So here they are. Everything you recognize belongs to JK Rowling.

62BC, 4, 106, 212, 813, 1009, 1214, 1536, 1769, 1884.

Seamus Finnigan sat in his History of Magic OWL, writing down the years of the most important Centaur rebellions in history. Why anyone needed to know these dates, he didn't know, but he, like the other fifth years at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was determined to do well on his exams.

'Course,' Seamus thought happily, 'after this, I won't ever have to take this subject again, so if I mess up a couple questions it won't really matter.'

He looked down at the next question. "Describe the twentieth meeting of the Council for Werewolf Rights (CWR)."

'Merlin,' he grumbled to himself, 'it's only Hermione Granger who can remember these stupid things. I reckon she's the only one who cares, too.'

Not being able to recall anything of great importance, or even about the CWR in general, he wisely decided to move onto the next question.

'How many Hags did it take to figure out how to work a Muggle light bulb during the Great Hag Rebellion of 1936?'

Seamus was ready to answer, quill dipped in ink, suspended above the parchment, when a piercing scream broke the silence of the Great Hall. Seamus jumped, getting blots of ink all over his exam paper. He twisted around, trying to find out who was causing the commotion. His eyes landed on Harry, who had fallen sideways off his desk and was now sitting on the cold stone floor, looking terrified.

'What d'you reckon's the matter with him?' Dean asked fearfully from Seamus' left.

'No idea,' Seamus whispered back, unable to tear his eyes off Harry, who was now being escorted from the Hall by one of the examiners. When he was finally out of sight, Seamus forced himself to turn his gaze back to his paper. He still had an exam to finish, after all...

'What in Merlin's name is Ginny doing?' Cormac McLaggan asked himself incredulously. 'Hadn't she noticed Cadwallader coming up behind her?'

He flew towards the left end of the goalposts to get closer to her, and tried to catch her attention.

"Ginny!" McLaggan roared. "I don't know if anyone's ever told you this before, but you're not supposed to give the Quaffle to the other team!"

She turned around, and screamed something at him he didn't quite catch. All of a sudden, a large red ball flew past his right ear, and there were cheers and boos from the crowd.

Hufflepuff had scored.

Dobby had been shocked when he opened the door of Malfoy Manor. His masters would not be pleased if they saw, no they would not. Dobby would have to get it off their property. What was a free Elf doing on his doorstep?

"I is sorry, Miss, but we is not looking for another House-elf," Dobby squeaked, wrinkling his nose in disdain as his eyes took in the Elf's clothes; a well matched combination of an orange sundress and a large straw hat. Through his scorn, however, Dobby did manage to notice that it looked quite nice.

"Oh, I is not looking for work, Sir," the Elf squeaked cheerfully. "I is offering you a chance, Sir, a chance to see the world!"

Dobby opened his mouth for a moment, then closed it again. He knew he should decline right away and tell the Elf off, although for some reason, he was sorely tempted to go with the Elf. He had always wanted to see what was beyond the gates of the Manor…

"If you is wanting, Sir, I is leaving for the America's tonight. Come and meet me behind that bush at sundown, and we shall go together," the Elf whispered conspiringly.

Dobby shut the door on the Elf's face. It would not do for her to convince him to go with her; he would be in so much trouble if he did. He stood still for a moment, before he wrenched the door back open. To his horror, the female Elf was gone. His insides dropped-he had never felt so disappointed in his entire life. Then he thought of her again, and he felt himself smile for the first time in years. He knew what this must mean-he was in love.

Dobby decided there was nothing left to do, besides march out and see if she was already waiting for him in the bush. If she loved him half as much as he loved her, she would already be there waiting eagerly.

He had only taken three steps before seven-year-old Draco came running out after Dobby.

"Where're you going? You're not allowed to leave! I'll tell Mother if you go one step further!" Draco said sharply.

Dobby turned to Draco, and drew himself up to his full height. "I is not caring, Sir, as I am in love. I is walking on sunshine, Sir, and you shall not drag me down!"

Draco looked down at Dobby's feet. "I don't see any sunshine," Draco said defiantly. "Don't go any further!"

Dobby was unfortunately forced to obey, bound by his slavery.

"Please, Sir!" Dobby squeaked broken-heartedly. "You does not understand! I have never lived before this day! I have never seen before I was seeing her! I is not hearing, until I is hearing her voice! Please!"

