MetaFic

Ginny curled up on her side as she always did, trying to sleep, but after a few minutes she realised that she could not stand Harry’s absence beneath her cheek and arm.  She twisted onto her back, holding Bun-bun against her side, hoping to capture the way Harry felt and positioned himself as they slept.  That was no more familiar to her, though, and her braid pressed painfully into the back of her head and neck.  She curled up on her other side, right at the edge of the bed, remembering how she had slept as a child with Snuggles, her old bear, trapped in her embrace.  That was wrong, though.  Wrong in a way that she could not bear to consider.

Nothing worked.  Every inch of her tingled, as though her nerves were pinched in all the places where he should have been.  She felt cold without the Invisibility Cloak, so she put on one of the jumpers Hermione had brought for her.  It smelled right and carried a familiar comfort, but it was not the same.  She lay on her back again, staring at the ceiling above her bed.  The braid pained her once more, and she rolled her head from side to side, trying to assuage the pressure.  Finally, with a low, frustrated moan, she sat up.

It’s just not right!

She tore her hair loose from the braid with savage fingers, not caring about the pain it caused or the ragged mess it made of her hair.  Once the braid was gone, she fell backwards again.  Now at least her pillow cushioned the back of her head, even if she still felt that she should not need a normal pillow at all.  Ginny pulled Bun-bun up to her face to muffle the sound of her weeping, and the pink fabric absorbed her tears without protest.

Ginny did not know how long it took her to fall into a fitful sleep.  She only realised she was sleeping when she jolted awake, escaping the first flashes of nightmares in her mind.  Harry tried to apologise and comfort her, but the effort was an empty shadow of what it should have been.  She lay in silence until, eventually, her dreams woke her again.  Sometimes she cried, but at other times she felt that her body had no more tears to offer.  She was alone with her grief, a plush souvenir of the past, and a distant voice in her head.

When Hermione parted the curtains around her bed at dawn, Ginny was once again awake and staring at the ceiling.  Her tears had come and gone a dozen times, leaving her feeling nothing but a sense of detachment.

Harry?

“We have to go soon, Ginny,” Hermione said softly.  “The professors are taking us all to breakfast together.”

Ginny nodded and looked away from the expression of sympathy in her friend’s eyes.  She dressed in the bathroom, not bothering to shower, and pulled Harry’s jumper on over her shirt.

“Would you like me to brush your hair for you?” Hermione asked.

“No.  It doesn’t matter.”

Yes it does, Ginny.  You . . . he paused momentarily, searching her memories, love . . . Your hair.  I know you do.

For a moment, Ginny clung to the memory of the first time he had actually told her he loved her.  Then, sighing, she picked up her brush.  Her hair was tangled from her restless night, and she brushed it only enough to neaten it a bit.  Then she tied it off into a low ponytail.

The Gryffindors walked to breakfast in a subdued mass, escorted by Professor McGonagall, Madam Hooch, and their prefects.  In the Great Hall, Ginny sat next to Hermione, and her brothers surrounded them.  None of them spoke, but some part of her appreciated their nearness.

Once all four houses were seated, Professor Dumbledore rose.  He looked calm, as always, but Ginny recognised the robes he had been wearing the previous evening.  She was relieved to see that they were not permanently damaged.

“Good morning, students,” Dumbledore said in a low, flat voice.  “Before our breakfast this morning, I must make a few unpleasant announcements.

“Last night, as many of you may know, another student was attacked in our beloved school.  Our precautions thus far have been insufficient, and your safety is my absolute priority.  To that end, we must now add several new rules and restrictions.”

The Headmaster looked around the Hall, and his eyes rested for a moment on Ginny and her friends and family.  “From now on, members of staff will escort all students to and from their classes.  Members of staff will also escort each house to and from this Hall for meals.  In the evenings and on weekends, visits to the library or other locations will be permitted, but only under direct supervision.  No one, including prefects, will be allowed to leave their dormitories unsupervised.

“Curfew will be strictly enforced.  Any student caught out-of-bounds after curfew will lose house points and will serve many detentions with their Head of House.  Anyone repeating this offence risks suspension or expulsion.  Prefects will continue patrolling the corridors outside of lessons and before curfew, but each pair of prefects will be escorted by a member of staff.

“All areas of the castle which are not currently in use are now forbidden to students and will be barricaded.  All Hogsmeade visits are hereby cancelled.  Students will only be allowed on the grounds during specified times under close supervision.”

Throughout the Hall, students groaned their displeasure, and the Headmaster nodded in response.  “I appreciate that these measures are onerous to you all.  Therefore, after much deliberation, the Board of Governors and I have decided that Quidditch practices and matches will continue.  Each practice will now be monitored by at least two members of staff, who will also escort the teams to and from the pitch.  No one except team members will be allowed to attend practices.  

“Attendance at matches is now mandatory for all students.  The Heads of House will escort all members of each house to the pitch for the duration of the game.  No one will be allowed to leave the pitch until the match is over.  We will make other plans should a match become unusually long.”

Well, that’s something . . . Isn’t it? Harry said.  At least we’ll have . . . Quidditch.

“These restrictions take effect now.  Unless escorted by a teacher, you will spend the remainder of the day in your common rooms and dormitories.”  Dumbledore sighed.  “That is all.  I ask each of you, personally, to be vigilant and aware of your safety and that of your classmates.  And now, let us break our fast.”

Food appeared along the centre of each table, and Ginny could not help remembering the day when she, Harry, and the twins had used Invisible Combustion Powder at breakfast and laughed endlessly about it afterwards.

Without really thinking about it, Ginny slid two pieces of toast onto her plate.  She picked one up in her left hand and touched it to her mouth, but she was not hungry.  

“Tuck in, Ginny,” Fred said from two seats away.  “There’s plenty more where that came from.”

She managed a few bites of toast before Professor McGonagall strode down to their section of the table.  “Miss Weasley, Mr. Weasley,” she nodded at Percy, “if you would like, I will escort you both to the hospital wing this afternoon.”

