Chapter 37

Rippling Effect

HARRY LAYawake staring at the ceiling; the rain had begun to fall outside tapping gently on his window. A light smile toyed with the edges of his lips as a small delicate hand landed tenderly on his chest. Even in her sleep Luna held a hypnotic expression; even the rhythmic patterns of her breathing soothed Harry, and he needed that right now.

He could call in sick, he could just abandon his case load, or his case on Cecelia Ulrick to be precise and stay right where he was all day long. But his conscious got the best of him; gently he eased from the warm bed and commenced to his morning ritual of getting ready. But this morning he felt different as he sat on the edge of his bed rubbing the sleep from his eyes, feeling the three day stubble on his chin. He glanced over his shoulder as Luna turned and adjusted the covers around her body.

He smiled. Things were beginning to look up.

Tucking the covers around her back, Harry got up and headed off to the shower.

Down stairs, as usual, Aunt Petunia had coffee and tea, along with hotcakes and sausage this morning.

"Good morning Harry dear," she said in a thick voice, her back to him, at the stove.

"Good morning Aunt Petunia." Harry grabbed himself a mug and poured his coffee, the rich Columbian smell filling his nose.

"How would you like your eggs this morning dear?" Petunia asked, still her back to him as she busied herself at the stove.

"Aunt Petunia, you don't have to cook my breakfast every morning." Harry sat his cup of coffee on the long chop block of a table and picked up the morning paper.

"I know," she said and sniffed, "but I want to. So how do you want your eggs?"

"Poached will be good." He sipped his coffee and skimmed over the paper, half interested.

"Will you be working late tonight dear?" His aunt asked as she moved around clinking dishes.

"I don't know," he answered, his voice muffled behind the paper.

"I think I am going to Surry," she said offhandedly.

Harry let the paper flop down.

She turned around to face him; she had tears in her eyes.

Harry had seen that look before; she was going to the graveyard where his Uncle and cousin were buried.

"Would you like for me to go with you?" He laid the paper down.

"No, no," she said sniffing, "I'll be fine."

"Really Aunt Petunia, I don't mind."

"I know you don't," she smiled through tears. "I just feel like I need to go, you understand."

Harry did understand; he visited his parent's graves as often as he could.

"How long are you staying?"

"I don't know."

Harry felt something other than missing his uncle and cousin was sending her to Surry. And that she wouldn't be returning to his home, for a very long time.

"Where will you stay?" he asked concerned now.

"I never sold the house," she said as if she were confessing a cardinal sin.

"Let me go with you," Harry said insistently, "put some protection charms around it for you."

She nodded her head in agreement.

"Can we leave this morning," she was most impatient now. "I have my things ready."

"Of course." Harry rose to his feet and went to his aunt. She clung to him, much the way she did the day he found her over Vernon's and Dudley's bodies. He let her hold to him what was a long emotional moment for his Aunt. "I will get your things, and I need to send an owl to the Ministry."

She sniffed and nodded her head, wiping her nose with a handkerchief she produced from her apron pocket.

"Thank you," she sniffed out.

The day had turned out to be very anomalous; being back in the house he grew up in made him have a lump in his throat. His Aunt was sad, she cried for most of the day;

Harry even went with her to the graveyard, even though she insisted he didn't have to. The rain was falling there too, only adding to the gloominess of the day. Never had he thought would he be sad to see his Aunt go, but he had become quite fond of her over the last years and he was dreading her not being there everyday. . . it was a strange feeling for him.

He returned home late in the evening to an oddly empty house. He had hoped that when he got back, that he had really just dreamt the day's events. But he hadn't. He had left Aunt Petunia dabbing away another water fall of tears insisting that she needed to be there. That she would be fine. Harry finally talked her into keeping Hedwig for a few days just incase she needed anything. And he conveniently forgot to mention that he placed a two way mirror in the house to which he had the match.

Rambling through the icebox he couldn't find a single thing he wanted to eat; so he heated the coffee that had been left in the kettle and sat down to the table feeling as recycled as the coffee in his mug. Something had happened to make Aunt Petunia want to leave, and if Harry was right it had something to do with Remus Lupin. But he couldn't get involved, he loved them both and taking sides would most likely put him in a predicament that they both would end up blaming him for.

