Chapter Two: Hidden
All progress is precarious, and the solution of one problem brings us face to face with another problem - Martin Luther King Jr., 'Strength to Love, 1963.
Ginny stamped her foot, and suppressed a growl of frustration. She abandoned Ron and the others, in favour of finding her friends, but hadn't considered the difficulty of that in this madness. All the students, bar the first years as in tradition, were trudging across the rough mud track. The rain pelted down, hindering visibility, and Ginny was about ready to give up and just grab a carriage by herself, when they came into sight, a couple of metres ahead; Colin sliding slightly beside Jake's graceful ease.
Ginny pushed over to the boys. They disappeared temporarily from her view amongst the taller students; they reappeared, stopped, and half angled towards her. Ginny frowned, and focused on them. Colin waved his hand with an exaggerated slowness in front of Jake's eyes and said something. She couldn't make out the words. Some quip perhaps, maybe about Jake's tiredness, only Jake didn't look tired anymore. His face was pinched and rain trickled down his cheeks. He might have been staring at a Dementor, but only a carriage lay in front of his wild gaze.
Ginny quickened her step now, and pushed her way past a group of Hufflepuff girls, one of whom shot her a vicious look. Ginny ignored them, intent on getting to Colin and Jake. Something was very wrong. The lack of physical evidence twisted the spiral of fear in her stomach even tighter.
"What are those things?" Jake asked in an oddly, quiet voice. Ginny barely heard him over the hordes of students and the endless pelting rain.
Colin frowned. There was no trace of amusement or even faint annoyance on his face now. "Carriages?" he offered, glancing back and forth between Jake and the coach they stood before. His eyes then rested on Ginny.
She shrugged helplessly. She didn't know what was up with Jake, just that he was acting very weird, even considering his behaviour earlier. On some level, everyone seemed to notice, a circle had formed, separating them from everyone else – empty space, as though people knew there was something deeply wrong and didn't want to get involved. A more superficial level suggested that they wanted to get out of the rain quickly, and this carriage wasn't worth the effort, and getting drenched when there were a hundred more.
"No," said Jake, and gave Colin a withering look, that was more of his custom, recovering rapidly from whatever shocked him. He pointed towards the carriages. "The things pulling them,"
"There's nothing there, man," said Colin. His camera hung loosely around his neck, until now forgotten, but he raised it and with careful consideration took a picture of the empty spot. He paused, and in an afterthought he took another several, irrefutable proof that he was right. "I'll show you the picture later."
Jake turned desperate brown eyes on her and demanded, "Tell him there's something there."
Ginny stared at the space in front of the coach, wanting to see something for Jake's sake, and if sheer will alone was enough, something would have appeared. She shook her head and pinned her eyes on Jake. "Sorry," she said simply.
Then, out of the corner of her eye, it appeared, a blurry haze, like a monster lurking in the shadows. A sound, far off, grabbed her attention. It rang off in the dark distance. She couldn't tell where it came from, all Ginny knew, was that on some level, it existed. A gunshot. It sounded like a gun, but Ginny didn't know what guns sounded like, and with that realisation, the echo fell silent, and there was only the grim wind, preempting winter, chilled with the approach of death and decay.
Ginny saw it. It existed just out of sight like all the horrifying monsters terrorising children, lurking always out of the corner of the eye. If she turned and looked directly, it would be gone. Her eyes watered, whether from the biting wind, or the strain of not look directly at creature, Ginny didn't know. She was transfixed by the vague shape – a horse with a dragon's head and wings-, a fleshless black coat hung to its skeletal frame.
She surrendered her eyes towards it, and for one second its wide pupil-less eyes stared at her, and it was eerily familiar, looking right through her and sensing something that she couldn't, but then it was gone. The space it occupied was untouched. Ginny inched towards it, but Jake's hand held her back.
"You do," he accused, dark eyes alight, whatever was wrong with him in the morning, was now completely forgotten. Immaculate hair, disarrayed, like her own must be. Perfect composure and distance, abandoned, and still yet it grew; Colin was miles away in his bubble of normalcy.
"I thought...maybe for a second," said Ginny. She shrugged and spread her arms out, and with a frustrated laugh, proclaimed, "There is nothing there."
And there wasn't. The brief glimpse could have been anything, most likely an after-effect from the Dementor. It explained the gunshot, but now that Ginny thought about it; she knew of guns. Her muscles remembered the long time positioning herself and growing fidgety as she held the stance, hands supporting thin air where later a rifle replaced and it shuddered in her small hands. A gun. She knew all about them. Barely remembered it though.
"C'mon, we should get into the coach," said Colin; his gaze focused on the other coaches becoming smaller in the distance. Everyone left, and they were getting wetter by the second. There was nothing to be gained by lingering here.