Ginny nodded fractionally, and Percy answered for them both.  “Thank you, Professor.  That is most kind.”

“Very well.  I will pick you up from Gryffindor tower at two o’clock sharp.  Please be ready.”

Ginny nodded again and stared at the toast in her hand.  Her left hand.  Ages ago, she had started using her left hand because Harry always held her right hand.  Now she had no reason to bother, yet the habit remained.  The thought saddened her a bit more.

You should . . . still eat, Ginny.  It doesn’t matter which . . . hand you . . . use.  He produced a memory from shortly after they had started Hogwarts.  In it they were together and happy, and she was eating with her right hand.

It matters to me.

For the rest of that morning, Ginny sat on a sofa in the common room.  All around her, her friends and brothers occupied themselves in various ways.  Harry’s disjointed, disembodied voice encouraged her to join them, but she simply stared at nothing.  Everything around her felt unreal somehow, as though existence could not possibly occur without Harry’s presence.  Even the familiar common room looked strangely flat and distant without Harry’s eyes next to hers.

Every few minutes, she caught someone staring at her.  Older students, and even first-years, watched her with the same expression of pity and obvious concern.

Bloody idiots, Ginny muttered.  Not two days ago they were all convinced that you were the Heir of Slytherin, but now they think it’s just so tragic that you’ve been attacked.

At two o’clock, Ginny and Percy walked to the hospital wing with Professor McGonagall.  The matron had removed Harry’s robes and put him in a set of pyjamas; his wand and glasses waited on the table next to him.  Ginny wordlessly rearranged them to match his habitual placement on their nightstand, and then she sat on a low chair at his side.  She could not bear to look at Harry’s face for more than a moment, but every few minutes she touched his hand.  The comfort of that contact warred with her revulsion at the feel of his flesh, and she found herself attracted to the contact at the same time that she feared it.  Harry attempted to comfort her, dredging up memories of a few happy moments when they were not touching, but his efforts were so feeble that eventually he stopped.  They both knew that touching had always been a vital part of their existence.

In the absence of everything that felt normal and familiar, Ginny’s mind fell into a desperate litany of belief.  He’s not dead; he’s not dead.

Ginny had distantly hoped to see her parents again in the hospital wing, but Professor McGonagall said that the Ministry was not allowing anyone into or out of Hogwarts without explicit permission and an escort of Aurors.  They would not give that permission, the professor said, to the parents of a friend of one of the victims.  Ginny fumed at that description, but she could only nod in acknowledgement.

Two hours later, McGonagall returned to escort them back to the tower.  In spite of her reservations, Ginny did not want to leave.  Harry’s presence in the hospital wing was morbid and unnatural, but he was there.  Sitting at his bedside, she could know where he was, touch him if she wanted to, and see his face if she absolutely had to.  She allowed herself to be led away only after the professor promised that she could visit again the following day.

Ginny went to bed early, saying that she was tired after a sleepless night.  She still could not sleep, however, and spent hours wide awake with Bun-bun tucked under her chin.  Finally, in the wee hours of the morning, she sat up and set the toy aside.  Without thinking, she tried to Shift to Harry’s bed.  She stifled a sob when nothing happened.

You don’t need to . . . Go anyway.  This bed is . . . Just the . . . same as ours.

Yes, all right.  But you can’t . . . she saw her father prodding at a broken toaster . . . Fix it.

She clenched her jaw to keep herself from keening aloud.

I’m sorry, Ginny.  But you can’t.

They were silent for a moment, and then Harry spoke again.  Do you remember . . . the first time you . . . flew?

They spent a few minutes reliving her first nervous but exhilarating flight on a broom, and Ginny almost managed to lose herself in the memory.  When she finally finished recounting every fumbling motion of her old broom, however, she found that she was still wide awake and tense.

Harry’s voice felt resigned.  Go on, then.  Maybe it’ll help.

Barefoot, Ginny crept out of her room, down the stairs, and then up to the second-year boys’ dormitory.  She felt odd and unwelcome as she slipped through the door, but at the same time the boys’ snores and rumbles were familiar to her.  Moving as carefully and quietly as she could, Ginny opened Harry’s curtains.  At the foot of his bed was a small pile containing the clothes he had been wearing the previous evening and the random contents of his pockets.  Ignoring them as much as she could, Ginny pulled the Invisibility Cloak out from under their pillow.

With the Cloak secured around her, Ginny closed her eyes for a moment and tried to concentrate on the familiarity of her surroundings.  The sounds and sensations of the boys’ dormitory were exactly as she remembered them, but still she could not ignore Harry’s absence.  After a moment, she stole out of the room, down the stairs, and out of the portrait hole.  The Fat Lady barely stirred.

Are you sure . . . This is a good . . . idea?

Ginny had no problem avoiding the teachers’ patrols now that the adults always moved in groups of two or three.  With the Cloak hiding her from prying eyes, she reached the hospital wing in a few minutes.  Inside, she huddled on the stone floor next to Harry’s bed, occasionally reaching up to touch his outstretched hand.

We shouldn’t have . . . Come here, Harry said.

I had to.  I just . . . I had to.

She remembered sitting down next to Harry in the common room after Ron had warned Harry that she might have lured him into their connection.  He had taken her hand, and the last of her anger had faded into comfort.  Her mind lingered on that moment of closeness.  Harry’s voice – his real voice, without any broken hesitancy – blossomed out of the memory.  “It happened, and we like it this way.”  

That was then, she said.  It’s different now.

Are you sure? she asked him.  Are you sure we’ll be okay someday?

Ginny reached up and tentatively wrapped her small hand around his larger one, letting the comfort of their contact bolster his words.  It’s something.

“Miss Weasley?”

She had not heard anyone approach, but she turned and found Madam Pomfrey standing next to her in a dressing gown.  Ginny slowly lowered the hood of the Invisibility Cloak.

