MetaFic

By the end of her second week without Harry, Ginny could barely remember feeling alert or happy or warm.  She stumbled from lesson to lesson, guided primarily by Hermione’s hand on her arm or Ron’s tall presence at her side.  In the evenings, she tried to revise, but she inevitably ended up staring blankly at a book or a piece of parchment until it was late enough to go to bed.

Professor McGonagall continued escorting Percy and Ginny to the hospital wing each evening, and Ginny returned alone under the Invisibility Cloak almost every night.  Touching Harry no longer comforted her as it had at first.  Instead, the time she spent next to his bed was the least unbearable time of each unbearable day.

Most evenings, McGonagall left Ginny and Percy in the ward and returned later to collect them, but on Sunday she perched in a chair next to Ginny’s.  After a while, as Ginny held the not-thumb and stared at nothing, the professor spoke in a quiet voice.  “You haven’t been sleeping, have you?”

Ginny shrugged, not bothering to turn her head or focus her eyes.  She found it more and more difficult to interact with anyone else as the days passed.  What was the point?

“Ginny,” McGonagall said, more firmly.  “Have you been sleeping normally?”

Tell her.  She wants to . . . Help us.

“Normal doesn’t work anymore,” Ginny said flatly.  “It’s impossible.”

“Yes, very well,” McGonagall sighed. “Have you been sleeping for at least six hours each night?”

Spurred by her professor’s persistence and Harry’s encouragement, Ginny tried to remember the previous two weeks.  She could not think of a single night when she had slept uninterrupted for six hours.  She was not sure she could remember four.  

She shrugged.  “Maybe sometimes.”

Tell her . . . never.

“I thought as much,” McGonagall said.  Ginny turned when she heard cloth rustling and saw Professor McGonagall pull a vial of familiar purple liquid out of her robes.  She pressed the bottle into Ginny’s palm.  “You may take this once every five days, no more.  I suggest that you use the entire dose at once, but if you prefer, you may divide it in half and use it for two nights.  You’ll have to ask Madam Pomfrey for each dose.”

Ginny looked down at the liquid sloshing in the vial.  “Okay.”

“Start tonight, Ginny. You need rest.”

“Okay,” Ginny said, dropping the bottle into her pocket.

McGonagall exhaled slowly.  Then she spoke in a soft but clear voice.  “Harry?”

Startled, Ginny turned to face the professor again.  “What?”

“Harry, I’d like you to make sure that Ginny takes the potion tonight.  Will you do that for her?”

Of course . . . I will.  You have to . . . Get some sleep, Ginny.

Ginny released his thumb and pulled her knees up to her chest.  “Okay.  I’ll take it.”

“Good,” McGonagall said.  “Thank you, Harry.”

“He says you’re welcome.”

“And what do you say?”

“I said I’ll take it.”

The two witches sat in silence for a few minutes until McGonagall spoke again.  “It is not healthy for you to avoid everything and everyone around you, Ginny.  If nothing else, it is adversely affecting your school work.  You need to try to focus.”

You have to . . . she remembered sitting at the edge of the pond at The Burrow, her small feet dangling in the water next to McGonagall’s larger ones . . . talk to her.

Ginny sighed.  “I’ve tried, Professor.  Honestly, I have.  But . . . it just doesn’t work anymore.  I can’t think well enough to do anything.”

“Then you must practice,” McGonagall said crisply, and Ginny suspected that the professor had planned the conversation ahead of time.  “Every Sunday, we will meet here, and we will practice magic.  If you can’t concentrate enough to perform the spells in your lessons, then we will start with something simpler.”  She pulled a spoon out of her robes and placed it on the edge of Harry’s bed.  “I would like you to Transfigure this spoon into a fork.”

“A fork?” Ginny asked, eyeing the spoon doubtfully.

“Yes.  Four tines, please.”

“Do I have to? I . . . I don’t think I can.”

McGonagall’s expression softened as she put a gentle hand on Ginny’s shoulder.  “I will not force you, Ginny, but I truly believe that it would do you good.  You’re falling behind in Transfiguration, and I am absolutely sure that it is not a matter of talent or skill.”

I think . . . She’s right.You can . . . Turn this spoon into . . . a fork . . . without half thinking about it.

Nodding, Ginny drew his wand out of the pocket where she carried it alongside her own.  Taking a deep breath, she concentrated as well as she could and tapped the spoon.  It rocked with the pressure of her wand, but it did not change shape at all.

“Try again,” McGonagall said.

For two long hours, Ginny worked to Transfigure the spoon.  When McGonagall finally told her to stop, she had managed to create a bowl-shaped, three-tined fork.  She knew that she should have been able to produce a perfect fork on the first attempt, but at Harry and McGonagall’s urging she accepted the progress she had made.

Percy had read quietly throughout the afternoon, and he made no comment as the three of them and Professor Vector walked back to Gryffindor Tower.  There, with Professor Vector waiting a few yards away, McGonagall sent Percy ahead into the common room and crouched down in front of Ginny.

“Thank you for working with me today, Ginny.  I know it’s not easy for you, but I hope that it can at least distract you.”

Ginny nodded.  “Thanks for helping me, Professor.  I know I . . . I haven’t been good for anything lately.”

“Ginny . . .”  The professor sighed.  “I have no idea how you truly feel.  But I believe it is a supreme act of strength for you to simply wake up each morning.  Please do not feel that I am disappointed in you.”

No-one’s . . . disappointed in you, Ginny.

Closing her eyes and breathing deeply, Ginny nodded again.  “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”  McGonagall drew her wand and pointed it at Ginny’s chest.  “Exhilarate!”

Ginny felt her shoulders straighten as the Cheering Charm took effect.  She was far from happy, but she suddenly felt as though she could be happy again someday.  She smiled slightly.  “Thank you, Professor.”

“I wish I could do more, Ginny, but you are most welcome.  I will see you tonight for dinner.”

That evening, Ginny settled into her bed with the Dreamless Sleep potion on her nightstand.  She had sealed her curtains out of habit, but she did not truly see the point.  She had nothing to hide without Harry, and Hermione would reverse the charm without hesitation.

All or half, do you think? Ginny asked, picking up the potion.

All.  That’s what . . . McGonagall wanted . . . you to do.

Shrugging, Ginny removed the stopper and drank the entire contents of the purple vial.  She felt the effects almost immediately and put the empty vial back on her nightstand.  Within a minute, she was fast asleep.

Ginny woke to the uncomfortable feeling of someone shaking her shoulder.

“Ginny!  Come on, you’ve got to get up.”

She forced her eyes open and saw Hermione leaning over her bed, an anxious look on her face.

“What’s wrong?” Ginny asked, her mouth dry and her voice raspy.  “What time is it?”

“It’s quarter to eight,” Hermione said, straightening.  “You looked like you were really sleeping for once, so I let you rest as long as possible, but now we only have fifteen minutes to get downstairs and leave for breakfast.  You really have to get up right now.”

With a deep sigh, Ginny nodded and sat up.  She had been deeply asleep for over eight hours.  In a way she felt better, but at the same time she desperately wished that she could have slept even longer.  Being roused so suddenly made her sluggish and disoriented.

Next time, maybe . . . You should . . . take it on a . . . Friday or Saturday.

Yeah, maybe.  Ginny realised that she had been staring at the Tower wall for several moments.  Bugger.  No time to shower.

With a final sigh for the sleep she was missing, Ginny got up from her bed and opened her wardrobe to get dressed.

In the final week before the Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, each team was allowed two practices.  On those days, Ginny was unable to visit Harry after dinner, but she continued to sneak into the hospital wing at night.  On the other nights, she sat by his bedside, occasionally trying to Transfigure the spoon that Professor McGonagall had given her.  By Wednesday, she had made little more progress with the spoon, so she just held the thing shaped like Harry’s thumb and tried to imagine that he was with her.

“Ginny?”

She looked up to find Percy watching her from across the ward.  His book was closed in his lap, and the fingers of one of his hands rested lightly on Penelope’s elbow.  “Yes?”

He met her eyes and swallowed.  “Do you love him?”

Ginny blinked at Percy, surprised by his question.  In her opinion, anyone thoughtful enough to ask would know the answer already, and anyone who did not know the answer probably would not think to ask.  Nevertheless, it was an easy question.  “Yes.”

