A/N: Essentially, what you recognize belongs to the goddess that is J.K. Rowling, and what you don't belongs to insignificant little me.
•~0~•
"It's been — "
"— More than half a decade, I know," Genevieve interrupted grimly as she and her father looked down at the grave before them.
It was a damp, rainy day, but nevertheless, Genevieve carefully knelt and propped up the latest crossword against the stone.
"I miss you so much, Grandpa," she whispered.
"You know," her father started thoughtfully. Genevieve looked at him. "Well," he said delicately, "your grandfather left me everything in the will, including his house. And I — I just never had the heart to sell it. B-but now you're an adult, maybe you'd like to have it? Someplace to stay during the summer break?"
Genevieve shook her head. "I couldn't. It's just too much — too many memories. I don't think I could ever be truly happy in the place my grandfather died."
He nodded, understanding. "Of course, of course." He paused. "But I might keep it a bit longer."
"I'm not going to change my mind," Genevieve said.
"I know. But you mind find there's more to that old house than meets the eye."
"A house is a house," she said. "What could it possibly hide?"
Her father stared at her for a long time before responding simply. "Sentimentality."
•~0~•
"Hello, Myrtle," she called, entering the bathroom no one else dared to go near without a moment's hesitation.
Usually, Myrtle would float out of her U-bend at once, gloomy as ever, but grateful for the company. Today, however, it was a full five minutes before Myrtle appeared.
"Where've you been?" asked Genevieve curiously.
Myrtle sniffed. "I go to other bathrooms, you know. I don't just stay here all the time. You're not the only person who talks to me, and he really understands me. We have lots in common . . ." She said this last part dreamily.
"What do you have in common?" Genevieve asked with caution. She knew how little it took to set Myrtle off.
"He's sensitive," Myrtle fawned, "people bully him too, and he feels lonely and hasn't got anybody to talk to, and he's not afraid to show his feelings and cry!"
"He's been crying?" Genevieve said, concerned.
Myrtle shot her a dirty look. Genevieve surmised that, had she not been one of the only people to show Myrtle any type of kindness, Myrtle would've lost her temper by now.
"You don't understand, he's just got a lot to deal with . . . you couldn't understand . . . no one but me can . . ."
"But if there's a student upset at Hogwarts, perhaps I can help," Genevieve pressed on gently. "Won't you just tell me who he is?"
Myrtle looked offended. "No one can help him but me! I promised to him I wouldn't tell, and I'll take his secret to the — to the — "
Genevieve winced. She knew what was coming. Myrtle had trapped herself with her own words.
"— to the — the — "
Myrtle screeched with despair and dived back into her U-bend with dreadful force. The water gushed out, and Genevieve left quickly, knowing that the entire hallway would soon be flooded.
She ran headfirst into Dumbledore.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," she apologized immediately.
He merely smiled calmly. He examined the rapidly filling corridor.
"I see Myrtle has got herself into a bit of a mood."
"Yes, she told me about a boy who's been crying, but refused to tell me who it was when I offered to help, and rather unfortunately used the words 'take his secret to the, well, grave,' " Genevieve explained.
"Ah," Dumbledore said. "I see."
He was silent for a moment. "A student, a boy, has been crying?"
"Yes," Genevieve said. "Myrtle said that he had a lot to deal with."
"Hmm," Dumbledore said.
"Oh," Genevieve remembered something. "I don't know if you are already aware, but on Christmas, the Minister got Harry on his own. Used Percy as an excuse to drop in, and got him to walk 'round the garden with him."
"I see," Dumbledore said. He checked his watch. "Well, I'm afraid I must return to my office. I have a very important meeting to attend."
"Of course," Genevieve said, stepping aside so he could move past her.
•~0~•
"Peeves," Genevieve said with a bit of exasperation and slight amusement.
They had just left the first Apparition lesson for the sixth years, which was about as productive as could be expected, though Susan Bones had managed to, rather painfully, Splinch herself.
Peeves gave her an evil smirk and cackled,
Peevsie's here to make sure ickle sixth years aren't a bore! Want to pass? Pay the price! Set fire to your something nice!
"Peeves, you can't force the students to set fire to their own pants," Genevieve said. "Aguamenti."
A fountain of water spurted out of her wand and extinguished Neville's pants. He took off with a mumble of thanks, carrying a burnt scent with him.
"And why not?" Peeves said stubbornly. "You're ruining my fun."
"Because," Genevieve said, thinking fast. "Wouldn't it serve you better to use your talent to bother Filch? I mean, this sort of stunt would only cheer him up; he loves seeing harm done to students."
Peeves stared at her for a moment. "You make a good point, Snow. Where's that slimeball?"
Genevieve quickly directed him to where she'd last seen Filch, while students all around her sighed with relief. She could've sworn, that, as she made her way about the castle, that she heard Filch yelling, in fury and frustration, "PEEVES!"
•~0~•
"Minerva?"
Professor McGonagall looked up. "Yes, Genevieve?"
"Well, I know that this next Hogsmeade weekend was cancelled," Genevieve started, "but the twins are coming to Hogsmeade for a business opportunity, and I was hoping I could meet them there."
"All right," McGonagall relented. "But I don't want to see their products in my classroom, understand?"
Genevieve smiled. "Yes."
"So you're actually thinking of buying Zonko's?" Genevieve asked, looking at the joke shop. "Even though the students aren't allowed out anymore, and your merchandise is banned?"
Fred shrugged. "We didn't think it would ever come to them being cooped up in the castle all the time."
"It would've been popular, though," George said dreamily, imagining it. "A Hogsmeade branch . . ."
A owl fluttered toward them. It dropped a letter that Genevieve caught.
"That'll all have to wait," she said with a look of alarm as she stared at them. "Ron's been poisoned."
