Two Vials of Poison: One Red, One Silver

Prologue - Punching Analysis

Year: 1998

Ginny and Bill Weasley were hiding behind a cornerstone wall, panting and out of breath. Their hair stuck to the backs of their necks, sweat dripped down their cheeks, and they were red in the face.

Ginny craned her neck to see over his shoulder into the empty street. It was early afternoon, but the sky had slowly began to darken as though it was night. Ginny shuddered as she saw branches and bark from trees lying in the road and on the sidewalks. "Do you think we've lost them?" she asked her brother, as an explosion sounded from far away.

They were in Godric's hollow. At the age of eighteen, Harry Potter had been allowed to enter his parent's vault at Gringotts. There, he had found the deed to their home in Godric's hollow, and though it was only ruins, Harry had wanted to visit the place where his parents had lived.

And he had asked the Weasleys and Hermione to accompany him. Early in the morning, they had set out for the Muggle neighborhood, mainly because Harry had been very anxious and had woken everyone up at the crack of dawn. Soon, they had found the house. The land held a formidable sort of aura, the blades of grass were dark brown, and the trees were dead looking with no leaves. The ground was parched as though the house had burnt to the ground only a few days before. Ginny had felt a little wary upon stepping onto the property.

This was where James and Lily Potter had been murdered, after all. If she listened closely to the wind, Ginny could hear their screams inside her ears, James yelling at Lily to take Harry and run, Lily begging for Harry's life... She imagined it just as Harry had told it to her, reliving his breath in her ear, telling her what he saw when the dementors got too close.

Ginny had closed her eyes, trying to shut out the pain she was feeling, and the pain she knew Harry was feeling as he looked around.

Then, out of nowhere, and like the sound of a thunderclap, a tree had exploded, bark and branches flying in every direction. That's when the black robed figures that had haunted Ginny's dreams ever since her fourth year had slowly walked onto the desolate property, their hoods lowered.

Death Eaters.

The fighting had begun...

And now, two hours later, they were still fighting. Harry and Mr. Weasley were still on the property and Percy lay unconscious somewhere in the woods. Hermione was tending to his wounds, for he was losing blood quickly. Mrs. Weasley and the twins had touched a portkey that transported them to Death Eater Headquarters and were busy fighting there. Ron was nowhere to be found.

Ginny and Bill had hidden in a nearby abandoned home, to contact Professor Dumbledore and the Order, but Death Eaters had followed them there, cornering them. Ginny and Bill had managed to get away, running as fast as their legs could carry them into a dark alleyway.

"I don't know," Bill said after awhile, once he had caught his breath. He raised the arm that held his wand a little and wiped his brow with his hand, then said, "Accio grenade!" With the sound of a racing bullet, a circular object zoomed toward him.

As he caught it in his left hand, and began to untie it, Ginny asked, "What's that?"

"Grenade," he answered quickly, concentrating only on it. Ginny obviously knew it was a grenade, but Bill offered no more explanation. Ginny closed her eyes, and leaned against the wall, breathing deeply as another explosion sounded.

They sat in silence for a couple of seconds before Ginny felt something sharp and cold press against her neck--she gasped--and then suddenly she was wrenched to her feet; her eyes flew open. A Death Eater was holding her tightly against him, a knife steady in his hands.

He was laughing.

Bill was now on his feet, looking on in horror. "Don't move Ginny," he said hurriedly. "Let her go!" His brown eyes were blazing with anger, but Ginny knew he wouldn't do anything that would hurt her. She trusted him, and she knew he trusted her.

Ginny closed her eyes with a wince as the blade pressed even harder to her neck, pushing against her lungs. It was difficult to breathe. She was afraid one simple intake of breath would provoke the Death Eater into slicing her throat. She shuddered involuntarily. Tears prickled in her eyes as unnervingly hot breath seared her skin, and when they began to roll swiftly down her face, they were like acid. Something was also trickling down her neck; she was not aware if it was sweat or blood or both.

