I'm upsetting you."

"Upsetting ME!" Ginny gave her an incredulous look. "Forget me-what about you?"

Cho merely shook her head again. "I can explain all of this later. But for now, please, let me finish this. It may not seem like much, but it's terribly important that I do."

Ginny could no longer think of a reply; the determination on Cho's face told her she would not change her mind. Bewildered, she simply nodded and walked back to her basket. She turned around once to look at Cho. The older girl tried to smile, as if to reassure her, before returning to her task. After a moment, Ginny did the same. They kept on in silence, with Ginny pausing every now and then to give the older girl a look of concern. But that effortless calm had once again settled on Cho's face, a composure Ginny had once thought was simply aloofness.

'What's she been hiding underneath all that?' she wondered, 'and for how long now?'

An hour came and went. Soon the sun began to set, painting the sky with orange and gold hues with its descent. Her task finally done, Ginny rested beneath one of the trees with her basket beside her. A few minutes later, Cho set her basket alongside hers and sat down. It was a quiet moment, with the long shadows of trees stretching on the grass before them, and the sunset filtering through the leaves overhead.

"I must look incredibly stupid right now."

Ginny shook her head at Cho's words. "I'm the one who should be sorry for disturbing you. It's all right to cry if you have to, and to have privacy when you do it. I've always believed that."

"I'm not upset with you," Cho replied. "I appreciate your concern, actually."

"Well, since I'm here anyway, do you want to talk about anything? I mean, well, you don't have to say anything if you don't want to, either." D??vu struck her. 'Just listen to me talk!' she wondered. 'It's like I'm speaking with Harry!'

Cho hesitated. Two unnamed emotions warred in her dark shifting eyes. Finally, she steeled herself and said, "You deserve an explanation..."

Ginny sat up. This may well be the oddest moment of her life, talking with Cho as if they were friends. But if there was anything of value she had learned to do over the past year, it was how to listen.

"This place..." Cho gestured around her, "this place is full of memories. This was our special place, Cedric and I. We used to come here every year to pick elderberries." She smiled slightly. "You see, Professor Dumbledore loves wine. Cedric found that out when he was in First Year. So he gathered some elderberries here, pressed them into wine, and gave two bottles to Dumbledore for Christmas. The headmaster was so touched by the gift that Cedric decided to bring him homemade wine every year. When I met him during my Second Year, Cedric invited me to help out. Then it became a ritual for me too."

"I-I had no idea," said Ginny. She never imagined the handsome, dignified Cedric Diggory, captain and star of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, doing something so...sweet.

Cho smiled. "I suppose it was easy enough to ask the house elves to collect the berries and ferment the wine for us, but Cedric thought the Professor would appreciate something the giver made with his own hands."

"I can see why Dumbledore liked it so much."

"That's true." Cho shook her head. "I suppose you would've understood Cedric better than I did, Ginny, because it took me a while to see things that way.

"Before, I was...well, let's just say I was quite different from the way I am now. I had no time for things like that. If you asked me then, I'd say it was kind of trivial. All that mattered to me was being good at what I do. I wanted to get into the best school and get the best marks from the best teachers. I wanted to be a Quidditch star, and maybe even get to be Head Girl. I wanted everyone to know who I was, and for a while, I thought I was doing a good job of it.

"But when I met Cedric, everything just turned upside-down. While he was successful in nearly everything he did, he genuinely thought of others first. I've never once heard him refuse anyone who needed help. And he always spoke to me about how lucky we all were to be here in Hogwarts, lucky beyond belief we had so many good people looking out for our futures. He said we were 'living in a miracle.' I guess that's why he was so kind and fair to everyone: he knew we were all living through the same experience, through the same miracle.

"And for the first time, I saw how shallow I was. It never even crossed my mind to be thankful for all this. I'd never even stop to think of people as persons. The only thing that mattered to me-was me! So what if I did well at school, or if everyone knew my name, or if I knew how to catch a Snitch? I didn't have any real friends."

