Author's Note: I do not and never will own Harry Potter. As always, I like exploring the after-effects of Voldemort's possession on Ginny. This one focuses on something a little more prosaic- her grades. A bit AU, naturally.
"What do you mean?" Ginny inquires through stiff lips. Professor McGonagall looks nearly abashed.
"It isn't mandatory," she explains, but Ginny knows that it will end up so, as soon as her mother hears the first breath of it. No daughter of hers will do poorly in school. "But your classwork has suffered this past year-"
"You try playing host to the Dark Lord-" Ginny can't help but interject. The look her Head of House gives her would have quelled a lesser student. (Would have quelled her at the start of the year, but after everything that Ginny has been through in the past several months, a glare is nothing.)
"Your circumstances are understandable, Miss Weasley, but this opportunity is being given to you in order to assist you in the upcoming year," Minerva continues crisply. "It is a simple fact that doing poorly in your first year reflects throughout your school career and I would hate for one of my Gryffindors to not do as well as they otherwise could have, thanks to a tragedy."
Thanks to being a little twit who couldn't keep a jot of brain in her head and go straight to her father when she found out her new diary talked back, Ginny supplies sourly in her head, but knows better than to voice. The school year might be over, but that doesn't mean there won't be consequences.
"What kind of tutoring, ma'am?" Ginny finally gives in to the inevitable. A pleased smile plays around McGonagall's mouth and Ginny almost hates her for it. She doesn't know why.
"It's all provided free, first of all," Minerva hastens to reassure her. "Thanks to the Headmaster; he wouldn't want to place another financial burden on your family for something that happened at Hogwarts."
More like he doesn't want to face Mum when she remembers halfway through the summer there was a basilisk locked up in the school...
"Transfiguration, Potions, Charms, and Defense Against the Dark Arts would be the key building blocks," the professor explains. "Herbology is difficult to teach unless you have access to the plants at home?"
Ginny shakes her head.
"Not really, professor," she says truthfully. Minerva chews a little on her bottom lip in contemplation.
"Well, it's something to bring up with Molly, I suppose," she decides. "Everyone has agreed to provide you with some of their time and effort to assist you."
"Er, even Snape?" Ginny asks, dubious. Professor McGonagall's forehead wrinkles.
"Professor Snape," she corrects.
"And who would even teach DADA?" Ginny continues. "I mean, Lockhart's in St. Mungo's..."
"We will find someone who is qualified," McGonagall reassures her. Ginny notes with a stab of vindictive amusement there is no correction about Lockhart's title. Whether it is because he is no longer a professor or because he doesn't deserve the respect of a flobberworm, she is uncertain.
"Okay, professor," Ginny acquiesces. "Is that all?"
"It is," Minerva says, inclining her head and reminding Ginny of a pleased cat. "I'll speak to your parents shortly after the holidays begin about when your tutoring can start."
"Thank you, ma'am," Ginny says and escapes McGonagall's office like she's being chased.
"Ginny, are you all right?"
It's her brother's voice, and she knows it is, but she jumps anyway, and the look of hurt that spreads over Ron's freckled face makes her stomach twinge.
"Oh, hi, Ron," she says uneasily. "I'm fine."
"Are you sure?" he persists and she remembers too many times over the past year where she fobbed him off, while her pockets filled with feathers and her mind filled with fog.
"Yes," she says, nodding for good measure. "McGonagall just wanted to talk to me, that's all."
"You aren't in trouble, are you?" He looks angry on her behalf and a genuine smile touches her lips. "It's ridiculous if you are, you couldn't help being dragged off-"
"I'm not in trouble," she interrupts before he can really get going. "It was about, er. Tutoring. Over the summer."
"Oh," Ron says, deflating. "Yeah, I can- yeah, okay."
"I should go back," she says awkwardly, and she hates it because he's her brother and she shouldn't be like this. Tom's gone, after all, and it's just Ginny Weasley now in her clumsy, too-short body, with too many freckles and blazing red hair-
-and the chill of the Chamber, water seeping into her robes as she lies at the foot of Slytherin's statue, consciousness fading away like a dying ember...
"Are you all right?" Ron asks again and she realises she's been standing there like a loon for Merlin knows how long.
"Daydreaming," she says briefly and hurries away before he can say anything else. Her bookbag thumps her knees and she has to find the nearest bathroom (not Myrtle's, she would rather die than go into that one) to be sick.
On the train, she's shocked when Fred and George tug her into their compartment. Percy's there, too, looking stiff and uncomfortable. His forehead is shiny with sweat and he's pressed himself against the window, but he's there.
"What-" she begins, but Fred presses her into a seat, and George locks the door with a half-muttered spell.
"It's time for family, Gin!" Fred says brightly. "Ickle Ronniekins is too busy, but that doesn't mean the rest of us can't be here!"
"You threatened to Stun me," Percy says, mostly under his breath.
"Er, you don't need to do this," Ginny says. Her ears redden. "I'm fine."
"No, you're not," George says. Ginny looks down at the floor as the train begins to pick up speed. She doesn't say anything else. Perhaps she doesn't need to.
The twins leave a few times, but Percy never does, though he looks longingly at the door once or twice. Ginny thinks it's because of Penelope Clearwater, but doesn't say anything because if she does, he might leave. And despite her words to her brothers, she doesn't really want to be left alone.
Being alone makes everything so much worse.
When Molly sees her, she virtually squeals, catching Ginny up in a hug that squeezes the breath from her lungs. Ginny's face burns with embarrassment, even if similar (if more subdued) homecoming scenes are taking place around her. She just wants everything to be...normal.
"Mum, did you get Professor McGonagall's owl?" She asks dutifully, when there's a lull in the conversation.
"Oh yes, don't worry," her mother says, patting her cheek. Ginny barely controls her flinch. "She's coming for dinner on Thursday, we'll get this all worked out."
That's what I'm afraid of, Ginny thinks glumly and follows her family out of King's Cross.