Author's Notes: Just a quick little Ginny fic for you. Standard disclaimer applies. I own nothing, J. K. Rowling owns everything, and half my income goes to buying Harry Potter cards, so don't sue me, please.
It's Christmas eve. It should be the happiest night of the year. But it's not. everything is wrong.
The common room is buzzing with laughter - hesitant laughter. The Great Hall is bedecked with twinkly Christmas lights and fluffy falling snow, falling from a ceiling of black velvet and sparkling silver stars - but a gold and a silver dragon stand on guard by each side of the entryway. Dumbledore is muttering to himself, his eyes are blackened and sad. Hagrid is sloshed - well, that's at least somewhat reassuring.
But there are tears in his eyes.
And in mine, too.
Harry has gone missing. He's been gone for two weeks. Everyone has given up hope of finding him alive. It's not really fair. Most students have parents to fight for them, to push rescue parties out the door, to speak up and remind everyone that there little lamb is lost. But Harry doesn't have parents. He has a whole wizarding world that considered him their hope, a whole world crying out silently for him to come back. Why is the voice of a whole world so much quieter than the crying of a mother? Why isn't anyone looking for him?
Harry hasn't a mother to cry for him. But he does still have me.
Mum sent all the Christmas presents weeks ahead of time this year. Things being as dark as they are, she doesn't trust the owl post to get here in time, so she sent them to me, care of Hogwarts Express. To me, not to my brother. I guess I'm a little more responsible than he is - especially lately. He's got Hermione on the brain and not much else. Or he did, until Harry went missing. Now he and Hermione are both sort of out of it all. They sit close together in the library and pretend to be talking about other things when I walk up. I know what they're really doing. They're waiting for Harry to come back. Wait, and waiting, and waiting.
I'm not waiting anymore. I'm finished with waiting.
"Hey, Ginny. Can I talk to you for a minute?"
"Sure, Harry. What's on your mind?"
He smiled a little. There was a box in his hand. "Um, yeah. Well, I - er, Ron's been really worried about you. With Voldemort being on the loose, and all. I - well, he's afraid that you might be in danger. Since, well, since you're so young, and, well, so close- that is, I think he's afraid that since you and I are friends, Voldemort might go after you." The smile faded. There was real worry reflected in his emerald eyes.
"I'm not that young," I protested indignantly. "Only a year behind Ron. He ought to be looking after Hermione, she's the muggle-born."
"Er, well I reckon he's pretty worried about her, too," Harry continued lamely. "But I - well, he asked me to look after you. You know, in case-" he shrugged. "Just in case."
I frowned. "Ron asked you to look after me, just in case?" I asked suspiciously.
Harry shrugged again. "Something like that. Anyway, I-"
He paused.
"I want you to have this," he finished hurriedly. he met my eyes for a second and then stole away.
I take it out of the box, again, for maybe the fortieth time. It's a candle. Looks like any old muggle candle, but it's not, of course. Why would Harry give me a muggle candle as a way of looking after me? Even an extra-long-lasting Curiosity Candle wouldn't be much in the way of protection.
It didn't make any sense at first. I thought about asking Ron about it, but decided against it - somehow I doubted the story about Ron asking Harry to watch over me, but I didn't really want to find out for sure. So I had asked Hermione to help me figure out what it was. She decided it really was just a muggle candle. It was made out of regular muggle wax, and it simply burned steadily when we light it one night. Yet it never seemed to melt, or get any smaller.
Finally one night, just over a month ago, I mustered up the courage to ask Harry what it was. He smiled, almost as though he'd forgotten that he'd given it to me. We were in the common room. Ron and Hermione had just had a fight, and stormed off, leaving us alone in the dim room.
"Have you burned it yet?" he asked finally.
"Yeah. With Hermione. We were trying to figure out what it did- er, not that it isn't a lovely candle by itself. It's very pretty." It was, too, a shiny silver wax twisted into a spiral. "It just seemed like - like it must be something more."
