The large white owl pinwheeled down from the winter sky as Ginny hurried along the snowy back alley behind King's Road. She paused to glance up at the magnificent bird, even though she knew that she needed to continue to her destination as quickly as possible. This slipstream Apparition point was very tricky. If she didn't step through it at exactly the right time, she could miss the only opportunity to travel just the right amount so that she could pause halfway between the worlds and stay there for half an hour or so.

But there was something familiar about that owl, and it nagged at her like the hand of a child plucking at her sleeve, trying to coax her back to a place it wanted to go again.

Or maybe the uncomfortable feeling was just the knowledge that what she was about to do was not such a great idea, and she did know that. But the desire to do it again and again had the irresistible pull of an addiction. She knew it was probably bad for her and maybe even for everybody else involved, but she couldn't stop.

Or maybe it was just that she didn't want to.

She shook off the circular tangle of thoughts and pushed open the red door that held the small alcove where she was headed.

"You're here again," said Ron.

Ginny pressed close to the misty barrier that separated her and her brother, nodding.

He made a gesture that was very like shoving his hands into his pockets. "Aren't you going to get in trouble, Gin? Isn't somebody going to figure this out at that ghost hunter place where you work?"

She squirmed uncomfortably. "It's fine, Ron. And it's the Bureau of Spirit Resolutions. How are you?"

He shrugged. "Not too bad. It's a bit dull around here, that's the main problem."

"Aren't there any other ghosts to talk to?"

"Oh, yeah. Loads of them hang out here, new ones coming in and out all the time. But the problem is that nobody ever seems to stick around long. it's like a waystation. A lot like the place Harry told me about once, actually. You know, where he went with Dumbledore during the last battle—" He broke off.

Ginny remembered Harry's stories all too well. She also remembered what had happened during the last battle, and how many had died. How many she'd lost. Ron, George, Charlie and Bill. Her father. Her mother, in a way. Molly Weasley had never been the same afterwards. She wondered how Ron felt about the reminder, but he'd never really spoken about it yet, and she didn't feel that she had the right to say a word on the subject until he did.

"Do you ever see, uh… anyone we know?" she asked, as tactfully as she could.

"If you mean any of—us—no," said Ron. He sounded more thoughtful than pained. "I've seen Dennis Creevey, though. Can you tell Colin about that? He seemed a bit lost."

"I wish I could bring Colin here," sighed Ginny. "I'm the only one who can get this close, though."

"Dennis moved on pretty quickly anyway," said Ron. "I wish I could have given him a bit more direction, but it's not as if I know where any of this ends up." He swept a hand around the huge space, filled with fog and dimly illuminated by a sourceless light.

"But you're okay?" she asked.

He smiled, and it was her brother's old lopsided smile, the one she'd known as long as she could remember anything at all. "Now that you're here, I am. How's the job going, anyway?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Those awful Victorian Edgington-Smythes never did end up paying anything, not after the great-uncle's ghost said that the nephew murdered him. And that Crain family in America with the horrible Hill House in 2018, don't even get me started on them!"

"It must be strange, to be able to go into the future and the past," said Ron. "Do you ever wonder what's happening with your future self, Gin?"

She thought about that. "Sometimes. But the thing is that these are all alternate realities anyway—we bring them into line with ours by fixing or changing what the ghosts are doing. So I wouldn't know what's going to happen to the real me anyway." She didn't add that she was always afraid her future self would have married Harry, had several of his children, given up all her own dreams, and been completely miserable.

They talked for another half hour, speaking hurriedly by the end, both knowing that their time together was drawing to a close. Finally, the torch stuck high in the wall above Ginny's head began to flicker in a regular pattern, and she knew that time was almost up.

"I have to go, Ron," she said. "But I'll come back as soon as I can. Wait for me!"

He nodded, and his smile turned bittersweet.

Ginny walked home slowly through the side streets near the art center, avoiding any main thoroughfares. Laverstock was quiet and still by this hour of the night as long as she stuck to the side streets; she rarely ran into anyone this late, and she was alone with her thoughts. How likely was it, really, that she'd get caught in one of her surreptitious visits to Ron? She had the right to be at that Apparition point, after all. She'd never even run into another agent using it. But sooner or later, it was bound to happen…

A draft of cold air touched her face, followed by the brush of a feathered wing. Ginny looked up to see the same eagle owl flying around her head.

She looked up at the owl again, trying to place that nagging sense of familiarity. It was a beautiful bird, large and strong, tufts of white feathers above its grey eyes. It bobbed a quizzical look at Ginny, and in that moment, she realized what she should have figured out before. The owl carried a tiny scrolled parchment in its claw, which it held out to her. And it hovered above her in the chill December air. The owl was actually there for her.

She really should take the parchment. It probably had some last-minute information from the head of her department in the bureau, details about possible jobs, perhaps. Or maybe a frantic dashed scribble from Colin about the rent that was due that day, although that theory didn't make much sense. She already knew how precarious their financial situation was.

But somehow, she couldn't quite do it. She stared up at the owl. And she saw that its claws were transparent. So was its feathered body. Only the parchment was completely solid.