“You’re not supposed to be here, child,” the matron said.

“I’m sorry,” Ginny said, shrugging listlessly.

Pomfrey sighed.  “You may have ten minutes, and then I will escort you back to your dormitory.  That is much more than I should allow you.”

Ginny nodded, and the older woman moved away.  A moment later she returned with a chair, and Ginny perched on it as she held Harry’s hand.  She found that if she closed her eyes and did not think about it too much, she could imagine that she was touching something other than Harry.  Some fantastical device that allowed her to feel the comfort of Harry’s touch without actually coming into contact with his skin.

Ten minutes later, Madam Pomfrey summoned a house-elf, and the two of them escorted an invisible Ginny back to Gryffindor tower.  Pomfrey opened the Fat Lady’s portrait on the pretence of checking the common room, and Ginny slipped inside.  

You should . . . thank her.  She could have . . . taken you to . . . Professor Dumbledore or . . . McGonagall.

Ginny turned back and pulled the Cloak away from her face.  “Thank you, Madam Pomfrey.”

The matron nodded.  “Off to bed, now.”

A minute later, she was lying on her bed again with the Invisibility Cloak folded under her pillow.  

You can . . . Wear it if you . . . want, Harry said.

Ginny shook her head at no one.  It wouldn’t be right.  It’s yours.

It wouldn’t be right, she insisted.  Besides, what would I say if Lavender or Parvati decided to check on me?  She knew the excuse was feeble, but her conscience could not bear the thought of wearing Harry’s treasured Cloak without him.

All right, Ginny.  You don’t have to . . . Wear it if you . . . don’t want to.  But I think my . . . Dad would have been happy . . . for you to have it.

Ginny threw one arm across her face, muffling her agonised gasp.  Your dad would have hated me.  You never would have been Petrified if I hadn’t . . . hadn’t . . .

Hadn’t what? Harry asked, the words now coming from moments of indignation.  Hadn’t taken . . . my hand that day on the . . . Platform 9 3/4?

She rolled to her side and curled up as tightly as she could.  No, I’m not.  I could never be sorry for that.

Try to . . . Sleep, Harry said gently.  Just try to . . . be relaxed.

At last, she fell asleep, exhausted by two days of horror and a night without rest.  Within moments the nightmares began.  Flashing lights and mocking laughter and endless fires all mixed together in her mind.  A distant, detached part of her knew that there was no-one to wake her up and no way to stop the horrible imagery, so she stopped trying to resist it.  The nightmares flowed past her, sometimes waking her enough to wipe away her tears and straighten the tangled bedclothes, but usually holding her in an unrelenting grasp of terror.

The following morning, Seamus Finnegan and a fifth-year girl left Gryffindor tower with Professor McGonagall.  According to rumour, their parents had withdrawn them from the school because it was no longer safe.  At lunch, Hermione and the twins identified several students from other houses who were no longer at the house tables.

“It’s because of Harry,” Fred said, unusually solemn.  “They reckon that if Harry Potter isn’t safe here, how can anyone be?”

That’s . . . ridiculous.

“He didn’t have any better chance than anyone else,” Ginny said.

The four boys and Hermione all turned to look at her, and she vaguely registered the surprise on her brothers’ faces.  “Well, we know that,” Hermione said.  “But remember what Lavender and Parvati said?  He’s a bit larger than life to most people, I suppose.”

Idiots, Ginny said.  They don’t know what they’re talking about.  You’re not larger than life.  You are my life.

As the students in the Hall finished eating, they began to mingle and talk while waiting for everyone else.  Students from different houses gathered in the aisles and corners, finding friends and sharing news in the only time and place they could.  Luna wove through the crowd and sat next to Ginny, her legs facing the aisle as was her habit.

Luna stared unblinkingly at Ginny’s face for a few moments, and then she leaned forward to hug her.  “I’m so sorry, Alex,” she whispered.  “I wish there was something I could do.”

“Me, too, Luna,” Ginny said.  She felt tears prickling her eyes, but they did not fall.  Though Luna did not say anything else, Ginny appreciated her presence.  Of all of her friends, Ginny thought that Luna might be the only one who could understand some of what she was feeling.

The rest of the weekend passed in a long, slow parody of normality.  Ginny sat in the common room, ate meals in the Great Hall, and visited the hospital wing.  She began to feel that she was only changing the setting for her loneliness.  No matter where she went or what she did, she felt the same way.  Holding Harry’s hand, though she pretended it was not his hand, was the only thing in the world that felt vaguely tolerable.  He talked to her frequently, reassuring her and helping to guide her through the days with memories of their routine, but his words inevitably reminded Ginny that he was not actually there.  Knowing this, Harry sometimes fell silent and simply let her grieve.

On Saturday night, Ginny found that Bun-bun had finally reverted to a towel.  Harry and Hermione both suggested that Ginny could re-cast the Brunesempra charm, but Ginny shook her head.  Bun-bun was Harry’s gift to her.  No matter how well she cast the spell, the rabbit would be nothing more than a parody of itself, just as Harry’s frozen face was a parody of him.  She did not want to spend the night with such a cruel memento.  Instead, she waited until everyone was asleep and then sneaked back to the hospital wing.  This time, Madam Pomfrey found her quickly, and ten minutes later the matron, Ginny, and a house-elf walked back to Gryffindor tower.

Lessons resumed on Monday morning.  Hermione unsealed Ginny’s curtains and woke her up an hour before they were all to leave for breakfast, and the older girl talked her into having a shower.  Afterwards, Ginny put on her uniform, combed her hair without drying it fully, and then used the Alice band Ron had given her to keep it out of her face.

Potions was the first lesson of the day, but it had lost some of its sting.  Without Harry in the room, Snape spread his bile more evenly amongst the Gryffindors.  He spoke quite sharply to Ginny when she failed to complete even half of her assigned potion, but she merely nodded.  Five points from Gryffindor meant nothing.