“Really?” Percy asked, his voice quiet and even.  

What does he . . . think, you’re . . . making it up?

Percy shook his head and spoke again.  “I mean, not just in the way that children do, but really?”

She sighed.  “Yes, Percy, really.  I love him more than you could possibly imagine.”

“How do you know?”

His voice broke slightly on the last word, and Ginny realised that Percy needed some sort of reassurance from her.  She was not yet sure why, but after a moment’s thought, she spoke quietly. “Dad told me what love was, once.”

“You asked him?”

“More or less.”  The memory was strangely flat and dull in Ginny’s mind. Harry had been there, too, but his viewpoint was missing.  “He said that love is knowing that you care for someone more than you could possibly care for anyone else.  Knowing that no matter what happens, you’ll still be there for them, and they for you.”

Percy nodded slowly.  “But . . . how do you know?  How do you know that . . . that you’re caring as much as you possibly can?  How do you know that there can’t be more?”

“You just know.”

Her brother frowned slightly.  His eyes darted from side to side, but his fingers never moved from Penelope’s arm.

I didn’t expect . . . to ever . . . feel bad for him.

“Percy,” Ginny said in a quiet voice, “you’ve been here every day for months.  Every single day.  Is there anyone else you’d do that for?  Would you do it for me?”

He glanced at Penelope, his brow furrowed.

“This is it,” Ginny said.  “Sitting here, watching them, wanting nothing more in the world than for them to wake up . . . that’s love, Percy.”

Percy took a deep breath.  “What if it’s not?  What if I’m just . . . just doing what I know I’m supposed to do?”

Ginny wrapped her hand around Harry’s palm, her eyes closed.  “You’re thinking about it too much.  Knowing isn’t what matters.  You care enough to do it.  If you didn’t care, you’d have stopped long ago, never mind what you know.”

She opened her eyes and saw him nodding at last.  Then he swallowed again.  “I wasn’t terribly kind to her before.”

“No, you weren’t.”

Percy flushed and looked away from her.  “I wish . . . I wish I could make it up to her somehow.  Now, I mean.  I want to help her.”

“You can, in a way,” Ginny said, trying to verbalise the longing she felt from and for Harry.  “You can remember her the way she’s supposed to be.  Remember that she’s a living, breathing, smiling person, not just a . . . a thing you sit next to.”  She leaned forward and brushed her cheek against the backs of Harry’s fingers, wetting them with her tears.  “That’s what Harry wants from me.  That’s what Penelope would want from you right now.  That’s what she needs.”

“I remember,” Percy whispered.  “I remember every day.  It just . . . gets harder.”

Ginny nodded.  “I know.  And when she wakes up, tell her how you feel.  She’ll know you didn’t mean to hurt her before.”  I didn’t mean to hurt you.

After a long moment of silence, broken only by Ginny’s ragged breathing, Percy spoke in a stronger, clearer voice.  “I’m sorry this happened to you, Ginny.  And to Harry.  I’ll . . . I’ll tell him that when he wakes up.”

It’s okay.

“He knows.” She looked up and saw her brother stroking Penelope’s curly hair.  His face was dry and almost calm.  “I’m sorry it happened to her, too, Percy.”

After that day, whenever Ginny and Percy visited the hospital wing, he talked to Penelope.  Usually he read to her from one of his textbooks or essays, but sometimes Ginny caught him simply telling his girlfriend about his day.  For some reason Ginny could not quite identify, she felt achingly envious of her older brother.

The Saturday of the Quidditch match was clear and reasonably warm, and Oliver dubbed it a perfect day for flying.  He gave his usual rousing speech prior to the game, but Ginny barely heard him.  As the team lined up to enter the pitch, however, he put a heavy hand on her shoulder and leaned down to her eye level.  “All right, there, Ginny?”

Ginny nodded, trying to look energetic.  She had taken her Dreamless Sleep potion the night before, but it had only softened the edges of her exhaustion.  “Yeah.  Fine.”

“It’s just a Snitch,” Wood said, his voice low and his eyes intense.  “You’ve caught them a hundred times.  One more, eh?”

“Sure,” Ginny said.

“Good lass.”

Ginny began the game as they always did, flying in a simple pattern above the level of the stands.  Ogden, the Hufflepuff Seeker, flew in a similar pattern a few yards closer to the ground, clearly hoping to offset his disadvantage in speed.  Below them both, the remainder of their teams battled back and forth across the pitch.

As Ginny made a pass near the edge of the pitch, a knot of students leapt to their feet, waved their arms, and yelled loudly.  Glancing down, she recognised Hermione and the other girls she usually sat with.  Ginny was not sure, but she thought she noticed a gap next to Hermione.  An empty place where either she or Harry should have been.

Never mind that, Gin.  This way we can . . . Concentrate.

Ginny shook her head, both to clear it and to refute Harry’s words.

I know, he said, his discordant tones sounding lower and softer to her.  Nothing works . . . The same way.  But we can do . . . this match.

She cut across the length of the pitch, watching for a glint of gold against the green beneath her.  Suddenly she heard a huge gasp from behind her, and she turned sharply to see what had happened.  Ogden was streaking towards the ground at the other end of the pitch, where she had been only seconds before.

For a moment, Ginny did not move.  She could see the Snitch skimming along the wall of the pitch, and she could see the big seventh-year Seeker angling towards it.  

Ginny!

She threw herself flat over the Nimbus and launched into motion, but even as she accelerated she knew that she could not possibly be fast enough.  Unless the Snitch evaded Ogden in some miraculous way, he would reach it first.

The Snitch did not dodge quickly enough.  With Ginny still a dozen yards away, Ogden reached out and caught the golden ball, closing it tightly in his large fist.  The Hufflepuffs and Slytherins roared, but somehow Ginny could hear Lee Jordan’s commentary above the clamour.  “Hufflepuff win,” he said in a shocked voice.  “One-sixty to seventy.  Hufflepuff win.”

Ginny drifted to a stop, staring at the empty space where the Snitch had been.  I’m sorry, Harry.  I tried.

Don’t be sorry.  He paused for a moment.  The Snitch . . . must have . . . just appeared.  You’d have seen it if . . . it’d been there.

“Tough break, Gin,” Fred said as he glided to a stop next to her.

“Happens sometimes,” George added from her other side.

“Never to Harry,” she said quietly.

Fred waved his hand.  “Bah.  If he’d been here today, it would’ve happened to him, too.”

All three of them were saying the same thing, but Ginny could not agree with them.  She knew that if Harry had been on the pitch, or even if he had been there in her mind, he would have got to the Snitch first.  It was ludicrous to think that Ogden could beat them to the Snitch under any circumstances.  Everyone would surely know that she had simply failed.

That’s not . . . Right, Ginny, Harry said.  The Snitch . . . can go anywhere.  That’s part of . . . Quidditch.

Ginny shrugged and flew down towards the Gryffindor changing rooms.  All she wanted was to get off of the broom, out of her uniform, and away from the eyes of the other students.

The rest of the weekend was agonising for Ginny.  Her brothers and friends reassured her repeatedly that Ogden had caught the Snitch due to blind luck.  Dean Thomas was the first of several other Gryffindors who sought her out and said bracingly that she would surely catch the next Snitch in record time.  Ginny did not believe any of them, though, and she quickly grew tired of her housemates’ cheerful platitudes.   She was sure that when she was not within earshot, they were all saying that no matter how well she had flown the previous year, she clearly was not a suitable replacement for Harry Potter.  Privately, she agreed.

By Sunday afternoon, Ginny was so withdrawn that she barely managed to Transfigure the spoon at all, even after two hours of effort.  McGonagall did not comment but simply reiterated the same vague reassurances that the outcome of the match was not Ginny’s fault.  Ginny knew how much the professor cared for her, but she also knew how much McGonagall loved Quidditch.  She could not quite convince herself that the older witch was being completely honest.

On Monday, the Gryffindors spent the entire morning in lessons with the Slytherins and the Hufflepuffs.  As the Gryffindors and Slytherins walked towards the Potions classroom after breakfast, Draco Malfoy fell back until he, Crabbe, and Goyle were walking directly in front of Ginny, Ron, and Hermione.

