It was the same general nightmare she had been having, on and off, for the better part of four years: she found herself lying again in the Chamber of Secrets, trying frantically to erase all that she had written in Tom Riddle's diary, his cold, handsome laughter echoing off of the high ceilings, his clouded features swirling around her, staying just out of focus and view. "He's not coming, foolish girl!" Riddle shrieked. "Not this time! You are alone! You are unloved! You are trapped and will not be saved! I will return, and I will kill them all, and it will be all your fault!" She could hear the basilisk slithering across the floor towards her although she could not see it, she felt its hissing breath against her neck as she erased, the words popping back into existence as soon as she removed them… yes, the nightmare hadn't changed much over the years.
Except this time, there was one difference. This time as she frantically erased and Riddle laughed and the basilisk drew near and her panic grew, she happened to look up. And there, just yards away, was Dumbledore's phoenix, Fawkes, sitting still and watching her.
"Fawkes!" her dream-self pleaded. "Help me! Please! I have to know! Help me!"
Fawkes made no move or sound. Ginny was about to cry out to him again when she noticed a single tear that had formed in his eye. Entranced, she watched as the tear balled up, slowly rolled down his long golden beak, reached the tip… and then dropped to the floor. The instant the teardop splashed against the cold ground of the Chamber of Secrets, Fawkes burst into flames, consumed, a raging inferno that quickly spread around her, threatening to burn the Chamber and all within it to ash. And yet, stubbornly, the diary in front of her remained untouched…
Ginny woke with a start. She was tangled in her sheets and dripping in sweat, as she usually was after a nightmare. She sat in the stillness of the fifth-year Gryffindor girl's dormitory, her breath raspy and drawn behind her canopy. Eventually her heart slowed down and resumed its normal pace; listening, she heard no indication that any of her roommates had woken, thankfully. She had once made the mistake of telling them in her second year what her then-nightly nightmares were about. They hadn't spoken to her for weeks afterwards, until the dreams had somewhat subsided.
Actually, come to think of it, she hadn't particularly missed their conversation.
The details of the nightmare were fading quickly, as they often did, but the one new feature stayed with her longer then the others, puzzling her: the image of Fawkes, watching her and crying a single tear, as she demanded the bird impart upon her some knowledge.
Fawkes, she thought to herself. That's new.
She was wide-awake now. Sleep was not going to be happening now; at least, not anytime soon. She silently opened her bed's canopy and glanced at the ancient clock on the wall. Half-past three in the morning. Quietly stepping into her slippers and pulling on her dressing robe, she headed for the door. She needed to clear her head.
She made her way through the common room and out the portrait hole, into the darkened hallways of Hogwarts. She fleetingly wished for an invisibility cloak, but pushed the thought aside. She insulted herself if she thought for even a moment she couldn't go wherever she wanted in the halls of the castle, whenever she wanted.
After all, she had managed well enough when under Riddle's control.
She shuddered and pushed that thought out of her head. No ruminating on that, thank-you-very-much. She instead thought about what a big day she had planned, and what a bad idea it would be to not be well rested for it. She pushed that thought aside as well. Sleep, she knew from experience, was not currently an option. She padded down the halls, into the darkness, no particular destination in mind.
Later that day she would be going out on a date, her first proper date with Dean, or at least as proper a date as one could have while a student at Hogwarts. It was the day of the first Hogsmeade trip, and Dean had insisted on planning the day's activities; she had felt somewhat obligated to allow it. Dean had, after all, kept good on his word. The day after the Quidditch trials he was all smiles and politeness, and he had not let that up over the rest of September and beyond. It was now the middle of October and Ginny had to admit that if one wanted to draw up a diagram of what the model boyfriend was, Dean had been it for the past month.
Somewhat amazingly to herself, however, she had found that while it was pleasant to be fawned over by her boyfriend for a few days, there were times now when she was ready to strangle him. But how could she possibly tell him to stop doing things like standing whenever she reached the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, or helping her through the portrait hole at Gryffindor Tower? She was reconfirming her own strongly held suspicion that she was indeed the world's worst girlfriend. What girl would not want her boyfriend to always behave like the ideal gentleman? Ginny Weasley, apparently, that's who. Clearly, she thought to herself (and for not the first time), there is something terribly wrong with me.