“Can you believe Malfoy?” Ron whispered to Hermione as they lined up behind Snape to go to Herbology.  “He looks like he’s won the Galleon Draw or something.”

Ginny roused herself enough to look around.  As Ron had said, Malfoy stood at the front of the line smirking at everything in sight.  When he saw Ginny, his mouth quirked into an amused sneer and he leaned over and whispered to Pansy.  Within moments, all of the Slytherins were laughing and casting contemptuous glances at Ginny.

“Berks,” Ron muttered.

“Never mind, Ron,” Hermione said.  “They’re acting just like they always do.”

“Come on, Hermione!  They think that just because Harry’s gone, they . . .”  He trailed off and flushed deeply, his eyes on Ginny.

“Everyone else is acting the same way, more or less,” Ginny muttered.  “At least it’s normal for the Slytherins.”

“Hang on,” Ron said, scowling.  “No one else is as bad as Malfoy.”

Ginny shrugged.  “I suppose not.”

“Malfoy and his friends are doing it on purpose, Ginny,” Hermione said softly.  “The rest don’t know they’re bothering you.”

Not wanting to prolong the conversation, Ginny shrugged again.  They wouldn’t stop if they did know.

For a moment, Ginny imagined herself hexing Malfoy right there in the middle of the corridor.  She pictured him frantically trying to swat at the bats buffeting his head while wiping the blood and tears from his face.

The line of students began to move, and Ginny blinked away the daydream.  She fixed her eyes on the back of Hermione’s robes and followed them out of the dungeons.

The other lessons that day passed in the same way, and Ginny struggled to pay attention.  In Charms, when they were supposed to be making tea cosies crawl onto teapots by themselves, she barely managed to make hers twitch.  

By the following morning, Ginny was completely exhausted in every possible way.  She walked to double Transfiguration between Ron and Hermione, barely aware of her surroundings.  Though she was tempted to put her head down on the table once she sat down, she knew that she would not truly be able to sleep.  She barely remembered what real sleep was.

Ginny started out of her reverie when McGonagall addressed the class.  “Firstly, please place your third-year course selection forms on the table in front of you, and I will collect them.  I will review them later this week, and I will contact you if I see any conflicts amongst your choices.”

She strode around the room collecting sheets of parchment.  Ron and Hermione both produced theirs, but Ginny was at a loss.  Her form and Harry’s were in his satchel.  They had never filled them out, and in fact they had never really decided what they were going to do.  

We’ll just have to . . . Tell her.

When the professor paused in front of her, Ginny whispered, “I don’t have it, Professor.”

“Very well,” McGonagall said briskly.  “See me after the lesson, Miss Weasley.”

Ginny nodded and sank lower in her seat.  The Gryffindors and Ravenclaws were all staring at her again with brainless expressions of sympathy.

That could have been . . . a lot worse, Harry said.

I suppose so.

“As I mentioned before the break,” McGonagall began, placing the pile of parchment on her desk, “we will spend part of this term studying and practicing animal-mineral transfigurations.  We will spend one lesson each week on this spell, and by the end of term I expect you all to be able to make a good attempt at it.  Remember, however, that absolutely no-one is expected to complete this task in the first half of the term.  Now, which of you have brought your own animals?”

Ron pulled Scabbers out of his pocket, and two other students produced toads.

The professor nodded.  “Very well.  I have enough mice for the rest of you.  One animal per table, please.”

Half of the class moved to pick up caged mice from a side table.  Ginny, Hermione, and Ron remained seated with Scabbers on the table in front of them.

“Your goal will be to transform your animal into a simple, pewter water goblet.  The incantation for this charm is Animans Convertere.  As with all Transfiguration, you will picture your animal becoming a water goblet, and you will apply your magic to make this come to pass.  Begin by simply Transfiguring the animal’s skin or fur; remember that you will not harm the animal in any way.  Your Transfiguration should wear off after a few moments, and then someone else in your group may make an attempt.  Begin now.”

The professor patrolled the room, watching the students’ efforts.  Ron and Ginny leaned back, giving Hermione the first chance at the spell.  She stared at Scabbers for a few moments, scowled in concentration, and then tapped the rat with her wand.  “Animans Convertere!”

Nothing happened.  Scabbers took a few steps towards the edge of the table, but Ron caught him and put him back in the centre.  “Say,” Ron said, “his fur’s all hard.”

“Is it?” Hermione asked, her forlorn expression brightening instantly.  She petted Scabbers.  “It is!  Here, Ginny.  Feel it.”

Ginny dutifully poked the rat with her finger and found that his brown fur had the stiffness of a hedgehog’s spines.  “Yeah.  Good job.”

“You try it,” her friend said brightly.  “I bet you can do even better.”

That’ll be the day.

“No, you go ahead,” Ginny said, shaking her head.  She felt – or at least knew she should feel – Harry’s sadness, but he did not protest her decision.

Hermione scowled for a moment, and then she turned to Ron.  “You first, then.”

Ron did not change Scabbers at all, though Hermione said she smelled something a bit metallic.  At Harry’s urging, Ginny finally attempted the spell, but she got no further than Ron had.

They took turns from there.  By the end of the lesson, Hermione had managed to make Scabbers’ fur stiff and silvery.  Ron thought that perhaps he had flattened the rat’s coat a bit, which could be seen as a good sign.  Ginny had no success whatsoever.

“You’re not trying, Ginny,” Hermione said, her stern tone softened by the sympathy in her eyes.  “I’m absolutely sure you can do this.  You can practice more next week.”

She’s right, you know.  You’re really good at . . . Transfigurations.

Once the borrowed mice had been returned to their cage, Professor McGonagall opened the classroom door with her wand.  Outside, Mr. Filch waited with a sour expression on his face.  “Line up outside with Mr. Filch,” the professor said.  “I will take you to Charms in a moment.”