“I wanted to thank you, Baby Weasel,” Malfoy said, looking back over his shoulder and smirking unpleasantly.  “On behalf of the Slytherin team, I mean.  We’ll be happy to have the Quidditch Cup where it belongs.  I might even keep it on my nightstand for a while.”

“Go away, Malfoy,” Hermione said dismissively.

“Sorry, Granger,” Malfoy replied.  “We’re all supposed to stay in line.  Crabbe, do you think they’d let us put an extra plaque next to the trophy when we get it?  It’s only fair to acknowledge Weasley’s contribution, after all.”

I wish he hadn’t . . . found those eggs.  He reeked, but he was . . . quieter.

The Slytherins’ nastiness was no surprise to Ginny, and it did not really bother her.  What grated on her already-raw nerves was the Hufflepuffs’ constant, bright-eyed excitement.  Every time she saw them that day, the Hufflepuff students were smiling and talking happily with each other.  She spotted Ogden in the corridors between lessons, and she was certain that he had not had as many fawning friends prior to the match.  Hannah Abbott – who apparently had not eaten her wand after all – went so far as to lean over to Ginny’s table during Herbology.

“Tough break, Ginny,” Hannah whispered.  “I’m happy we won, but it was a one-in-a-million match.  I bet you’ll flatten Ravenclaw and win the Cup.”

“Thanks,” Ginny muttered.  Too bad “I’m happy we won” is the only part she actually means.

After Herbology, Professor Sprout led the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs back up to the castle.  Just past the Entrance Hall, she paused for a few minutes to let the students visit the toilets.  Ginny waited in the corridor with Hermione, Ron, and a few other students.

“Ignore them, Ginny,” Hermione whispered.  “They’re happy their team won, that’s all.  It’s rude of them to talk about it in front of you.”

Hermione’s platitude grated on Ginny’s nerves.  Surely Hermione, of all people, should have realised that her reassurances were just as rude as the Hufflepuffs’ commiseration.

“I’m going to the loo,” Ginny said.  Without waiting for a response, she ducked aside into the girls’ toilets.  There, she went into the last cubicle, locked the door, and leaned against one wall.  She needed a few minutes alone, without anyone staring at her or whispering or laughing.

Other doors creaked as they opened and closed, and someone turned on one of the sinks.

“Ginny looks awful, doesn’t she?” one girl said.

Ginny sighed silently.  She should have realised that the girls’ toilets would not be a place to find peace and solitude.

“Wouldn’t you?” another voice said.  Ginny knew they were not her roommates, so she guessed that they were Hufflepuffs she did not know well.  “That was horrible to watch.”

“I know.  Can you imagine what Harry Potter’s going to say when he finds out?”

Bugger that, Harry said.  You did the best . . . anyone could have done.

The first girl lowered her voice conspiratorially.  “I heard that he might not be happy with her at all when he wakes up.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well . . . some people are saying that she’s the Heir of Slytherin.”

“Ginny Weasley?  Why would anyone think that?”

“Because she and Harry Potter were the first ones to ‘find’ Mrs. Norris and Penelope Clearwater.” Ginny could easily hear the scepticism in the girl’s voice.  “And we know it’s not Harry, because he got Petrified.”

“What about that first-year Gryffindor?  Colin something.”

“I’ve heard that she’s the one sent him down to the dungeons that night.  Maybe she set him up, you know?”

Another cubicle’s door opened, and Susan Bones joined the conversation.  “That’s ridiculous.  Ginny wouldn’t do that.”

She’s . . . all right, Susan is.

“How do you know?” one of the others asked.  “You saw when she duelled with Dumbledore.  She looked furious, and she almost got him.”

“But think about it,” Susan said.  “Harry hung the moon for her, everyone knows that.  She wouldn’t have attacked him.”

“That’s just it, though.  They were together all the time.  What if Harry found out what she had done, so she had to Petrify him to keep him quiet?”

Ginny’s fist clenched around the wands in her pocket.  How dare they?

They’re just being . . . Stupid, Harry said.  Ignore them.

“She’s been a wreck since he got attacked,” the second girl said.  “If she’s the Heir, shouldn’t she be happy that he’s out of the way?”

Ignore them.

“That’s the sad part.”  The first girl sighed loudly.  “I think she didn’t want to attack him.  She really likes him, you know?  But she had to because he was going to tell the professors what she’d done.”

“I still think it’s ridiculous,” Susan said firmly.  “Think about it.  If Ginny were the Heir of Slytherin, that would mean that all of her brothers were his heirs, too.  Why aren’t any of them controlling that monster?”

The first girl’s voice rose excitedly.  “I did think about that.  Look at them . . . Percy Weasley is completely hung up on the rules and everything.  If he had the chance to release the monster, he probably wouldn’t do it.  Those twins might do it for a laugh or something, but everyone knows how wild they are.  I don’t think they care enough to ‘cleanse the school’ or anything.”

“Hmm.  And Ron Weasley . . .”

“He doesn’t pay enough attention to anything, does he?  All he ever does is copy Hermione Granger’s notes and read Quidditch magazines.”

Sweat beaded on Ginny’s brow.  She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around her chest, fighting not to burst out of the cubicle and hex all three of them.

Just . . . breathe.  Ignore them.  They’re just . . . Stupid.

“But Ginny’s different,” the first girl said quietly.  “You saw what she almost did to Dumbledore, and I’ve heard that she doesn’t get along with the rest of the family.  If any of them were going to release that monster, I bet it’d be her.”

“I don’t believe it,” Susan said.  “It’s true she’s not like her brothers, and she is quite clever, but I just don’t think she’d do it.  Her best friend is Muggle-born.”

“But there’s evidence, Susan!  Remember that night the Ravenclaws were all attacked?  Seamus Finnegan said he found Harry’s robes with blood on them, just like the blood on the wall.”

“Yeah, but the Headmaster said that someone framed Harry for it.”

“Exactly!  I’ve heard that Ginny wears Harry’s old robes, and I’m sure she’s been in his dormitory before.  All she’d have to do is take off the bloody robes she was wearing, dump them in Harry’s room, and then leave.  Harry would never know, and Seamus would see exactly what he saw.  Harry would get expelled, and Ginny wouldn’t have to send the monster after him.  See?”

The outer door opened with a loud creak, and the girls broke off their conversation.  They began talking loudly about the day’s Herbology lesson, and their voices receded as they left the room.

“Ginny?” Hermione’s voice asked.  Ginny listened as her friend walked the length of the bathroom, and then Hermione’s feet appeared beneath the cubicle door.  “Come out, Ginny.  I know you’re just standing there.”

Her jaw clenched, Ginny released the latch and let the door fall open.

“What’s wrong?” Hermione asked quickly, backing away a step.  “It’s baking in here.”

“Nothing,” Ginny said.  “Just those stupid girls and their stupid gossip.”

“What did they say?”

“Never mind.”

Hermione didn’t . . . do anything wrong, Gi—

Ginny stalked out of the cubicle and out of the room, leaving Hermione to follow her.  When she returned to the corridor, she saw Susan Bones whispering with two other girls.  All three of them glanced up at Ginny.  Susan flushed deeply and looked away, but the other two paled suddenly and moved away towards Professor Sprout.  Ginny could not help glaring at them.

By the end of the day, everyone in the castle had heard the story.  They stayed away from Ginny in the corridors, just as they had for Harry.  At dinner in the Great Hall, she could plainly see knots of students whispering urgently and glancing towards her when they thought she was not looking.

Ginny could not maintain to her anger for long.  She tried, knowing it was perfectly appropriate for her to be angry, but the effort exhausted her.  She returned to the common room after dinner with her head bowed, trying to disappear amongst her taller housemates.

How can they think that? she asked as she lay in the girls’ dormitory that night.  How can they think I would do that to you?  Or to anyone?

But why me?  Why couldn’t they pick someone else?  She sighed into her pillow.  Someone whose life isn’t rubbish already.

Ginny knew that Harry wanted to do more.  He wanted to be outraged on her behalf and threaten to hex anyone who looked at her with silent suspicion in their eyes, but he could not.  He could only tell her, for the thousandth time, that their nightmare would end – someday.

