The Veil of Memories

Chapter 5

Flight of the Bludger

There was no sound save for the soft crunch of Ginny's footsteps against the yellow-brown leaves that now littered the desks and floor of Firenze's classroom. The Divination master himself was nowhere in sight. Gently parting the branch of a virgin oak, Ginny peered toward the front of the room and the long wizened branch of a gingko on which Firenze often sat but he was not there. Turning back around, Ginny let out a sharp gasp as the object of her search tumbled gracefully from the branches of a tall Dutch elm that straddled the ceiling and landed on his hind legs in front of her.

"You are looking for something, are you not, Ginny Weasley?"

"I - I - " Ginny started to speak but stopped as she realized her quick gasp had caused her to swallow the wrong way. She began to cough loudly.

"Gently, my young friend," cooed Firenze. He reached out a hoof to the wizened trunk which served as his chair and desk and picked out a wand which had blended seamlessly into the wood. He used it to conjure a cup and then scratched the milky white trunk of a delicate bush which had recently blossomed into spiny pink branches. A yellowish liquid trickled out from the trunk into the cup. Once the cup was half full, Firenze pushed on the trunk to seal the opening and handed the cup and its contents to Ginny, who was still coughing.

"You are rash and fast like all of your kind," he said, without a trace of reproach. "Drink this. Soothe your lungs and relax. You need not trouble yourself to speak too many words. I know why it is you are here. I've been expecting you for some time."

Ginny drank the contents of the cup as she was told. The fluid was bitter and Ginny felt an unpleasant sticky feeling on her tongue and down her throat. She was about to open her mouth to ask what vile concoction the Divination Master had given her when the sticky feeling subsided and Ginny felt a smooth, soothing sensation run over her throat and down through her lungs. It felt just like a warm bath for her insides.

Firenze looked as if he had been watching Ginny's changing facial expressions closely.

"There you are," he said finally. "Nasty on the way in but then not so awful afterward. Rather like a prophecy."

"Professor Firenze," said Ginny, looking anxious again. "I've come to ask you about - "

Firenze held up a restraining hoof.

"I told you to relax," he said quietly but firmly. "You have come to ask whether Professor Trelawney's prophecy is true. You have waited a long time to ask me this - by human standards. Often you have peered through the door to my room, wondering perhaps whether you should enter, afraid of what I might say. And now that the moon has danced for us twice in all its forms and you can no longer bear the agony churning in your heart, you have decided once and for all to seek my counsel."

Ginny hesitated for a moment and then nodded.

"That's about right, I suppose," she mumbled.

"I am glad you came to me," said Firenze after a moment's pause, "though I'm not sure I have any answers for the place in which you have chosen to put your heart."

Ginny frowned.

"I'm sorry, Professor, I don't - "

"Understand?" Firenze finished. "If I were to speak in what you call logic, you would understand even less. Let me repeat what I have said before: Professor Trelawney is a human and humans rarely see anything of importance."

Ginny brightened. "S - so," she said tentatively. "What she said could be wrong. All her prophecies could be wrong. The one about Harry having to kill Voldemort, and the last one, the one she said at the ball, the one about - "

Firenze held up a hoof again. "I did not say that what Professor Trelawney said was wrong, in the sense that you mean it."

Ginny frowned again but Firenze continued.

"But you would remiss if you did not understand the place from which it came. There is a part of Professor Trelawney that can see - not, I think, into the future, which remains as clouded to her as the leaf-filled water in her overused teacups - but deep into the human soul, deeper, perhaps even, that I could ever penetrate. Professor Trelawney, in her rare moments of understanding, can see something into the heart of the one you call Voldemort and perhaps now something into Harry Potter's heart as well. It would not surprise me, for their fates are deeply linked. But she can know nothing of the fate which moves the planets and stars."

"The fate which - I don't care about planets and stars," said Ginny, sounding slightly desperate. "If what Trelawney said was true, then this war is going to end in my death!"

Firenze's eyes widened briefly. "My poor child, you have worked yourself up into a great many assumptions."

"But they're true, aren't they?" Ginny went on, unable to stem her exasperated fear. "Trelawney said that Harry had to give up that from which he least wants to part. And I know that means me. I can see it in his eyes," Ginny added, her voice faltering slightly. "He loves me. Everything's been taken from him. And if there was one thing more he couldn't give up, it would be me."

Ginny bowed her head for a long moment. When she lifted it up again, she was surprised to find Firenze's mouth curling up into something like a smile. It narrowed again, though, as he spoke.

"You have grown up, Ginny Weasley," he said sagely, "and you are a credit to your kind and all it values. You might be wiser still if you stopped pursuing knowledge you can never achieve. Humans were never meant to see: they were meant to live and burn their lives out brightly. Sadly, there are more than a few who do not understand this. Let me put it to you in another way: you humans have pets called dogs. They are not as wise as toads, owls, and cats but they are both loyal and humorous. The dog has a habit of running around and chasing its own tail. It can never catch it but that does not stop it from chasing. To me, you are like that dog, Ginny Weasley, though your dance does not amuse me. I wish I knew some way to make you stop but I do not. I can only hope you might one day prove wiser than the dog."

Ginny felt completely non-plussed at this comparison. She was on the point of asking Firenze to explain himself more clearly but she suspected it would only leave her feeling more baffled and more dense. She did have another question, however, which she was nearly as anxious to have answered as the first.

"Professor Firenze," she said. "Do you remember Muggle-borns attending Hogwarts?"

Firenze let out a deep long horse's sigh. "I do not. But my sight in these matters is no greater than any human's."

"I think the other animals know - the owls, the house elves, the - I'm sorry," she said suddenly, her face falling.

"There is no need to apologize. I am not a human. But it might help you to know that by coming to this castle, I have, like you - but like none of the other creatures you have mentioned - been corrupted by words."

"Words?" Ginny was confused again.

"The written word," said Firenze, as if this would clarify things. "I must read here - your parchments, official owls from the school - try as I might, I cannot completely avoid these things and they cloud my sight like a poison. The other animals you have mentioned do not read. Even owls, though seeming to know the content of the letters they deliver, do a better scan of our thoughts and intentions than the words on a page."

"But I don't understand," said Ginny, determined to get a straight answer this time. "What do words have to do with memories?"

"Everything. Writing makes our memories into texts and stories. And stories can be changed and texts erased." Firenze sighed again. "Perhaps my fellow Centaurs might know but I doubt they would condescend to take an interest. In any case, they would not consort with the likes of me again."

Firenze lowered his head and looked suddenly sad and alone. Ginny tried to think of something to say to him when the Centaur raised his head again and looked at her almost engagingly.

"I confess I have filled your head with too many things at once, my brave friend. But I would leave you with one other thing that I hope you will be able to understand quite easily: call it another prophecy if you like. Your fate rests very close to Harry Potter's and it will not be so easy for either of you to be separated from the other, whatever you desire or fear. Your fate - like Harry Potter's - is also close to the one called Voldemort and your journey with him has not yet finished. If you want to know the path you must follow, you can find it only by trusting your instincts and believing in yourself. It can never be found by worshipping the words of others, however profound or true."