She stifled a yawn. It was far too early to be up, especially considering the late-afternoon-into-early-evening Quidditch practice that Harry had scheduled to, again, coincide with one of Slughorn's parties. He did it, Ginny knew, to give himself an easy way out of attending, but it did have the secondary effect of placating Ron's ego. It also gave Ron a chance to talk about Hermione under the guise of taking the mickey out of her when, in truth, he simply liked to talk about Hermione.
"What do you suppose Hermione's doing now?" Ron had badgered Harry for the twelfth time, as the three of them were locking up the equipment.
"I haven't the slightest, Ron," Harry had replied with exasperation. "I'm sure she's having a good time."
"Ha!" Ron laughed. "You think she's having a better time with Zabini or McLaggen?"
That had been an opportunity Ginny found she could not pass up. "You know, Ron, I've noticed that Hermione and Cormac have been talking quite a bit in the hallways and the common room. Have you noticed that? Do you think something might be going on with them?"
This had shut Ron up, and he had quickly turned and hurried back towards the castle. Harry had then asked Ginny: "Do you really think Hermione and McLaggen are getting involved?"
"Doubtful," had been Ginny's response. "What on earth would Hermione have to talk about with that dunderhead? She would just as soon date you."
"I think you may be trying to insult me," Harry had answered with a grin.
"Oh, no," was Ginny's mock protest. "I am most definitely, without question, trying to insult you. No 'maybe' about it."
The rest of the evening had been spent with Ron, Harry, and Dean on the couches in the common room, waiting for Hermione to return. Ginny smiled recalling the look on her brother's face when she did so escorted through the portrait by none other than Cormac McLaggen.
Serves him right, she thought to herself, smiling at the memory. But then her smile froze, and she did as well. So caught up had she been in her thoughts about Hogsmeade and Dean and Quidditch practice…
… and Harry…
… she had been so caught up she hadn't paid attention to where she was walking until just this moment, when she realized she was standing directly in front of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, in which lay, of course, the hidden entrance to the underground catacomb she had dreamed of just a short while ago.
A sudden chill passed over her. Her legs began to shake and her breath began to come in short gasps. She sank to the floor; the overwhelming feeling of being here in the middle of the night as the rest of the school slept that rushed over her was both alien and familiar. Riddle's diary had guided her here at this hour on many an occasion, but back then she hadn't been in control of herself, not really. Of course, she hadn't realized where she was going just now, either. Could it be possible? Could Riddle have somehow taken control over her again? Could she be under the influence, again, of some awful memory? Maybe she had never really shaken the influence of the diary… maybe she was going to open the Chamber and the basilisk would come slithering out and it would all start over again only this time Harry wouldn't be able to come and save her and…
She stopped herself. She closed her eyes. You are being ridiculous, she commanded her brain. Stop this immediately!
After a few long minutes, she opened her eyes again, half expecting the ghostly form of Tom Riddle to be standing before her, mocking her, leering at her. But the corridor was empty. She was alone with her fear.
This was only the second time she had managed to bring herself here this year. She had sworn that she would enter the bathroom again on her first day back to school, but hadn't been able to force herself through the door then. Now, she realized with disappointment, she had avoided making a return trip for one reason or another, when the true reason was that she was still scared.
So why tonight? Why had her unconscious brain brought her here tonight? She had had that nightmare many times before in the school. Why, tonight, was she drawn back to the scene of the crime, so to speak? Did the addition of Fawkes have something to do with it? Taking a deep breath, she thought back with some difficulty to that day in the Chamber. It was all so fuzzy… she didn't remember anything, really, until after it was over. There was Harry standing over her, holding the Sword of Gryffindor in one hand and the diary in his other. She remembered crying… she remembered doing lots of crying, and it always mortified her to no end to think of it now… she remembered crying as Harry put down his sword and helped her to her feet, crying as she grasped his arm for support, burying her tear-streaked face into his robes. She remembered being too embarrassed and scared to look at Harry as he guided her towards the Chamber's entrance, picking up the sword and the Sorting Hat along the way. She remembered Fawkes leading the way out, back to Ron and Lockhart, and up the secret passage back into Myrtle's bathroom, and then out here, into this very corridor…
She shook her head. She saw no reason why she should have carried herself back here tonight. If she had dreamed of the Sword of Gryffindor or the Sorting Hat, would she have ended up here as well?
