Lots Of Impending Doom

All over the castle, contrary to what is generally expected at a late hour such as this one, several people were awake. Five or six professors were wide awake, patrolling the corridors of the castle, alert for signs of any dark activity. Unknown to them, several of the seventh and sixth year Slytherins, a few of the Ravenclaws and a solitary Gryffindor were just as wide awake in the Chamber of Secrets, planning and plotting the murder of several. Several, of whom one was the sixth year Gryffindor prefect, Hermione Granger (who lay fast asleep in her dormitory, oblivious to - or purposely ignoring - the giggled of her two roommates, Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil), Ginny Weasley (who was absent from her dormitory, her second hand cloak gone with her) and, most definitely, Harry Potter (who lay flat on his back, his emerald green eyes fixed absently on the ceiling, his mind somewhere else entirely).

Argus Filch, too, was awake,, creeping down the corridors, lamp in hand, suspicious look on his face resembling the gleam in his cat's eyes. Lights flickered in several rooms. Professor McGonagall's for one. Professor Dumbledore's for another. Such care was taken by everybody that no one else to heard them that all was quiet, and far away, to an exhausted looking wizard in a hotel room in Hogsmeade, the castle seemed restful.

The new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, a short and determined looking ex-Auror by the name of Jonathan Ezekiel Tavigner, popularly known as Jonny-boy, or Zeeky, was one of the professors on patrol that night. His short and stout moved slowly, sticking as much to the shadows as possible. His cloak rustled against the wall ever so slightly as he moved along the corridors, pointedly ignoring the paintings that stared at him. Twice had Jonathan Ezekiel Tavigner passed by the Fat Lady that night, and had been a bit relieved to find her asleep on both occasions. It made Jonathan Ezekiel Tavigner feel that no one had moved in or out of the Gryffindor Tower that night. Of course, Jonathan Ezekiel Tavigner was dead wrong, but we won't tell him that, will we?

For a moment after Zeeky had passed by, all was silent. Then, gently, soundlessly, the portrait swung open. The Fat Lady opened one eye and gave the red haired young woman the most appraising look that can be given with one eye open, and swung herself shut. The young woman of fifteen and a few months more smiled to herself, glad for the lonely three years that had followed her first year, in which she had, for lack of anyone to talk to, made friends with the Fat Lady and her friend, Violet. It was at times like these, when one had to go out and meet one's lover late at night that those hours of pointless (and slightly boring) yapping with the paintings were useful.

The wind blew through the corridor as she made her way down, and se put her hand up to hold her hood in position. She made her way to the Great Hall, where the half moon shone down through the enchanted ceiling on her hooded figure. If anyone had entered the Great Hall at that moment, they would have been sure to see her walking slowly towards the exit on the Slytherin side. There were several passages, some leading upwards, and some downwards, that arose from this exit, but the girl did not see confused at all. She had this route memorized, it being the path she had been walking down every night since the end of November. It was late February now.

She walked straight to the passage in the middle, leading upwards. She pulled off her shoes, and padded up the stairs barefoot, her tiny, pale feet making no noise at all. The gold of her Gryffindor scarf glittered in the light of the solitary torch lighting the stairway. She climbed up, the stairs now taking a spiral form. It was too dark to see, but she knew how many stairs there were, and how high each was. She jumped over the broken stair, and stepped to the side on a creaky one. The tall tower she climbed, reaching, finally, the top most room. The door was, as expected, locked. She pushed her hood back, letting her red curls cascade down her back to her waist and raised her hand, knocking on the door four times, a pause, and then twice more.

There was a small scramble from within the room, and a moment later, the door opened. A tall figure greeted her with a smile she sensed, rather than saw in the darkness. "You're late, Ginny." The voice was soft.

Ginny Weasley smirked, stepping inside, and pulling the boy down into a deep kiss. The door shut, and there came the sound of a key turning in a lock, and a muffled giggle.

And then all was silent again.