She was looking at the ghost of an owl. A chill swept through her that had nothing to do with the cold wind.

Before she could think twice, Ginny had turned and started to hurry away. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the owl circle and then pause, but it didn't follow her.

She mentally scolded herself all the way back. It didn't make sense for her to run, like a stupid child afraid of ghosts. So what if this was a ghost owl? She'd heard of those, although she'd never seen one. They only carried messages from the spirit world, if she remembered correctly.

For all she knew, one of the ghosts she'd been dealing with recently was sending her a note. Nell Crain pleading with her to take the Hill House case again, maybe. I really hope not! As much as Ginny needed the money, she'd turned down the job because the family situation was hopelessly mucked up. Even without going to the house, she knew that the haunting likely consisted of a concentration of Obscurus, all desperately seeking human hosts. While the house was cursed in a way, she supposed, the Crain family itself was the real curse, because all of its members were so willing to fall under the spell of these energy vampires. The same thing was undoubtedly true of all the other ghosts that had ended up in the same house since it had been built.

She could have explained this point to the Crains. They were all people with a certain level of magical powers, not quite enough to keep them from flying under the radar in America, none of them ever receiving their Livermorny letters. It wasn't as if they were non-majs—ugh, as much as she hated that American term—and she wasn't required to keep any knowledge of the magical world from them. But Steven, the older brother, had ranted about how they all had untreated adult-onset schizophrenia and there wasn't any magic involved. Shirley, the oldest sister, had flatly refused to believe in any of it. Luke, the youngest brother, was in rehab. Theo, the middle sister who'd originally contacted the agency, had just kept on steadily drinking straight whiskey throughout the entire interview

In the end, she'd been forced to use a soft Oblivation spell on them all. None of them would even remember speaking to her. There wasn't much she could do to help people like that, the ones who were really only haunting themselves.

So it was probably nothing. She really should have read the parchment. She should turn back now and try to find the owl. That shouldn't be too difficult, because it was clearly looking for her.

But Ginny only hurried down the back streets towards her flat on a quiet back street.

As she turned onto Wincham Terrace, she thought she saw someone from the corner of her eye walking in the other direction. She had a vague impression of a tall, pale figure in a long dark cloak, a fair head of hair shining brilliantly in a streetlight overhead. She turned abruptly to see, but the street was empty.

"I really need a drink," she said aloud, and walked fast, pulling the collar of her coat up against the December wind.

Colin was waiting in their flat with a hot cup of tea, laced with brandy. Ginny took it gratefully, holding her hands to savor the warmth, sipping the sweet liquid slowly. The time travel apparitions always seemed to take a lot out of her, even before she'd spoken to Ron.

"So how did it go at this Hill House?" asked Colin. "Was it as haunted as they say?"

"Well, we never actually went to the house—I just saw some pictures. But I have a feeling the answer is yes."

"Are you going to do a cleansing or investigation of whatever? Do I need to stock up on those sage smudging sticks again?"

"No. Because I'm not going to take that one on," sighed Ginny. "That family has to deal with it themselves, and it's going to be very unpleasant. I have a feeling that it's one of those houses that is itself psychically sensitive. It latches on to certain people, and then others living in the same house might never even know anything was wrong at all. Maybe some kind of place-based Obscurus, that's my best guess.""

"Oh." Colin looked dejected.

"I'm starving." Ginny walked into the little kitchen and opened the fridge, peering inside. "Colin! There's nothing but celery sticks and a half eaten can of tuna in here."

"Well, yes, I meant to talk to you about that…" Colin followed her, wringing his hands in the way he always did when he didn't want to tell her something. "We're not exactly doing stunningly well financially right now."

Ginny's eyes narrowed. "What exactly does that mean?"

"It means there's nothing in the cupboard, either. "

"Oh, no," groaned Ginny.

"Do you have any big paychecks coming?" Colin asked, his voice hopeful.

"No," she sighed, flopping down into a chair at the kitchen table.

"What about that other job?"

She rolled her eyes. "The new Lord Edgington-Smythe wasn't exactly happy about having the family secrets revealed, especially the one where he hit his great-uncle in the head with a poker in the billiard room. I think we've got all we're going to get out of that family."

"Can't you get your boss to put the squeeze on him? He's paid less than half."

"No. But that's something right?"

"This just paid for the back rent," said Colin. "Gin, we've got to get some more money, soon."

"I'll figure something out…" Ginny's eyes strayed out the window that overlooked a side street. She found herself searching for the ghostly figure of the owl—or the tall, cloaked, muffled figure that she'd seen before. Thought she'd seen, anyway.

"Maybe I'm finally just going mad," she sighed. She wondered if that might be an occupational hazard of working with ghosts. Or more accurately, the families of the ghosts.

"Any particular reason?" asked Colin. He sat at the table and gave her a concerned look. "Gin, what's wrong?"

"Besides the fact that we might have to end up doing magic tricks on the streets for pennies?"

"Yes," he said quietly. "Besides that."