Ginny felt even more stupid at not comprehending the one thing she was apparently supposed to understand. She thought she should at least say something but was spared the trouble when Firenze spoke up again.

"The time has come for you to leave, Ginny Weasley. I have spoken much and I'm afraid it will cloud my thoughts if I continue. I must return to meditate. I hope we will talk again."

And before Ginny could respond, Firenze leaned backward on his hind legs and lifted himself back into the thick branches of the Dutch elm. Ginny watched him climb for a moment but then lost sight as he seemed to blend unnoticed into the tree. She let out a sigh of her own and left to rejoin Harry.

***

Ginny felt a strange and unexplained calm as she left Firenze's classroom and walked back up to the Gryffindor common room where she had told Harry to wait for her. It had, as Firenze had said in his own way, been two months since the night that Trelawney had delivered her untimely prophecy in front of the entire school at the ball. Trelawney herself had recovered several hours later in the hospital wing remembering nothing of her prophecy or - quite conveniently - the drunken words that had immediately preceded them. Not having heard any of her other prophecies, no one in the school had seemed to know what to make of this one. Some had panicked on hearing the news, most of them Trelawney's favorite students and staunchest supporters. Parvati Patil had locked herself in her dormitory for two days and emerged only when Professor McGonagall had ordered the house elves to stop delivering her food and drink. Most of the students, however, after initially getting caught up in the hysteria of Trelawney's dramatic performance, had calmed considerably and now seemed to regard the whole incident as something of a joke, particularly since nothing untoward had happened in the meantime. The staff, for their part, had mostly seemed annoyed at Trelawney's antics. On one occasion, Ginny had distinctly heard McGonagall whisper something that sounded like "old cow" as she had left the staff table at breakfast.

Though she had become used to disguising both her knowledge and her fears in front of others, Ginny could not feel as calm as the others in the school. She had been caught off guard when Trelawney had first spoken and it had taken her some while to realize that what she had heard was a prophecy. But once she had accepted this fact, it had not taken Ginny long to reach the conclusion that Trelawney had been trying to foretell Ginny's own demise. She knew that Harry thought this as well, and he had tried and failed to mask his own fears before her. Ginny's conclusions were reinforced by her own continued ability to remember people that no one else - no one human, at any rate - could remember. No one had disappeared since Filch but given Trelawney's ominous prediction, this was very small comfort.

Still, there was something Firenze had said, though Ginny could not recall exactly what, that left her feeling much more at peace with herself than she had been ever since that night, perhaps ever since that awful first day when the Muggle-borns had disappeared. Whatever that feeling was, however, seemed to vanish as soon as soon as she walked into the common room and saw the anxious expression on Harry's face.

"What did he say?" he asked.

Ginny sat down on the sofa beside Harry and paused. She looked into his anxious green eyes and tried to recall anything substantive that had come out of Firenze's mouth but her mind seemed to have gone completely blank.

"Well, he...." Ginny's voice trailed off and she sighed. "It was all about planets and fate and dogs chasing their tails. I couldn't make much sense of it."

"Did he - " Harry paused.

"He said Trelawney might have been right, yes," Ginny finished.

Harry was unable to conceal a frantic fear from burning out of his eyes.

"But did he say she could be wrong?"

"Well, he left open the possibility, I suppose."

Harry's lips tried to smile but eyes were not convinced. "You know, Ginny," he said, putting an arm around her shoulder. "Think about it. Why did Trelawney go all funny like that right in front of the school? It was just the thing to give her the attention she wanted, just the thing to make Dumbledore think she was still indispensable when everyone else was writing her off. It was just a big awful show, that's all."

Ginny held Harry's gaze for a moment and watched his smile fade.

"You don't really believe that, do you, Harry?" she said softly.

Harry wanted to say something to reassure Ginny but all he could think of was that stifling hot day in Trelawney's classroom when she had spoken in the same horrible raspy whisper, foretelling how Wormtail would return to Voldemort and begin the second war that night and how he had watched exactly the events that she had described unfold before his disbelieving eyes. It was exactly why he had never doubted that the prophecy Dumbledore had replayed for him two years before in his office was true. And, in his heart of hearts, he knew that this one was also.

"Please don't lie to me, Harry," Ginny whispered, as she found herself met with silence.

"No," said Harry finally. "I don't. But Ginny..."

Harry stopped himself from speaking again as tears began to roll down Ginny's cheeks.

"Thank you for telling me the truth," she said, wiping at her eyes and nose with a corner of her robes.

"Look," said Harry gently, seeming determined not to stand powerless before Ginny's tears again. "The prophecy might not have meant you. There are a lot of things I would hate to be without: being a wizard, for instance," he added, seeming happy to have seized on an alternative explanation. "Perhaps I'll have to lose all my powers to defeat Voldemort."

But Ginny did not stop crying.

"Would you give those up for me?" she said, sobbing.

Harry sighed.

"Yes."

"Then I think you have your answer, Harry."

"Look," Harry said again, his face hardening. "Maybe she did mean you. I don't care. I gave up parents to him; I gave up my godfather; and if what you've been saying all year is true, I've given up one of my best friends as well. I'm not giving up you."

Ginny forced herself to look directly into Harry's eyes and keep her voice steady. "Harry," she said, "he's killed so many people. He's destroyed so many lives. You know that. If you have to give me up to kill him then you shouldn't hesitate."

"NO!" cried Harry suddenly. "I'M NOT GIVING YOU UP! I DON'T CARE WHAT HAPPENS! I DON'T CARE WHAT HE DOES. I'M JUST NOT!"

"Harry, you might have to!"

"I DON'T HAVE TO DO ANYTHING! WHY IS IT ALWAYS ME? WHY SHOULD I HAVE TO LOSE EVERYONE AND EVERYTHING I CARE ABOUT JUST SO EVERYONE ELSE CAN BE HAPPY? WHAT HAVE THEY EVER DONE FOR ME?"

"Harry, you can't think that way! It's not up to you!"

"Isn't it?" Harry hissed. "Trelawney said that I could win or lose. That sounds to me like it's going to be my choice. And I choose to lose."

"Well, I don't!" shouted Ginny. "And it may not be my choice but it's my life and my wish. And if you really love me, you'll respect that!"

Ginny's assertion was followed only by dead silence. It seemed that Harry's jaw might never make it up to his mouth again so Ginny picked up the two broomsticks that were resting on the table beside them and handed Harry his.

"Come on," she said, putting her hand on his arm. "The others are already waiting, aren't they? We've got a game to play."

***

Harry wondered if the silence between him and Ginny would continue all the way to the Quidditch pitch and found himself barely restraining a guilty desire that it would. Ron had stubbornly refused to believe that Professor Trelawney's prophecy was true (much as he had refused to believe the last one) and continued to insist that the only person whose memory had been tampered with was his sister. But the significance of Trelawney's latest prophecy had not been lost on Harry and much had changed for him since that night of the ball. Trelawney's comments about Voldemort's mind games had seem to confirm everything Ginny had been saying since the beginning of the year. Harry had found himself shifting from the awkward struggle to find what was wrong with Ginny while still respecting her feelings and dignity to the fantastic possibility that she might have been telling the truth all along. He had not yet decided which made him feel more uncomfortable.