How long he had been sitting there staring off into space, pondering what if's and could have's he didn't know, when the front bell began to ring incessantly.

"I'm coming." He padded to the front door, yanking it open.

There stood Luna with two paper grocery bags filled to the brim and soaked to the bone, water dripping from her hair and nose.

Harry took them from her without thinking.

"Thank you," she said lazily as she passed him into the house, drying herself out on the way. "How was your day? Did you get Aunt Petunia all settled?"

Harry followed her to the kitchen.

"Surprisingly depressing," he said setting the brown paper bags on the table, "I think it ranks right up in the top ten most depressing days of my life."

"Oh," she questioned him in a manner that compelled him to explain him self even more.

She grabbed the apron that Aunt Petunia always wore and fastened it around her.

"I never thought I would say this," Harry said moving toward the stove and removing a pot from the overhead rack that Luna was just slightly too short to reach, "but I was sad when she said she would be going back to Surry."

"Funny how we become attached to people isn't it," Luna commented idly as she took her wand out and flicked it toward the grocery bags, whose contents began to bounce and flit around the kitchen.

Harry was inclined to agree with her.

"How did Remus take the news of her leaving Grimmauld Place?"

"I don't know actually," Harry said sidestepping a bunch of carrots. "I haven't seen him in several days."

"You don't think that maybe he was the reason she left?" Luna directed the carrots to the cutting board.

"Maybe, I don't know." He leaned on the edge of the table and watched her moving about his kitchen. She was stretching, moving about the spices in the cabinet, when she finally flicked her wand and they too came dancing about their heads. As they passed by her she tapped the ones she wanted to use and then sent the rest back to the pantry.

"She seemed very distant I thought." The cut carrots plopped into the pot and were replaced by two large onions on the cutting board.

"I didn't notice, I have been so preoccupied at work and all," Harry said feeling a bit guilty.

"Well it isn't as if you can't go and see her when ever you want," Luna added in a whimsical manner, as only Luna could do.

Harry sighed heavily and nodded his head.

"What did you do today?" He asked changing the subject.

"I went to Diagon Alley did a bit of shopping, picked up a gift for Ron and Hermione, then I went to the market," she said as her eyes blinked slowly.

"In the rain?"

"I love doing things in the rain, it drowns out everything else." She tilted her head and smiled. "I ran into Narcissa," she added nonchalantly.

"Oh?" Harry moved to the sink and washed his hands.

"She was in Gringott's; she seemed very aggravated with one of the goblins there."

"Sounds typical." Harry shrugged his shoulders. "Can I help?"

"Yes, you can make the bread; there is a wonderful recipe in the box over the sink."

Harry went to the sink and removed an ancient wooden box; it appeared to have been used quite a bit. Inside were recipe cards filed neatly and orderly, first by food type, then alphabetically. Most of them were in his Aunt's narrow elegant writing. He filtered through them until he came to the bread recipe; on the top in worn ink it read: Petunia and Lilly's favorite.

The handwriting was different, loopy and thick. He could only assume that this had been written by his mum and Aunt's mother. His Grandmother Evans; suddenly Harry got a rushing feeling, he didn't know very much about any of his family, not really. He knew more about Ron's sleeping habits that his mum's likes and dislikes. He wished someone had kept a diary or a journal of things about his parents and their families.

Reading and re-reading the recipe card for little clues about his family, like the style of the writing would jump out and give him a great secret or piece of vital information. He took a deep breath and tapped the worn and yellowed card with his wand, placing a protection charm on it that would keep it from aging anymore than it already had.

Gathering the ingredients for the bread, Harry mixed and poured then placed in the oven as instructed. The kitchen smelled wonderful, Luna had fixed a vegetable stew with large hearty chunks of meat in it. Harry went down to the cellar and retrieved a bottle of wine to have with dinner.

He and Luna talked and laughed over dinner, Harry even felt tears in his eyes once when they got off on the subject of his Aunt Petunia again. It seemed that Luna knew what to say to everything, she was gifted that way, nothing elaborate, only simple words, that at first seemed kooky, but when you thought about them she was right.

"Thank you," Harry said laying his hand on top of hers, squeezing.

"What on earth for?" she said, and smiled.

"Just being here."

"You don't have to thank me Harry." She sipped the wine from her goblet.