Draco looked down at the Elf blankly. "You don't make any sense," he said easily. "Go get me a biscuit."

And Dobby, no matter how hard he fought, was forced to obey.

That was odd, Harry thought vaguely.

He had been sneaking down to the dungeons late one night to slip a snake into Professor Snape's bed when he had heard it. Draco Malfoy had gone through the door Harry knew led to the Slytherin Common Room, and Harry had distinctly heard music playing. Loudly. Why was there music coming from the Slytherin Common Room?

Never having been one to turn down a good mystery, Harry turned towards the entrance. It opened, and under his invisibility cloak, he slipped past Millicent Bullstrode, who was exiting. This was no small accomplishment.

He stepped into the common room and he looked around. When his brain finally registered what was happening, he dropped his snake.

The snake slithered off into the crowd and Harry's emerald eyes widened in astonishment. Slytherins? Dancing? Food? Laughing? What?

It was making Harry's brain hurt, and the Weird Sisters being played loud enough to break someone's eardrums was definitely not helping. Harry had never been quite so disturbed-no wait, was that Pansy Parkinson doing the Sprinkler? Oh Merlin, Harry wasn't going to sleep for a week.

He walked back out shakily, not even caring if the door opening by itself would be noticed. He returned to the Gryffindor tower, walking up the stairs to his dormitory, not saying anything, and lying down unsteadily onto his bed. This, he thought savagely, is the true form of trauma.

Ginny slid down the wall to the floor, her head lolling back, still clutching her bottle of Firewhiskey in her right hand. She was drunk, and the still rational part of her brain knew it was time to put the bottle down and go sleep it off. But the rest her, her heart included, just wanted to sit there and cry.

A fresh wave of tears poured down her face, and she squeezed her eyes shut, hoping everything would just disappear.

She then remembered why she liked to keep her eyes open. His face slid into her mind, breaking through the wall she had created with Firewhiskey. She snapped her eyes open, and sobbed harder than she ever had in her entire life. Why did life have to be so hard?

Her marriage with Harry wasn't going the way she had expected it to. She had thought she loved him, but she was only a girl. She didn't know what she really wanted, and after the war, almost everyone got married. Why not them?

But she had changed, grown up since then, while Harry had stayed the same. She couldn't handle him any more. She had her own problems, and she had no time to deal with his nightmares, his whinging, his neediness. She needed someone else.

'Blaise,' she whispered brokenly into the darkness, pulling the ring Harry had given her off her finger, and threw it against the wall. It didn't break like she wanted it to, but she felt satisfied to see it was no longer on her finger, restricting her, holding her back.

She reached for the necklace hidden beneath her shirt, and held it up in front of her eyes, trying to get it to focus through the haze. She laughed bitterly, crying all the while.

That was how Harry found her the next morning; lying on the floor of their bathroom, a bottle of Firewhiskey in her hand, his ring on the other side of the room, clutching a necklace.

Prising the necklace from her fingers, he stared at the back. There, engraved in curly writing, were the words, Ginny, My Love, I'm Forever Yours. And then smaller, Blaise.

It's a stupid habit. I know. But I do it anyways. It's comforting. If you did it too, you'd understand.'

Ginny watched the ink sink through the pages, before she glanced around the common-room. No one was paying her any attention, but that was normal. That's what he was for. He was the one who loved her, who understood her, who would never leave her lonely. With a good friend like Tom, why did Ginny need anyone else?

His words seeped out onto the pages, written in her own ink, his writing perfectly neat.

'I'm sure it is. There's nothing wrong with reading Muggle fairy tales. I'm sure they make a lot of people feel better. It's like you're taking back some of your childhood innocence, isn't it?'

Ginny grinned. This is why she loved him. He was her knight in shining armour, the one who agreed with everything she said. Who else would come and sweep her off her feet? When they were finally together, Ginny wouldn't need her Muggle fairy tales any more, because they would be one themselves.

In a fairy tale, Ginny would be a princess, with long, flowing, sparkling hair, instead of her ugly, stragley, bright red mess. In a fairy tale, she would be admired, instead of ignored. In a fairy tale, she would have her happily ever after.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The book lay open on her bed again. She walked over, shaking. She lowered herself onto the bed, and she leaned over it, desperately trying to wonder what had just happened. Where had she been?

Her lips trembled, but she pressed them together, and tried to focus in on the page in front of her.

'And Cinderella and the Prince lived happily ever after.'