The unknown terrified her.

The Death Eater was still laughing harshly, and then there was something wet and slimy moving up and down her cheek. She realized with horror that it was his tongue. Ginny flinched, and opened her eyes, telling Bill silently to do something, anything.

Before Bill could do anything however, more Death Eaters Apparated right behind them, forming a circle. Ginny saw Bill's jaw clench for the briefest of seconds before he threw something hard at the oncoming Death Eaters, and he ducked.

The grenade burst in the air, and the Death Eaters were knocked off their feet and onto the street, dead. The Death Eater holding Ginny gave a start of surprise and quickly sliced her cheek with the knife and then ran away. She whipped around, glaring, and yelled, "STUPEFY!!" He fell forward, as stiff as a board.

Next moment, Bill was squeezing her tightly, his face in her hair. "You can't leave me, you hear? You need to stay alive, if not for us, for Harry." He pulled away from her and fixed her with a piercing gaze. She knew his meaning immediately.

"I won't ever leave, Bill," she said, clutching her wand tightly, tears now pouring down her face, mingling with the dirt and blood there. The salt of her tears stung the gash across her face, and she raised her hand instinctively to it, wincing.

"I know you won't because I'll protect you," her elder brother said in a low growl.

Ginny looked up into his blue eyes. "I trust you, Bill."

"And I trust you, Gingerbread."

She barely had time to register the use of her childhood nickname, before she heard another voice. "Ginny, are you okay?" she heard someone yell, and she saw Harry running toward her, looking worse than she did. There were horrible rips in his jeans and shirt; the scar on his forehead glowed red and blood streamed out of it and down his face. Death Eaters were on his tail.

Yelling spells at the top of their lungs at the Death Eaters, she and Bill emerged from behind the wall. Several of them keeled over, falling to the ground, and Ginny was concentrating so hard, she didn't notice the two that captured Bill and led him away.

When she heard his strangled yells, she turned to see him twitching and rolling around, under the Cruciatus. "BILL!" she cried, running in his direction. She tripped and fell to the pavement, spitting dirt and grass from her mouth. She lifted herself onto her feet, not noticing the gravel that had latched itself to her gash, making it sting more horribly than before.

"Avada Kedavra!" was all Ginny heard before she lost all control.

By the time she reached him, on the other side of the road, the Death Eaters had left. She flung herself on top of her eldest brother, half screaming with anger and half sobbing hysterically. Pounding her fists into his hard, lifeless chest, she looked at his face, unmarked and pale, eyes wide open in fear. Choking, his words rang in her ears.

'I trust you Gingerbread.'

She drifted slowly into a kind of trance, her mind leaving her. Her logic was gone. She closed his eyes, stood up, and ripped off her robes so that now she was wearing only jeans and a sleeveless shirt. Anger flooded her veins, running through her like a river, and pumped with a very deadly level of adrenaline. Her vision blurred.

And then she was running. Her legs moved in a fast rhythm, faster than she thought her body ever could run. She heard Harry call her name in the distance, but ignored him, and only stopped running when she spotted her targets. The two thuggish men known as Crabbe and Goyle Senior were sitting on logs, chuckling to themselves. They didn't even hear her approach.

And before Ginny knew what she was doing, she had grabbed a thick, sharp stick from the ground and plunged it as hard as she could into Goyle's side. He gasped, and looked at her in shock, as blood began to gush out of his side.

Crabbe didn't have time to react; Ginny retrieved the pocket knife George had given her for her birthday, and threw it hard at him. Knife throwing lessons from Charlie had certainly paid off. It hit Crabbe squarely in the heart--he staggered back and fell to the ground with a sickening thud.

Ginny yelled loudly, a piercing scream that would make even Banshees cry, and she whirled to face Goyle, who was standing stupidly, gazing at the long stick in his side. He looked up slowly right before Ginny punched him in the face. He fell backward.

