... Hi...

Ahh, you guys, I am so sorry for how long this story has taken to update! Had some things happen, some things change, life goes on, and for some reason this one was hard to come back to. But here it is! I'm back in the game. I won't leave you hanging like that again, and thank you to everyone still reading.

All my love, darlings, with this chapter, the stage is FINALLY SET for the real story to begin.

- Amie


Chapter 9

The Achillies' Heel


Ginny Weasley- The Fiery New Face of the Harpies!

Grab your tea, shut your floo, and get ready readers- this one's a DELECTABLE tale. Have you ever heard of Harry Potter? 'Dumbledore's Army'? Notorious bad-boy model, Blaise Zabini? A little team taking the country by the storm, by the name of The Holyhead Harpies? Now what do all those titillating topics have in common, readers?- That's right. A little fireball known as Ginny Weasley, soon to be a household name as the Face of the Harpies.

The PR team responsible for the Holyhead Harpies has just made their most clever and interesting pick yet, by putting this rookie and infamous vixen in the team's ever-growing spot light. Combined with their recent string of victories that kicked off a rise to the top that shows no sign of stopping, this move is poised to make them all LEGENDS.

"But who is Ginny Weasley?" - You ask, my poor, unenlightened readers. I'll tell you here, in her very first and very intimate tell-all story!

Weasley is the youngest of seven, born into very humble beginnings. Says a source close to the family, "The Weasleys never had much. Their things were always second hand, and I know they struggled just to get by, which is what makes it so impressive that most of them have done so well for themselves, really." Ginny was certainly no exception, and school friends recall her often looking 'shabby' and 'unkempt' in her younger years.

"She was shy when we first met at Hogwarts," says an unnamed source, "her first year was tough because she was in the shadow of all those brothers. And then the Chamber of Secrets thing happened... which didn't make it any easier."

This is a truly SENSATIONAL tale, readers. I knew, of course, that the Chamber of Secrets was opened while Harry Potter was still at school. But what I NEVER expected to find out, on my quest to find out about Ginny Weasley, was that SHE WAS THE ONE THAT OPENED IT.

That's right, you read me correctly. But before you go gasping in horror, choking on your Duchess Grey, and ripping your season tickets into shreds- what really happened is more complex and far more triumphant than you can possibly be imagining, my cynical public. By means unknown, I am told that in her first year, at just eleven years of age, Ginny Weasley was POSESSED by You-Know-Who himself.

"She had this diary," our source tells us, "and she was obsessed with it- like weirdly possessive and attached. And I don't know… I've heard that it turns out that it was The Dark Lord's from when he was at school. His teenage self was still in there or something, and it was able to get inside of her and make her do things that only the heir of Slytherin could do."

Imagine for me, readers, the scar it must leave on a young psyche to have the darkest wizard to ever live- POSESS your mind and body at eleven years old. Imagine the guilt, the horror, of setting a BASILISK on your school friends, without any choice in the matter. But our tale takes a romantic turn.

I am told that in a final act of evil, Ginny Weasley was taken and nearly killed by the Basilisk herself- NEARLY killed, readers... for she was saved by a young Harry Potter.

And thus began the greatest untold love-story of our time. She owed him her life; her very SOUL. And he had gone into the dark depths of the underbelly of the castle to save her, at only twelve years old himself.

"She and Harry didn't actually get together for years later. He was best friends with her brother, Ron, and she was really shy for a long time," says our source. But I am told by another source, that Potter, coming from well-known tragic roots himself, spent almost every holiday at the Weasley family home in Devon. Imagine the tantalizing fumes of young love that must have brewed there, readers. Were there shy looks, unasked questions? Bubbling and steaming like Amortentia for years until Potter finally made his move?

"It was Quiddich that did it, it seemed like," my source tells me, "she filled in for him as seeker in her fifth year. He had to miss the game for detention. He always had detention. And when he came back and discovered she had won for them, he kissed her, and that was the end of it."

So Quiddich fueled the love story of this century. Perhaps, after all these years, that aching love has pushed and pulled Ginny Weasley towards her flourishing career as a Chaser. But is she holding onto Quiddich, her first connection with Potter, out of a broken heart?