"All the same, you have made the numbness disappear, at least for a few days." He didn't know how long she would stay, or want to stay.

"It has been my pleasure." Luna smiled and flushed bringing the goblet back to her lips.

GINNY WOKE EARLY; the rain had been pelting the large arched window for hours. Flashes of lightening accompanied by rolls of ground shaking thunder; even the glass in the window rattled in its panes. Ian had come and got in the bed with her and Draco with the first few rolls of thunder.

She watched the rain trickle down the window as she sat in the oversized armchair, as the rays did it's best to light the sky from behind the gray thick clouds. She hadn't gone out to her parent's house over the weekend, and she had been unexpectedly greeted by Luna Lovegood when she went to see Harry on Saturday and her husband seemed to be very preoccupied with this Cecelia Ulrick woman. All in all her weekend was pretty much yuck.

The only thing that she enjoyed all weekend was the time she spent with Ian roaming over the grounds of their new home. She had promised she would "investigate" the house with him and Susie Nettles. So Ginny had spent all of Sunday roving their house entertaining the whims of two five year olds and hunting anything that would be spooky and fun to talk about at school.

It had turned out that Susie Nettles father was a student at Hogwarts, a year below her, he had been in Ravenclaw and he had married a muggle woman from Lisbon. Susie was an adorable little girl with lots of life; she and Ian were two peas in a pod. Her cropped black hair and golden skin made her look like a little goddess. She was definitely too smart for her own good, or Ginny's own good, she couldn't decide. More than once she had charmed a brick or stone that they found to float about, claiming it was haunted with a lonely spirit.

By the end of Sunday's afternoon, Ginny was exhausted. She had put Ian to bed, before Draco had returned home. He had been very secretive about his whereabouts. When she asked him he told her he couldn't tell her, not right then, that didn't help her mood any. So she had been glad for the company of the two five year olds.

So as she sat there watching the droplets cascade down the glass, she was feeling like one of them, never knowing if the stream it made would continue on by its self or attach to others along the way all to still only end up in the pool of water on the sill. She was going to Hogwarts today to look at some more of the bottled memories; she hadn't looked into in weeks. She had set it aside after she saw the memory of her and Draco arguing about the memory charm. But she felt she was ready to look again and see what, if any thing it held for her.

Until she had known about the memory charm, Ginny didn't feel a great sense of lacking in her life, she didn't feel that parts of her past were jumbled or all together missing. But when she found out about it, it was like all the missing parts needed to found, at once. She had done pretty well in keeping the Pensive in the back of her mind, but something called her to it. Perhaps a memory she hadn't seen yet, one that she felt would bring great understanding. If that thought was true she didn't know, and if it was, then maybe things wouldn't be as muddy as they are.

Ginny showered and got ready to leave, heading to Hogwarts. She leaned over Draco and kissed Ian on the cheek. He stirred slightly as her hair tickled his cheeks.

"Where are you going?" Draco said in a soft whisper, reaching up touching her face.

"To Hogwarts," she answered. "You can take Ian to school?"

He nodded his head.

"You want to meet for lunch in Hogsmeade?" His hand glided down her arm as she stood.

"Sure," she said.

"Madame Rosmerta's?"

"That's fine." She leaned down and kissed him quickly, before he had a chance to prolong her lips touching his.

"Have a good day," he said sitting up in the bed as she pulled the door to.

The rain must have been falling all over; the streets of Hogsmeade were slushy in a mixture of rain and snow. Ginny made her way to the castle, casting a charm over her so the rain just slid down off of an invisible umbrella. The castle was laden with mist and melting snow. As she approached the courtyard, Ginny slowly walked across the barely visible stones in the ground trying desperately to remember anything about her last year at school. As she racked her brain, a memory or two came back to her of her and Luna studying by the lake, or near Hagrid's hut. A quidditch game flew through her mind as quick as a fleeting snitch.

She closed her eyes, letting the charm keeping her dry fall away; the cold, sloppy rain slapped her cheeks and eyes. She wanted a memory of her and Draco, a memory that hadn't been taken from her mind, and maybe one that she had buried so deep that it wasn't erased, or wasn't bottled up in a cupboard somewhere. Surely somewhere in the deepest, locked away parts of her being there was one smidgen of a memory, a streak of blue light waiting for the right moment to come to her.