Ginny nodded her agreement, and climbed into it. Hay tickled her nostrils. She rubbed her nose and sneezed, but choose to blame the damp chilliness that set into her bones rather than the hay. Jake joined her, with Colin bringing up the rear.
The carriage set off seemingly by itself, bumping and swaying, trundling towards a pair of magnificent wrought-iron gates which two Dementors stood guard by. A wave of sickness engulfed Ginny. One Dementor could be written off as a coincidence, but not several. Their presence infiltrated Hogwarts. She closed her eyes until they had passed, and when she opened them, she watched Colin. He leaned out of the tiny window, appreciating the many turrets and towers, and he took half a dozen pictures, but there was no real passion, just the deadness of going through motions.
Ginny pursed her lips, and shook her head. It wasn't the Dementors that did that to him, but rather herself and Jake. Jake's knee trembled, foot jingling up and down, but otherwise motionless.
It was a tense, silent group that hurried up the steps into the Entrance Hall. They beelined towards the Great Hall, but a silky voice stopped them in their tracks.
"Tyler, Weasley, Creevy."
Ginny stifled a groan and turned around to face Snape. His black eyes peered down his hooked nose at them, lips curved into a grimace that could pass for a malicious smile. Ginny shivered; now inside, the wetness and coldness penetrated into her skin. Snape didn't seem to mind the cold, but he always struck Ginny as a person who never felt warmth
After a short, intense game of Chicken, Jake gave in, and spoke for them all, "Yes sir?" He stared down at his shoes, tone only borderline respectful, but passable. He looked up now, features carefully schooled into a blank mask.
"Timekeeping is an essential skill, which none of you chose to learn over the summer. Thirty points from Gryffindor," said Snape smoothly. "Let it be a reminder for you not to show up late to my class."
Colin bristled, eyes jerking to his watch, and mouth twitching, but warning looks from Jake and Ginny kept him from piping up. Colin hadn't attended enough potion classes to realise not to cross Snape. He didn't even have a sibling in the school to warn him in the danger of infuriating Snape. Ginny might have chanced it, but didn't want to risk the loss of further points, and only two minutes in the castle.
"Yes sir," was the chorused replied, Colin a beat behind, and a touch begrudging. A mutinous frown set to break out his features. This wasn't the first impression he wanted to make, and not defending it only added insult to injury.
Snape's eyes lingered on Jake, daring him to comment, wanting a reaction, but all he ever got was disinterested politeness. Jake's sister was a Slytherin, and Jake being sorted into Gryffindor was like a personal insult to Snape. Ginny suspected that all these little encounters were about that one small fact. Snape's eyes looked passed Ginny -her existence wasn't even worth his contempt- to Colin. He sneered at the camera, and then stared at Colin, a probing gaze, met with the electric defiance in Colin's eyes, but Snape didn't comment and Colin managed to bite his tongue.
Snape made a theatrical hand gesture that dripped with sarcasm and scorn, waving them into the Great Hall. Jake immediately turned on heel, and Colin trailed after him. Ginny watched them for a second, saw Colin's eyes rise to gape at the ceiling, incidence dismissed, and Jake's hunched shoulders and clenched fists.
"Waiting for something, Weasley?"
Snape looked at her. Ginny shifted under the analysing stare, shoes squelching, and she nodded, committing herself to this decision. There was a glint in Snape's eyes. She hesitated; did he see Tom Riddle in her? Tom Riddle promised that he left himself in her, and Ginny couldn't find truth in his words, but Snape made her doubt. He'd know, wouldn't he? See some inspired mannerism...
"The creatures pulling the coaches," said Ginny.
She paused, observing Snape's minute reaction, brief surprise across his sallow face, suspicious eyes and a delayed thin smirk. He knew what they were. Ginny suspected, but this confirmed it. Even if he wouldn't say anything, at least now she knew they were actually real, one less thing to haunt them.
"What are they?"
"Nothing you need to concern yourself with."
Ginny nodded. She anticipated an answer along those lines and didn't argue or plead. She didn't want Snape to know how much they freaked her out, that she personally needed to know what they were, and that it was anything more than a fleeting curiosity. Like she didn't realise that there was some sort of requirement to be able to see them, one which Jake qualified for, and she hovered on the brink of, and practically every other student didn't. Because they'd both know, that she never escaped from that diary and all its consequences.
"Okay," Ginny said softly.
Neither Colin nor Jake remarked on the brief conversation. Colin just said, "We're waiting for an ideal moment to sneak in."
The Great Hall erupted into applause. A blonde first year trotted over to join Gryffindor. It was a sea of pointed black hats; each long house table was lined with students, their faces glimmering by the light of thousands of candles, which floated over the tables in midair.
Jake darted forward, followed closely by Ginny and Colin; they slipped mostly unnoticed to their table and sat down near the new girl. A few heads turned to them, but apparently they weren't interesting, not compared to the dwindling line of first years.