As all the best love stories go, readers, this one has a tormented end. Ripped apart by the war, and by Potter's duties to the world as 'The Chosen One', the two were forced to separate for a full year. It is assumed that they got together afterwards, keeping up with the low profile that Harry Potter has fought for since the defeat of the Dark Lord. But a wrench was thrown in to the mix with the shocking twist of one Blaise Zabini, four long years ago.

"Something happened- a fight with Potter or something, I'm not sure, and Ginny had an affair with Blaise Zabini. Pretty low, really, Blaise and Potter hated each other at school. And that was the end… or so it seemed."

In a twist that truly gives Miss Weasley the title of VIXEN, an unfortunately timed fling with famously rich, and famously HANDSOME Blaise, ruined her already rocky relationship with Potter.

"It doesn't surprise me, she was always promiscuous at school," says another source from Weasley's school-days.

But not all is lost. Fiery and charming, Weasley has been described as one of the most popular girls in school during her later years at Hogwarts with girlfriends, Professors, and BOYS alike. She rose to triumph over her early hardships then, and she is doing it now.

"Potter is still ALWAYS at the Weasley's," my source tells me. Could it be that their romance is bubbling under the surface again, as it did when they were mere teens? Could those sweet fumes of amortentia still be filling the Weasley family house during holidays and family get-togethers?

This Witch thinks so, readers. They don't call me the Prophecy Prophet for nothing. Just like I am telling you NOW to keep an eye out for the young woman who is about to be the most iconic Witch of the year, I say also keep your eyes peeled for her undeniable charm on men- in particular, on the young man who is the most iconic wizard of our century.

'Ta till next time, my sweets.

By Ella Gospy, Celebrity Watch for Witch Weekly, The Daily Prophet, and The London Howler

-WWWW-

"Yikes. Sucky timing. I'm sure this soothes your nerves about your big speech," Tanya said offhandedly, scanning the article again, and making an impressed face, "actually, it's brilliant marketing. Do you think they planned it?"

Ginny grunted, scowling, because she hadn't thought of that, and because they probably had.

Tanya shrugged and threw the copy of 'Witch Weekly' down on the empty chair beside Ginny, "well, just be ready— the photographers and journalists are going to have a field-day with you, and Harry Potter, and Gwendolyn all there tonight," she squinted at Ginny's face and rubbed something off of her cheek, "at least you look brilliant."

Ginny smiled feebly, trying to find a way to sit in the rather tight emerald gown she was squashed into, that was not obscene or too uncomfortable. They were in Ginny's flat, Tanya having all but forced her way in as Ginny insisted repeatedly that she really didn't need her, it was only the Minister's Ball, and anything special was really much too excessive.

"Too excessive? I know it's just the Minister's Ball, but I have already been paid, specifically so that you don't turn up looking like you wandered in off the Quiddich Pitch like you usually do."

Two-hours later, they were now sitting side by side on Ginny's couch, both exhausted and chatting weakly, as they waited for Hermione and Ron to pick Ginny up. ("You don't even have a date? Ginny… Seriously. What is wrong with you?") The thought of inviting a date had not even occurred to Ginny until Tanya had reprimanded her and she was now stewing anxiously upon it, already imagining tomorrow's headlines… GINNY WEASLEY ATTENDS MINISTY GALA ALONE, WITH INTENT TO POACH POTTER ….

Without knocking, Hermione and Ron hurried through the door, interrupting Ginny's sinister thoughts, and stopping in their tracks when they saw her.

"Ginny— wow," Hermione grinned breathlessly at her, eyes alight. Ron however said nothing, though his expression had grown most familiarly dark and protective at the sight of Ginny's made-up face and fitted dress.

"Thank you, thank you," Tanya said graciously, when Ginny didn't reply, and Hermione introduced herself and Ron with polite curiosity. Then they were off.

"Well," Hermione said as soon as they were outside of the flat, "she seems lovely, and she sure does a good job— the photographers are going to have a field day though— especially with that Witch Weekly article. Ron and I read it by the way. Your mum showed us at lunch. I—er— I think everyone has read it." She looked uneasily at Ginny, and Ginny took this to mean 'Harry and Gwen have read it.' She shrugged, feeling genuinely not very concerned, and shivered a little, watching her breath freeze in the evening air. As they walked to the center of Hogsmeade, where Ministry Cars were waiting, a buzz of excitement seemed to fill the air. Many of the witches and wizards around them on the street were dressed in similarly formal attire, and seemed to be walking, like them, to the center of Hogsmeade. Ginny wondered uneasily just how big the Minister's Ball was.

