Ginny didn't want to be here again. During the war, she had only managed to make it though the first term before she was taken home for her safety; even Hogwarts hadn't been safe for those sympathetic to Muggles. Headmistress McGonagall, however, had seen fit to advance her on to seventh year despite her partial completion of sixth. Ginny was nervous. NEWTs were this year and she didn't have as much of a basis for this year's undoubtedly difficult curriculum.
'I'll just have to work extra hard. There's no way I can let my family down,' Ginny thought to herself as she packed her trunk.
Despite her family's increased wealth following the war, Ginny had opted to buy most of her things used – old habits die hard. One of the few concessions was a new wand. After the final battle, her old one (which was her mother's before her) had stopped working as well. As old Ollivander says, 'the wand chooses the wizard,' and Ginny wasn't the same wizard anymore. Her wand, the first new one she had ever owned, was now laying on her bed among scattered spellbooks and bottles of ink. Ebony, twelve and a quarter inches, strung through with dragon heartstring. An excellent wand for transfiguration, Ollivander had told her several weeks before. Firm, but not brittle, and lacking the springiness customary of wands meant for charmwork. It was the wand of a fighter. And, after all these years, Ginny was a fighter, wasn't she?
Ginny stood up to grab the last of her books, packing them in her trunk. She was signed up for NEWT level courses in Transfiguration, Potions, Herbology, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Ancient Runes. Her mother was mildly upset that she hadn't decided to continue with Charms, but Ginny wasn't too impressed with what she had learned during her sixth year, which was almost three years ago (the war and rebuilding of Hogwarts had lasted so long and hurts so many). Although all of the teachers had approved Ginny's advancement, she had chosen only those subjects that interested her the most, and opted for only five classes of the usual six or seven that most took to ensure passage of at least a handful of NEWTs. It would be better to have a manageable course load and NEWT in all of them rather than be so stressed about the amount of work and falling behind in more classes and end up failing all of them. Her father understood her take on the situation, but Molly Weasley, as ever, expected much more of her only daughter. As the youngest of seven (five – she had to keep reminding herself, painfully, as both Fred and Percy had died in the war), Ginny was expected to meet the standards they had set. Head Boy, reckless world savior, genius pranksters, prefect, teacher's pet. In some respects, perhaps she would: in addition to her advancement, Ginny had also been named Quidditch Captain. Charlie and Ron were so proud, but Ron's excitement for her was somewhat tempered by jealousy – Ron had never had a shot at Captain. He was a decent player, but he had no mind for strategy despite his skill on the chessboard. Charlie had been Captain several years ago, however, and Ginny was all the more excited to tell him about her appointment, though it meant the tough competition of having to live up to her brother's reputation.
Thinking of Quidditch brought her to her next concession, one of the few new things Ginny bought. She had intended to buy a new broomstick to replace her family's old Comet 260, a Nimbus model perhaps. However, Harry Potter had insisted on contributing funds – the two of them had left Quality Quidditch Supplies with an early model Firebolt. There were several newer models, but the broom was more than adequate for Seeking. As a Seeker, catching the Golden Snitch required speed and agility – qualities lacking in the Comet line. As a Chaser several years ago, it had served her well, but as she was phased into the position of Seeker her fifth and sixth years, a new broom was needed. The shiny-handled broom was currently leaning against the wall next to her door, ready to grab when she left in the morning.
Ginny finished packing quickly – haphazardly tossing in the last of her clothes and supplies, snapping shut the lid of her trunk, Charlie's before her. She stroked the smooth surface affectionately (smooth except where Fred and George had taken a kitchen knife to Charlie's initials, turning the C into a G, so young Ginny would finally feel as if she had something of her own), then stood, working out a crick in her back. It was around dinnertime, and Ginny would be missed if she lingered any longer over crumpled quills and mismatched socks.
A little dusty from packing and cleaning, she made her way downstairs to the kitchen, where her mother had cooked some of her favorite foods. Ron and George were there; her other brothers were always busy with work, and Charlie was still in Romania, working with dragons. George's wife-to-be, Angelina Johnson, smiled warmly at Ginny from next to her brother as they sat down to eat.