She ran to Crabbe, who was gasping for air, blood trickling from his mouth. Ginny wrenched the knife from his chest and he let out a little wail. She barely heard him as she went back to Goyle, lying on the ground, a pool of red by his side.

Ginny dropped to her knees, breathing in uneven pants, and wiped the grime and sweat off her forehead, whimpering uncontrollably. She brought the knife down as hard she could, not really paying attention to where it stabbed him. It was obvious, though, to the red that jumped all over her face, that she had hit him in the neck. Crying, she stabbed him over and over again.

"Ginny! What are you doing? Stop it!" cried a voice. Ginny couldn't make out who it was, she didn't really comprehend was he was saying. She had slipped into her own dark world--she was crazy, insane, you might even say. She was actually taking pleasure in feeling Goyle's blood splashing over her face. She tasted it in her mouth and yelled angrily, as Goyle's moans of pain faded from her ears.

The next thing she knew, she felt strong arms pulling the knife from her hand and she whipped around, punching whomever it was on the jaw. "Ginny, stop it!" the person said desperately, and the sound of metal hitting the leaves told her that the knife had dropped from his hands. She fell to her knees and felt around for it. Her hands clasped around the blade and she felt her hand sting as it dug into her skin.

"Ginny," the person said softly, but she didn't hear anything other than the loud thumping that was her heart pounding painfully in her chest. She gasped and stood up, and mechanically kicked him in the chest. He dropped to the ground, and she knelt over him, her knife raised high in the air. She was ready to bring it down when...

With a cry, he kicked the blade out of her hands, and pushed up, so that she fell off of him. She felt the back of her head connect with a rock, and she was temporarily dizzy. A slur of voices entered her brain, but as dots danced before her eyes, she could only grasp a few words.

"...tried to kill me..."

"Ginny...kill you?"

"Yes...Ron..."

"But, Harry!"

"She did, Ron!"

"I saw her." Another voice; Hermione's, Ginny realized, and it was quivering. "It's Bill...he's dead..."

And then, for Ginny, all went black.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Year: 1998: Two Months Later

Ginny Weasley sat up in bed, sweat sticking to her clothes, her heart pounding, her ears ringing. She was short of breath, and her chest heaved painfully. She reached over to her nightstand, fumbling for her glass of water, and cursed, as she heard it fall to the floor and shatter.

Tears ran down her face as she kicked the covers from her body and bent down to pick up the shards of broken glass. Red appeared instantly on her skin as the glass poked her wrists, but she didn't wince. Gryffindor color, she thought with what would have been a wry smile, if she had been smiling.

She looked at her surroundings and shivered. The walls were bright white, the floor's tiles were white, her bed was white, every damn thing was white. It was painful to the eyes, and her heart throbbed in her chest. She rubbed her chest and stood up, deciding to just leave the shards of glass there for the Healers to pick up.

Edging her way over to the intercom hanging on the wall, a rather piece of useful technology, she cleared her throat. She pressed the button (which was white) and waited until a voice answered. "Yes, how may I help you?"

She spoke in a bland, tired voice. "This is Room 314, Ginny Weasley, and I want to go to the training room. Now."

"Miss Weasley, that room is closed today," the woman answered pleasantly.

"I don't give a shit! Let me down there now or I swear I'll break down this fucking wall!" Her voice was desperate and full of rage.

"No, Miss Weasley, I'm afraid I can't..."

"Fine, have it your way!" Ginny yelled hoarsely into the intercom, and she ran across the room, stepping on the shards of glass, and picked up the nightstand beside her bed. She walked over to the wall, and hit the wall as hard as she could with the nightstand. One of the legs broke off.

"Miss Weasley, please calm down...please," the woman said, with a tinge of nervousness in her voice, even though she was quite used to this regimen.

"I--AM--NOT--GOING--TO--CALM--DOWN!" bellowed Ginny, hitting the wall with the nightstand on every syllable.