But she hadn't, had she? She had instead dreamed of Fawkes. For some reason.
Ginny sat where she was, staring at the door, losing track of time, racking her brain and trying to determine some reason as to why she would have felt the need to make it all the way back to here on this particular evening after having that particular nightmare. Just when she was on the verge of giving up entirely and heading back to her dorm to try and catch at least another hour or so of sleep…
"Good evening, Miss Weasley."
If it had been physically possible to jump out of one's skin, she would have. She spun around to see who had snuck up on her, a part of her (the part reaching for a wand that she had left in her dormitory) utterly convinced that it was going to be Tom Riddle.
It was, in fact, Tom Riddle's worst nightmare.
"I'm terribly sorry. I seem to have startled you," said Albus Dumbledore, a kindly twinkle in his eye. "Perhaps it was my usage of the term 'good evening', when I should very clearly be saying 'good morning', and a sensationally early one it is, at that."
Ginny nodded slowly, her wits returning to her. "I- I'm sorry, Professor," she stammered, the part of her brain that had been trained by Fred and George suddenly realizing that the school headmaster had caught her out of bed well beyond curfew. "I- I was sleepwalking, and I just- I-" she stopped. Dumbledore's friendly smile had been replaced with a slightly sterner version.
"Miss Weasley," he intoned, "perhaps when you are as advanced in years as I, you will realize that it is no difficult trick to tell a well-spun lie from the honest truth. That being said," and at this his demeanor returned to it's usual warmth, "rest assured that I am far less likely to punish a student for being out of bed at this unusual hour than is Mr. Filch, particularly when that student undoubtedly has a perfectly good reason for being about. May I?"
It took Ginny a moment to realize he was indicating the floor, as though being invited to sit there would be of the greatest honor. "Yes, of course," she replied. Dumbledore smiled, and lowered himself to sit next to her. As he did so, she caught a glimpse of that which was often hidden beneath his sleeve, and that which had become the talk of the school from the first day of term: his right hand, withered and blackened, looking near dead. Seeing it so closely caused her to shudder just a bit, but in a flash again it was gone, hidden with a flick of the wrist underneath the Headmaster's robes. Traveling robes, she realized.
"Going somewhere this morning, Professor?" Ginny asked.
"Ever astute and observant, aren't you, Miss Weasley?" Dumbledore said with a chuckle. "I have business that is taking me away from the castle today, it is true. But that is not the question of the moment." Ginny looked away. She could guess what the "question of the moment" was.
"I almost hesitate to ask, Miss Weasley, but what brings you here this morning?"
For a moment Ginny considered lying to him, but then figured there was no point to it. He was Albus Dumbledore, after all. If he wanted the truth from her badly enough he'd probably figure out some way of getting it.
"I had a nightmare," she admitted. "I took a walk to clear my head, and without realizing it, I found myself here."
Dumbledore nodded. "It had been my understanding," he said with an air of concern, "that your nightmares had stopped."
Ginny shrugged. "They have, for the most part," she admitted. "Last time I had them was last year, when my dad was attacked by that snake. I had to explain to Harry what it was like to be possessed by… Tom Riddle," (she glanced at Dumbledore but he gave no indication that she should use a different name), "and explaining it to him sort of made me remember it and relive it, some nights.
"Understandable," Dumbledore nodded.
"Only this one was different," Ginny pressed on. "Your phoenix was there. Fawkes."
"That is his name, yes. I shall be sure to remember you to him."