The other students filed out of the room, but Ginny stayed in her chair.  When the room was otherwise empty, McGonagall settled into the seat next to her.  “You never filled out your forms, did you?” she asked softly.  Ginny shook her head.  “Did you decide what you wanted to take next year?”

We didn’t really, did we? Ginny asked mechanically.

No.  If we’d had just . . . a few more minutes . . . that evening . . .

Ginny shuddered and cut off Harry’s thought.  “No. We were still thinking about it.  That . . . that night, the Headmaster asked us to think about taking Divination.”

“Divination?” McGonagall asked, her brows creasing.

Ginny shrugged and picked at the sleeve of her robes.  “He said it might help us to understand why we are the way we are.  Or were, anyway.”

We . . . are.

“I see.”  The older witch paused for a moment and then shrugged.  “To be honest, Ginny, the Headmaster and I have a slight difference of opinion about the worth of Divination, but I cannot say for certain that he is wrong.  What do you think?”

“That’s just it, Professor,” Ginny said, dabbing at her eyes with her sleeve.  “I can’t think.  I try to concentrate, but . . . even when I do, I don’t know if what I’m thinking is what we’d think, and . . . and I don’t want to be wrong, because then I’d have messed everything up.  I just don’t know what to do.”

Harry desperately wanted to disagree with her, but they both knew that he could not.

“Don’t worry, Ginny,” McGonagall said.  “It would be impossible for Harry to turn in his form until the end of the year, and you may turn yours in at that time, also.  All right?”

Ginny nodded.  “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”  She studied Ginny’s face for a few seconds.  “How are you feeling?”

Ginny shrugged and wiped her eyes again.

“I see.”  She raised her wand, pointed it at Ginny, and whispered, “Exhilarate!”

Optimism bubbled in Ginny’s mind.  She suddenly felt that Harry would wake up before too long and that, though it would not be fun, she could manage for them both in the interim.  She looked up at McGonagall and gave her a small smile.

“Just the gentlest of Cheering Charms to help you adjust,” McGonagall said.  “Your teachers will not treat you any differently during lessons, so you need to find a way to concentrate.”

“I will, Professor,” Ginny said, nodding.  “Thanks so much.”

“You’re welcome.  Come along, now.  It’s time for Charms.  Professor and student, yes?  You have probably just experienced a brief lecture.”

“Yes, ma’am.”  Ginny tried to settle her features into a vaguely beleaguered expression.

Hi, Ginny, Harry said as they paraded towards Flitwick’s classroom.

Hello, Harry.

Ginny flushed and watched the flagstones pass beneath her feet, ignoring his odd phrasing.  Do not.  I didn’t even have a shower.

The professor’s spell helped Ginny through Charms, where she managed to at least keep up with Ron’s spellwork.  As soon as the second-years sat down for lunch, Hermione gave her a significant look.

“What’s changed?”

Ginny shrugged.  “Professor McGonagall helped me a bit.”  She lowered her voice to a whisper.  “Just a tiny Cheering Charm.”

“Well then, how are you doing?” Hermione asked.  “I want a real answer this time.”

She deserves . . . the truth, Gin.

“Hermione . . .” Ginny trailed off and sighed.  “I don’t have a real answer.  I can’t explain it to you.  Harry’s here, but . . .”

“Is it like a portrait?” Ron asked, swallowing a mouthful of sandwich.  “Or a Chocolate Frog card, maybe?  It looks like Dumbledore or somebody, and it moves a bit like they do, but it’s not really them.  Nothing like the real thing.”

Ginny stared at her brother, astonished.  “That’s . . . that’s a good start, Ron.”

He shrugged.  “I talked about it with the twins a bit.”

Turning back to Hermione, Ginny let out a long sigh.  “So that’s it.  All I’ve got is a . . . a broken portrait of him in my head.  It’s him, I know it is, but . . . just a picture.”

I’m happy to have anything, though, she said silently.  Don’t doubt that.

Somewhere in the middle of History of Magic that afternoon, the Cheering Charm expired.  One moment Ginny was dutifully copying down every name Binns mentioned, even if she did not know which was which, and the next she realised that she had been staring at the same spot of ink for a long time.  She took a deep breath and held it.  Oh well.  It wasn’t real anyway.

The Gryffindor team’s Quidditch practices resumed under the watchful eyes of Madam Hooch and Professor McGonagall, and the twins made sure that Ginny attended as Seeker.  Ever since Harry and Ginny’s first practice, one of them had sat quietly while the other flew.  Soaring through the air on the Nimbus, Ginny could almost believe that nothing had changed.  She imagined that Harry was in the stands below with his eyes closed, helping her to concentrate on her flying.  When she caught the Snitch, he might take a turn, and she would be the one to fade into the background for a while.

The illusion crumbled when the practice was over.  Harry did not take a turn on the broom, and Ginny’s senses did not revert to their usual depth as he opened his eyes.  Harry was still a mere echo of himself.  She was still alone.

Come on, Ginny.  It was great . . . to fly again, wasn’t it?

I suppose so.  But I can’t just fly any time we want anymore.  I can’t even fly on weekends.  She sighed and stifled a sob.  We’ll probably have to start all over on learning to fly together.

Ginny waited only half an hour that night before putting on the Invisibility Cloak and sneaking out to the hospital wing.  As usual, Madam Pomfrey arrived moments after she did, but the matron only gave her a sad look and said, “Ten minutes, Miss Weasley.”

Sitting in a wooden chair, Ginny leaned her forehead against the side of Harry’s bed and gripped his thumb, trying to imagine that it was not a thumb at all.  She did not feel any less lost, but in a way she felt slightly closer to home.

“Ginny!” a voice whispered loudly.

She looked up. Hermione stood just inside the ward, wearing her dressing gown and breathing heavily.  She looked terrified and twitchy, as though she were ready to bolt at the slightest sound.  “Hermione?” Ginny asked, perplexed.