And then there was Trelawney's final and most disturbing claim: that after already giving up anything and everything he had cared about and somehow still surviving, Harry had to give up yet one more thing - and whatever it was, it would that which he could least be without.

Trelawney's unconscious body had hardly reached the hospital wing that night when Harry had decided that she must have meant Ginny. He remembered vividly how Professor Nevins had opened the cupboard in his office the year before to let out a Boggart in the form of his lifeless and accusing girlfriend. He also recalled how it had taken him so long to admit his feelings for Ginny because he had been afraid that if he had, he would lose her just like he had lost his parents and Sirius. And after Trelawney's latest prophecy, it seemed like this worst of all his fears might come true.

But Harry had still comforted himself with one belief, a secret, hidden conviction that he had told no one about - not Ron, not Ginny - but had left burning in his heart until it had kindled a small but comforting warmth in the renewed turbulence of his life: he was not going to give up Ginny. He was going to take control. And if that meant Voldemort would win, then so be it.

Harry had tried many means to justify this conviction to himself. He could not escape the fact that Voldemort had only rained down misery and suffering on the wizarding world but what had that to do with him? If it weren't for Trelawney's first miserable prophecy, Voldemort could have cared less about him or anyone he cared about. And what had he gotten in return? Abandonment, unwanted hero worship, jealousy, and disbelief when he had most needed support.

Part of Harry had realized that his heart was traveling to a dangerously dark place. But the more he had thought about, the more the uncomfortable truth seemed to stick. He had tried to tell himself that he couldn't allow Voldemort to win because if he did, he would just bring more suffering to the people Harry loved. But when Harry had thought things over more carefully, this didn't seem to ring quite so true: the people he loved most in the world were the Weasleys, yet he couldn't imagine how he could ever face them again if he let Ginny die. Did Voldemort have a worse fate planned for them than the death of their only sister and daughter? The more Harry had thought about it, the more he decided that Voldemort would probably leave the Weasleys alone if it weren't for him.

Harry had tried to think up other examples but they all had seemed to fall flat. He had once cherished unsullied admiration for Dumbledore. But now, even after the headmaster claimed to have realized his mistake in keeping Trelawney's first prophecy from Harry, he was still using him as a pawn in his elaborate schemes, both last year and now again this. He had thought of Professor Lupin, how he had been one of his father's closest friends, how he had risked his life to save Harry's at the end of his fifth and then again at the beginning of his sixth year. Yet even Harry's feelings for the closest person to a mentor he had left alive seemed tarnished by their recent and unexpected meeting just a week after the ball.

***

It had been just after Charms. Ron had gone on to Divination with Firenze and Harry had been walking by himself back up to the common room. He had passed just in front of the corridor that led up to Dumbledore's office and happened to glance over to the stone gargoyle at the far end. He had formed a habit of doing this of late. Usually, of course, the entrance remained closed and the expression on the gargoyle's face impassive and innocent, perhaps as Dumbledore had intended it.

But this time, the entrance had been open. Harry had paused curiously at his end of the corridor without moving forward. A moment later, however, a tall figure in slightly tattered robes had emerged from the doorway, looked furtively right and left (but not back in Harry's direction) and then walked briskly to his left.

Harry had paused for a moment but had then run quickly in pursuit of his quarry, for he had had no doubt of the person's identity.

"Professor Lupin!" he had called.

No response.

"Professor Lupin!" Harry had called again, now almost at the entrance to the gargoyle.

But there had still been no response. Harry had watched Lupin running quickly toward the staircase at the end of the corridor. Lupin had kept looking furtively back and forth as if he hadn't wanted to be seen. But he hadn't yet looked back to see Harry.

"Professor Lupin!" Harry had cried a third time. He had been sure his former Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher must have heard him this time but Lupin had still kept walking forward, if anything quickening his pace. Harry had then broke into a sprint and was running alongside Lupin before he was forced to turn around and acknowledge him.

Lupin had looked directly into Harry's uncertain face. Harry had kept trotting for a moment but then Lupin had stopped and Harry had matched his movements. Perhaps for only a split-second, neither had said anything to the other. It had been long enough for Harry to read confusion, fear, and even something almost like awe on Lupin's face. Then all of this had faded and Lupin had managed a tepid smile.

"Harry," he had said.

"Professor Lupin, what are you doing here? Why didn't you tell me you were coming to Hogwarts? I haven't seen you in ages. I - I'm sorry I haven't written."

Lupin's smile had broadened and he had placed a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"It's all right, Harry," he had said. "I know you've been busy. I've come on business of Dumbledore's. I knew I wouldn't be long and I'm in a bit of a rush so I thought I wouldn't tell you I was coming this time. Perhaps I should have. I'm sorry."

Harry had frowned. "Didn't you hear me calling you just now?" he had said.

Lupin's face had clouded briefly but then he had smiled again and said:

"No, Harry, I didn't. I'm afraid I must have been a bit distracted."

Lupin's smile had faded soon after he had finished his sentence, however, possibly after he had seen the suspicious expression on Harry's face.

"You're here on Order business, aren't you?" Harry had said.

Lupin had lowered his eyes. "In a way, Harry, yes."

"In a way?" Harry had lowered his voice. "This is about Ginny's memories, isn't it?"

Lupin had then made no attempt to disguise the look of fear and alarm on his face. He had lowered his voice, too.

"Harry, you shouldn't have said that to me just now. You don't know what I knew and didn't know."

"Can't I trust you?"

"That's not the point, Harry," Lupin had replied, his grey eyes darting around again nervously. "You and Ginny must keep that to yourselves. The Order is trying to prepare - in secret. There are eyes and ears everywhere, Harry. If someone were to overhear us, it could jeopardize everything we're working for."

"Prepare for what?"

"I - I can't say, Harry."

"You can't tell me? No, wait," Harry had added before Lupin had been able to respond. "I'm too young. I'm not in the Order. It doesn't matter that this is all about me - or Ginny. I have to be protected. How am I doing so far?"

"You don't understand, Harry."

"Then help me to understand!"

Harry had been pleased to find a flicker of remorse in Lupin's eyes but then his jaw had hardened and he had said, still in a whisper:

"It's not up to me, Harry. It's not about your age this time; it's not about protecting you or protecting Ginny. It's about something else - someone else. If you knew, you'd realize but..." Lupin had hesitated. "No, I - I can't. I hope we'll be able to tell you everything soon."

Lupin had started to walk toward the stairs again but Harry had followed him.

"How soon?"

"I can't say, Harry. I honestly don't know. Just - just trust us, please, one more time. And prepare. Concentrate on your lessons, especially with Professor - with Professor Janus." Lupin had tried to smile with mixed success. "I'll come back for your first Quidditch game, I promise. We'll see each other then."

"Yeah," Harry had said, a little hollowly. "See you."