She closed her eyes briefly. "You want to hear something crazy? I thought I saw Draco Malfoy on the street." It was a relief to finally admit it.

"I wouldn't say it's crazy. It could be him," Colin pointed out. "I mean, Malfoy Manor is less than ten miles away."

She grimaced. "Don't remind me."

"But don't you think it's at least possible that—"

"Colly, I really don't want to talk about this anymore."

She was glad that he refrained from pointing out that she was the one who'd brought up the subject of hallucinatory visions of Draco Malfoy, although she could almost read the words in his head, as hopeless as she'd always been at Legilimency.

He got up. "I suppose I'd better start getting ready for my shift. I'm trying to get more hours at that petrol station, you know. That should help."

"There's something else," she said abruptly. "Ron wanted me to tell you something. He saw Dennis."

Colin stood very still for a moment. "Really? Was he… all right?"

"Yes. I don't know much more than that, though," she admitted.

"Nothing more?" asked Colin. The hunger for knowledge of his lost brother shone through naked on his face. Gods, did I always look like that when I was trying to find out what happened to my brothers and Dad?

"Ron said that he seemed just a bit lost," she said cautiously. "But then he found the way out, and he seemed happier."

"So I couldn't go see him, then," Colin said quietly.

"It wouldn't work if you tried anyway," Ginny said, just as quietly. "I'm the only one who can talk to the spirits."

"It's just as well, isn't it? Yes, it is. I know it is…" Colin hesitated. "You should stop going there, Gin. You know I'm right. If nothing else, it's unbelievable that you've been getting away with it so far. Your luck's going to run out if you keep it up."

"I'm so tired," said Ginny, getting up abruptly. "I think I'll go to bed early."

Yes, it was late, and she was tired. Maybe she really did need these few days off for the holidays, as little as she was feeling the Yuletide spirit. Ginny brushed her teeth, put on pajamas, and slipped into bed. But an hour later, she was still staring up at the bedroom ceiling, thinking, reluctantly remembering what Colin had said.

He was right. She'd been lucky to not get caught visiting Ron so far, but her luck was bound to run out. Even if it didn't, though… Colin seemed to think there were other reasons to stop trying to linger between the worlds in the way that she was. That thought was uncomfortable, and her brain shied away from it. Instead, she mulled over the events of the past year.

After the knee injuries that had ended her Quidditch career, she'd been at loose ends at best, in the depths of despair at worst. She'd spent entire days staring out into the rain and writing bad poetry about everything that she had lost. The gods knew that there was enough material for that. Her father. Five of her brothers. Her mother's sanity. Her relationship with Harry. There had seemed no escape from the black pit of depression.

But then this opportunity had come up. The Bureau of Spirit Resolutions was an experimental department, operating outside of the Ministry and maintaining an uneasy relationship with it. The connection, however, was why Percy had learned about the job opening. He had contacted her about it, or to be more accurate, Fred had threatened to break down the door as Percy tried to reason with her and Colin wrung his hands and pleaded through the keyhole. He had been pressed into service as an honorary Weasley brother after the war, and he was constantly hovering around Ginny, anxious and devoted to her well-being.

Ginny had finally let them all in after a neighbor threatened to call the Muggle police on them. The meeting after that hadn't gone well until Fred finally said a number of unkind things about what George would have wanted her to do.

Once Ginny began to pull herself out of the spiral of misery, she had known that she couldn't be picky. Opportunities had dried up as economic hard times hit the wizarding world a few years after the war, like a delayed effect. And while nobody thought the recession would last forever, the chances for inexperienced workers were few and far between. Ginny had zero professional experience with anything outside of playing Quidditch because she'd never really planned beyond that career. If she were to be honest with herself, she'd been going along with everyone's assumption that she and Harry would get married and then he'd support her with his work as an Auror anyway. She hadn't thought ahead for other contingencies. That lack of planning had caught up with her, all right. So even though the job with the Spirit Bureau was commission only, she'd grabbed it eagerly.

And she did a good job. Even though it had meant she had to move to the Salisbury area, where too many streets held memories. She'd walked here with Draco Malfoy over that summer just after the war, almost six years before. At least her flat was in Laverstock, as was the main Temporal Apparition point that she used for work. Malfoy Manor was too close to Salisbury for her comfort, and Laverstock was a village-turned-suburb only a mile and a half away. Still, she was succeeding in her job and had hopes of a promotion quite soon. She liked her supervisor. She was discovering an unexpected ability to commune with ghosts, to learn what they wanted, and often, to convince them to move on.

But then she'd found that she couldn't move on.

Ginny had stumbled across an unmonitored, shadowy connection to the spirit world about a month before. It was located in an annex very near a Temporal Apparition point that she used to cross over into the various times and locations where she investigated particularly troublesome hauntings. She'd found Ron there waiting for her, and she hadn't been able to turn back. It was affecting her work, affecting the life she was trying to rebuild. But she didn't seem able to stop.

"Ugh," she groaned. "I've got to stop thinking about this…"

Finally, she did fall into a restless sleep, filled with disturbing dreams of white owls and shining heads of pale hair against the snow.