The train was far less crowded than Ginny had anticipated, and that saddened her as she slid into one of many empty compartments. So many had died in the war. Classmates. Their families. A large number of parents had chosen to send their children abroad this year, hoping them safer far away from the rebellion that still went on in most of the country. Britain was still suffering the aftershocks of the war – mistrust, fear. Attacks were still common, though the killings were almost half-hearted, but the result was the same. So many left dead. The student body of Hogwarts, normally around three hundred, had dwindled to little more than half that size. There appeared to be no more than two hundred students, at best, on the Hogwarts Express. People were still so afraid. Ginny didn't blame them; she was still afraid sometimes.
Granted, Ginny had inside information that the general populace didn't, the details on what exactly brought about the downfall of the evil Lord Voldemort, but it didn't stop her from fearing for her family. The Weasley's involvement during the war had brought them unexpected fame. All members of the Order of the Phoenix had received compensation for their superb efforts to bring down the Dark Lord. Orders of Merlin, First Class were handed out. Ginny herself had received one for her capture of several Death Eaters. Promotions, pay raises, unexpected donations of thanks from supporters. It all ensured the Weasleys' rise above the poverty they had previously been living in. they were no longer living solely from Galleon to Galleon. They were able to save now, and Ginny had pocket money for the first time in her life. Yet she still saved it – her life of less than luxury was still fresh in her mind; she didn't want to grow too dependent on her new lifestyle.
Ginny moved to wave out of the train window at her mother, who had come to see her off, even though Ginny had come of age early on in the war. Since the war, her magic had undergone a major upheaval. Not only had her wand stopped working, but she felt like she was eight again. Odd things kept happening around her, like she was an untrained wizard with no control over her magic. Exploding bottles, things falling and sparks flying. It was strange, and Ginny was hoped that getting a new wand would put a stop to it. Things had been settling down, and she just assumed that she was adjusting to her new magic, her new power that she had tapped into during the war.
Ginny broke out of her contemplation of the past three years when the door to her compartment slid open slowly, revealing an airy girl – a woman now. The war had forced everyone to grow up a bit. Thankfully, the blonde in front of her had not lost her whimsical nature and carefree attitude. Yes, Luna Lovegood had grown up, but not too much. The summer had taken its toll on her, however. She was a little thinner, a little more ragged. Luna had been kidnapped during the war, and you could see it in the way she carried herself that a little of her innocence had been destroyed during that time. Ginny had also heard that Luna's father had taken ill just a couple of weeks ago, and leaving him to come finish her schooling must have been difficult.
"Hello, Ginny!" Luna chirped. "May I sit with you?"
"Of course, Luna. How have you been? I hadn't heard back from you after my last owl, what was it, almost a month ago?"
Luna settled in, her spangled purple robes and yellow shoes clashing wonderfully with her red radish earrings and white-blond hair.
"Things have been very busy. My father took ill several weeks ago – I think it has something to do with the high Wrackspurt population in the forest around our house. You know, they make your thoughts all fuzzy, and my father is having trouble remembering things, like when to eat. It was very taxing to look after him and keep on top of The Quibbler." The Quibbler was the off-kilter magazine published by Luna's father. It contained sensational stories, from rumors about vampires infiltrating the Ministry of Magic to rampaging Crumple-Horned Snorkacks in Elephant-and-Castle. Hardly anyone took it seriously, but many read it, as it provided a bit of amusement in contrast to the harsh headlines of The Daily Prophet as of late.
"Have you been running the paper then?"
"Oh yes. It has been quite fun. Very enjoyable. I've mainly been doing editing, but since my father's condition has worsened, we had to hire someone to help run the printing press. Father does like to do things the hard way, sometimes. He simply would not let me charm the blasted thing to run on its own." Luna's voice, before the war, hardly ever gained the harsh edge it had now, a testament to her lost naivete.
"Is there someone looking after him now, then?"
"Your mother owled us a few days ago, actually, recommending the son of one of her cousins or something like that. He's skilled in basic medical care and will be helping my father with his daily life, until he gets back on his feet. I did hate to leave him, though." The far away look in Luna's eyes faded a bit, hardened, and then was back in full force. "But I'll still be helping with The Quibbler. It's become so much more popular since the war. People are finally realizing that Nargles are about. We ran a special just last week that was suggested by one of our new readers, on dwarves in northern Wales that are secretly plotting against the Muggle Prime Minister of Wales. Imagine that! We caused quite a racket when we exposed them."