***

Harry was not sure what, if anything, Lupin had wanted to tell him during their talk but the only thing he could remember was how yet another person he had trusted and believed in was now wound up in Dumbledore's duplicitous plans and schemes. It seemed almost impossible for him to believe that the very same person who had questioned his role in Dumbledore's plans the previous year, and had so openly resented the headmaster's lack of trust and piecemeal feeding of information, could condone inflicting the same mental torture on Harry again. He had wondered whether Sirius would have done the same were he still alive and quickly decided that he wouldn't have.

And so Harry had retreated to the ever-more comfortable rebellion he had built in his heart. Others may have had a plan for him, but Harry had his own plan, and that was not giving up Ginny, no matter the cost.

If anyone had pressed him on the matter, Harry would have been devastated at the thought of Lupin dying cruelly at Voldemort's hand and would have said he would do anything to prevent it. And it was precisely because he did not want anyone to press him this way that he had not shared his feelings with anyone, preferring instead to wallow in the fantasy of his control over his own destiny, fueled by his resentment to all those who would control his fate instead. Perhaps it was just this matter of control that most vexed him. It had certainly seemed that way when, several weeks after his encounter with Lupin, Professor Janus had called him to their first private Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson.

Harry had not entered the lesson in a very good mood, partly because, like Ginny, he now believed that Janus was at the center of a great deal of the mystery surrounding her lost memories. Harry had also decided for himself, perhaps somewhat arbitrarily, that Janus could not prove a suitable replacement for Professor Nevins. Nevins had also been involved in keeping things from Harry at one point, but at least he had finally confessed to his dark past with Harry's parents. Janus, however, clearly had a great many secrets: some that he was only telling Dumbledore and others that he might not be telling anyone. Harry had decided before their lesson began that no matter what happened, he wasn't going to trust Janus and, as a result, he fully expected there would be little he would learn from him that term.

"Ah, Mr. Potter," Janus had bellowed as Harry had entered the room, looking up at him from beneath a pretentious mahogany hat which Harry had found the sudden desire to rip off and incinerate. "Come for your first lesson, now, excellent! No need to take a seat; we'll be on our feet for most of this."

Harry had not responded but instead had stood right in front of Janus' desk, taken out his wand, and held to his side to show that he was ready.

"Got your wand out, I see," Janus had said jovially. "That's the spirit, yes." Janus had taken hold of Harry's shoulders and placed him squarely in front of him. Harry had found himself a little too surprised to resist but found that it made him very annoyed afterwards.

"Now, then, Mr. Potter," Janus had continued, ignoring the slight scowl on Harry's face. "Do you remember my little sword demonstration from the first day?"

"Are we going to duel just like you and Neville did - sir?" Harry had, unable to keep a derisive tone from sneaking out of his lips.

"Not with swords, Mr. Potter," Janus had said, appearing to miss the tone completely. "You notice I don't wear my sword much anymore."

Harry had but didn't say anything.

"That sword demonstration was merely a means to an end," Janus had concluded enthusiastically. "When it comes to seventh year, you've seen a great deal of wand dueling. Changing the weapon teaches you to expect the unexpected, to always be on your guard, not to become too brash and think that you can know and respond to everything. It challenges the mind's perception of what it thinks it knows and that can be the most powerful weapon of all. But as this is our first lesson, Mr. Potter, I think we'll begin with a little review and assessment - tarantallegra!"

Janus' wand had flown out of his side pocket and into his hand before he had finished his sentence but Harry's reflexes had been quicker.

"Magnum Impedio! Expelliarmus!" he had cried.

Janus' hex had hit a blocking field and then his wand had spun out of his hand and high into the air before bouncing harmlessly off a chair and desk in another part of the room. It had rolled on the floor until hitting a point on the wall where it had stopped.

Harry had half-expected Janus to make some feeble excuse about his wand-casting abilities. It was something Gilderoy Lockhart might have done and Harry was beginning to feel that Janus reminded him of one of his least successful Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers. But Janus had flashed him a large toothy grin that, with his outfit, made him look like a pirate who has gotten his first whiff of a siege.

"Very good, Mr. Potter. Very good indeed," Janus had said, stroking his beard thoughtfully.

Harry had kept his gaze steady and his wand firmly fixed on the Defense teacher in case he tried another quick maneuver but Janus had absently recalled his wand and held it at his side. Harry had then watched as he had sat down in the first row of desks and crossed one leg over another nonchalantly.

"I see I shall not make a worthy opponent for one with your already considerable skill, Mr. Potter. But I venture to say I still know a few tricks you do not and I hope that I will be able to teach some of them to you this term. Perhaps I should start, however, by seeing what else you have learned."

Janus had then waved his wand absently again. Harry's cynicism of Janus' abilities had abruptly vanished as Lucius Malfoy appeared unexpectedly out of thin air from behind Janus' desk. Harry had looked back and forth between Janus and Malfoy in disbelief before raising his wand at Malfoy who responded by drawing his own elegantly sheathed wand from out of the inside of his robes.

"Mr. Potter," he had said. "The trouble you have caused us all."

"I believe you are familiar with Lucius, Mr. Potter," Janus had said airily, "both his acerbic tongue and his witless wand skills. Nevertheless, I believe he may prove a good - "

But Harry had not waited for Janus to finish his instructions. He had pointed his wand at Malfoy and cried out:

"Stupefy!"

"Expelliarmus!" Malfoy had responded.

Harry had been vaguely aware of Janus attempting to coach directions from the side but he had neither heard nor cared to hear them. The only thing that had been on his mind was stopping Malfoy, of eliminating him, of putting him out of the way as one might a persistent mosquito. But Malfoy had fought with an almost equal rage. First he had tried to disarm Harry but then when that had not succeeded, he had thrown unforgivable curse after unforgivable curse at him. Deep burn marks had scorched the floor; chairs had been shattered like stacks of toothpicks. Both wizards had rolled and ducked around the floor picking up the dust and debris on their robes. Harry had not known whether this was the real Lucius Malfoy he had been facing and whether the Cruciatus curses he was throwing at Harry would have twisted his body in agony the same way the fake Moody had tortured a spider in the very same room many years before. Whatever the case, he had had neither the time nor the inclination to decide. Every action and reaction he had taken against Malfoy was reflex.

The fight wore on for what had seemed to Harry like hours, but was perhaps only a few minutes. He had felt his body tiring and knew he had not truly prepared either mentally or physically for his lesson ahead of time. He had grown soft as Janus had warned him on the first day of class not to and this realization had made Harry angrier than any of the hexes Malfoy was throwing at him. Finally, Malfoy had pinned Harry back against the far wall of the classroom. Harry had become aware that Janus had now gotten to his feet, shouting at Harry to do something, but all Harry had been able to hear was the sound of exploding furniture as Malfoy had methodically removed the obstacles that stood between him and his quarry.

"You needn't resist any further, Potter," Malfoy had hissed angrily. "I've killed all of your foul-blooded friends and now I've come for you. Avada - "

"NOOOOOOOOO!"

Sweat pouring down his face and stinging his eyes, Harry had picked up a very long table, behind which he had been crouching and, ignoring the protesting instructions of Janus, thrown it toward Malfoy. Malfoy had obliterated it with his wand but flinched as the shattered pieces had showered his head with debris. In that moment of distraction, Harry had taken his wand into his less sweaty left palm and aimed it firmly at Malfoy.