Ginny spent several hours dozing at Harry’s bedside that night, and when she returned to the dormitory she did not bother trying to sleep.  Instead she lay on her back, staring at the ceiling and listening to the Hufflepuff girls’ words cycling endlessly in her mind.  The ignorant accusations almost completely drowned out Harry’s quiet suggestions that she try to sleep.  She was still awake when Hermione opened her curtains the following morning.  

“Come on, Ginny,” Hermione said quietly.  “We need to get ready for breakfast, and you haven’t washed your hair this week.”

Ginny rolled away from Hermione onto her side.  “I’m not hungry.”

“All right.  Then keep me company while I eat.”

“I’m not stupid,” Ginny muttered.  “There are fifty people out there to keep you company at breakfast.”

Ginny . . . Those people are not . . . her best friend.

“Fine,” Hermione said, a trace of impatience in her voice.  “Then get up because it’s time to get up.”

Ginny twisted around to face her.  “I don’t want to, okay?  Just leave me alone.”

“No.”

They stared at each other for a few moments.  Then Hermione closed her eyes, took a long, slow breath, and sank down onto the mattress at Ginny’s hip.  “Why don’t you want to get up?”

“You know why.  Everyone in the bloody school thinks that I opened the Chamber of Secrets and let out that monster and attacked all those people.”

“Did you?”

“No!”

Hermione nodded firmly.  “There you are, then.  Is that all?”

“It’s enough.”

“No, it’s not,” Hermione said, pronouncing each word slowly and distinctly.  “It’s going to take more than that to make you hide away.  You’re not a coward.”

Ginny answered with the only retort that came to mind, even though she knew it was silly.  “You once said I was.   Did you change your mind?”

“I was joking, and you know it.”

“Maybe I don’t.”

“Yes, you do,” Hermione said implacably.  “You need to get up, get dressed, and go down to the common room with everyone else.”

“I don’t see why I should,” Ginny said, her mood swinging from petulant to sad again.

“Because it’s what Harry would do.”

Ginny stared at Hermione for a few moments, and then she sat up and swung her legs to the floor.  “That was mean,” she said to her feet.

“It’s true, isn’t it?”

Harry did not say anything, but he did not need to.  Ginny sighed.  “Fine.”

I wouldn’t have been . . . happy about it, either.

“Come on, then.”

Hermione, who was already fully dressed and neatly groomed, badgered Ginny into having a shower, brushing her hair a bit, and then getting dressed for the day.  Ginny objected half-heartedly a few times, but Hermione always responded the same way: “What would Harry want you to do?”  She could feel Harry’s answer every time, and his inability to truly tell her for himself made the questions almost cruel.

Stop showing me what to do!  I know how to brush my bloody teeth.

Yes, I know, she said, deflating.

Breakfast was every bit as bad as Ginny had feared.  Absolutely everyone, as far as she could tell, commenced whispering when they saw her, and some of them actually leaned away as she walked past.  Ginny hoped that at least Hermione would leave her in peace, but the older girl insisted that she eat.  “You haven’t been eating well, Ginny.  It’s important, you know.”  And then, inevitably, “Harry likes breakfast, doesn’t he?”

In the end, Hermione cajoled Ginny into eating two pieces of toast, which left her feeling uncomfortable and faintly nauseous.  As soon as the professors signalled the end of the meal, Ginny jumped up from the table and joined the queue of other students near the doors, trying to put a few people between herself and Hermione.  She tried not to notice that the other students fell silent when she approached.

She’s only trying to . . . help you, Harry said.

I know she is.  I just . . . I don’t want help all the time.  I just want to be left alone.

But Ginny, Harry said in a fractured version of a gentle voice, you don’t like . . . being alone.

Professor McGonagall led the group of second-years to their double Transfiguration lesson.  As soon as they were all inside, Ron pulled Scabbers out of his pocket and dropped the rat in the middle of the table.

Ugh, not again, Ginny groaned silently.  Every week she had attempted to Transfigure Ron’s rat into a water goblet.  Every week her efforts yielded next to nothing, even with Harry’s wand.  Hermione had managed to turn Scabbers into a pewter rat figurine with a broad stand in place of a tail, which McGonagall said was excellent progress.  Even Ron had finally succeeded in giving Scabbers a flexible, metallic skin.  Ginny, however, had only managed to turn the tips of the rat’s fur silver.

“Ron, I think we should let Ginny try first this week,” Hermione said.

“Yeah, fine,” Ron said, leaning back in his chair.

Ginny shook her head.  “You go ahead, Hermione.  Maybe you’ll get it this week.”

“Perhaps I will.  But only after you have a good try.”

“Hermione . . .”

“Go on, Ginny,” Hermione said, interrupting her.  “I’m sure Harry would try.”

Ginny glared at her friend, her knuckles whitening around Harry’s wand.  She dropped her gaze to Scabbers, reached out, and tapped him as she spoke the incantation through clenched teeth.  Once again, his fur merely silvered a bit.

Hermione shook her head.  “I said try.  Not just do the motion and say the words.  I think that if Harry were here, he’d make a good faith effort.  He’d do his absolute best to turn this rat,” she jabbed a finger at Scabbers, “into a goblet just like that one.”  She pointed across the room at the professor’s sample.

You could at least . . .

“Fine!” Ginny snapped, shoving her chair back and surging to her feet.  She put the tip of Harry’s wand on Scabbers’ back, held it there firmly, and barked, “Animans Convertere!”

The rat’s body flowed upwards on itself, forming into the shape of a goblet and smoothing out to a dull, even silver.  The resulting goblet was nearly identical to McGonagall’s sample.

“There,” Ginny huffed.  Then she sat back down, slapped her wand onto the table, and crossed her arms tightly.

“That’s . . . that’s brilliant, Ginny!” Hermione said, her eyes wide.  “I knew you could  . . . but . . . that’s amazing.  See, Ron?  If the cup were a little broader, I think this goblet would be absolutely perfect.”

“Yeah, great,” Ron muttered.

“Do it again,” Hermione said, smiling across the table at Ginny.  “I want to watch how it changes.”

It really is a good . . . cup.

“No,” Ginny said flatly.  “You wanted a goblet, you got a bloody goblet.”

Hermione rolled her eyes.  Pulling out her wand, she tapped the goblet and said, “Finite Incantatem.”  Nothing happened.  She scowled and tried again, but the goblet did not change at all.  “Ron, you try.”

After a quick glance at Ginny, who ignored him, Ron leaned forward.  “Finite Incantatem.”  The cup wobbled from the tap of his wand, but it did not change.

“Were you trying, Ron?  Really trying?” Hermione asked.

“Yes, I was trying,” he said, frowning irritably.  “It just didn’t work.  Good job, Ginny.”

Professor McGonagall straightened from where she had been examining Michael Corner’s partially-Transfigured mouse.  She glanced around, noticing the other students’ focus on Ginny’s table, and then crossed the room.  “Excellent!” she said when she reached them.  “Very nicely done.  Whose spell is this?”

“It’s Ginny’s, Professor,” Hermione said.  “Only . . .”

Hush, Hermione!

McGonagall glanced at Ginny before turning back to Hermione.  “Only what, Miss Granger?”

“Only . . . um . . . she won’t change it back.  And we can’t.”

Ginny lowered her eyes, hating the feel of the professor’s stern gaze on the top of her head.  Her belligerence melted away. She knew precisely how McGonagall would view her refusal.

“Miss Weasley,” McGonagall said, “please reverse the transfiguration.”

Without looking up, Ginny retrieved Harry’s wand and tapped the goblet.  “Finite Incantatem.”  When the goblet did not transform, she scowled and tapped it again.  “Finite Incantatem!”

“One more time, Miss Weasley,” Professor McGonagall ordered.  “Focus on the rat, and keep in mind the details of its usual appearance.”

Ginny bit her lip for a moment, picturing Scabbers’ grey fur, his hairless tail, and his front paw with its missing toe.  Then she took a deep breath, held her wand against the goblet, and said, “Finite Incantatem!”

“I see,” McGonagall said, picking up the unchanged pewter goblet.  “Very well, then.  We shall simply have to wait.”

“Wait?” Ron repeated.  “Wait for what?”

“For the transfiguration to wear off, Mr. Weasley,” the professor said.