Professor Flitwick, a tiny wizard with a shock of white hair, held a list in his hands. "Scott Sarah," he called, and the girl scurried over to the Sorting Hat.
"Where were you?" Ron hissed out of the corner of his mouth, his eyes focused on the hat. Hermione and Harry, like bookends beside Ron, where suspiciously absent, in line with Snape and Professor McGonagall's empty chairs at the High Table.
"Snape was in a mood," mumbled Ginny, preoccupied by the mystery on her hands. The absent glaze in Colin's face, and the icy shield that was somehow worse than darkness in Jake's eyes revealed that they mediated on similar topics, and the feast vanished quickly, morning arriving all too soon.
Ginny rubbed her eyes and squinted at her timetable. She let it drop with a disgruntled expression and poked the now unappetising scrambled eggs she choose for breakfast. "Double Potions with Slytherins," she stated by means of an explanation.
George patted her shoulder and made a sympathetic face. "Still, better you than me," he added with a wink and strolled down the length of Gryffindor table to hand Ron his timetable.
"Is it too late to change house and join Hufflepuff?" Mary wondered hopefully. She picked up Ginny's timetable and scanned it.
"'Fraid so," mumbled Jake, and collapsed down opposite Mary. His own timetable was scrunched in his fist.
Mary gave him a custom glare, but it was completely wasted. Jake wasn't in the mood for their usual repartee, just grabbed a slice of toast, and didn't respond.
Colin spoke up in the silence. "What's so bad about Potions?"
His eyes darted between all of them in quick succession, otherwise entirely still, like a scared animal. His absence last year left him ignorant not only of dreaded potions but the dynamic between Jake and Mary. Ginny felt a spiteful pleasure that someone else would be stuck in the middle with her.
"Everyone hates Mondays, they're universally despised, and so is Snape, and together they're a disastrous combination," volunteered Jake through a mouthful of toast which muffled his words.
Mary grinned, lips quirking up in a mischievous glee. "But not quite as bad as you and Ginny in potions," she pointed out slyly.
Ginny grimaced, and her eyes focused vaguely in the distance, recalling exactly how little (or not), their screw up was. One wrong ingredient, very little attention and Colin in the Hospital Wing, was a very bad combination. Snape's ire poured down on them for weeks, accompanied by many detentions.
Colin straightened, eyes lighting with interest. "Sounds like there's a story there."
Mary, on the other hand, lost interest, as Alice and Emma arrived and plopped down beside her. She couldn't retract her comment, and Colin waited expectantly.
"There was a big explosion," said Ginny without any trace of emotion in her voice. It was flat recollection from a chaotic scene.
"And?"
"Probably best you don't know all the details, or we'll drag you down with us. You've got an airtight alibi, don't want to ruin that," said Jake.
He shared a look with Ginny, and inclined his head. She nodded. The communication went completely unnoticed by Colin, who had begun to look slightly worried.
"Uh, guys? What exactly did you do?" There was an edge of panic in his voice which rose in panic as he imagined all the possibilities. It was frightening.
"It looked worse than it really was, I thought, in our defence," remarked Ginny. An evil gleam appeared in her eyes. "I mean, an act of terrorism."
"What!" Colin's eyes were quite round now.
"Total exaggeration," Jake soothed, with calming hand gestures. "Less than half of the class had to go to the Hospital Wing. The Pulse, now, that's true terrorism."
"The who?" enquired Ginny, sidetracked from Colin's rapidly paling face and the carefully weaved retelling.
"The Pulse," repeated Jake. "Over in America a few years back. Bunch of guys set off an Electromagnetic pulse over California."
Ginny stared at him. Her eyes were blank, his jargon was incomprehensible. Electromagnetic Pulse? That, in no way explained what The Pulse was. In the back of her head, the words niggled. "Which is what exactly?"
Jake returned the blank look for a second, and a long beat passed while he tried to form a decent explanation in his mind. Probably the given explanation relied on stuff she wasn't familiar with, and suddenly he understood why Colin drove her up the walls with questions about the Wizarding world. Although, it had been a long time since Colin jabbered on excitedly about that stuff.
"You know what technology is?" asked Jake.
"Vaguely."
"Lets say it's magic, and pretended that the EMP is basically someone snapping loads of wands. Magic can't work anymore and everything that relies on it is screwed. Pure chaos," said Jake. "Only it involves computers and lost data and stuff. Dodgy foundations always fall the hardest."
"Okay," said Ginny and nodded to herself. She recalled the strings of the tapestry, and said, "Puts us to shame."
Mary scoffed and rolled her eyes. Her foot lashed out to kick Jake under the table. "They're winding you up," she said matter-of-fact, zoning in on their conversation.