"Stupefy!" he had cried.

The light from Harry's wand had hit Malfoy squarely in the stomach. His eyes changing from angry determination to surprise, the Death Eater had fallen backwards onto his back.

"Very good, Harry," Janus' voice had said from somewhere far away. "I thought for a moment - "

"AVADA KEDAVRA! AVADA KEDAVRA! AVADA - "

Harry had stopped only as he had become aware, somewhere beyond the loud sounds of the searing green lights coming out of his wand and lighting up Malfoy's inert body, of another figure standing before him. He had raised his wand to strike his next opponent only to see at the last minute the uncharacteristically alarmed face of Janus cry out:

"Expelliarmus!"

Harry's wand had flown up into the air as Janus' had done a short while before and collided innocently against the blackboard. He had sat on his knees for a moment, panting hard and staring up at the surprised Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. He did not want to think about whether, at that moment, he would have struck Janus, or with what curse he would have tried to strike him.

"You have killed Mr. Malfoy several times over," Janus had said after a long pause. "I think it is time for a rest. I will give you the benefit of the doubt that you realized he was an impostor." Janus had looked meaningfully down at the body of the bogus Malfoy. Harry had noticed for the first time that his eyes were staring straight up at the ceiling of the room and his breathing seemed to have stopped. A few moments later, Malfoy had taken on a pale white glow and gone transparent, something like a ghost. Within a few more minutes, all trace of him had vanished from the floor completely.

Janus had braved a smile. "Very realistic. For a few minutes at least until the spell wears off." He had looked up at Harry. "You lost control of yourself, Mr. Potter. If this had been a real Death Eater - "

"I needed to make sure he was dead," Harry had said suddenly, surprised at the hoarseness in his voice. "I needed to make sure he couldn't hurt anyone again. I needed to make sure that the prophecy couldn't come true, that he - or Voldemort, or any of them - could never come back and kill Ginny. I couldn't stop them from killing my parents, from killing my godfather. But I'm going to stop them from killing her. I don't care how."

"None of those things were your fault, Harry," Janus had murmured, almost inaudibly.

Harry had looked up and felt surprised to see that anyone else was there. He had gotten quickly to his feet, followed by Janus, whose expression now seemed to have become carefully neutral. Harry suddenly realized that he had said far too much in front of someone he should have known better than to trust. He especially shouldn't have mentioned his "godfather" and hoped Janus wouldn't follow up on the matter. Perhaps the Defense teacher had planned to get Harry off his guard. Perhaps he was even using these lessons to analyze his weaknesses and discover as much about him as he could.

"I'm sorry," Harry had said stiffly. "I didn't mean to lose control. It won't happen again, sir."

A twinge of disappointment played over Janus' features before the mask fell again.

"Just stay focused, Mr. Potter," he had said. "And never be too sure of what you know."

Oh, I won't, Harry had thought. Not again.

"I think that will be all for our first lesson," Janus had said. "You probably need a shower and a rest before your class at this rate. I know enough to prepare what I hope will prove a useful curriculum of lessons for you this term. And don't worry about the mess. It's easily taken care of."

Harry had looked around him to notice that the front third of the room had been more or less obliterated. He had managed a slightly embarrassed nod to Janus. But before leaving, he had asked:

"Can you teach me to do that, too, sir, conjure an opponent like that? Then I could practice - "

But Janus had shaken his head.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Potter," he had said, giving Harry a Cheshire-cat smile. "Not all skills can be taught. And besides," he had added with an oddly dark smile. "You might not like what you would have to become to gain an ability like that."

***

"Just listen to him! He's full of dark magic!" Ginny had insisted as they had sat down to dinner that evening and Harry had told her and Ron what had happened during the lesson. "Whoever heard of conjuring a real person like that? Just like apparating into a classroom. But you had the right idea, Harry," she had added, digging her fork aggressively into a large potato. "Keep asking him questions. We have to find out things from him, not him from us."

But this had not proved very easy. In their lessons of the following weeks, it had become slowly clear that Janus seemed to know a great deal more about Harry than he was comfortable with. Harry's own carefully timed questions about Janus' mysterious past and esoteric magical knowledge, however, were deflected as skillfully as a well-placed blocking charm.

But whatever Harry's resentment and suspicion toward Janus, the lessons had not been in vain. Janus had taught Harry a number of useful spells - and not all of them had been for defense. Janus had made no secret of the fact he was preparing Harry for a struggle where he would be expected to take the initiative.

Yet perhaps the most useful lesson of all had been the first and not because of any new tactical skills Harry had learned in his duel against the bogus Lucius Malfoy. The day of that lesson was the first time Harry had truly understood why, ever since the night of Trelawney's prophecy (and perhaps long before that), he had tried to build in his heart a wall of resistance against the responsibilities and expectations that had been piled upon him by the wizarding world. He had realized that what he feared most was being controlled - by Dumbledore's elaborate schemes, by Voldemort's conniving plots, and most of all by the icy hand of fate issuing again and again from the raspy lips of Professor Trelawney. Harry had nurtured his private rebellion because he had wanted to control his own destiny just as surely as he had used his wand to pummel killing curse after killing curse into the body of Lucius Malfoy. He had wanted to save the ones he loved instead of watching them taken away from him again and again by forces he could not control.

And whether she had realized it or not, Ginny had thrown Harry's desire for control right back in his face that morning. She had made it very clear that she was not about to surrender her own fate to him just as he wasn't willing to give in to a prophecy. But Harry was also still very sure that he would rather die than to give Ginny up and so he still found himself lost, confused, and if he had dared admit it to himself - frightened.

And as they neared the stadium, he couldn't imagine how he was going to muster a pre-game talk to the team after all this. Why, after two months of hesitation, had Ginny chosen this morning to go and finally go and ask Firenze about the prophecy?

Then again, Harry thought to himself with a slightly ironic smile that Ginny noticed but did not question, perhaps Ginny knew as he did that if there was anything that could take one's mind away from even from its worst excruciations, it was Quidditch.

***

There had been times in the past two months when Ginny had been afraid that if she had dared to stop for a moment and think through everything that had been thrust upon her she would have surely sunk into a hole from the weight of it all. Perhaps that was why she had waited so long to finally ask Firenze about the prophecy. In the days leading up to her visit with the Divination master, she had tried to tell herself that by talking to him she could at least lift one crushing burden from her chest but now she felt, if it were possible, even worse than she had before.

As the door opened to the pitch and rare rays of autumn sunlight bathed Ginny's face, she shot a quick look across to catch Harry and was relieved to see him, in turn, look back in her direction. The last thing Ginny had wanted was to hurt Harry and yet she knew that her words in the common room had cut him deeply. But he had needed to know - for his sake as well as hers - that it wasn't all just about him. If things were as dire as they seemed, Harry needed to understand that she would be no more an object of his heroism, however well-intentioned, than she would be a tool of Voldemort's dark plans. She flashed him a brief wink which was reciprocated with a half-smile. A moment later, Ginny took hold of her humming Firebolt and flew off with Harry and the rest of her teammates over the pitch.