“But how long is that going to take?  What about Scabbers?”

McGonagall placed the goblet back on the table and gave Ron a quelling look.  “I am not certain how long it will take, Mr. Weasley, but I assure you that your rat will not suffer in the meantime.”

“But, Professor,” Hermione asked timidly, “can’t you fix it?”

“I suspect so,” McGonagall said.  “But if none of you is able to reverse the spell with a simple cancellation charm, then I will not be able to do it that way, either.  The steps I would take are very complicated and time-consuming, and I would prefer to let the transfiguration expire normally if possible.  It will be safer for the rat that way.”  She glanced at Ginny and lowered her voice slightly.  “If it has not reverted by this time next week, I will take the necessary steps.”

“Oh,” Ron said, looking down at the goblet.  “All right, I suppose.”

The professor nodded and raised her voice again.  “Miss Granger, you and Mr. Weasley may continue with one of the mice in the cage.  Miss Weasley, I believe you have completed your assignment for today.  Please observe your classmates and help them if you are able.  Ten points to Gryffindor for your success.”

McGonagall looked down at Ginny and gave a barely-audible sigh.  “And five points from Gryffindor for going about it the wrong way.”

Ginny shrank in her seat.  The professor walked away towards another table, and as soon as she was gone the whispers began.

“ . . . see that?”

“ . . . got her angry, I heard it . . .”

“ . . . just glad it wasn’t me.”

“Ginny?” Hermione said softly.  

Ginny looked up, fighting the urge to run out of the room.

We’re okay.  It doesn’t matter.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione whispered.  “I’m so sorry.  I didn’t mean to upset you, and I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.  I was just . . .”

“Trying to help,” Ginny finished as Harry said the same thing in her mind.  “I know.  Forget it.”

“I just knew that you or Harry would-”

“Leave it, Hermione,” Ron interrupted in a low voice.  “Stop badgering her about Harry.  You went too far already.”

Hermione flushed and dropped her gaze.  “I’ll go and get us a mouse,” she said, rising from the table and walking away on quiet feet.

Ginny looked up at her youngest brother.  He had pulled the goblet into the crook of his elbow, protecting it with his left arm.

Harry pushed a memory into her consciousness.  “. . . he either says the worst thing or the best thing, never anything in between.”

“Thanks, Ron,” Ginny said.  “I’m sorry about Scabbers.”

Ron shrugged.  “Just use someone else’s rat next time, will you?”

When McGonagall paused on the way to the Charms classroom to let the students use the toilets, Ginny once again slipped away from the group and locked herself in a cubicle.  Fortunately, no-one was talking in the restroom, and she had a few moments of peace to compose herself.

She leaned against the wall of the cubicle, letting the cool wood press against her forehead.  She and Harry had never lost points in Transfiguration.  Not once.  Professor McGonagall’s class was where they usually made up most of the points they lost in Potions.  Knowing that she had deserved the loss hurt Ginny even more.

She’s told me a hundred times, Ginny said.  I have to learn to be calm.

And it wasn’t anything serious.  Hermione was just being herself, trying to help me.  She felt tears forming in her eyes again, and she took a deep breath.  All I had to do was keep trying without getting angry.  Even if it didn’t work, it would have been better than having Professor McGonagall look at me like that.

I can’t do anything like this.  She dropped into a crouch, hugging her knees and leaning against the door of the cubicle.

I’m . . . proud of you.  I can’t . . . make you feel . . . That, but it’s true.  I don’t think I’d be able to do . . . half as well . . . as you are.

His words sparked an idea.  Quickly, before she or Harry could change her mind, she pulled out his wand, aimed it at her temple, and said, “Exhilarate!”

Ginny!

She blinked as the charm took effect.  It did not give her an optimistic feeling as it had when McGonagall cast it.  Instead, she felt only a sort of bracing alertness.  Her head felt clearer, and though she was not happier, the clarity helped her to ignore her sadness.

That was . . . utterly . . . Stupid!  You could’ve . . . done anything . . . to yourself.

She sighed.  He was right, but it was hard to feel too regretful in light of her success.  I’m sorry.  I truly am.  It would have been horrible for you if it had gone wrong, and I’d never want to do that to you.

Nodding, Ginny rose to her feet, straightened her clothes, and walked back out into the corridor.  She avoided Hermione’s eye, knowing that if the other girl knew about the charm or ever heard of it, she would scold Ginny for using it.  With or without the Cheering Charm, Ginny did not feel up to enduring a lecture from Hermione or being assaulted with a dozen more repetitions of ‘What would Harry do?’

Her half-effective spell lasted through Charms, and she cast it again before going to lunch to make sure it did not expire.  Harry told her that she was only hiding the problem temporarily, and she knew he was right. Still, the charm at least made it easier to be around other people.  At lunch, she ate a few bites of a sandwich without prompting as she listened to Ron explain to the older Gryffindors why he was carrying a pewter goblet with him at all times.  She shrugged apologetically when the twins heard whose spell had caused the problem.

By the end of the day, the repeated Cheering Charms had left Ginny feeling over-stimulated and slightly jumpy, but it was far better than the abject misery she had felt before.  She had even managed to get through a Potions lesson without losing any more house points.

Ginny knew that Harry was not entirely pleased with her use of the charm.  He tried to push his emotions forward, helping her to feel the depth of his worry.  They had each done the same thing dozens of times in the past, when they wanted to communicate more fully than even their words could, but it simply did not work for Harry anymore.  The concern they felt, which he tried to accentuate, was simply overwhelmed by their relief at having something to help them endure their days.

After dinner, Hermione insisted that she, Ginny, and Ron spend some time revising in the common room.  Ginny was able to renew the charm once in the bathroom, and a while later she did it again under the guise of getting a new quill out of her trunk.  She did not manage to escape again, however, before the second-years met Professor Sinistra and followed her up to the top of the Astronomy Tower for their weekly lesson.

Ginny reeled when the mix of haphazard Cheering Charms fully wore off.  She had been estimating the ascension of the moon with her hands, and only the fact that her arms were already outstretched allowed her to catch herself on the battlements before collapsing onto the roof of the tower.

“Are you all right?” Hermione asked.

“I’m fine.  Just lost my balance.”

Her sense of false calm was completely gone, and its abrupt departure made the emptiness in her mind feel deeper and more hopeless than ever before.  At the same time, the day’s heightened alertness vanished, and her mind and body quickly numbed with exhaustion.  She kept her hands on the stone parapet and leaned forward, bracing herself upright.

Hang in there, Ginny.

I’m so tired, she said, whispering in her own mind as she stared sightlessly at the dark lake below.  So tired.  I just want to be done with it already.

Ginny took a deep, shuddering breath.  Sometimes I don’t know if I can last another hour, Harry.

“Ginny!”

She blinked a few times before turning back towards the centre of the tower.  Hermione stood behind her, her arms half-outstretched towards Ginny’s shoulders.  “Yeah?”

“Come away from there,” Hermione said, her face oddly stiff.  “Come stand by me and help me with this chart.”

Sighing, Ginny joined Hermione.  The older girl looped one arm around Ginny’s elbow and pulled her closer, pushing a sheet of parchment into Ginny’s hands.  Then she began speaking quietly but with intense focus, pointing at the neat figures labelling each item on the chart.

Okay, Ginny said, the ink swimming before her eyes.  One little step at a time.

The following day, Ginny tried several times to cast her Cheering Charm.  She had a shower for the second day in a row, and she cast the charm right after she dried off.  After that, however, she never seemed to get an opportunity.  When she went to the toilets, Hermione went, too.  When she lagged behind the other Gryffindors as they moved between lessons, Ron and Hermione both stayed with her.  When she tried to duck away after Quidditch practice, the twins followed her, loudly praising her performance.  Even when she went to visit Harry for a few minutes, Hermione said that she wanted to see him, too.  Harry himself thought it was a good thing that Ginny was not using the Charm, and he told her that each time she tried to get away, but at the same time he suffered from its lack.

Finally, after dinner on Thursday, Ginny abandoned pretence.  While she, Hermione, and Ron were working on a Herbology essay, she simply sprang up from the table and dashed up the stairs.  Once in the girls’ dormitory, she whipped out Harry’s wand and pointed it at her chest.  “Exhilarate!”