"But you're so popular!" protested Ginny. "I can't believe you didn't have even one friend after all that time!"

"It's rather embarrassing, isn't it," agreed Cho. "I knew a lot of people, but I've never spoken with them the way I'm speaking to you now.

"But the longer I stayed beside Cedric, the more I changed. Did you ever think that could happen, that someone else's life could change your own?"

"I...I don't know," said Ginny. "I've never thought about it."

"I've thought about it a lot, ever since he died."

Cho closed her eyes and settled back against the tree. "It's been more than a year now," she went on, a tremble in her voice. "People I think I'm over it, I've healed. Some days, I think so too. But it all came back when I saw this place again. The grove's still the same, you know; it still smells like summer, and the elderberries are in bloom, waiting to be picked. But I'll be gathering them without him beside me. I won't be hearing him hum his little songs while he worked. And we won't be sitting together afterwards on the grass, holding hands, waiting for the blackbirds to sing."

Ginny felt her throat go dry as tears leaked beneath Cho's eyelashes. But they did not fall this time.

"When I realized all that," Cho said, "I couldn't help it-I just started crying. I'm sorry to have worried you. It's silly of me."

"It's not silly," whispered Ginny. "Not at all."

Cho waited until she could speak again, then quietly said, "I've never told anyone this before. It must sound insane, giving secrets away like this."

"I may talk a lot, but I know how to keep secrets," quipped Ginny. She took on a more serious tone and said, "You don't have to worry. I promise you, I'll never tell another soul."

Cho wiped her eyes and smiled. "Jane was right-you are a very kind person."

Ginny thought back on her earlier impressions of Cho, the homunculus she had been avoiding, and the grudge she still held against Harry.

"Oh," she mumbled, "not as kind as I'd like to be."

They were silent again for a little while, each alone in their thoughts. Ginny could not help thinking of a different boy, someone who'd once called her friend. She hugged her knees, trying to keep herself from recalling.

"You could've stopped, you know," she said at last. "If it hurt too much to remember, you could've just left this place alone."

Cho nodded in agreement. "I wanted to do just that, once. I wanted to put aside all my memories of Cedric. Then, I guess I'd stop crying. Maybe I'd go on as I always had.

"But I...I realized that if I chose to forget him, then Cedric would truly be dead. It would be as if he really didn't mean anything to me. The time we had would all be a lie."

Ginny asked, "Does loving someone have to...hurt so much?"

Cho gazed at her, and Ginny saw complete understanding in her eyes.

"Getting hurt may be hard," she replied, "but Ginny, being afraid of getting hurt, that's even worse. I was like that once." She lifted her head and looked around them. "My mother once told me something: 'True love only blossoms in a seasonless heart.'"

"I don't understand."

"I didn't understand her either...that is, until today.

"Look at this place, Ginny. It's autumn everywhere else, but it feels like summer here. No one knows who made the fairy ring or why it's here, but we do know it keeps the grass and leaves evergreen. So all year long, this grove would always have something to give to anyone who asks.

"When I stood before this place again, I remembered Cedric and all the afternoons we'd spent here. I remembered how we fought and made up, how we shared tears and laughter and dreams...and then I asked myself, if the most precious thing in the world to me were carried away, would I let my heart change? Would I forget love, kindness, joy?

"Of course not; I wouldn't change, I wouldn't forget. I wanted to be alive."

"Alive," repeated Ginny. She understood, clearly now, what Cho was telling her. "Alive like this grove. Alive no matter what the season."

"Yes," said Cho, "and to prove it to myself, I stepped inside the fairy ring to pick these elderberries. Yes, it did hurt, but I was glad it did, because it's part of the miracle, because it meant he meant something to me. It was a good hurt, if you can believe such a thing." Her fingers touched the basket beside her. "Later on, I'll make these berries into wine, and come Christmas I'll give some to the headmaster, and we'll drink a toast in memory of Cedric." She smiled, a calm, soft curving of her lips. "Once I've done all that, I'll know I can live in spite of pain, that I really loved Cedric with my life, and he has never truly gone."