A feeling of angst filled Ginny's heart once again as she noticed that the top few rows of each of the audience sections were empty. She wondered if anyone else had stopped to think why so many stands had been built if there weren't enough students to fill them. No doubt their altered memories had some explanation, however unrealistic in Ginny's own mind, for this incongruity.

Ginny felt somewhat brighter, however, when she noticed that the noise from the crowd was still nearly as loud as it had been when the whole school had been present. The small but raucous cadre of Gryffindors seemed to be making up for in noise what they now lacked in number. She clutched hold of her Firebolt tightly as if controlling her play on the Quidditch pitch could solve all the burdens that had been thrust upon her in real life. As the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs circled the field in their final warm-ups, Ginny swooped by her cheering housemates and then the staff box, resulting in a wave and a wink from Hagrid and a surprising bow and tip of a velvet blue hat on the part of Professor Janus. Ginny then arched widely over the still full Slytherin section, the bristles of her broomstick just kissing the hairs on the heads of the assembled students. She looked back and exchanged a significant glance with Malfoy, who was sitting between Crabbe and Goyle with his legs lazily propped up against the seat in front of him. Madame Hooch then flew by, saying nothing, but with a severe expression of warning on her face. Yet Ginny only found herself regretting that she hadn't swooped a bit lower and taken Malfoy's head along with her for the ride. As if ending all this would be as easy as getting rid of Malfoy, she sighed to herself.

Madam Hooch then blew her whistle twice to signal that the teams should assemble into their starting positions. Ginny took her position in between Susan Richards and Marvin Berke, who had ended up making the team, largely by default. After a long and pedantic speech about fair play, Madam Hooch released the Quaffle. Ginny made a grab for it at the same time as Marla Banks, the Hufflepuff Chaser, and between them they managed to knock it off to the side. Ginny looked over and was pleased to see that it was heading straight toward Marvin. She felt much less happy, however, when Marvin grabbed at the Quaffle and missed, looking astonished as his hands clutched around thin air. It then fell into the possession of Malcolm Grine, another Hufflepuff Chaser who swooped underneath Marvin and headed straight toward the Gryffindor goal. Ginny could vaguely hear Harry shouting instructions to Marvin from high above the play as Marvin continued to look around witlessly for the Quaffle. Ginny tried to chase after Grine herself but her movement forward was roughly blocked by Banks and Rhys Jones, the other Hufflepuff chaser, who continued to shadow her on defense for the rest of the game, paying little attention to Susan and Marvin, who seemed to be running defense against themselves. Ginny could only watch helplessly as Grine swept down the pitch unchallenged and quickly scored against Ron.

As the game continued, Hufflepuff's strategy of shadowing Ginny proved frustratingly effective. They were even able to leave one Chaser free and up the field when they were defending - usually Grine - which led to several quick passes and breakaway goals. Ginny kept trying to break free of the stifling defensive pair but it was like trying to walk in a straight jacket. The only times she was able to get her hands on the Quaffle was when Jack Sloper swiped and missed Bludgers headed in her direction which Ginny managed to decoy toward Banks and Jones.

It was during one such play well into the one-sided contest that Ginny managed to finally break free. On this occasion, the other Gryffindor Beater, Alex King, who was little better than Sloper, tried to hit an errant Bludger away from Harry but it had deflected off the top of his bat and headed straight toward Ginny instead. Watching the Bludger come ever closer, Ginny braved herself to hover in place using her body to block it from the view of her Hufflepuff defenders. At the last minute, she twisted her body sideways and the Bludger flew past her and straight toward Banks and Jones. They, too, managed to swerve away in time but the distraction allowed Ginny to break away.

Ginny clutched her Firebolt, willing it forward like a thoroughbred. She hoped it was faster that whatever it was that Banks and Jones were riding. But Ginny also knew that her flight to freedom would do no good if she had no Quaffle to score with. After putting some distance between herself and her pursuers, she swerved around to see that Susan still held the Quaffle in her hands, though she was being dogged all the way by Grine. Ginny barely registered that her team was still on the offensive when another welcome sight flew fast over her head: the golden snitch weaved and dived through the air, glistening like a hummingbird against the clear blue sky. It traced a path toward the Hufflepuff goalposts before knifing back to Ginny's right. She felt herself speed up again instinctively before she remembered that she was no longer the seeker on this team.

Ginny was just hoping that Harry had seen it, too, when he raced over her head toward it at an impossible speed, trailed at a distance by the Hufflepuff Seeker Brian Dent. She was sure he would catch it and save Susan from needing to make an impossible pass to Ginny. But to her surprise, Harry moved into position just in front of the Snitch but did not close his hand over it. Instead, he continued to shadow it closely, mirroring its wayward journey. Dent finally caught up to Harry and followed both him and the Snitch. Harry twisted his broomstick back and forth in the air, apparently trying to block Dent's approach, but he still did not catch the Snitch himself.

Without turning back to look at the scoreboard, Ginny quickly realized the reason for Harry's strange strategy: Gryffindor was now so far behind Hufflepuff that even if Harry caught the Snitch, the resulting one hundred and fifty points would not be enough for Gryffindor to pull ahead and win the game. The best Harry could do was to try and stop Dent from catching it. The rest would have to be up to the Gryffindor Chasers. Judging from the way her teammates had played the game so far, Ginny realized that mostly meant her.

There had been a time when playing Hufflepuff meant a sure and easy win for the Gryffindor Quidditch team but Ginny forced that thought back with her other inconvenient memories as she had for the past two months, trying to concentrate on the play that was developing around her. Banks and Jones had gained some ground on her but she was still ahead of them. She screamed at Susan who suddenly noticed she was open and up the field ahead of her. Ginny held her breath as Susan ducked quickly under Grine. In the brief instant before the Hufflepuff returned to her side, Susan threw back her hand and tossed the Quaffle over toward Ginny with such force that she almost tumbled off her broomstick.

The Quaffle was aimed slightly behind Ginny but she was able to reach back and grab it. She looked briefly to see that while Banks and Jones had gained some ground, they were still behind her. She accelerated toward the hoops, Quaffle in hand, her anticipation growing in step with the widening eyes of the Hufflepuff Keeper Eleanor Branstone. But watching her defense pull away, Branstone took the initiative and moved out from the hoops to take away the angle from Ginny's shot. Branstone's aggressive goaltending forced Ginny further to her left. She slowed her movement to avoid passing the hoops but this allowed Jones, who had pulled ahead of his fellow Chaser, to catch up with her. Ginny quickly found herself being forced out of the play.

But just as Branstone and Jones had nearly completed their trap, Ginny heard a voice screaming her name. She flicked her eyes but not her head and saw that Susan had somehow escaped from Grine and was now flying quickly up the right side of the field unguarded. Looking back at Banks and Branstone, she could see that neither seemed to have noticed and both continued to concentrate fully on stopping Ginny from scoring. Even when Jack Sloper's unmistakable half-broken voice shouted her name a split-second later, presumably to alert her unnecessarily that Susan was open, neither of the Hufflepuffs moved to block the pass. Keeping her eyes firmly trained on the left post, Ginny faked her shot long enough for Branstone to dive before swooping the Quaffle across the front of her body like a pendulum and out toward Susan. Only then did Ginny turn to look at her teammate. Susan seemed just as surprised as Banks and Branstone when the Quaffle came her way. She closed her hands around it awkwardly and for a moment Ginny was sure she would drop it but she managed to hold on. Realizing only too late his defensive mistake, Jones rushed toward Susan but there was far too much ground to cover. Susan scooped the Quaffle awkwardly into the open right hoop like throwing a log on a fire. Gryffindor had finally scored.