Ginny, that’s not going to . . . Help . . . in the long-term.

The door burst open behind her.  “What was that?” Hermione demanded, panting slightly.

“What was what?”  Ginny took a deep breath and blinked a few times, silently revelling in the Charm’s numbness.

“You just did a Cheering Charm!” Hermione said, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her.

Ginny shrugged.  “So?”

“Did Professor McGonagall show you how to do it?”

After only a moment’s hesitation, Ginny nodded.

“No, she did not!  I can tell just by looking at you.”

That’s not . . . you being yourself.  You don’t need to . . . lie about it . . . to Hermione.  She’s . . . Our friend.

“What’s it matter?” Ginny asked.  “It still works.”

“Ginny, you don’t know how to do that charm properly.  You could really hurt yourself.”

“But I’m not,” Ginny said.  She sat down, but the strange energy from the charm made her stand up again.  “It helps a bit.”

It makes you . . . jittery.  Not happy or . . . really calm.  Just . . . focused.  Energetic.

“That doesn’t mean it’s a good idea.  Even if it makes you . . .”  She trailed off, and her eyes narrowed.  “You’ve done it before now, haven’t you?  That’s why you seemed calmer on Tuesday.  I thought you were just adjusting a bit.  But then you couldn’t do it yesterday, could you?  And that’s why you’ve kept trying to sneak away from us.”

Ginny did not speak.  She stood at the corner of her bed, absently bouncing her weight against the bedpost.

“You have to stop, Ginny.  It’s not good for you to keep using it over and over.  That’s why Madam Pomfrey only lets you take the Dreamless Sleep potion every five days.”

“It doesn’t matter, Hermione,” Ginny said.  “It helps me get through the day, and it doesn’t do any harm.”

Hermione pursed her lips and huffed.  “What does Harry think of it?”

“He likes anything that makes me feel better.”

That’s not all . . . I think . . . and you know it.

“Ginny, please . . .”

“We need to finish our essays,” Ginny said.  “My marks are bad enough without another incomplete assignment.”  Without waiting for a response, she left the room and went back to the table in the common room, where Ron was still apparently working on his homework.  A few minutes later, a blotchy-looking Hermione reclaimed her seat.  

For some reason that Ginny could not fathom, Hermione did not mention the Cheering Charms to her brothers.  Instead, Hermione followed Ginny wherever she went, and Hermione’s constant, disapproving glare kept Ginny from using the charm more than once or twice per day.  

Hermione’s attentiveness pleased Harry, which in turn annoyed Ginny.  He told her repeatedly that both he and Hermione were worried about her health, and Ginny believed them.  Still, she was certain that neither of them understood how hard it was to function, let alone be coherent, in her situation.  Even Harry, who felt what she felt, was not enough of himself to understand.

I can understand, Harry finally protested.  I really do . . . feel it.  But it’s not . . . Good for you.

I know you think that, and you may be right in some ways.  But . . . she swallowed heavily, you’re so hollow, Harry.  I don’t think you can even understand that you don’t understand things.

A memory flashed of him blinking, confused and hurt by her mother’s words.  I do understand.

Ron carried the pewter goblet around in his pocket at all times.  At meals and in the common room, he usually placed the goblet directly in front of him and glanced at it every few seconds.  Several times Ginny caught him tapping the goblet and muttering “Finite Incantatem,” but the goblet stubbornly refused to transform back into Scabbers.  Ginny felt distantly guilty when she saw Ron attempting to reverse the spell, but she consoled herself with the knowledge that Professor McGonagall could fix the rat if she had to.  Knowing that Ron’s pet goblet would eventually be an animal again, Ginny found it fairly easy to ignore her role in the problem.

The Gryffindors were all at dinner on Friday when Scabbers finally reappeared with a faint pop.  One moment, the goblet rested in front of Ron’s plate, and the next moment a rat lay in a heap on the table.

“Scabbers!” Ron said as several of the other students recoiled.  He picked up the rat and inspected him closely while Scabbers writhed in his hand.  Finally, satisfied that all of his pet’s limbs were functioning normally, Ron set the rat next to his plate.  Scabbers pulled a chip into his grasp and began gnawing on it slowly.

“Ron, that’s gross!” Parvati said from a few seats down.  “You shouldn’t let it sit on the table.”

“Give him a break,” Ron said stubbornly.  “He hasn’t eaten in days.”

Ginny watched Scabbers’ hairless tail for a few moments as the rat ate.  He seemed to be behaving normally, at least for Scabbers.  “I’m glad he’s back, Ron,” she said quietly.  Her last Cheering Charm had not quite expired, and she felt only vaguely relieved.

“Yeah,” Ron said, pushing the half-eaten chip closer to the rat.

That’s a . . . Good thing.  Ron looked silly . . . carrying around . . . a cup.

As Ginny and Ron both watched, Scabbers rose to his feet.  He circled around to the other side of the chip, pushed it away from Ron’s plate, and then settled back down on his haunches.   He began gnawing on the chip again, this time facing Ginny and glancing up at her every few seconds.

Ron chuckled gruffly.  “Reckon he knows who did it, eh?”

“Yeah, I suppose.”  Ginny dropped her gaze and returned to pushing her own chips around on her plate.

Maybe he’s not so . . . Stupid . . . after all.

“Well, that’s good,” Hermione said, turning back from talking to the twins.  “I’ll be sure to let Professor McGonagall know.”  She paused for a moment and then spoke more softly.  “You need to eat, Ginny.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Hermione sighed.  “When was the last time you were hungry?” she muttered.

Ginny knew that the question was entirely rhetorical, but she could not help answering.  “Fifteenth of April.”

Not long now, Ginny.  Soon everything will be . . . normal again.  You know . . . that, right?

She sighed.  Knowing isn’t what matters.

After dinner, Professor McGonagall and Madam Hooch escorted the Gryffindors back to their common room.  Then the two teachers waited outside for ten minutes, ready to escort students to the library if they wanted to go.

“I need to find a few books this evening,” Hermione said as she and Ginny climbed up to the girls’ dormitory.  “Would you like to come?  It’s much quieter there, so you might get more revising done.”

“No, thanks,” Ginny said, sitting on the side of her bed and staring at the window.  “I’d rather stay here.”

Hermione looked at her for a moment and then nodded.  “Okay.  You should at least ask Fred or George for tips on that Potions essay, though.”

Ginny nodded, but Hermione continued to watch her expectantly.  After a few moments, Ginny sighed and picked up her bag.  “Fine.”

The two girls went back to the common room, and Hermione followed Ginny to the large table where the twins and their friends had settled.  “I’m off to the library,” Hermione announced to the group at large.

“Right-o, Hermione,” Fred said.

“Leave a few books for other people, will you?” George added.

“I’ll try,” Hermione said, unfazed.  “Professor Snape set us an essay today, and I thought you lot might be able to help Ginny get started.  Then she can help me.”

That’s . . . Ridiculous.  Hermione could . . . do that essay . . . in her sleep.

Both twins nodded.  “We can definitely do that,” Fred said.  He cleared his throat and spoke in a high, singsong voice.  “The recipe for shampoo is simple, though even Potions Masters have been known to fail in its creation.”

“We can only attribute this phenomenon to the pleasing scents typically involved in the creation of shampoo,” George said.

“Which no doubt befuddle practitioners who prefer things to be foul and ugsome whenever possible.”

“’Ugsome?’” Angelina asked.  “What’s ‘ugsome’ mean?”

“Obvious, isn’t it?  It means Snape-like.  Or Snape-ish.  Take your pick.”

Angelina nodded.  “Oh, I see.  Snape-esque.”

“Exactly.”

George waved towards an empty chair.  “Sit, Ginny, sit.  You should be taking this down.  Start with ‘foul and ugsome.’”

Too tired to object, Ginny sat down and pulled out her Potions book.  The twins waved at Hermione, who shook her head and left the common room.

Somewhat to Ginny’s surprise, the twins did manage to help her with her essay.  They only gave her useful information in between long quotations from their soliloquy on shampoo, however, which helped to keep her attention.  With Angelina and Alicia both laughing almost non-stop, Ginny could not help smiling a little.  As annoying as they could be, her twin brothers really were quite funny sometimes.