"So you're alright then?" Hermione asked tentatively, looking over at Ginny, who had still hardly spoken. Ginny surprised herself with the ability to laugh.

"Yes, Hermione, I'm fine. A bit nervous, you know I hate speeches, but I'm really not that bothered about the article. It's just a silly tabloid story." It was more than that, and they both knew it— in fact it had rung ninety-percent true, but Ginny still somehow did not feel bothered.

"Malfoy will be there too…" Hermione said after a moment.

"Yes, I suppose he will," Ginny smiled, nodding, and letting the subject slip away into vagueness. The others had, of course, noticed the lack of correspondence between her and Draco in the past week. Hermione had noticed Ginny's edginess the day after her fight with Malfoy, and had guessed correctly that something had happened between them to cause them to stop speaking. Panicked, and rightfully so— Ginny was starting to feel like the lousiest business partner in existence— Hermione had pressed her, but all Ginny had said was,

"We had a row."

Something in her heart and something in her voice had been transparent enough that neither Hermione or Ron had pressed her any further. On the contrary, they had both become still, and Hermione had searched her face, taken aback, while Ron had scowled, instantly concerned. Ginny found that their worry and their quick assumptions that Malfoy had done something sinister to her had made her feel strangely angry, though she didn't know why. She herself had felt the air in Malfoy's office turn dangerous. She had practically heard it crackling, as if in anticipation that it would soon be holding a deadly curse. But something inside her stopped her from telling Ron and Hermione exactly what she had overheard between Draco and his father; from telling them exactly what had been said between Draco and herself.

"We're just overworked— we need a break. It'll be fine Hermione, I promise." She had smiled reassuringly. Hermione had looked skeptical, but had bitten her lip and held her tongue, all the while with that concerned expression still lingering in the corners of her eyes.

Ginny had watched herself act with the surreal feeling that accompanies taking yourself completely by surprise. She had heard Lucious Malfoy allude to Draco 'pretending' to invest in charities. She had felt Draco want to curse her— had felt the weight of some of the ugliest words ever spoken to her. But to her complete surprise, after a week of reflection and blissful space from Malfoy, an inexplicable sense of relief and strength had settled over her. It seemed to warm her stomach where something cold and anxiety-filled had used to lie— curled tightly and almost escaping her notice for years.

Something inside her had been almost soothed by the final explosion between her and Malfoy. After weeks of jabbing and pinching and simmering, something wonderfully and unexpectedly cathartic had come from the no-holds-barred, un-filtered storm that had been let loose between them at last. All the worst possible things Ginny had ever thought about herself, and about Malfoy, had been said— and they had survived. She had stood her ground.

And there was something else.

When Ginny had taken her final deep breath, leaning against the wall of the grey stone building, and had stepped forward to apparate home, she had… left a part of herself behind. That was the only way she could think to describe the newfound calm in her chest. She had somehow managed to abandon the part of her that had lived curled in a knot of fear in her stomach, for more years than she could now count. Something had happened in the moment that she had lifted her tear-streaked face to Malfoy's, feeling suddenly unashamed of her emotions. She had, in that moment, fully realized the extent of her own strength.

She had realized that her strength, her unique fire, didn't lie in a show of bravado and impenetrability. Her strength lay in the unabashed vulnerability of her heart.

She had always known it, perhaps, but when Tom Riddle had taken that strength and strong-armed it into a weapon of his own, she had buried the knowledge in an overlooked corner of her heart. But something about Malfoy's taunts, the danger in the room, the breaking of her emotions— it had suddenly come back to her in a flash. She had felt like her eleven-year old self again, bullied, and caught acting weak— but she had realized how very different she was now— how ready she was to take that strength back and use it in its full force. And it had worked.

She hadn't been able to shake the memory of Malfoy's broken expression as she had left his office, for days.