It was only after Susan had turned around to make her own victory dance that Ginny turned her own head back toward the open field, raising her hand in hard-won victory.

And it was only then that Ginny realized why Jack Sloper had been shouting at her. For inches away from her face and moving toward it at breakneck speed was a Bludger. In a moment of astonished thought that preceded all of her reflexes, Ginny wondered how it was that she could not have heard the ominous whistling sound of the incoming Bludger that now filled her ears with noise and her heart with fear. She twisted her broomstick and brought her hands to her face but it seemed that all of her reactions were coming in slow motion. The best Ginny could do was squint her eyes shut against the oncoming impact.

Which never came.

A few seconds passed before Ginny dared to open her eyes and saw, to her relief and astonishment that the Bludger was now moving away from her just as fast as it had come. It almost seemed like it had hit up against an invisible wall right in front of her face. Utterly baffled but grateful to whichever god had managed to leave her face intact, Ginny noticed for the first time that Jack was hovering about fifty yards away, the broken end of a bat in his hand, and a horribly pale look on his face.

Ginny was about to fly toward him - to admonish or comfort she did not know - when she noticed that the rest of the team had gathered on the field along with the Hufflepuffs. She flew toward Jack and pointed him to the field before he could open his mouth to apologize. As soon as she hit the ground she saw Harry running toward her looking stricken.

"Goddess!" he exclaimed, touching her face to make sure it was still in one piece. "B - but," he stammered, drawing his hand back and smiling incredulously. "You're all right! B - but how? I don't understand! That Bludger hit you dead on, I saw it!"

Ginny shook her head.

"No, it never touched me. I - I can't explain it either. It must have just moved away at the last minute."

Ginny looked down and noticed for the first time that Harry's right hand was clutched around the Snitch.

"You caught it!" she exclaimed. "Did we - "

Harry smiled more fully and nodded. "We won by ten points. Thanks to you," he said. "I thought of catching the Snitch and ending it in a draw. I might have done if Hufflepuff were about to score but I looked down and saw Susan with the Quaffle and you open and I thought, well," Harry smiled, "perhaps I should have a little faith."

Ginny flung her arms tightly around Harry who returned her embrace returned with even greater enthusiasm. After they moved out of the hug, Ginny noticed that Madame Hooch was down on the field in front of the celebrating Gryffindors, surrounded by a gang of protesting Hufflepuffs. From what Ginny could make out from the frantic conversation, it seemed that Susan had put the Quaffle through the hoop only a fraction of a second before Harry had closed his hand around the Snitch. The Hufflepuff Beater and captain Owen Cauldwell was vociferously making the case that the flapping wings of the snitch had touched Harry's glove before the Quaffle had completed its journey through the hoop and had Madame Hooch's Omnioculars in his hand as evidence. While not denying that the Omniocular replay showed exactly what Cauldwell claimed it did, Madame Hooch maintained that the touching of the wings to the glove did not constitute a catch. The argument went on for several more exchanges until Cauldwell, very red in the face, questioned Madame Hooch's grasp of standard international rules of the sport for which his father was a professional referee. Madame Hooch then snatched her Omnioculars back and made it very clear that any further comments from Cauldwell would result in a loss of house points for Hufflepuff. Pleased with the ensuing silence, she then called the game officially for Gryffindor one hundred and sixty points to one hundred and fifty. The crowd filed out of the stands and the two teams returned to their respective changing rooms, one in disbelieving victory and the other in impossible defeat.

***

"Cheers to our dear sister," declared Fred Weasley, clinking his Butterbeer glass loudly against Ginny's in the Gryffindor common room that evening, "for the best scoring assist this house has seen since the days of the great Angelina Johnson."

"And for putting up with a lot of ruddy awful teammates," George added, adding his own glass.

"Hey!" said Ron indignantly. "It could have been a lot worse! They would have been up by three hundred points if it weren't for some of my saves. I had no defensive support at all!"

"Sorry," said Ginny brightly.

"I didn't mean you," said Ron, looking slightly apologetic, but still determined to defend himself in front of his brothers. "Honestly that Berke character is a nightmare! If we had anybody else decent at all - and, Sloper!" Ron's jaw hardened. "If that bludger had hit you, Ginny, he would have - "

"Easy does it!" said Fred as George bewitched the Butterbeer keg to refill Ron's mug with a skill that surprised and impressed Ginny. "It didn't now, did it? And you won after all, right? We were only reviewing the pleasant highlights."

"Of course," added George, half-speaking into his mug. "The odd pointer might not go amiss."

Ron's eyes narrowed. "How is it you two can always get in here?"

"The prefect arrives at last!" said George, flashing a wink at Ginny who, to Ron's annoyance, giggled.

"We were beginning to think you'd forgotten," added Fred.

"You could launch a complaint, of course," said George.

"But you may find we have the support of a higher authority," finished Fred.

Ginny's eyes darted back and forth between her two brothers, realizing that she had forgotten how adept they were at finishing each other's sentences. She looked back at Ron and could see that he was still in the mood for a bit of a row. She also knew that Fred and George were enjoying goading him. Having seen this conversation develop before, Ginny looked around for an escape. It did not take her long to spot Harry who seemed to be struggling through a conversation with Marvin.

***

"A good Chaser always looks away from the hoop they're going to shoot at," Fred was saying. "You can't commit too early. If - "

"Shut up about Quidditch," hissed George, elbowing his twin in the ribs. "Ginny's gone now. We can get down to business."

"What?" said Ron.

"What?" said Fred. "Oh, right. Come on, little brother." He led Ron by the elbow into a vacant corner of the common room. "We came to give you the benefit of our noble experience."

"Your experience?" echoed Ron. "What - about Quidditch? Haven't you already - "

"No!" George groaned. "I'd forgotten how horribly thick he was," he said to Fred. "What can't we discuss in front of our wonderful sister?"

Ron's face went suddenly pale. "You mean - "

"Girls?" said Fred, shaking his head.

"Oh," said Ron, looking strangely more comfortable. "That. But what - "

"We heard you had a little in-house adventure at the ball," said George.

"Our compliments on choosing a partner with many fine attributes," said Fred, looking mischievously across the room at Amanda who was talking to Parvati.

Ron's ears went pink. "It wasn't much of an adventure. We didn't even snog or anything. Actually - "

George tutted and shook his head. "We can't have that, can we?"

"Absolutely not," agreed Fred. "And look at her now," he pointed across at Amanda, "deep in conversation with an astrological expert. That can only mean one thing, you know."

"Well, whatever it means," said Ron, looking down at his shoelaces, "I'm sure it's nothing about me. We didn't end up on the best of terms that night."