“What are you doing here?” Hermione asked.  “We’re not supposed to leave the tower alone, we’re not supposed to leave at night, and -”

The door opened right behind Hermione, who yelped and spun around.  Madam Pomfrey stepped into the room and closed the heavy door quietly.  “Good evening, Miss Granger,” she said, sighing.

“Madam Pomfrey!  I . . . That is, I . . .”  Hermione backed against a wall, unable to complete a sentence.  “I just . . .”

“Came to fetch Miss Weasley, did you?” Pomfrey asked.  

Hermione nodded spastically, her face flushed with shame.  “She wasn’t in her bed, and I just knew . . . so I . . . I thought I should bring her back.”

How could she? Harry said.

Ginny stood up from his side.  “Hermione!  You can’t go wandering around alone!”

“You did.”

“I used the Cloak.  You could have been-”

“Excuse me,” Pomfrey said sharply, cutting them both off.  “Neither of you should be out at all, much less alone in the middle of the night.  Miss Weasley, however, has shown up here every night, though usually much later than this.”  Ginny dropped her gaze.  “I will escort both of you back to your dormitories, but these night-time strolls must end.”

“I’m so sorry, Madam Pomfrey,” Hermione said.  “I only wanted to bring her back.”

“I applaud the sentiment, Miss Granger, but it is not an excuse.”  The matron shook her head.  “I will not inform Minerva this time.  I am much more concerned with your safety than your punishment.  I will not be so lenient again.  Now get under that Cloak, both of you.”

Hermione nodded frantically.  “Thank you, ma’am.”

Sighing, Ginny released Harry’s hand and picked up the Invisibility Cloak.  She and Hermione fitted under it side-by-side, and Madam Pomfrey summoned a house-elf again to be her partner as she travelled the corridors.  

She’s right, Ginny.  It’s too . . . dangerous for you, and it’s worse . . . for Hermione.

I had the Cloak, Ginny insisted.  A monster can’t hurt me if it can’t see me.

Once safely inside the common room, Ginny pulled the Cloak off of them and rounded on Hermione.  “You went all the way there alone, with nothing at all to hide you?  How could you?”

“I was worried about you!” Hermione said.  “I didn’t want you to get in trouble, and I didn’t want you to get killed!”

“Hermione, you’re Muggle-born!”

The older girl’s lips tightened.  “The monster doesn’t seem to care anymore, now does it?”

Ginny gasped as something clenched in her chest.

“I’m sorry, Ginny.  I shouldn’t have said that.”

“You can’t do it again,” Ginny whispered.  “It’s not safe.”

“I only did it because you did,” Hermione said gently.  “If you don’t do it anymore, then neither will I.”

I know . . . It’s better when . . . you’re there, Harry said, but she’s right about . . . the monster.

Ginny did not respond for a few moments.  “I’m sorry I worried you,” she said at last to Hermione.

Hermione sighed.  “You’re going to keep going down there, aren’t you?”

Ginny shrugged.

“If I find that you’re out of bed, I’m going to go looking for you,” Hermione said stoutly.  “Every single time.”

“I . . .”  Ginny reached up and wiped her eyes, which had begun streaming without her noticing.  “You’re a good friend, Hermione.  I don’t deserve it.”

Ginny!

“Nonsense.  You’re having a rough time, but you’re still the person you’ve always been.  You deserve everything good in the world.”

Listen to her.  She’s . . . smarter than we are.

Ginny bit her lip and scrubbed at her eyes.  “I think . . . I think I might sneak into Harry’s room.  Just for a bit.  It’s . . . it’s all I can do.”  She sniffled loudly.  “That’s where I’ll be.”

Hermione watched her for a moment and then nodded.  “Wear your Cloak, Ginny.  And for goodness sake don’t stay long enough for someone to find you.”

“I won’t.  I promise.”

“Goodnight, then.  You, too, Harry.”

Goodnight, Hermione.

After a quick hug from Hermione, Ginny rearranged the Cloak and tiptoed up the boys’ stairs.  The second-year dormitory was dark, and all three occupants were fast asleep.  Ginny crawled inside Harry’s four-poster and sealed the curtains behind her.

Use our . . . watch, Harry suggested.  And use our . . . Cloak.  No excuses.

Ginny found his watch amongst the pile at the foot of his bed.  Squinting in the dim light, she set the alarm for five o’clock and pushed the watch under Harry’s pillow.  Then she lay back, making sure that the Cloak covered her completely and that the watch was just below her ear.

The smell of the bedclothes, the warmth of the Cloak, and the sounds of the dormitory were all comfortable and familiar to her.  This was their bed, where she was meant to sleep.  Harry was missing, horribly missing, but her body had given up on weeping.  She lay in the darkness and hoped that the nightmares might be more bearable in her own bed.

The pillow muted the alarm on Harry’s watch, but it was enough to wake Ginny from a light slumber.  She had fallen asleep more easily in the boys’ dormitory, but the nightmares had not been any less terrifying.  A few hours of dozing left her tired and detached, and she stumbled as she climbed out of the bed and then returned to the girls’ room.

At breakfast, she sat amidst three of her brothers and Hermione.  She had given up on eating breakfast days ago, and apparently her friends had now given up on forcing her to eat it.  They talked around her, and she did not notice any of the words until Hermione said her name.

“Ginny sneaked out of the tower last night,” her friend said.  “To the hospital wing.”

“Why’d you have to tell them that?” Ginny asked, scowling.

“Because it was stupid and dangerous,” Hermione said.  She shook her head.  “And because you’ll probably do it again.”

Fred and George shared a serious look.  “Look, Ginny,” George said, “I know you want to visit Harry for more than an hour after dinner, but that’s really not a good idea.  Whatever got him could get you, too.”

Ginny’s answering shrug was quickly becoming her default response.

The twins leaned together, whispering in each others’ ears.  After a minute they separated, and George scowled as Fred spoke.  “Fine, Ginny.  We can’t stop you, and we know it’s important to you.”  He leaned across the table towards her, and Ron and Hermione bent forward to listen.  “You know that painting of a tree that’s down the corridor from the Fat Lady?  The one in a rainstorm?”