And . . . helpful, for a change.  Maybe they should . . . teach Potions.

Shortly before ten o’clock, when Ginny had completed a rough draft of her essay, she packed away her things.  “I’m going to bed,” she announced.

“Bit early, isn’t it?” Fred asked.

She shrugged.  “I got my work done, and I’m tired.”  It was mostly true.  She was exhausted, as usual, and spending the evening with her brothers and their friends, all talking and laughing, had further taxed her mind even as it lifted her spirits a bit.

George frowned slightly, darted a look at Fred, and then shrugged.  “Well, suit yourself.”

Upstairs, Ginny dumped her books onto her trunk and changed into her nightshirt.  Then she perched on the edge of her bed and stared down at the wand in her hand.

You don’t need . . . that.

I’m not sure, she said.  It won’t help me sleep, but it will help me feel less . . . well . . .

Ginny sighed.  Yeah.  I’m sorry, Harry.  I know I’m not really alone, but I still feel lonely.

She knew how fervently he wanted her to agree.  Though she no longer felt the strong, instinctive urge to please him that she once had, she still desperately wanted him to be as happy as he could be in his phantom-like state.  Deep in a part of her mind that they never discussed, Ginny felt a bit like the mother of a terminally ill child.  Okay.  It’s not very late.  I’ll give it an hour or so.

Ginny put down Harry’s wand and stretched out on her back, letting her eyes drift closed.  After a few minutes, she realised that her fingers were clenched into fists, as though she were trying to force herself to sleep.  She relaxed deliberately, taking deep breaths and fighting to push away the feelings that pressed down on her.

She was not sure how long she lay there.  Once, she heard someone enter the room, move about for a few moments, and then leave again.  She thought she recognised the sound of someone peeking through her bed curtains, which made her suspect that it was Hermione coming to see if she was asleep.  Ginny carefully kept her eyes closed and her body still, not wanting to deal with Hermione’s adamant helpfulness.

If you’re . . . lonely, why don’t you . . . want to talk to . . . her?

A while later, Ginny heard Lavender and Parvati whispering to each other as they entered the room.  She listened as they changed for bed and finally settled down.  The girls rarely snored as the boys did, but she recognised the soft, deep breathing that signified sleep.

Ginny was sure that she had been trying to sleep for at least an hour.  With a stifled sigh, she sat up and reached for Harry’s wand.

Wait, Ginny.

Ginny saw the two of them settling into bed the night after her birthday party at The Burrow.  They had been exhausted from the day’s activities but still glowing with happiness.

That’s what you need.  Normal . . . sleeping.  Deep . . . good . . . sleeping.

I’ve tried to sleep, Harry, she said.  I’ve really tried, and I just took a potion two days ago.  What else can I do?

His words triggered Ginny’s memories without any effort on his part.  When she had been young, long before meeting Harry, she had sometimes decided she wanted company at night.  Not necessarily because she was frightened or sad, but simply because she was restless and wanted to be around people.  That was not really how she felt as she lay awake in the silent dormitory, but she had to admit that it was similar.

I’m too old for that, she protested.

I don’t think so.  It’s a . . . special circumstance.

Ginny bit her lip and opened her eyes to stare at the ceiling.

You want to, Ginny.  I can feel . . . That.

Fine, she said, sitting up and pulling open her curtains.  But if they’re not there, I’m going to see you, instead.

There was a pause in her mind before he responded.  Okay.

On a sudden impulse, she picked up the worn towel that had once been Bun-bun and carried it with her as she left the room.  Barefooted and silent, she crept down the stairs and peered into the common room.  Hermione was hunched over a table with a short stack of books at her elbow, and a few other students were still talking or reading in clusters.  All of them seemed to be engrossed in their own activities, and none of her brothers were there.

Ginny tiptoed quickly from the girls’ stairs to the boys’.  Then she climbed up to the fourth floor and stopped facing the door on that landing.  Isn’t this completely silly?  What about Lee?

Holding her breath, Ginny pushed open the door to the twins’ room.  The interior was dark, and all three boys had their curtains open.  They were all asleep.

There, see?

She slipped into the room and closed the door behind her.  Then she crossed to George’s bed and knelt at its edge.  “Georgie?” she whispered as quietly as she could.  He did not stir, so she reached out and laid her hand very gently on his out-flung arm.  “Georgie?”

George shook his head slightly and opened his eyes, blinking.  “Wha’?”

Ginny swallowed and spoke in a slightly louder whisper.  “Georgie.”

His head turned towards her, and his eyes focused.  “Ginny?”

“Hi,” she said.

He stared at her for a few moments and then wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.  “Can’t sleep?”

It was a very old conversation, and Ginny’s eyes welled up when he responded just the way he always had.  “Yeah.  Can you keep me company?”

He started to nod, but then he froze, grinning.  “Do I have to tell you the story of the Boy-Who-Lived?”

Ginny gasped, half laughing and half sobbing.  “No, not anymore.”

“I will if you want.”

“It’s not a happy story,” she said, shaking her head and wiping her eyes.

“Who’re you talking to?” Fred asked groggily from the next bed.

“Baby sister,” George said.  “She can’t sleep.”

“Oh.  You got it?”

“Yeah.”

“’Kay.”  After a short pause, Fred said, “Wait, hang on.”

Ginny looked up and watched as Fred picked up a stray ball of parchment from his bedside table and lobbed it at Lee, whose bed was on Fred’s other side.  

The dark-skinned boy started and raised his head.  “What?”

“D’you mind if Ginny stays a while?” Fred asked, pointing across his body at George and Ginny.

Lee sat up a bit more and met Ginny’s eyes for a moment.  “Nah, s’fine.”  He picked up a t-shirt from the floor, pulled it on, and then fell back onto his pillow.

“Thanks.”  Fred turned back to George.  “Had to ask.  Goodnight.”

“’Night, Fred,” Ginny whispered.

George slid over to the edge of his bed, and Ginny climbed up next to him.  As she curled up on her side with her back to him, he threw a blanket over her and tucked her in.  She rolled up her towel and used it as a pillow, inhaling the lingering smell that combined the floral aroma of her shampoo and the slightly spicy scent of Harry’s body.

They lay quietly for a few minutes, and Ginny appreciated George’s warmth at her back.  They were barely touching, even in the small bed, but it was comforting to know that he was there.

“You okay?” George whispered eventually, his voice so quiet that even Ginny could barely hear it.

She nodded.  “Yeah.  I’m sorry for waking you.”

“You come up here whenever you need to.  I mean it.  Anytime.”

“Thanks.”

He patted her upturned shoulder, and a few minutes later he began to snore softly.

See?  I knew it would be . . . Okay.

Ginny could not contain a very small smile.  You were right.  But he’s not you.

Their banter faded as quickly as it had started.  George was being very tolerant of a sister who really was too old for this, and Ginny loved him for that.  Still, his generosity gave her only a fraction of the contentment that she had always felt when Harry was around.

Not too much . . . longer, Ginny, he said.  This is . . . Okay . . . for now.

To her surprise, Ginny found herself drifting into a natural sleep.  Goodnight, Harry.

Ginny woke to the feeling of someone gently tucking her hair behind her ear.  She opened her eyes, expecting to find George or Fred, but instead she saw Professor McGonagall’s face hovering a few inches in front of her.  “Prof-?”

McGonagall laid a finger across her own lips.  “Go down to the common room, Ginny,” she whispered.

Ginny noticed the expression of grave sadness on her professor’s face, and she began to obey instantly.  “Is it Harry?” she asked as she climbed out of George’s bed.

“No.  Go on downstairs.”

Nodding, Ginny picked up her towel and crossed to the door, which was half-open.  As she started down the stairs, she heard Professor McGonagall rousing George.

What’s . . . going on?  Why does she . . . want us . . . Downstairs?

Professor Flitwick and Madam Hooch were waiting in the common room next to the portrait hole.  Both had their wands out, and they watched Ginny in silence as she stopped and stared at them.  Before she could decide what to say or ask, she heard movement on the stairs behind her, and Fred and George emerged with Professor McGonagall.