But both Fred and George were shaking their heads.

"You have much to learn about women," said Fred sagely. "She just wants to see how much you care."

"Well, I don't care very much," declared Ron. "She's just not right for me."

"How can she not be right for you?" asked George, eyeing Amanda himself. "What you need is a little encouragement. Something to give you a bit of confidence."

Ron looked up at Fred suspiciously. "You've been talking to Harry, haven't you?"

"Not a word, I swear."

"Though a bloke named Finnigan might have had a wag in our ear," George admitted.

"A valued customer," added Fred, looking pleased with himself.

Ron's eyes darted from Seamus to George. "Well, whatever you say it's not going to help," he declared, his jaw setting. "It was a stupid mistake and it's over. I'm not going to settle for anything less than a girl who likes me for who I am and she's not that."

"I entirely agree," declared Fred somberly.

"Only there's nothing wrong with having a bit of fun while you're waiting," added George, winking at Fred who responded in turn.

"Anyway," George went on before Ron could come up with another rejoinder. "Here comes the serious part: if you want to get a girl to like you, you've got to loosen things up a bit."

Fred sighed. "You're wasting your breath, George. He's too young to understand."

Ron went red again. "I am not!" he declared, then frowned. "Too young to understand what?"

Fred looked around again to make sure no one was listening, then leaned into whisper to George and Ron.

"You've got to get hold of a bit of liquid encouragement."

"What? Get her drunk?" said Ron.

"Nothing so crude," Fred replied. "Just add a bit of happiness to the evening. Anyway, it's you who should drink the most, not her. That way you might be able to get up the nerve to talk to her which is always a good start."

"And it adds an excuse for your dance skills, too," said George.

"But, of course, you're in a school and you couldn't get any even if you are almost of age," said Fred. "And, of course, I almost forgot:"

"You're a prefect," chorused the twins.

It was Ron's turn to smile this time. "That's what you think," he said in a low voice.

Fred and George stared at each other with expressions of mock amazement.

"Do my ears deceive me?" said Fred. "Did ickle Ronniekins tell us he knew where to get his hands on some real beverages? And I thought we knew all of the secrets in this school."

"Maybe," replied Ron, still smiling.

"And can you actually produce this magical substance?" asked George, "or is this all talk?"

The twins smiled deviously as Ron frowned again. He ignored their reaction, however, and struggled to recall the events of the first night of school that term. He and Harry had been talking late in the common room. About what? Old times, yes, that was it. And then.... Ron frowned again. What had happened next? It seemed a bit silly that he couldn't quite remember. It wasn't very long ago after all. Yes, that was it, he realized. Harry had gone down to look for the bottle of fire whiskey himself. Why ever hadn't Ron gone with him? He still couldn't quite recall but whatever the reason he now remembered distinctly that Harry had returned with the bottle. And then he had wrapped it in his invisibility cloak and put it....

Ron grinned and looked back up at his brothers.

"If you wouldn't mind waiting for a moment, boys," he said, "I think I can produce the evidence you're looking for."

Still smiling at the surprised expressions on Fred and George's faces, Ron headed up the stairs to the boys' dormitory.

***

"I'm sure that Quaffle must be jinxed, Harry," Marvin was saying urgently. "Every time I tried to pick it up it would fall out of my hands."

"Well, Marvin, I think maybe - "

"Didn't that happen with a Bludger your second year, Harry?" Marvin went on, not seeming to notice Harry's reply. "It was tampered with, wasn't it? I read about it in Quidditch at Hogwarts: A History with Moving Pictures, 995-1995. It mentions you a lot in there, Harry! You're really famous already!"

Ginny put her hand over her mouth to stop herself from giggling as Harry's face fell.

"Really, Marvin," he said, a little stiffly. "I don't think the Quaffle was jinxed. I think perhaps with a bit more practice - "

Marvin's eyes lit up. "You mean I'm still on the team!"

"Yes, if you just - "

"Thanks, Harry!" Marvin beamed and immediately ran over to share the news with a group of his fellow third years.

Harry sighed as Ginny walked up to take Marvin's place in front of him.

"Not that I have much choice," he mumbled.

Ginny shrugged. "Well, we managed anyway, just about."

Harry shook his head. "I don't know what happened with that Bludger," he said. "I can't help thinking that was tampered with."

Ginny frowned. "It seemed an innocent enough play. Jack said it broke his bat in two when he tried to hit it. If you count everything that's gone wrong with his bat the last two years, you'd have to think that every game was rigged."

"But what happened at the end? I've never seen a Bludger change course so suddenly by itself before."

"I don't know, either, Harry. It was like there was a shield in front of me or something."

"Maybe someone's looking out for you," said Harry thoughtfully.

"That would make for a nice change. Anyway," Ginny smiled and took hold of Harry's shoulders. "Good thing it did or you might have had a girlfriend whose nose was only fit for practicing potions."

Harry frowned. "Is Harmon all that awful to look at?"

Ginny sighed. "Never mind, Harry." She looked at his eyes and grew serious. "I wanted to tell you something: I remembered something else Firenze told me this morning."

"Go on."

"He said...." Ginny paused, trying to remember the exact words Firenze had used. "He said that humans were never meant to see. That they were meant to 'burn their lives out brightly' or something. I'm not sure I totally understand but - but if we are going to be killed in this war, and if we really can't do anything to stop it, or even if we can, I still think we should make the most of things instead of just worrying away what time we have left."

Harry did not respond for a moment and Ginny held his gaze, feeling a little anxious. Then he pulled her closely to his chest in a protective embrace and whispered softly into her ear:

"I love you so much, Ginny. I hope I can save you."

"I love you, too, Harry," she whispered back, "and you already have."

Harry held onto more tightly. They stayed together like that for a few moments longer. When Harry finally released her, she saw that his eyes were moist and she felt a lump in her own throat as well.

Before either Ginny or Harry could speak again, however, they became uncomfortably aware that the common room had gone silent around them. Feeling embarrassed, Ginny looked around, half-expecting to see the whole of Gryffindor house watching them.

But as she looked at her fellow housemates, Ginny saw that no one had taken any interest in her embrace with Harry. Instead, all eyes were on Ron who had made his way back down the staircase into the common room. He was surrounded by a crowd of Gryffindors, all of whom seemed to be staring at something he was holding in his hands. Even Fred and George seemed at a loss for words. Most of the other Gryffindors looked highly curious and very puzzled. Ron, for his part, seemed to have gone uncomfortably pale. Ginny felt her heartbeat quickening as he made her way slowly over to where she and Harry were standing. As he looked up from whatever he was holding and looked at her, Ginny saw an uncomfortable mixture of anger and fear in his eyes.

"Please explain to me what this is," he said evenly.

It was only when Ron reached out toward Ginny and handed her the object that the crowd parted enough for her to see what it was he had been holding. She drew a sharp intake of breath.

Looking down at her hands, Ginny saw a small square glass box. Inside the box, suspended in mid-air over a felt stand, were two identical gold rings. On a silver plate at the bottom of the stand were written the words:

TO HERMIONE, LOVE FOREVER, FROM RON