She stood in the courtyard for quite sometime, staring up at the sky the slushy drops rushing towards her in a hypnotic pattern. Her nose was cold, her lips were numb and her cloak was soaked through to the skin.

"You're going to catch your death of cold child," Professor McGonagall snapped as she pranced across the courtyard and took Ginny by the shoulders leading her into covered open breezeway. "What were you doing?"

Ginny shivered. She had gotten cold, colder than she realized. Her teeth were chattering.

"Come, some hot cocoa will warm your bones." McGonagall ushered her inside the castle and up to her office.

A crackling fire was snapping and popping in the grate, and a tea tray sat on round table beneath the window. Waving her wand at Ginny, McGonagall dried her clothes in seconds and pointed to the gingham chair by the fireplace.

"Now what on earth were you doing out in such horrid weather?"

"I was thinking is all, and the snow," she stopped and dropped her head, "never mind, it's kind of silly."

McGonagall pierced her with her stern look; Ginny felt like she was looking at the memory in the Pensive all over again. She said nothing and handed Ginny a mug of hot cocoa, the top thick with marshmallows.

"Professor," Ginny said softly then blew the top of her hot cocoa, "do you think that somewhere, deep in my subconscious memories, that there is a memory that maybe wasn't removed. Maybe one that I buried so deep that it couldn't be removed."

"It's possible," McGonagall responded, resting in the chair beside Ginny, "that could be the reason for all the déjà vu you were experiencing."

"It's not that I doubt Ian being my son, or even Draco, not really." She sighed heavily and stared into the fire in the grate. "I just want something that isn't told to me, or saved for me, something that I have that no one else has." She looked at McGonagall feeling rather petty. "Does that make sense?"

"Yes dear it does."

"I mean there has to be something somewhere that will spark a memory, a memory that somehow escaped the bottles in Dumbledore's office, a memory that somehow escaped the memory charms."

"Maybe if you go back to the places you had the strongest déjà vu, think back on them, what you were doing, what sparked them. Perhaps you may eventually awaken that part of your mind."

"Do you think it will be all right if I just walk around the school for a while? Maybe something will spark a memory and all will come flooding back to me," she said as half-heartedly as she felt.

"Of course, I don't see any harm in that." Professor McGonagall sat on the edge of her chair. "I find that if there is something I can't remember, it always helps to start at the most unlikely place."

Ginny placed her mug on the tray and stood.

"Thank you Professor."

She nodded her head silently and smiled tight lipped at Ginny.

Ginny left the warmth of McGonagall's office, and proceeded down the drafty corridors. She was glad that she had her ear muffs and gloves on, the wind seemed to

stronger and gustier. As she roamed the corridors and staircases, Ginny thought back to her last two years at Hogwarts; or what she could remember freely.

So far all she had managed to remember of her own accord was a few test, some trouble her and Luna got into for using Weasley Wizarding Wheezes on some Slytherin's. Other than that she couldn't recall anything about her and Draco. The only thing that did float into her mind was a brief flash of a Quidditch match. It was raining, and she was zooming through the air, then her mind went red. But that was all she could seem to muster after an hour or two of walking the corridors.

It was still drizzling outside, and it was nearly lunch time. Ginny decided to walk towards the Quidditch pitch before she met Draco for lunch in Hogsmeade. As she walked into the dressing rooms, she saw the familiar practice brooms hanging on the wall, all four house colors posted and several cases of practice balls lined the walls. The worn benches were still the same, old wood splintering above iron holds.

She sat down on one and stared thoughtlessly at the wall that held the Ravenclaw colors and mascot. Slowly she turned her head and stared at each color in turn, before getting up and going to the wall that was lined with the practice brooms. Running her fingers across the dated handles, down to the frazzled bristles she reminisced about Quidditch in her fifth year. Her hand clasped around one of the brooms and she brought it down from the hanger. It barely had the gold lettering visible of what type of broom it was; Starlite 520.

Ginny smiled, she remembered practicing on the old brooms once or twice. Fred and George bought her a new one in her sixth year; Quick Silver 2500, it was the best broom of the year. She loved the broom, she could zoom around all over the place, she took a Bludger in the last game before the Quidditch House cup game and her broom crashed into the stands busting it all to pieces.

As Ginny was remembering the game she began to have flashes of red and white light. She had to sit down; she felt faint. The flashes continued in rapid succession, until she was seeing bits and pieces of a Quidditch match.