"Thanks, Professor," Ginny said with a smirk. She could recognize and appreciate the playfully mocking tone hidden in his voice, having often used it herself. She continued, "Anyway, I was in the Chamber, and Riddle was there, and the basilisk, as always… but Fawkes was also there, just watching, and then he cried a tear and burst into flames… and I woke up."
Dumbledore nodded gravely. "Was that all?" he asked.
Ginny scrunched up her brow, trying to remember. As time slipped away, so were the details of the dream. "No," she finally replied. "I asked him to tell me something. I told him I needed to know something." She looked up at Dumbledore. "Sir, what could that possibly mean?"
Dumbledore was silent for a moment, and then spoke. "I am not so gifted in the fine art of Divination, I'm afraid. In my experience, however, I have found that oftentimes, no matter how disturbing or prescient it may seem, a dream is just a dream. Nothing more." Ginny nodded, but Dumbledore, perhaps sensing her dissatisfaction, went on. "Although if you find that answer to be lacking, there is always another option."
"What's that, Professor?"
"You could ask Fawkes what it is he needs to tell you." Ginny smiled, and glancing up she could see the twinkle in Dumbledore's eye. "I do have an 'in' with him, you know. I'm sure I could arrange something."
"I'll keep that in mind, Professor," Ginny said with a smile.
They fell into silence again. Ginny stared at the door to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, her mind returning to the dream, trying to unravel its significance, if any. Just when she had almost forgotten Dumbledore was beside her, he spoke again.
"You have nothing further to fear from this doorway, Miss Weasley," he said quietly. "I am quite certain that the Chamber of Secrets has already given up all of its secrets."
"I know, Professor," Ginny sighed. "But…" She stopped. There was more; she just couldn't put her finger on what that "more" was.
"Yes?"
She thought about it, long and hard. She had been drawn here, whether she liked to admit it or not, drawn back to this corridor on so many occasions, often for no more reason than to pass by this doorway. Now, for the first time, she was being asked to place that drawing power into words, to explain it, and she found that she didn't know how.
"There's something here," she finally said. "I don't know what it is. I don't know if it's important to anyone but me. But there's something here. Some… answer that I'm looking for." She looked up at the Headmaster, half expecting a patronizing gaze. She did not receive one.
"Are you certain?" was instead all Dumbledore asked.
"Pretty certain," Ginny replied.
Dumbledore nodded. "I would advise you, Miss Weasley, that the answers we seek in life are very often not where, or what, we expect them to be."
"They aren't, Professor?"
"No. Well, except, of course, when they are. Or once were."
"I don't understand."
"Perhaps the answers you seek were once in the Chamber, but have since moved on."
"But that's the part that doesn't make any sense," Ginny retorted, her frustration starting to build. "There's nothing that was in that Chamber that I ever want to find again."
"Ah," Dumbledore replied. "And are you certain of that as well?"
"I'm positively certain!" exclaimed Ginny. "One-hundred percent certain! Absolutely, definitely certain! I… " She closed her eyes, counted to ten, and after a moment continued on more quietly. "There's nothing good down there, Professor. There never was. All that's left in the Chamber of Secrets are bad memories. That's what's so stupid about this. That's what I don't understand. There's nothing I want through that door, but I keep coming back here. There's nothing in there that can hurt me, but I'm too scared to go in. Sometimes I come here, like tonight, and I don't really know why, and I feel like I must be losing my mind."
Dumbledore seemed to seriously entertain this possibility, but then shook his head slowly. "I don't think that to be the case, Miss Weasley. You were held in the power of a memory, as it were; a memory Tom Riddle trapped in his diary. You now have nothing left from that experience but your own memories of it, memories of what must have been a terrible ordeal for you, one that few others can truly comprehend. It is not at all surprising to me that you are both drawn to and repelled by the remnants of those memories." Dumbledore turned from the door and looked down at her over the rims of his half-moon spectacles. "If I may say, Miss Weasley, your plight is not so uncommon, nor should you be so hard on yourself for it. After all, your own worst memories are the one enemy that you can never outrun."