Ginny had no doubt that whatever racket the article had caused died down immediately once people realized the source of the rumor was The Quibbler. No one took it seriously.
The rest of the train ride passed in companionable chatter. Luna had also been advanced, but was taking an odd assortment of classes. The only one she and Ginny had in common was Herbology. Ginny supposed that Luna didn't need much of a formal training for her impending takeover of The Quibbler as full-time editor, as would undoubtedly happen upon her graduation, especially since her father was doing so poorly. When the time came to change into school robes, they did so quickly, and finished putting away the last of their assorted items just as the train screeched to a halt at the Hogsmeade train station.
The two women quickly made their way to the rows of waiting carriages, ready to take them up to the castle. Hagrid's booming voice could be heard above the din, and Ginny waved an enthusiastic hello to him before forging a path through the milling bodies, Luna on her heels. Ginny stopped dead suddenly, shocked by the horribly beautiful creature that had just come into her view. Luna and Harry had told her about the Thestrals, and she had ridden one in her fourth year, but until now she had never seen one. Great, winged horses, skeletal and covered in a thin layer of blackened hide. Their eyes, glowing, haunting. They were shocking, yet absurdly serene and alluring. Some of them ruffled their long, angled wings in impatience as students climbed into the carriages; others pawed the ground or nuzzled one another as they waited.
"Luna! They're –"
"Beautiful, aren't they?"
Ginny nodded in awe as they made their way to the closest one. She reached out a pale hand hesitantly, and the Thestral sniffed her outstretched fingers before nudging her with his nose. Ginny patted the rough ride, surprised to feel the warmth of the creature and the suppleness of the skin. It snorted suddenly, and Ginny was shocked out of her reverie, back into the crowded station. Luna was already seated in the carriage when Ginny sat down next to her. They were joined by two students Ginny could not name in her distractedness, whom she nodded her acknowledgment to and settled back into her own thoughts, unaware that one of the two was watching her closely.
Before Ginny realized it, she saw Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry looming ahead. The castle was somewhat brighter than she remembered it; but then again, she had last seen the imposing structure during dark times, very dark times. Even though it would seem nearly empty this year, it was still a brighter place. Snape, the Carrows – they were gone now, and wouldn't be tainting the magic within the walls any longer. The masonry, demolished by giants and cracked by curses, was repaired. The stone looked more worn, but as sturdy as ever. The glass had all been replaced. Plants and trees were planted anew. The grounds were healing.
Clambering out of the carriage at the front doors, Ginny patted the Thestral on the neck absentmindedly and it nuzzled her, nipping playfully at her robes. She smiled, and headed up the steps to the entrance hall.
The Great Hall was colourful and airy; the enchanted ceiling let in all the light of the sunny day outside, and birds flitted across her field of vision. Instead of the house banners that usually decorated different parts of the hall, conglomerate banners of black, yellow, red, green, and blue brightened the corners of the room. Promoting House unity, no doubt. And yet, the Slytherins, Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws all separated as they sat down at the four long tables in the hall. Ginny was not surprised to see Hogwarts still segregated by house. Old rivalries are hard to overcome.
Everyone settled in with a quiet buzz of conversation, catching up on each other's summer activities. A cursory glance around the room revealed that Ginny was the only Gryffindor seventh year who had returned. The giggling girls that Ginny was usually roomed with had disappeared, probably sent abroad for their last year. Colin Creevy, Ginny's one Gryffindor friend from her year, had died in the final battle. It appeared that none of last year's seventh years had returned to finish interrupted schooling. No Neville Longbottom, nor Dean Thomas. No Seamus Finnigan. And certainly no Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ginny's brother, Ron. Ginny was all alone this year. The thought simultaneously thrilled her and scared her. No one looking at her as merely being Ron's overprotected little sister. No one to skirt around her for fear of her brothers. No one to share her room with and keep her awake with their snoring or giggling. No one in her house to turn to for help. No companionship within her dormitory. Luna, three other Ravenclaws, and a couple of Hufflepuffs, most of them Muggle-born as Ginny remembered, in their year were back, and no Slytherin seventh years. Well, almost no Slytherins. A single Slytherin had returned. A seventh year last year, Blaise Zabini had come to finish his interrupted education. Eight seventh years. One of the smallest classes Hogwarts had ever seen enter NEWT levels. Four Ravenclaws, two Hufflepuffs, and a Gryffindor and Slytherin apiece. Ginny smiled to herself, musing. It certainly would be an interesting year.