She took a long, shuddering breath. 'The Prince and the Princess lived happily ever after. It happens. It's possible. If it can happen to her, it can happen to me. Things get better.'

With that final thought, Ginny put her head down onto her pillow, and let herself drift off, the tears still coursing down her cheeks.

Hermione swiped viciously at the tears that were threatening to spill over her eyelids as she slid the plane ticket under the clip. She put the Polaroid photo down, and turned it slightly. She then stepped back to examine her arrangement critically. It was the final touch, and everything seemed to be in place.

Even if it wasn't perfect, it would really just have to do, she decided, as she glanced anxiously at her watch. Her parents would be home any moment now. And anyways, if she perfected it, it would look forced. Her parents were organized, but not overly. They weren't total perfectionists.

She left the room, and wandered idly through her house, pausing to scan each room for any evidence of her presence. Her books were gone, her clothes were gone, even the rug she had chosen was gone. It was hard to effectively disappear, but Hermione had to for her and her parents' sakes. And so she was doing her best.

She returned to her parents' room and ran her fingers across their bedspread, breathing in deeply. She would remember everything about her house. She was determined; she would never forget.

A car door slammed and she jumped. Her heart raced faster, and her breathing became shallow. It was time.

A key turned in the lock, and the Grangers stepped into the house. 'Hermione!' her mother cried. 'We're home!'

Jane Granger walked through the house towards her room, her husband at her heels. She walked in and stared around, confused.

'Hermione, Dear, what have you done to the house?' she asked with her eyebrows raised. 'Where are all your things?'

Her husband approached the desk, and picked up the digital camera Hermione had so strategically placed. 'Where did you get this?' he asked. He turned to look at her, only to see her standing with her wand drawn. 'What's going on, Hermione?' he asked, his voice portraying his fear and confusion.

Hermione took a deep breath, and tried to set her picture of their faces in her mind forever. Then she raised her wand, and shrieked, 'Confundo Obliviate!' Her parents looked shocked, but then their eyes glazed over. Hermione stepped forward. 'You are Monica and Wendell Wilkins,' she whispered brokenly, forcing her voice to remain even. 'You are moving to Australia. It's your life dream. You don't have a daughter.'

Her face crumpled, and she spun on the spot, Apparating to the Burrow where she would be welcomed with open arms.

---------------------------------------------------------

Wendell Wilkins shook his head confusedly. He felt like he was missing something. But he knew he wasn't. His cameras, maps, pencil, pen, tickets, and passport were all sitting perfectly arranged on his desk.

He put down his digital camera and picked up the map of the Melbourne Airport. He felt a grin spreading across his face. He couldn't wait to go to Australia.

Ginny stormed angrily through the door of her and Harry's flat, slamming it closed behind her. She kicked off her shoes and threw herself into an armchair, fuming.

Harry hovered in the doorway, not quite sure what he was supposed to do. Figuring he had better say something to avoid looking completely clueless however, he cleared his throat awkwardly and began.

'Er,' he said, licking his lips nervously, 'how was your day, Love?'

Ginny's only response was a glare that could have made Voldemort himself cringe, before she started absentmindedly kicking the carpet. Harry continued on valiantly.

'Mine was-' he said, before Ginny broke her silence.

'I didn't get the spot,' she interrupted him angrily. 'Apparently it's going to some French witch because she's been Tornadoes a fan longer, so that'll make her a better member of the team.'

Ginny went back to kicking the floor, leaving Harry struggling to find something comforting to say.

'Oh,' Harry said stupidly, his mind whirling frantically.

'I feel like I just found out my favourite love song was written about a sandwich,' she said moodily, leaving Harry completely bemused. How was someone supposed to answer to that?

He adjusted his glasses and said with a confidence he did not feel, 'No use crying over spilt milk.' He smiled at her weakly.

Ginny sent him another glare, and Harry grew frustrated. It wasn't his fault.

'I'm going to make some tea,' he said, and he turned back to the kitchen. Accepting the fact that he had no idea how to deal with this situation, he was eager to buy himself some time. Maybe he would be able to consult Hermione before he returned to the room.

This thought giving him hope, he peered out to the sitting room. Seeing that Ginny hadn't moved, he crept to the fireplace, and as quietly as he could, escaped to go get help.

If only he wasn't so clueless, he decided, his life would be so much easier.

Constructive criticism welcome. No flames please.