"Don't burn it again unless you need it. I don't know how long the charm will last," he whispered cautiously. "Don't let go of it, either. It won't work for anyone but you, but I still wouldn't want anyone to find it. It's a charm that Professor Lupin actually taught me... it's sort of advanced and secret, you know. It's okay, that you told Hermione, but..." he trailed off.
"What does it do?" I asked, bursting with curiosity, but baffled by the grave behavior of my usually light-hearted friend.
He spoke very softly. "If you ever get carried away, or lost, or separated from me - er, from us, I mean," he blushed slightly, "just wait for it to get dark, and light the candle. Follow the flickering of the light, and it will lead you back to me. Like I said, I don't know how long it will last, or how strong the charm is, I've never tested it, but... it's something, right?"
I was silent. I touched his cheek gratefully. He closed his eyes. "Thanks... Harry. For... well, for looking after me. Er, for Ron's sake, you know..."
He nodded. "But... don't tell Ron, right?"
I nodded back. "Don't worry, I won't."
I won't tell Ron or Hermione or anybody else, because I know they would try to talk me out of it. I'm trying to talk myself out of it, really. But I'm a Gryffindor, and more importantly, a Weasley. The charm won't work for anyone else, and everyone else has given up hope.
I put the Christmas presents into their neat little piles - Ron, Hermione - lots of books in that pile, I can tell , - then my presents, and finally the little pile for Harry. I open up the floppy one. Surely Mum won't mind if I can bring Harry his thick, green Weasley sweater a little early this year.
I wait for everyone to go to sleep, put the little piles at the end of their beds. I leave a note for my big brother. Sure, the story about him being worried about me might have been an invention of Harry's, but I know he'll be worried all the same.
I steal down to the kitchens, where the house elves are busy preparing tomorrow's feast. They are happy to provision me with all the cakes and pies and meats I can pack into my little bundle. I dress in the thickest robes I can find, pull on my own Weasley sweater (a hideous shade of magenta), and don the parka Dad gave me for my birthday. I light the little candle.
It seems brighter tonight than it was the night Hermione and I lit it together. It flickers madly, this way and that, then points in a very certain direction. The Forbidden Forest.
Dragons bar the way, but I am a Weasley still, and my brothers have taught me well. I have an advantage over them, too. I am small and lithe. I slip past them with ease. I slip past Hagrid's hut where drunken snores drown out the falling of the snow and the whistling of the wind. I cling to the last comforting sound.
Darkness draws me in. My little candle lights only the path before me, but it is faithful to do so. There are growls and strange hoots that distract me, but I stick to the path that unwinds itself before me, and so far I am safe.
Three hours I walk on and I have reached the end of the Forbidden Forest with no sign of Harry. A sarcastic voice in my head whines, "Are you really surprised, Weasley? As if the grown-ups haven't scoured the Forbidden Forest hundreds of times already... and you thought little you could do a better job." The voice finishes with a wicked cackle. It sounds suspiciously like Malfoy.
I become suddenly conscious of how far I am from home. My fingers are numb from holding the little candle, and the chill is beginning to work its way through my gloves. My hood is caked with the falling snow.
Still the light is pointing forward, and I follow. The snow ceases.
I am getting sleepy.
The invisible path outlined by my candlelight twists now, north and east. A rushing sound and a salty smell assault my senses. Dully, I realise that I have reached the sea and still no sign of Harry. I've been very foolish. I am nowhere, and alone.
The light points me further, towards the waves and the grey rocky shore. I follow the rocks, avoiding the ice-cold surf. Something sparkles, catches my eye. I reach down in the space between two large, sharp rocks. It's a pair of round, owlish glasses. They are Harry's. A dry sob wells up within me.
I pick them up and stick them in my pocket.
The candle is flickering brighter, almost insistently. I follow the light, reluctantly. Too tired to go on.
There's a cave in the cliff.
He's in there. He has to be. He is.
"Harry!"
He looks up at me, weakly. "Gin..." He opens, closes his eyes.
He's alive. I've found him.