Ginny watched the last of the light glimmering in Cho's eyes, and with these words, she felt something inside of herself ease. She wondered if she could find it in herself to be just as brave.

Knuckling the tears from her eyes, she said, "You know what? You're so lucky. Cedric loved you. You must've been really happy."

"Oh, I know I'm lucky," replied Cho, smiling wider. "I loved him, and that made me most happy."

~~@~~

When they finally left the fairy ring, the last birdsongs were fading quiet in the air, and the hooting of a distant owl announced it was close to nightfall. As they walked up the path to the castle, Ginny turned her head and gave the grove one last look. A hush settled over the grass and trees; even the wind seemed to be falling asleep.

Though Cho tried to dissuade her, Ginny helped carry the berries all the way to Ravenclaw Tower. When they reached the main entrance, a circular wooden portal filled with arabesque designs, Cho turned to her and said, "I certainly talked your ear off today, didn't I?"

"Oh, don't worry about it," said Ginny. "I'm glad we met. You needed to talk, and now that I think about it, I guess I needed to listen."

Cho hesitated, then stepped forward and hugged her tightly. "Thank you," she said. "Thank you so much. If you ever need someone to talk to, please let me know."

Ginny returned her embrace. "I'll remember. And thank you, too."

They bid each other goodbye, and Ginny watched her disappear into the portal before starting for Gryffindor. She passed through the smoky, torch-lit halls, past the stone lions that flanked the main staircase, up the hundred steps to the fifth floor, through the shadowy corridor that led to the Tower. Her steps were long and steady, and tender thoughts lingered behind her eyes.

She paused in front of the portrait door of Gryffindor and said hello to the Fat Lady.

"Well," said the portrait, studying her, "I daresay you're looking much better now. How are you feeling, dear?"

"I feel great," replied Ginny, grinning. "Will-o-wisps?"

The Fat Lady smiled back and swung in to let her enter. As the light from the Gryffidor common room washed over her like a second sunrise, Ginny said to herself, 'I can forgive him now.

'He came to see me, to say sorry and goodbye before he left. So it's not as if he doesn't care about me.

'And in the end, what matters most is that I care about him. That won't change. No matter what our relationship will be, I won't ever let that change.'

Today was a day she would not soon forget. She'd tuck it away in a corner of her heart, to remember when the hurt came again. Head held high, the smile still on her lips, Ginny entered Gryffindor Tower.

But she stopped short as she passed through the portal entrance.

The homunculus sat by itself at a table near the window, busy reading a thick book on Aggregate Charms. The moment it saw her come in, it quickly barricaded its face with the tome and hunched down in its chair.

Ginny started to walk across the room to the stairs. But halfway there she stopped, took a deep breath, and turned to face it.

"Hello," she said.

For a moment, nothing. Then the homunculus peered tentatively at her over the top of its book.

"Er...hello," came its quiet reply.

"I...I think you dropped your quill," she said, pointing at the floor beside its chair.

The homunculus tilted its head, then quickly bent down to retrieve the quill.

"Thank you," it muttered, still looking quite bemused.

Ginny nodded, then she made on her way to the girl's dormitory. Most of the other girls there were still awake and chatting amongst themselves. She waved to Hermione, who waved back and resumed writing notes by candlelight.

Ginny washed up, then wrapped herself with her blanket and sat on her bed. Outside her window, the crescent moon had risen high over the far gray hills, a pale sickle cutting through the surrounding dark. The autumn wind picked up again, whispering through the leaves of the forest. She wondered again how Harry was doing, and if he could see the sky from where he was.

'Wherever you are,' she thought, 'please be safe.'

She closed her eyes and imagined a garden in her heart, evergreen throughout the seasons, as she waited for his return.

To be continued

Chapter XI: The Coming of the Cold