After a moment’s thought, Ginny nodded.  She, Harry, and Luna had watched the painting for a while one Saturday afternoon a lifetime ago.

“If you stand in front of it for a while and do whatever that tree does – sway in the wind, wave your arms like branches, that sort of thing - it’ll open for you.  There’s a secret staircase there that goes straight down. No wonky moving parts, no trick stairs.  Just a door on every floor.  At the bottom, it opens on the ground floor behind a painting of a giant anvil.”

George nodded.  “It’s right next to the doors to the hospital wing.  You can’t miss it.”

How on earth did . . . they find . . . that?

“Fred! George!” Hermione hissed.  “You’re not supposed to help her!”

Fred shrugged.  “Like I said, we can’t really stop her.”

“We’re pretty sure no-one knows about that stairway except us,” George said.  “If you have to go down there at night, go that way.  At least it’ll be safer.”

“And when you want to go back up,” Fred added, “just stand completely still in front of the anvil.  I mean really still.  It takes a while, but it’ll slide out of the way for you.”

George wrapped his large hand around Ginny’s thin wrist.  “But listen, Ginny.  We’d rather you didn’t go out at all.  Stay in the common room and read a book or something if you can’t sleep.”

“It’s not that,” Ginny said, pulling her arm away.  “It’s . . .  Never mind.  You can’t understand.”

“Maybe not, baby sister,” Fred said, “but we don’t want you to get hurt.  So give it a try, all right?”

“Oh, all right,” she said, glowering at him.

They’re right, Ginny.  I know it’s . . . a little better when . . . we’re touching, but I’d rather you were . . . safe.

She shook the idea out of her head.  Yes.  I’m sorry.

Ginny stayed away from the hospital wing that night, but the following evening she felt drawn to it once again.  Following the twins’ instructions, she used the secret staircase to get to the ground floor in a fraction of the usual time.  She crept inside the ward, keeping the cloak over herself, and sat in the chair next to Harry’s bed.  Closing her eyes, she wrapped her hand around the thing shaped like Harry’s thumb, and a tinge of comfort washed through her.

Go on, then, she said.  Tell me I shouldn’t have come.

You . . . shouldn’t have come.  He sighed, his voice a memory of some older sigh.  I’m glad . . . you came, though.  

Ginny leaned forward and rested her head against the mattress.  She did not know how long she stayed that way, but she started out of a light doze and realised that Madam Pomfrey had not arrived to escort her back to Gryffindor tower.  With a mental shrug, she let her mind drift again.  She would stay as long as she was allowed, and she would accept whatever punishment she might receive.  In the meantime, she could rest for a bit without fearing her dreams.

An hour before dawn, by her reckoning, Ginny woke and slipped back out of the infirmary.  The secret stairwell helped her back to Gryffindor tower, and when she gave the password the Fat Lady let her inside without even opening her eyes.  Ginny crawled back into her bed in the girls’ dormitory, relieved to find that all of her roommates were deeply asleep.

That morning’s Quidditch practice went better than the others that week, and Ginny was sure that she flew more smoothly – though not up to their usual standards - because she had spent most of the night at Harry’s side.  After Professor McGonagall and Madam Hooch escorted the team back up to the Great Hall for lunch, Ginny noticed the twins and Hermione looking suspiciously in her direction, but she ignored them all.

Ginny picked at her food as usual, eating only when Hermione’s badgering became unbearable.  Ten minutes before the mandated end of lunch, Hagrid waded through the rest of the students and stopped across from Ginny.

“’Ello,” he said.

“Hello, Hagrid,” Hermione said, smiling.  “How are you?”

“All righ’, I s’pose.  Wondered if any of yeh lot migh’ want t’ come down to my house fer a bit.  I asked Professor Dumbledore, an’ he said it was all righ’ so long as I took yeh there an’ back again.  Luna’s comin’.”

Belatedly, Ginny noticed Luna standing behind Hagrid, trapped between his bulk, the wall of the Great Hall, and the Gryffindor table.  She waved, smiling slightly.

“We’d love to,” Hermione said.  “Right, Ginny?  Ron?”

I think . . . That’d be great, Harry said.  We’ve spent too much . . . hours in the . . . common room lately.

Ron shrugged, and Ginny nodded.  “Okay.”

Hagrid led them all out of the Hall and picked up his crossbow from a shadowy corner near the main doors.  They walked down the hill to his cabin and settled around his battered table.

“Here yeh are,” Hagrid said, dropping a teacup in front of each of them and moving his teapot over the fire.  “There’s biscuits in the tin if anyone wants ‘em.”

“How have you been, Hagrid?” Hermione asked.  “We haven’t seen you in ages.”

“Yeah, been a while.  Been helpin’ with patrols, y’know, makin’ sure nothin’s on the grounds that shouldn’t be.  I’m the only one Dumbledore lets walk ‘round by myself, see, so I’m useful.”  He poured tea into each of their cups, sloshing a bit of it on the table.  “Question is, how’re you?  Must’ve been hard since . . .” His voice stopped suddenly, and he focused on the tea.

Hermione nodded as Ron studied the rafters.  “Yes, it has been.  But we’re doing the best we can, of course.  I think it’s good that we have lessons to keep us busy.”

“An’ you, Ginny?  How’re you?  Reckon you’re closer to ‘im than any of us.”

“I’m fine,” she said, lifting her teacup and taking a long gulp of the hot liquid.  Harry’s objection hovered unspoken in her mind, but they both knew that he would have said the same thing in her position.

Hagrid sniffled loudly and blew his nose on a huge handkerchief.  “Oh, yeh say it, but I know yer all broke up inside.  Tha’s me, too.  Why, I’ve known ‘Arry since he was jus’ a baby.  ‘E’s special to me, ‘Arry is.”