Three people suddenly appeared inside the room, and tried to take the nightstand from her. Angrily, she threw the nightstand across the room, where it flew out the window, the same window that Ginny had tried to escape from two days ago.

"What is it that you wanted Miss Weasley?" a man asked calmly, as though asking if she wanted a treacle tart with her tea.

Ginny wrung her hands, looking all around the room. "Take me to the mother fucking punching room," she said quietly.

"Okay. But first, you have an owl from a Mr. Harry Potter," he replied, brandishing a piece of parchment from his pocket. The seal was broken.

"You opened my mail?" she said dangerously, glaring at the three of them.

"We had to perform routine checks on it," another man spoke up. "We'll let you read it in private. Let us know when you're ready to go down to the punching room."

They left, and Ginny heard one of them mutter on the way out, "Why would Harry Potter want to marry her?"

She threw a punch at the door, denting it only slightly, and cried. Yes, she and Harry had been engaged. Everyone had said they were too young, for she was only seventeen at the time, but they hadn't listened at all. Of course, the wedding had most definitely been put on hold when Ginny, in a rage over the death over her eldest brother Bill, had tried to kill Harry. Declared mental by her family, they had checked her into St. Mungo's.

She had been surrounded by fucking white for two bloody months!

The only comfort she found was in the training room, and she had been there almost every hour of every day, teaching herself to fight, stopping only to eat food and sleep. It was draining, but at the end of every session, she felt a sense of power that nothing else could give her. She felt a sort of loving air in the training room.

She stumbled over to the intercom and pressed the button again. Between hiccups she said, "I want my grey sweatpants...a-and my green shirt with the rabbit on it...and my punching gloves and..."

A small wizard Apparated to her room, presenting her with everything she had asked for, and in exchange, she handed him the letter. "Burn this and then I want to go to the training room."

"I'll get someone to escort you," he squeaked.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Draco Malfoy looked around his bedroom and sighed. He had been lying in his bed for two hours straight, just staring at the ceiling. Thinking about why his father had killed his mother.

He had found his mum dead in the dining room about two months ago, pale and unmarked, eyes wide open. He had heard his father and mother screaming earlier that day about some mission and he had only heard the words Godric's Hollow. He knew it was a Muggle town of some sort, but that was about it.

He also knew that his father had the temper of a Weasley magnified about one hundred times over, and knew that with one wave of his wand, he could kill his wife and feel no remorse.

Narcissa Malfoy was the only person that Draco had ever felt close to. Her family had been made up of dark wizards, and, even though she wasn't evil, she was loyal to her family, and when they arranged her to be married to Lucius, she hadn't argued. She had given Lucius an heir and raised Draco practically on her own, giving him the love and support he had never received from his father.

And now she was gone. Draco remembered the screams, and then silence. Panic had flooded through him and he had dashed down the steps, three at a time, to walk into the dining room to see her dead. His father was already gone.

Draco could see himself checking for a pulse, looking at his beautiful mother in bewilderment and shock. It was the third time he had seen death in his life, and it still nauseated him. He could see himself walking into the loo, and being sick in the john, and sobbing softly, the type of sobs where no tears come, only a painful ache in the chest and wheezing in your throat.

When his father had returned home that night, he had filed Narcissa's death, saying that she had died of natural causes. No one pressed the issue; Lucius Malfoy would never be suspect in a crime, for he had too much money and power and wouldn't hesitate in killing you.

Fighting back the urge to yell, Draco kicked his sheets off of his body and climbed out of his bed. Angrily, he swiped at the bottle of alcohol on his nightstand; it fell to the floor and broke, and seeped into the white carpet. "TIPSY!" he bellowed, his voice hoarse and scratchy.

A tiny house elf, wearing a white tea cozy with pale green letters reading 'Malfoy' across the front, just above the Malfoy crest entered the room, and squeaked, "What is you wanting, Master Malfoy, sir?"