Ginny shook her head ruefully. "Yes, well, with all due respect, Professor, I still feel frustrated and just… stupid. Because the reality is that you can't get hurt by a memory."
Out of the corner of her eye, she could have sworn she saw Professor Dumbledore flex his blackened hand under the sleeve of his robe. "You would be surprised," he answered her with a soft smile.
For a moment they sat together, lost in their individual thoughts. Then, Professor Dumbledore rose. "I believe we have both spent enough time here, lost in memory," he said, offering Ginny his hand (his LEFT hand, she noted.) "I must be off, and as for you and your search for answers, always a noble search… if any answers are to come to you here, Miss Weasley, they may not arrive before this day truly begins. It is after six in the morning, after all." Ginny was stunned; she had not realized so much time had passed. "Yes," chuckled Dumbledore, "I am sure you have things to do today. It is Hogsmeade day, I believe?"
"It is," she replied, stifling a yawn. As always, she could see she was going to regret not going back to sleep after her nightmare, now faded into a distant, fuzzy memory.
"Before we part, Miss Weasley, there is a small favor I would like to ask of you, if I may be so bold."
"Oh. Of course, sir," Ginny answered, surprised. Dumbledore smiled, and then withdrew from the folds of his robe (again with his left hand) a small piece of rolled-up parchment, tied loosely with a silver string.
"If you could pass this on to Mr. Potter when you see him," he asked. "I'm afraid I simply won't have the time to find him myself. It seems I am destined to be late. Now, now, don't fret," he said, cutting off her apologies for keeping him. "It is not your fault in the slightest. It is my own. Remember, 'late' can mean a great many things. Will you give Harry the parchment?"
Ginny nodded. "Of course, sir."
"Thank you, Miss Weasley." He handed her the parchment, but did not let go immediately. She looked at him questioningly. "It is a private message," Dumbledore told her. "But not so private the world would end should someone else's eyes fall upon it. I trust you will respect that privacy as I would expect any of your more industrious siblings to do."
Ginny looked at him for a moment, wondering if he was actually saying what she thought he was saying. "Of… course, Professor?" she replied, not assuredly at all.
But Dumbledore simply smiled. "Good!" he replied happily. "Then I would ask you nothing more than to have a wonderful day, Miss Weasley. Enjoy Hogsmeade, and think fondly of me in Honeydukes. I do have a bit of a sweet tooth, you know." With that, Dumbledore turned and walked briskly down the corridor.
A thought occurred to her as he strode away. "Professor!" Ginny called after him. "Why did you come down here?"
Dumbledore called over his shoulder, "Why, to speak to you, Miss Weasley. Of course."
"Okay, so, how did you know I would be…" But he had turned the corner and was gone.
She stared after him. She wasn't certain if she had learned anything, really, from their conversation, but she couldn't deny she felt better than she had when she had first woken up. Of course, the sunlight streaming in through the windows probably had something to do with that. Morning had a way of vanquishing nightmares that she had always been grateful for.
She looked down at the parchment in her hand and only hesitated for a moment before pulling open the string. Professor Dumbledore had practically invited her to do so, after all. Unrolling the parchment, she read:
Dear Harry,
I believe the time has come for our second lesson. If it is at all convenient to you, please come to my office at eight p.m. this Monday evening. I trust you are keeping out of trouble. There is, after all, a first time for everything.
Yours sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore
P.S. – In the case that your memory is as poor as mine: Acid Pops
Ginny smiled. There was indeed a first time for everything, and as far as she could tell Harry had indeed been staying out of more trouble than usual, his adventures with his potion book notwithstanding. Still, she could not reason why Dumbledore would ever imagine she'd have any interest in this particular note. Acid Pops? she wondered. What is that supposed to mean?
Without giving it a second thought, she rolled the note back up and retied it. The castle was beginning to stir, and she had a date. She would have to find Harry before leaving for Hogsmeade to give him his note, but first she needed to go and get ready. She hurried off down the corridor, back towards Gryffindor Tower, yawning broadly as she did so.
It was going to be a long day.