And now, a week later, Ginny felt a new composure in herself that she wouldn't give up for the world. She felt as though she could see herself so much more clearly— the way she would so often ignore her true feelings about things, in leu of keeping the peace or making others happy. And she simply couldn't ignore them any longer. So when Ron and Hermione started to fire questions at her about Malfoy and what he had done to her, she couldn't help but reassure them that everything was okay, because somehow… that was what she felt to be true.

Hermione was now watching the road with interest, and Ginny knew she was trying to pick out which of the town cars coming their way was meant for them. There was a merry river of richly-dressed witches and wizards flowing from the sidewalks to the black cars waiting in the center of town, and she couldn't help a little flurry of excitement from dancing in her chest. She was going to a Ball! Despite all her moaning and grumbling, Ginny found she couldn't quite suppress her eight-year-old self from rising up inside of her, and letting out an excited little squeal inside her head. One of the cars was coming slowly towards them, with the obedient elegance of a pet Doberman, and seemingly without any help from the 'driver', whose nose was buried in a newspaper.

Hermione voiced the secret giddiness in Ginny's heart, squeezing Ron's hand. When he did nothing but look morosely from the girls to the car, she gave up with a little huff, and came to hold Ginny's hand instead, pulling her towards the car with girlish excitement. Ginny laughed, and it was a satisfying, warm sound in the winter air. When she listened for it, she realized that laughter was audible in little bursts all down the street, as women flitted into the cars with flashes of expensive gowns, glittering under the yellow street lamps.

Bugger it. She decided with a grin back at her resigned older brother. Let's make the most of this.

"Good Evening, Mademoiselles, Monsieur."

"Oh, hello!" Ginny grinned with delight at the authenticity of their driver's French accent, and his impeccably twirled mustache. She leaned forward to speak to him through the window dividing the front and back seats, and Ron gave her a pained look as she took up most of the room in the process. "What's your name, Sir?"

"I am Jaque, Mademoiselle," he replied with dignity, "I am here for whatever you need during your journey. Would you like anything to drink? Butterbeer? Firewhiskey? Champagne?"

The car started to pull forward, and Ginny looked mischievously back at the other two, waggling her eyebrows. Hermione was grinning like a loon, and she nudged the side of Ron's face with her own, giggling, "shall we?"

She gave him a look that was full of something that only lovers understand, and his irritable countenance finally cracked. He raised his eyebrows in surprise and whispered, "yeah?" pinching her waist and grinning when she squealed. Ginny felt a mixture of pleasure and discomfort as she looked on, and tried to focus on appreciating their love.

"I'll have champagne, Jaque!" Hermione said musically, giving Ron a twinkling look. Ginny looked on in wonder. This was most unlike her, but she wasn't about to complain—

"Make that two, Jaque!" she sang.

"And a firewhiskey," Ron intoned, not taking his eyes off of Hermione's, and giving her a defiant little smirk when she widened her eyes in mock wariness.

A silver tray with two crystal champagne flutes, and one sparkling whiskey glass appeared instantly before them. The glasses clattered against the tray delicately as the car rumbled through a dark road, and as one, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione reached out to take them.

"Cheers to you, Jaque!" Ginny said spiritedly, toasting him through the rearview mirror.

"Ah, to you, Miss— I am told you are a person of special interest tonight."

"No, no, don't remind me," she said good-naturedly, taking a hearty sip of her glass. Hermione followed suit, and Ginny grinned at Ron, sharing the joyous rarity of watching Hermione let loose.

The drive was longer than she expected, a wandering ramble through countrysides, and then through the busy streets of London, ending with a ten minute queue outside the most impressive manor house Ginny had ever set eyes on, the Official Minister's Quarters, inlaid on the sloping green hills in the English countryside outside the city. Ron and Ginny mused quietly about the length of the drive, both expecting a more Knight-Bus-Esque apparition to their destination, and Hermione said with tipsy thoughtfullness,

"I expect it's to make it more formal… funny though, isn't it, how a lot of the more formal traditions in the Wizarding World are actually more Muggle. A long car or buggy ride to events, lighting candles by hand during union ceremonies, churning butter by hand for Seventh-Year birthday cakes. It's like we hold not using magic to be as powerful in formality as Muggles hold trying to mimic magic…"

Ginny, calm and happy from the warmth of the drink, smiled at this, which she had never thought about before. Ron grunted.