The welcome feast was delicious, as always. Ginny wasn't as hungry as she had thought – the food was appetizing, but scarcely a few bites in, she put her fork down. Knowing she would be hungry later, if not now, she tried to force herself to pick at the delicious food in front of her.
Professor McGonagall, Headmistress now, stood up to give a short speech, welcoming new and returning students, and lamenting that so many had left them. Introductions of the new Head Boy and Girl left Ginny giggling slightly. Luna had been made Head Girl, for some unfathomable reason. It wasn't that Luna was a troublemaker – far from, in many cases. It was just that prior to the war, most had dismissed her as being rather insane. Loony Lovegood, they had called her. Presumably, the younger students would listen to her now, as she had proven herself very capable of taking charge in difficult situations. She had earned the respect of all those who had seen her battling the Death Eaters the previous year.
Head Boy proved to be one of the two Hufflepuffs, a plump boy called Peter Bibbey, a merry redheaded lad whom Ginny supposed would make a fine addition to the ranks. Two prefects per house were also announced, and then Quidditch Captains. Ginny was the eldest of all the Captains, the only seventh year. There were two fifth years and a new sixth year captaining the other teams, and Ginny sized them up silently as McGonagall continued with her speech.
She glanced around all the tables for the first time, looking for more than just familiar faces. The Ravenclaw and Gryffindor tables were the most populated, followed by Hufflepuff. Scarcely twenty Slytherins were seated at the far table; unsurprisingly, many of them had been killed or run off, or else sent to Durmstrang, which was very well known for its tolerance of the Dark Arts. They would have difficulty getting together a House team for Quidditch, no doubt. But then again, many of last year's members seemed to have returned. They would only need to replace their Seeker and Keeper, it appeared. With any luck, Ginny's team would crush them anyway.
Not too long later, McGonagall announced that the feast was over, and the students trudged up to their dormitories. Caught between wanting to poke fun at the new first years who had never seen Hogwarts' magic and wanting to go immediately to her room to unpack, she settled on following the new students for a little ways before slipping behind a tapestry of goblins doing handstands, one of her favorite shortcuts up to the common room. As it was, she had to wait a few minutes until a prefect came along to tell her the password, all the while chatting amicably with the Fat Lady, the portrait who guarded the entrance to the Gryffindor dormitories.
"Dragon tongue."
The Fat Lady swung forward to admit Ginny and the prefect, a fifth year by the name of Harold, into the cheerily lit room. Ginny nodded her thanks to the skinny boy as she made her way up the staircase to the left, towards her room. Rather than a plaque reading "Seventh Years," as she had been expecting, the door at the top of the staircase read "Ginny Weasley." The door opened under her touch, and Ginny sensed some magic afoot in the brass handle; no doubt it had been spelled with new security wards that would allow only her into the room.
Opening the door, Ginny was shocked. The room was smaller than the dormitory she had lived in last year, but it was still quite large – much larger than her room back home. Unlike the rest of the dormitories, this room was not painted and decorated in reds and golds. The walls were a pale yellow, almost white, and the curtains were a lush shade of green, reminiscent of fresh grass in the twilight. A matching rug was under her feet, and in the corner closest to the door, a small fireplace was flanked by an overstuffed loveseat of a darker green fabric and a sturdy and aesthetically pleasing table. A large bed occupied the center of the room, with large fluffy pillows and a pale yellow comforter with green trim. Fresh flowers stood on a beautiful wooden wardrobe with a clear mirror hanging above it. A door across the room opened into a bathroom done in shades of white and purple.
Opening the wardrobe, Ginny saw that her belongings had already been unpacked, and her Firebolt leaning in the far corner next to a tall bookcase and desk holding all of her textbooks and supplies. Slipping into the bathroom for a shower, Ginny luxuriated in the warm water for many long minutes before getting ready for bed. She was wearing one of Fred's old Beater jerseys and a pair of loose shorts as she turned down the bed. The room had cooling charms placed on it, warding against the late summer heat, and making the chamber briskly chill, just cool enough for the blankets on the bed to be useful and comfortable.