“Why’s that?” Hermione asked, her eyes glistening.

“Oh, well . . . my parents have been gone since I was yer age.  More’n fifty years now.  I knew from the start he’d have a hard road.  Poor Lily an’ James dyin’, an’ then goin’ off t’ live with them ruddy Muggles.  And now . . . now . . .”  Hagrid shook his head and dabbed at his eyes, his great shoulders shaking.  “Now he’s been Petrified!”

Luna patted Hagrid’s arm but did not say anything.  Ron stared uncomfortably at the floor, rather than the rafters, and Hermione wiped her own eyes.  

Can’t you . . . help him somehow? Harry asked.  He shouldn’t be . . . like this.

Ginny walked slowly around the table and took one of Hagrid’s hands with both of her own.  “He’ll be all right, Hagrid,” she said.  “You’ll see.  He doesn . . . wouldn’t like it if he knew you were so sad.”

Hagrid pulled Ginny into his arms and hugged her tightly as tears dripped into his bushy beard.  “Ah, yer a strong one, Ginny.  Yer bes’ friend in the world attacked, an’ yer tellin’ me it’s all righ’.  Bless yeh.”

Ginny did not respond.  She knew she was not strong.  She simply knew the right things to say to make Hagrid feel better.  In truth, she was sad, horribly sad, and as she held on to Hagrid’s quaking shoulder, she felt her tears begin to fall again.

“There, there, l’il Ginny,” Hagrid rumbled when she sniffled.  “We’ll get through it, won’ we?  ‘E wouldn’t like us to be all weepy, yer righ’ about tha’.”

She sobbed once and pressed a hand to her eyes.  “Sometimes I don’t know how to stop, Hagrid,” she whispered.

Hagrid patted her back.  “Me either.”

For a few minutes, the five of them sat in silence.  Then Ron cleared his throat and said, “Say, Hagrid . . . what’s this?”  He leaned out of his chair towards mound of silvery stones, one hand outstretched.

“Mooncalf dung,” Hagrid said, wiping his eyes and setting Ginny bodily in the chair next to his.  “It’s good fertilizer.”

Ron snatched his hand away and leaned away from the tall pile, and Hermione laughed softly.  His question broke the sombre mood in the cabin, and for nearly an hour Hagrid, Luna, Hermione, and Ron talked almost normally about what was happening at the castle.  Hagrid did not warm to the topic as much as Ron and Hermione did, but he was happy to tell them about his role in the castle’s security.  Luna spent most of the time watching Ginny, her pale blue eyes tinged with sadness even as she smiled her usual, faraway smile.

See? Harry asked.  This is . . . good.

The following afternoon, Professor McGonagall and Madam Hooch escorted Ginny and Percy from Gryffindor tower to the hospital wing.  The two siblings sat in chairs on either side of the ward, and for a long time, neither of them spoke.  Ginny held Harry’s hand, and Percy read a book he had brought, occasionally pausing to stare at Penelope’s face.

We’ll be okay, Ginny.

“Percy,” Ginny said softly, “why will it take so long to cure them?”

He closed the book around one long finger to mark his place.  “The Mandrakes must be fully mature before they can be used in the restorative potion.  Professor Sprout has been watching them very closely, and she says that they’re coming along as quickly as any she’s seen.  Nevertheless, if we try to harvest them early, the potion won’t work.  So we have to wait.”

“Can’t we get mature Mandrakes someplace else?”

“I wondered that myself,” he said, nodding.  “Unfortunately, Hogwarts is one of the only places in the world which cultivates Mandrakes.  They’re very difficult to grow, you see, and few magical locations have the necessary facilities.  We also need to use them when they’re fresh, so we can’t just use stores of powdered or dried plants.”

“This is all we can do?” Ginny asked.  “Just sit here and wait?”

“I’m afraid so.  Madam Pomfrey and Professor Sprout have both assured me that it’s only a matter of time.”

Ginny sighed and turned her unfocused gaze back towards Harry.  She had survived one week so far, but at least five more stretched out ahead of her.  How was she going to manage for that long?  She had not done any revision since Harry had vanished from her mind.  She realised that she had barely eaten or slept, either, but she could not bring herself to care about any of those things.

You can . . . do it, Ginny.  I know you can.

That night, long after everyone else had fallen asleep, she sneaked down to the hospital wing again.  Pressing her face into the side of Harry’s mattress and squeezing his hand, she cried silently for a long time.  She knew that he wanted to hold her and stroke her hair and tell her that everything was all right.  He showed her every memory she had of him doing that, but he could not do it.  He could only reassure her that it would all be over some day.

Minutes or hours later, Ginny heard the doors to the hospital wing open.  The curtains separating the victims’ beds from the rest of the ward parted briefly and fell closed again.  Ginny snatched Harry’s wand off of the nightstand, irrationally fearing that someone or something had come to finish him off.

The air shimmered, and Hermione’s head appeared, floating unsupported.  “You’re not supposed to be here,” she whispered.

“Oh,” Ginny said, relaxing.  She blinked slowly.  “I forgot the Cloak.”

“Yes, and that makes it even worse.”

Ginny shook her head.  “You shouldn’t have come.”

“Not this again,” Hermione said, her voice sharp.  “Just get under here, would you?”

Nodding, Ginny turned to put Harry’s wand back in its place.

Keep . . . the wand, he said.  Maybe it’ll help . . . in lessons.

She tucked the wand into the pocket of her dressing gown.  Then she closed her eyes and leaned down to brush her lips against his lifeless cheek.  Goodnight.

Her name echoed again with memories of past affection, but Ginny forced herself to ignore the feeling.  

Hermione sniffled, and Ginny turned back to her.  The older girl opened one side of the Invisibility Cloak and held out her other hand.  “Ginny, come on.”

With a resigned nod, Ginny ducked under Hermione’s arm and inside the Cloak.  They crept back to Gryffindor Tower in silence.