Draco rubbed his head and pointed to the mess on the floor, then, without even bothering to change out of his silk pyjamas, left the room. The temperature in the house was freezing and the marble floor on the bottoms of his feet made him shiver. A dark sort of beauty surrounded him everywhere he went, whether it was marble statues, golden chests, or silver trophies, Malfoy Manor definitely had a certain air to it.

Rubbing his hands together, he sniffed and went to check the thermostat. Surprisingly, Muggle appliances were scattered around the Manor, which had been built in the early 1800's and remodeled several times. He was just turning the dial of the thermostat up a couple degrees when a voice snapped his attention.

"Draco, do not touch things that do not belong to you," his father ordered. Draco turned and saw that Lucius was wearing black, silk robes that fell to his ankles, and his bright white hair seemed to look even paler against them. His lips were curled into a thin lipped smile and he was twirling his cane in his fingers.

"I'm cold," Draco replied stiffly.

"Do I look like I care?"

And with that closing remark, he Apparated.

Draco cursed loudly at the spot where his father had been standing, and yelled, "Tipsy!"

The house elf popped beside him, looking very nervous. "Yes, Mister Malfoy, sir?"

"Get me my wand," he said lazily as he walked into the kitchen, still shivering. He made himself a piece of toast, and Tipsy arrived not a minute later with his wand, at which time he cast a heating charm upon himself.

When he finished his toast, he took his pyjama shirt off and tossed it on the table, and walked down a flight of steps to the third floor, where the training room was. He opened the door to the room and glanced around proudly. He smirked.

The room was full of every type of training equipment possible, wizard and Muggle. The walls and carpet were a dark blue color that Draco liked. He felt a sense of control as he stepped into the room, but it was soon replaced by anger. He could see the bruises on his mother's wrists for a brief moment and his eyes blurred as he punched the wall, causing a dent and the crumble of drywall. Not to mention the tiny stream of blood on his knuckles.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Ginny was in a daze as she walked slowly behind the tall woman escorting her to the training room. Thoughts skipped, unwelcome, around her brain, making her feel dizzy and light and nauseous. She wished it would stop. She wished she were back at home. She wished Bill were alive. She wished Harry were here.

She could feel the urge to cry, but tears didn't come.

She could feel the many pairs of eyes on her as she followed the woman. Obviously her attempts to break free a couple of nights ago had spread quickly around the hospital. When they reached the training room, Ginny pulled the bright red punching gloves over her hands, staring at the punching bag in the center of the room. Then, she quickly changed her mind, and pulled them off.

"Would you like anything?" the woman asked.

Ginny looked at her briefly, and then tied the laces to her trainers, which she realized had been untied the entire time she had been walking. "Not anything you could give me," she said sharply, now staring at the punching bag again. She reached into the pocket of her sweatpants and pulled out a ponytail holder. She swiped her unbrushed hair into a high ponytail, plucking loose strands behind her ears.

The woman sat down in a pink chair, and opened a magazine to read. "Don't you ever get tired of babysitting loonies?" Ginny suddenly asked her. She looked up in surprise, and tutting frustratedly, Ginny walked quickly over to the man that was now punching the bag.

"You, get away," she demanded. He faced her, sweat dripping down his face, his mouth curled in disgust.

"I don't think I will," he responded tartly, but the calm expression on Ginny's face didn't change. She rolled her shoulders and moved her head from side to side, preparing her body to strike. Without much ado, she punched the man squarely on the jaw, and he plopped to the ground in shock. She bent over him and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, took one from the pack, and placed it in his mouth, wide open in an 'o.'

"Here, have a smoke," she said with a tiny smile. She chuckled as he stood up shakily and practically ran away from her. "Thanks for the warm up!" she called after him, as the woman in the pink chair gave her a withering look.