"Ah, but who started it?" taunted Jake, mocking half smirk, firmly planted on his lips. It was no wonder it infuriated Mary, and the more annoyed she became, the more amused Jake felt. It was a vicious circle of barbed comments and vicious loathing.
"Shut up, Jake," snarled Mary. Usually a sweet girl, Jake effortlessly bought out the worst in her, and frequently, these conversations dissolved hateful words and cruelty.
Ginny gave Colin a pained look and threw her eyes up to heaven, or at very least, to the enchanted ceiling, which cleared up with the outside weather, now merely reflecting an overcast grey sky. Here they went again. Ginny knew it was inaccurate to recall the squabbling duo as constant bitter enemies, but it felt that way, although most of time they managed to get along quite peacefully.
These were just moments. Moments imprinted into Colin's mind. He bit his lip, and looked like he wanted to say something, do something, but was completely at loss how to react, and mostly he just looked devastated, like he interrupted his parents screaming at each other. Colin didn't like arguments.
Ginny nudged his foot under the table. Colin's eyes snapped toward her. Ginny jerked her head at the door. Colin followed her gaze, and after a long incomprehensible moment, nodded his consent. Ginny rose to her feet, and pulled Colin up with her, muttering some vague but passable excuse, and they waited until they were out of the Great Hall before speaking.
"Probably should have reminded Jake about Potions," Colin remarked without any real conviction in his voice.
"He has an excellent memory when it suits him," Ginny scoffed. He used it against her a number of times to echo a comment or throw her words back in her face, always with that smug little quirk of his lips.
"Clearly not when making up stories about Potions," grumbled Colin.
Ginny grinned, but managed to stifle her laugh, when she saw Colin's disgruntled expression. She held up her hands in surrender. "Sorry, you're just a perfect victim," she explained with an unapologetic shrug.
Her amusement faded as they descended the stairs into the dungeons. The gloom sucked all amusement and joy from the situation. It was Monday morning. They had double Potions with Slytherins. There was like forty Mondays left in the year. Weary resignation settled onto her shoulders.
"Tell me you haven't looked at your books all summer," Colin begged, forcing an ironic note into his voice, that didn't disguise his intention for asking.
"Not much. Worried?" Ginny spoke lightly with a teasing smile on her face. Her attempts were in vain. They couldn't hide from this anymore, and the dungeons had the perfect atmosphere for such a bleak, dark conversation. "You're like a potions whizkid. Snape won't eat you."
Colin laughed weakly and played with the thick strap of his camera. He didn't meet Ginny's eyes, comfortable in the fact that she was listening. "Just, I missed most of the year. My dad didn't want me to come back, y'know? Really freaked him and Dennis out when I couldn't go home for Christmas for obvious reasons and they couldn't do a damn thing." Bitterness laced his tone.
Ginny nodded, but stayed quiet, not wishing to interrupt Colin's tirade and halt his confession. His face was blank, and he looked oddly detached, as though he wasn't in control of his own words.
"And maybe I was kind of scared too, but this is an honest to God magical castle. Wonderland always lingers in Alice's mind. I came back."
Ginny crossed her arms and dropped her gaze to the ground. She never thought of how hard it would have been for Colin to come back, too concerned with herself, and he didn't even have the reassurance of four brothers here. No one to count on but himself, and it was all Ginny's fault was happened to him lasted year. With friends like that...
"I know that I decided not the repeat, and McGonagall and Dumbledore didn't try to convince me otherwise, but we all know that I'm too far behind in everything. I was only ever around for the introduction in subjects. They're going to change their minds and stick me back into first year, and Dennis can see was a failure I am," finished Colin miserably.
"Dennis doesn't think you're a failure," said Ginny quietly. "You're his big brother. You're away in some magical place and got attacked by that thing –which I'm still infinitely sorry about- but survived, came back with pictures and all. You're a hero to him."
Colin gave Ginny a suspicious look, unconvinced whether she was being genuine, or if she was just mocking him, but he must have seen sincerity in her expression. "You think?" He asked tentatively.
"I know."
It sounded corny, even in her head, but it was what Colin needed to hear. He perked up, something that Ginny found impossible because they were getting closer to Snape's classroom.
"It's not your fault," he said suddenly changing the topic. His hands were clenched into fists, and his head titled at defiant angle, challenging her to argue and wallow in her guilt.
"I didn't point a wand at you and say zap, but indirectly…I knew better than to do what I did."
"You're just a kid. You're allowed make mistakes. Better to screw up now and do stupid things where there's a safety net than in ten years' time," Colin pointed out, tone matter-of-fact, but it failed to reassure.
"It could have cost you your life."
"I'm fine. Honestly."
"Well, I'm still sorry."
"You can make it up to me by helping me out. I've got bucket loads of information to work through still. Spells to master."
"I can do that."
Ginny offered him a thin smile, and if it was rueful neither of them mentioned it.