"You are quite right, Mademoiselle," Jaque said appreciatively, "it is true that once, long ago, Witches and Wizards would not use magic during occasions of formality as a sign of respect and honor to our fellow people of the world. Now, the sentiment sadly has been lost, what with the dark years that we have only recently been rid of, but it is nice to see the traditions still in tact. Here we are."

They were nearing the front of the queue, and Ginny's heart leapt with fear and excitement. Two beautiful rows of statues of historic Witches and Wizards marked the entrance way, lit by fairy lights and acting as a corridor to two grand oak doors set into a positive palace of white marble. Her heart beat faster. Flashbulbs were going off at a dizzying rate up ahead, catching brilliant swatches of gowns and luminous teeth in their light. Dainty, jewelry encased fingers clasped strong hands protruding from suit sleeves, and her stomach turned a little.

"Oh, God, why didn't I think to bring a date?" she moaned to Hermione, feeling herself falling under the wave of realization that she had drastically underestimated the esteem of this event.

"Oh, forget it, Ginny!" Hermione laughed, looking her full in the face, her cheeks pink, and her eyes burning with the fierce light that had always made Ginny look up to her, "People are admiring every move you make at the moment— you just have to play their game. Take this as…" she thought for a second, and then looked back at Ginny, the lightbulb bright in her eyes, "your chance to promote the strength of Witches without men."

Ginny absorbed this. A slow smile crept onto her lips. Hermione laughed again, her hair falling over her face as she set her empty glass down with a small 'clink'.

"It's perfect, actually! All that tosh in the article about you being a man-eater. Now, you are doing the most defiant thing you could do, by showing up to the Minister's Ball— alone. You're setting an example for young witches around the world, Ginny. You can have fun all on your own like no one I have ever met, and you thrive without a boyfriend like every witch should," she gave Ginny a shrewd look, taking Ron's hand and letting him pull her out of the car, "go out there and sell that. Turn all that Witch Weekly rubbish right around."

Ginny was left, open mouthed, watching her friend walk with unbelievable poise, into the madness. Bugger, Hermione could pull miracles out of thin air during crunch-time like a god-damned mythical beast of a woman. Ginny had always quietly suspected that Hermione might just deserve most of the credit for the defeat of Voldemort. Filled suddenly and unbelievably with wild mischief and determination, Ginny got out of the car.

It was insanity.

As soon as she stood upright, she was blinded by flashes, going off every few hundredths of a second. Twenty voices at once were shouting her name, and she could feel, rather than see through her star-spotted eyes, herself being swarmed by a throng of reporters and fellow guests. She turned her head towards the car, to thank Jaque, and to steal a few seconds to compose herself. Her head swam a little from the champagne and the sudden onslaught of chaos, and she took a deep breath. Okay.

"Ginny! Miss Weasley! Ginny!"

She turned her head towards the nearest voice, her eyes finally adjusting to the light of the flashbulbs. It was a young man in a pin-striped suit, with a quill in one hand, a clipboard in the other, and a tape recorder floating next to his left ear.

"Yes?" she asked clearly. Tanya had lectured her for a full thirty minutes about how if she slumped at all, or looked, or felt, self-conscious in any way, it would show like an ink blot on camera. She straightened her shoulders and kept her heart bright.

"Welcome," he said, flying over the word as if it were a nuisance, she nodded graciously as she could, trying not to look taken aback as he started talking with lightning speed. Buggering Hell, reporters are high-strung, "Nick Timny from the Prophet. I hear you are giving the keynote speech tonight? How are you feeling about that? Did you happen to read the article in Witch Weekly today? Of course you did— what are your comments about that? About Harry Potter? What are your plans for leading the Holyhead Harpies into greater acknowledgement from the British Public this year? Also, any comments you have on the Chamber of Secrets rumors that are flying around— hey—are you here alone?"

Ginny laughed, unable to help herself. She couldn't see past the absurdity!