Ginny ignored her and set her face, glaring at the punching bag murderously. With a shriek of rage, she spun around quickly, lifting her right leg into the air, and kicked the bag with all her might.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Sweat dripped excessively from Draco's skin, his cheeks burned with heat, and his jaw was clenched. His hair was sticking uncomfortably to the back of his neck, and his grey eyes glowered. He had been punching a bag for a little over an hour and his upper arms were beginning to ache, but he could care less.

The punching bag had the face of his father, thanks to good old Transfiguration. With every thrust of his fist, the pale skin of his father disappeared a little more, replaced with little dots of blood, which gave Draco a sort of grim satisfaction.

Images of his childhood flashed before his eyes like a filmstrip. He could see his father slap his mother, his father torture him under the Cruciatus, kill his pet snake, and scare away any Muggle friends that he had had before the age of five. He felt the pain of it all burn inside him and exercised it into a slur of punches into Lucius' face, the ache in his arms growing stronger, the blood from Lucius' face dripping onto the carpet.

He didn't notice while he was yelling and screaming and kicking and punching, the soft sound of the door to the room closing or the footsteps toward him. "Why, Draco, I find it interesting that you'd want to bloody your own father," said a voice.

Draco spun around faster than light, his arm outstretched to hit whomever the intruder was. The person ducked and Draco felt himself unbalance on the ground and fall gracelessly to the floor. The voice that had been filled with amusement seconds before was now filled with concern.

"Draco, I think you need help."

He sat up and focused his vision on the woman in front of him. Her thick hair was recognizable immediately, but her face, which was no longer shaped like a pug, took a little longer. "Good afternoon Pansy," he said tonelessly.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Hardly anyone was in the training room now. They had all left for lunch, but Ginny stayed, punching and kicking the bag forcefully, as had become her routine. Her muscles screamed for release, but she stubbornly ignored their pleas and continued to hit the bag, her attention not wavering in the slightest.

Her "babysitter" was now reading her fifth magazine, waiting for her patient to finish taking out her anger on the bag.

But Ginny wasn't ready to let up any time soon. She could see Bill smiling at her, could hear his voice laugh when he realized she had been the one nicking his broom for two weeks straight, could hear him talk to her about boy problems, could feel him braiding her hair the day before he went off to Hogwarts, saying, "I'll miss you, Gingerbread."

And in between the moves, she could hear him see say firmly, "I trust you Gingerbread." He had trusted her to protect him, and she had failed. As usual.

She hit the punching bag harder than her usual rhythm, and it swirled around. She ducked as it almost made contact with her head, and then kicked out her left foot this time. The punching bag hit her foot and stopped swinging. Ginny kept her leg raised, foot still on the bag, and took a deep breath.

She slowly brought her foot down as another memory drifted into her mind. Harry was asking her to marry him. She blinked back tears as she saw a clear picture of him kneeling down and handing her a velvet box. Ginny looked down now at the diamond ring glittering on her finger, and shook her head. They wouldn't be getting married now. With another sharp intake of breath, she slipped the golden band from her finger and made her way to a pink chair, examining the ring silently. Then she put it gently into her pocket, and stood up again.

Bill's death had ruined her life. Ginny felt as though she was a completely different person now. She had been so bright and exuberant and happy, but now she was drifting in a world filled with cold and sorrow, with no one to turn to. Not even her darling Harry.

The woman looked up from reading her magazine and said, "Are you ready to leave, Miss Weasley?"

"Do I look like I'm ready?" Ginny snapped, standing up and rolling her head from side to side. She faced the punching bag again, and imagined it had the face of herself.

She had punched it only thrice when a voice made her stop. "Ginny," it said softly. Ginny slowly turned, her hair now everywhere but her ponytail, her body drenched with sweat, her eyes and face cold and numb.

She couldn't look at him. He was a stranger to her now. The ground was fascinating to her suddenly. "Hey Harry," she said with the same soft tone, tucking a red strand behind her ear.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Pansy helped Draco up from the floor and searched him with her eyes. This made Draco feel highly uncomfortable. "He killed her, didn't he?" she asked, but it sounded more like a statement.