“Sit, please,” McGonagall said in a quiet voice.  She gestured to the sofa in front of the fire, and the three siblings crossed to it.  Ginny sat in the open space the twins left between them, folding her legs beneath her and draping her towel across her knees for warmth.  The professor roused the fire with a flick of her wand, and then she perched on the edge of one of the armchairs nearby.

“What is it, Professor?” Fred asked.

McGonagall sighed and seemed to steel herself.  “A few minutes ago, Madam Pomfrey found Hermione Granger outside the doors of the hospital wing.  She has been Petrified.”

“What?!” George asked, straightening abruptly.  “Why was she-”  He stopped abruptly and turned to Ginny.

“No,” Ginny said, falling forward and gasping for breath.  “No, no . . . please, no . . .”

No . . . not Hermione . . .

Ginny felt as though something hot and horrific were growing and flexing inside her body, and she was sure that she would explode from the pressure of it.  Trembling violently, she wrapped her arms around her waist and fought desperately to hold herself together.

Professor McGonagall crouched on the sofa in front of Ginny and tilted her face up.  “What is it, Ginny?”  When Ginny only shook her head, keening softly, the older woman put her hands on Ginny’s shoulders.  “Please, Ginny.  Tell me what you know.”

She shouldn’t . . . but . . . She said . . . Oh, no . . .

Ginny turned towards Fred, silently pleading with him as another tremor overcame her.

“Erm,” Fred began, a wretched look of misery on his face.  “Ginny sometimes sneaks down to the hospital wing at night to visit Harry.  Hermione found out, and she . . . oh, bloody hell.  Ginny was with us.”

We didn’t . . . tell her.  We didn’t . . .

“Hermione swore she’d go fetch Ginny every time it happened,” George finished in an agonised whisper.  “She’s done it half a dozen times, at least.  She must have thought Ginny was there tonight.”

The room was silent for a few moments aside from Ginny’s whimpers and ragged breathing.  Finally McGonagall spoke.  “You mean to say that Miss Weasley has been going to the hospital wing alone, after curfew, and Miss Granger has been going alone to retrieve her?”

At the sound of her surname, Ginny began to sob into her hands.

Don’t . . . it’s not . . .

One or both of her brothers must have nodded.  “And you knew about this?” McGonagall asked.

“Oh, Merlin,” George said.  “Yes, we knew.  We just . . . we’ve never been able to stop Ginny from doing what she wants, so . . .”

“That does not mean you should not try!” McGonagall said, her voice sharp as she rose to her feet.  “Or you should tell someone!  You should have told me!”

Ginny choked back a wail and raised her head.  “I’m so . . .  so sorry, Professor.  It’s all my fault.  They told me not to go, they really did.  But I . . . I can’t ever sleep . . . and I just wanted to see Harry and . . . and . . .” Her throat closed again, and she dropped her face back into her hands.  You did this! her mind screamed at her.  She knew it was her own voice, not Harry’s.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Ginny?” McGonagall asked, her voice softer and full of disappointment.

“Because . . .”  Ginny choked and whimpered, “You wouldn’t have let me go.”

She was right.  We were right.  But . . .

“I have always done absolutely everything I could for you,” the professor said quietly.  “I would have found a way to help.  I want to help you, Ginny.”

Ginny nodded helplessly, refusing to look up.  “I know.  It sounds so stupid now.”  She drew in a shaky, wailing breath.  “Poor Hermione.  I’m so sorry.  I’m so sorry!”

Damn it, no!  You don’t . . . deserve . . . This.  It’s not . . . fair!  It’s not . . . right!

The cushions on her left heaved, and then Professor McGonagall pulled Ginny into her arms.  Knowing immediately that the professor had forgiven her, Ginny collapsed into tears as her grief and regret overcame her at last.

Harry pushed memory after memory into their mind, straining desperately to find some way to add his comfort.  Nothing worked.  The memories could not penetrate the barricade of grief and regret that consumed Ginny’s consciousness.

She did not know how long they all sat in front of the fire.  She cried incoherently into McGonagall’s dressing gown, and her brothers occasionally patted her arm or her knee.  The older woman stroked her hair, whispering reassuringly that it was not Ginny’s fault.   Nevertheless, Ginny knew that Hermione had been Petrified entirely because of her own stupidity.

“Can we go and see her?” George asked.  “She deserves that.”

“Not tonight, Mr. Weasley,” McGonagall said.  “The Headmaster and the rest of the staff are once again searching the castle, and additional security measures are being put into place.  I will escort you all to the hospital wing in the morning.”

Eventually, Ginny stilled.  Her grief was no less immediate, but her body could not cry any more.  Professor McGonagall gave her a handkerchief to wipe her face, and then the tall witch rose from the sofa.  “You absolutely must not leave this tower without authorisation and escort,” she said firmly, looking between the three of them.  “From now on, you will be in danger from the monster, and you may well be in danger from the guards we must employ to protect us from the monster.  Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Professor,” Fred said seriously.  “We’ll tie her down if we have to.”

You’re not going . . . anywhere.  Right?

Ginny sniffled and nodded.  “I won’t leave.  Not at all.”

“Wait, you mean the school’s staying open?” George asked.

“For now, Mr. Weasley.  I do not agree with that decision, but I will do everything in my power to keep you all safe until the Board of Governors come to their senses.”

Ginny finally looked up and met McGonagall’s eyes.  “I’m so sorry, Professor.”

“I know you are, Ginny,” she said gently.  “What’s done is done.  You should look forward to the day when we may revive both Harry and Hermione.”

Ginny nodded, but her own voice still echoed in her mind.  You did this!

Harry was silent for a moment.  No one . . . blames you.

“I’ll see you all in the morning before breakfast,” McGonagall said.  “Please do not tell the other students what has happened before then.”

Ginny looked up again, puzzled.  “What about Parvati and Lavender?”

“They are both asleep,” McGonagall said.  “All things considered, I would prefer to let them rest and find out in a few hours.  I only woke you because I thought you might need a bit of warning.”

Ginny nodded.

“Try to go back to sleep.”  She lowered her voice.  “You should come down to the common room from your own dormitory tomorrow morning, Ginny.”

“Yes, Professor.”

“Goodnight, then.  Take care of each other.”

Tell her.  Tell her . . . Right now.

“Professor?” Ginny said weakly.  The older woman stopped.  “Harry says . . . he doesn’t have the words he wants, but he says he won’t let me go to the hospital wing anymore.  He thinks he can stop me if he has to.”

McGonagall’s lips tightened, and she blinked rapidly.  “Good.  Be diligent, Harry.”

She crossed the room to the portrait hole, where Professor Flitwick and Madam Hooch waited.  They all stepped out of the tower, and the portrait closed softly behind them.

“Bloody hell,” Fred said into the silence of the common room.

Ginny did not know what to do.  She stared numbly into the fire, barely aware of her brothers talking around her.  Since Harry had been attacked, she had found it hard to function in even the most basic ways.  Hermione had made sure she got up every morning, ate something every day, and did not fall too far behind in her lessons.  Hermione had worked tirelessly to make sure that Ginny kept living and preparing for Harry’s return.  Now, because Ginny had not bothered to think of her most loyal friend, Hermione had been Petrified, too.

You did this!

Fred knelt in front of Ginny and put his face in the path of her sightless gaze.  “C’mon, Ginny.  She said you had to come out of the girls’ room in the morning, but that doesn’t mean you have to be there all night.  We’ve still got room for you.”

He’s right.  Go with them.

Ginny did not react.  After a moment, her brothers pulled gently on both of her shoulders until she stood up.  They led her across the common room, half-supporting her as she staggered blindly.  The stairs passed in front of her eyes, but all she could see was Hermione putting food on her plate.  Hermione pressing her hairbrush into her hands in the mornings.  Hermione telling her, over and over again, that Harry would be all right.

Ginny sank onto the stairs as her body shook with fresh sobs.

“Shhh,” Fred said soothingly.  Then he slid his hands beneath her and lifted her into his arms.  They set off up the stairs again, and Ginny instinctively wrapped her arms around Fred’s neck, her face pressed tightly against his shoulder.

We’ll be okay.  We’ll . . . all be okay.

“Merlin, Ginny,” Fred whispered.  “Sometimes I forget how small you are.”

Ginny could not stop crying.  She had never felt so small in her life.