"My God, Mr. Timny, how do you keep so many thoughts in your head without it exploding? Good thing I got here, I don't know if you could have survived keeping them in a moment longer!" A few nameless, faceless people in the nearby circle of reporters laughed. Ginny made a little show of closing her eyes to think back to the barrage of questions, "Let's see, I am most humbled to be the one to honor Ernie Tall tonight, as he has tirelessly honored the Harpies, and countless other groups throughout the years, with his support and generosity."

She smiled pleasantly at Nick Timny and his pinstriped suit, and, formalities out of the way, got down to it.

"I did read the article in question, dear sir, and all I can say about that is they are not called trash magazines for nothing. There's some truth in there of course, but tabloids like that are highly dramatized to play upon the fancies of gullible witches, and I would have hoped that you, Mr. Timny, coming from such a prestigious and respectable paper, would have more sense than to give it any credence at all," she gave him a stern look, feeling the fire dancing in her heart, and was most pleased to see him shrink a little. The air around her was quieter now. "As for my plans for the Harpies, do you think they made me their spokesperson so I could go around blithering our secrets to the press? Nice try, Mr. Timny. And Yes," she grinned her most dazzling grin at the little man in front of her, making sure to keep a friendly note in her eyes, "I am here alone tonight. I find I have more fun on my own."

And with a clasp of his hand and a little bow of her head, she walked away, smiling.

The very next person who accosted her, was of course, a woman representing Witch Weekly, who had overheard her all previous statements. With a little backtracking and a little more honesty, she managed to clear the air satisfactorily, and answered the witches' questions, which were almost entirely about her date-less situation— with gusto. She found herself really getting into it, as she did, and had to cut her impassioned speech about how girls need to 'not be afraid to be on their own' short— lest she come off as a raving lunatic as opposed to the picture of dignified solidarity that she was aiming for.

At long last, she made it inside, where the crowd was almost entirely guests, and she was finally left alone.

Here was a different, more palatable sort of chaos. A sea of beautiful gowns, weaving in and out of dress robes and tuxedoes of black, dotted by silver trays of food held over the hurried heads of house elves, and soundtracked by talk, laughter, and a lovely string quartet. Ginny allowed herself a few moments to breathe and take in the scene, before moving into the sea of people. The mansion was exquisite. White marble walls and floors, stairs, bannister, and raised stone dais, which acted as the band's stage, were offset dramatically by lavish bouquets of red roses, colorful tapestries, and fountains with bright gold and turquoise liquid dancing in their bellies. She let out a low whistle, and scanned the immediate crowd for familiar faces.

To her surprise and pleasure, she actually knew many of the people in attendance, the vast majority of whom she had met while working alongside Malfoy. She was greeted by countless, impeccably coiffed businessmen, with cries of delight, vigorously shaken hands, a few hugs from her more drunken acquaintances, and was eagerly introduced to their spouses as 'Young Miss Weasley!— Draco Malfoy's delightful new partner in business!'. She smiled graciously each time this introduction was given, ignoring the slight twinge of doubt in her gut. Was she still Draco Malfoy's partner in business?

She was carried by the sea of shaken hands and new acquaintances for a full twenty minutes before she spotted Hermione, and excused her way towards her. But before she could reach her friend, the change in attention of the people around her caused Ginny to look towards the nearest fountain.

Harry.

The crowd of people seemed to part for him, and everything suddenly seemed to exist in slow motion. He moved as if he wanted to be invisible, and he was anything but. Ginny had never seen him so tall as he was now, in fine dress robes and jacket. His hair was more tousled than usual, and she knew he had been running his hands through it in agitation. He scanned the people around him in an empty sort of way, and their eyes met. The air around them seemed to turn solid, so that neither of them could look away. Something broken came into his green irises, and his mouth opened in surprise.

She moved as if pushed, and found herself standing in front of him somewhat dazedly.

"Hi," he smiled, looking uncomfortable.

"Hi," she replied, surprised and pleased to hear how strong her voice sounded, compared to his.

"You look…" he trailed away, seemingly both lost for words, and aware that several people around them were listening to every word he did manage to speak.

"Thanks," Ginny smiled, guessing where he was headed, and sparing him the trouble.

"Hi," came a clear voice, from just behind Ginny. She turned her head, though she didn't need to, because the tone of it sent a little shiver of poison through her body, as it always did. She felt suddenly awkward and... caught. Like a child doing something wrong.