Draco looked at the bloodied punching bag and saw his mother's face for the hundredth time today. She was telling him that even though he wasn't at the top of his class, he was still highly intelligent, no matter what his father said. "Yeah," said Draco shortly, hitting Lucius the punching bag again.

"Why?"

"How the hell would I know?"

"You need help."

"Fuck you."

"No thanks, but perhaps at a time when you don't look suicidal?"

Draco turned and faced her with hatred burning in his eyes. "Do you think this is funny? Do you think this is fucking FUNNY?"

Pansy didn't even blink. "No, I don't. I think this is serious. I think--no, I know you need help."

"When I kill him, I'll be helped."

"Maybe," she said doubtfully as he swung at the bag again. She grimaced as the blood trickled to the floor. "But he could kill you first, and then what good would that do you?"

Draco paused in mid punch. That thought had not occurred to him, not at all. Lucius hadn't hesitated in killing his mother, had he? Certainly he wouldn't hesitate in killing him. "He won't let me leave," he said in a defeated tone.

"I'll help you escape, Draco," Pansy offered soothingly. "You can stay at my place."

"No! Don't you see, Pansy? He'll know! He knows that I know about Narcissa! He'll think I've run away to tell the authorities and he'll come after me."

"Draco, you have to try," she pleaded.

"No," he said firmly, looking everywhere but her. "I'm stuck here. I won't leave. I refuse to leave."

"Well, then," said Pansy haughtily, straightening herself up, "I suppose I'll just be seeing you tomorrow."

Draco turned back to the punching bag as she walked away and called her back. "Pansy, why did you come here?"

She smiled a little. "I came to bring you hope. Also to tell you that Godric's Hollow was where Potter's parents lived. The Death Eaters went to attack him. He escaped, but they killed Ginny Weasley's brother, Bill. She's crazy now. I heard you talking in your sleep the other night about Godric's Hollow," she added quickly, seeing the inquiring and partly suspicious look on his face.

"Good bye Pansy," he said. She left quietly and Draco glared at the punching bag. His mother had died because she didn't want Lucius to attack Potter. Draco snorted bitterly. Since when had she ever cared about Potter?

He punched Lucius again.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

There was a very awkward silence before Harry spoke again. "I knew you'd be in here. They all say you love the training room."

Ginny's head snapped up and Harry blinked, obviously startled at the sudden eye contact. "I don't love anything here," she said through gritted teeth. "I want to go home."

Harry sighed. "Ginny, you know you can't do that," he said sadly.

"Right, because I'm fucking crazy, is that it?" she spat, whirling around and kicking the punching bag so hard it spun again, and this time Harry had to duck to avoid contact with it.

"You're not crazy," he said firmly. "You're just in a lot of pain."

"That's all you know."

"No it isn't," he said, now glaring at her. "I remember the Ginny Weasley from before. You're still her."

Ginny didn't look at him and punched the bag again. "You don't know who I am, Harry. How can you, when I don't even know who I am?" She punched it again.

"Because I love you," he said simply. "And I know that you loved me too."

That sentence made Ginny stop in her tracks, as tears began to silently flood down her cheeks. Harry continued to speak. "But I don't think that I'm what you need anymore. You needed me before, I know, but now..." His voice trailed off and he looked down at the floor.

"I love you Harry," she said, still facing away from him. It hurt her to say the words that had used to come so easily. She knew with dread that this would be the last time she'd say them. She closed her eyes briefly, hearing the words echo in her head.

"If you ever need anything, Ginny, you know where to find me," he said, and she felt, rather than heard, him begin to walk away. Her heart thumped hard in her chest, and the tears had stopped flowing.

"Harry," she murmured.

"Yes, Ginny?"

"Nothing." She swallowed the lump in her throat and Harry walked away again, without looking back. She sniffed loudly and began to sob, her shoulders shaking, as she punched the bag over and over and over.