"Hi, Gwen," she breathed, trying to say it just as easily as she had said everything else tonight, though she could feel the corners of her mouth straining in a smile that was now suddenly forced. England's Darling looked beautiful. As always. Petite and graceful, skin glowing in a way that Ginny had never understood.

Gwen said nothing, only looked at Ginny with her wide, doe-y eyes, and with a creeping feeling of something ugly and shameful building in her stomach, Ginny saw that there was hurt and confusion and... desperation swimming in their expressive depths. Something massive and terrible seemed to hit Ginny, to bore into her core, but she couldn't figure out what it was, not with the lovely face in front of her searching hers for answers, for trust, for… acceptance.

"Harry, will you excuse us?" Gwen said, not looking at him. She almost looked at him, swung her eyes in his general direction, but Ginny could tell that she didn't want to meet his eyes. In fact, they definitely had that rigidity to them that she sometimes observed in older couples… like they hardly looked each other in the eye at all anymore.

Because of me? The terrible feeling in her gut twisted.

"Gwen—" Harry started to say, practically under his breath, taking a step towards them and looking like he intended to usher her away from Ginny. His eyes darted almost imperceptibly to the sides, and he seemed to want to shrink away from the observers all around them. Ginny felt a strange annoyance at this.

"Harry. Go." Gwen growled, looking him full in the face now. Ginny saw him freeze, and, probably to avoid a scene more than anything else, he backed away and walked off, shaking his head in irritation. The air grew silent and tense, and Ginny now became aware of the many serrupticiously-listening ears nearby. With Harry gone, Gwen seemed to lose some of her fire, which Ginny felt was much, much worse. She looked at the ground, tucking her long blonde locks behind her ears in a self-conscious sort of way, "Erm, so," she said, her voice a little unsteady. Ginny wanted to disappear. "I, or we, I should say, read that stupid article today." She looked up into Ginny's eyes searchingly. Was it really so stupid? Ginny could almost hear her eyes say.

"Oh, yeah," Ginny shook her head, "that dribble."

The awkward silence rose up around them again, so full of pretenses and unspoken things that Ginny actually felt it hard to breathe. They had never had a conversation alone together before, now that she thought of it. Mostly because of her, and what seemed now like an unbearably childish and undeserved grudge against the obviously sweet young woman who stood before her. Why had she never noticed that Gwen's overly-bubbly exterior clearly masked an inner shyness? She thought suddenly of what it must be like to come into her family, Harry's surrogate family, a fiery and tight-knit clan of loud and boisterous people. How hard that must be, and how hard she, Ginny, had been on the poor girl for trying too hard. Of course she had tried hard— Ginny herself had tried insanely hard until she was fifteen to feel accepted by them, and they were her own family. She felt crushed, looking at the petite and obviously suffering girl in front of her.

"It's just," Gwen began, looking at the ground over Ginny's shoulder, "it's just that… well, I'm sure you all must know that Harry and I have been having a bit of a rough time lately, and I know that some of what was in that article was true…" she lowered her voice to a whisper and leaned in slightly, "… about the Chamber and, and Zabini, and stuff. Just because Harry's told me," she looked slightly guiltily at Ginny, on Harry's behalf.

Ginny smiled weakly to show she didn't mind as Gwen continued, "and it just made me wonder how much of it is true, Ginny. I've hardly seen him, and I know he's spent a lot more time at your parent's house lately, and I know it's stupid and insecure, and— oh, I just don't know! There's just something so— off between us, and I can't put my finger on it, and it's driving me crazy," her voice was speeding up, raising in pitch to a breathy, sweet crescendo of panic, and Ginny wanted to reach out to clasp her hands or grip her arms, but felt that this wouldn't be right, "so I just wondered," Gwen said, taking a breath, and slowing the little storm in her energy to a sad halt, "how much of it is true?"

The question hung in the air, and Ginny wondered if she had ever felt worse.

How had she been so stupid, so careless as to completely overlook the massive effect her feelings and actions towards Harry would obviously have on this girl's life? And what was she to say? Laugh and smooth it over? Lie? The thought of that made the twisting beast in her stomach feel even more poisonous, and she opened and closed her mouth several times, feeling small and trapped.

"I— Gwen," she looked into Gwen's eyes, forcing herself to take in the deep-seated misery there, and bear the surge of disgust and horror that it caused her to feel. It was hers to feel. "Look, a lot of it was true. A shocking amount actually. I didn't know anyone but my family and Harry knew about Zabini… but I suppose he must have told someone. I, look… " she floundered, feeling her heart pounding and color rising in her face, "it's very complicated with Harry and I, it always has been." With a deep breath that made her skin crawl, she decided to be honest about her own deepest shames. This girl deserved that, at least, "I for one, always much more than him, have always had a weakness where he's concerned, and it has plagued me all my life." She looked up at Gwen, and saw a steely tone entering her expression.

"But he loves you," Ginny continued, wondering as she said it, how true it was, "and he is an honorable man. He wouldn't do anything to disrespect you. My feelings for him have always been cloudy, but for the past five years, we have been family. Just family. It may always be murky, I don't know, but you need to just talk to him about it, and figure it out with him. I think he's feeling… unsure of himself, and knowing Harry, he's probably too afraid to actually talk to you about it, but I think that's what he needs. What you both need, probably…"

She trailed away, unable to believe that it was her who was giving them relationship advice. Her hands were shaking. Gwen was looking at her in a sort of glazed way, obviously deep in reflection about something Ginny couldn't see. Something she probably didn't want to see. Eventually she nodded, and said a barely audible, "Okay," sounding close to tears, but keeping the elegant composure that the world loved her for. Ginny nodded back, knowing that her expression was full of guilt and shame, and Gwen swept away like a dancer.

The air around Ginny was now suspiciously quiet, and she straightened her back and tried not to stare at the floor, but couldn't tear her gaze away from the marble for a good ten seconds. She sort of came-to as conversation near her began to build again, with a powerful urge rising up in her to run. She turned and wove her way through the suddenly overwhelming amount of people, bumping drinks and elbows, and letting out what felt like an endless stream of apologies before she made her way to the outskirts of the room. Outside. She had to get outside.

She turned for the front doors, but halfway there, remembered the swarm of reporters waiting like a pack of hyenas on the other side. She turned on her heel and doubled back, scanning desperately for somewhere secluded, and saw a couple walking arm in arm, laughing, down the stairs. She bolted for the staircase and climbed it as quickly as she could without actually running, hurrying into a hallway that was ever-so dimly lit, and mercifully, completely empty. She paused there, leaning against the wall and breathing deeply as the silence wrapped around her like a warm blanket.

How could she?

How could she have been so immeasurably careless towards that poor girl's feelings?! Once again, once-a-bloody-gain, she had been blinded by Harry and lost sight of everything else! How could she have been so selfish? He was like her god-damned bloody Achillies' heel, and once again, for the hundredth time in her life, she had fallen into foolishness because of it. It was like her own personal Basilisk, her shameful weakness for 'The Boy Who Lived', sleeping dormant inside of walls that felt so strong, until one day, unexpectedly, the Chamber was opened, and it could rear its poisonous head again. She let out a shaky breath, feeling furious with herself, feeling that old self-hatred, the old disappointment in her own strength.

Bugger.

She had to get outside, had to breathe in air that was not suffocatingly warm, and she continued down the hallway, guided by survival instinct to a large library room, where she saw, with a happy moan, double doors leading to an impressively large balcony. She flew through them, shutting them behind her and leaning against them heavily, gulping in the icy air, and bringing both hands to grip the heavy and wild mane of hair around her face. Her relief was so strong, the bile in her chest so agonizing, that she heard the voice, but processed it seconds after she did.

"WAIT, don't let the—," the doors now resting cooly along her spine had slammed, "— doors shut… Fuck."

She swung her head around, feeling like she was moving through honey, dropping her hands, and feeling the weight of the hair Tanya had added swinging with it, heavier than a god-damned winter cloak.

"Oh, bugger me," she said loudly to the stars that filled the black sky directly ahead of her, speaking to the Universe, because, of course

"Call me shallow, but seeing you out of your usual peasant's clothes, Weasley, I actually would."


-WWWW-