Red and gold mixed with silver and green were now exploding in her head. Rain and thunder and lightening, players zooming past her on her their brooms, Bludgers barely missing her left and right; Ron yelling in the back ground, the roar of the crowd.

Ginny felt nauseated. Her head was spinning. She placed both hands on her head as if to keep it attached to her neck.

The golden snitch speeding past her; blurs of Green and Silver, then red and gold again. It was like her brain was flipping quickly through a picture album not giving her mind time enough to process the images.

Falling to her knees from the worn bench she clutched the broom handle the, the bristles planted firmly in the ground to keep her from falling over. Faster and faster the images sped through her mind. Nothing pausing long enough still for her to grasp hold of anything but bright colors and muffled sounds. Her breathing was rapid now; she was going to pass out any second.

"Ginny," said a familiar voice from just beyond her grasp. She couldn't discern if it was in her flashing mind or if it was real. Quick footsteps followed the alarmed voice.

"I—can't—breathe," she managed to get out. Her tongue was thick in the back of her throat, she was going to vomit or pass out first.

"Ginny!" said the voice more alarmed. Then she felt warm hands on her face and her eyes were lifted up to see Draco in front of her. "Ginny!" he shouted, "stay with me Ginny!"

When she looked into his eyes, it was like everything that had been playing and replaying in fast forward motion stopped and processed. She could feel his hands pressing into her face, his grip holding her steady, and the fear in his eyes that said he was mortified at her appearance. She felt her body go rigid and her eyes were fixed, wide and unmoving on his. She could hear her calling her name, but all she could do was watch the images that had been trying to surface, they were now clearly etched in her mind.

Rain soaked Quidditch robes of Red and Gold blurred across the pitch, chased by a haze of Green and Silver. Harry and Draco were relentless in their chase for the snitch, one of them had spotted it; she wasn't sure who had spotted it first. Ron was yelling from the goal posts, Bludgers were speeding past her, barely missing her as she sped toward the Slytherin goal posts to make her seventh score of the game.

Passing it back and forth to her teammate, she was close to making another ten points for Gryffindor. Rain was blinding, and stinging the exposed skin of her face,

another blur of opposing colors swept in front of her. From the corner of her eye she could see Draco ahead of Harry, hand outstretched for the lightening quick golden ball.

Bending lower on her broom, picking up speed toward the goal, Quaffle jammed tightly in her arms, she was mere yards from making another goal. As she sat up to make the goal she felt all the breath in her body forced out of her mouth, with a warm iron taste on her tongue. She dropped the Quaffle and began to cough; this was different than just having the breath knocked from you. A sharp pain in her side radiated to the center of her chest, she couldn't breathe. She felt more blood pooling in her mouth, draining from the corner of her mouth. The pain was too much, she couldn't even stay on her broom, she let go and fell backwards hurling towards the ground.

She was choking, she couldn't breathe, she couldn't swallow—she couldn't do anything but stare up at the sky and as the rain hit her in the eyes. The sound of rushing wind filled her ears. More streaks of Green and Silver passed above her, it seemed like she was falling forever, but knew all this happened in a matter of seconds.

Suddenly her body was stopped; not by a magic spell, but by another body, arms holding to her, a voice speaking to her in a barely audible tone.

"It's okay Ginevra," he said looking down at her, "stay with me Ginny, don't leave me."

She coughed a gasping, rattled cough, and blood splattered his cheeks, and the front of his Quidditch robes. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she blacked out.

Ginny finally took in a deep breath and blinked her eyes; her breathing was too quick. In a matter of seconds images flashed in rapid succession in her mind. Memories she had not yet seen in the Pensive; memories that had been put away for a long time. One after the other they surfaced. She could feel the warmth of her tears on her cheeks, his hands still cupping her face. The panic in his voice just as it had been in her vision.

"Ginevra," he said in a pleading manner. "Stay with me."

Ginny felt her eyes roll back in her head and visions of Silver and Green splattered in blood washed together. She was falling; the light that was filtering into the tent was fading into the images in her head.

"Ginny! Ginny!" she heard in a muffled roar much like the distant echoes of a roaring crowd. "Ginny!"

The last thing she saw before her mind went totally black was the fear and panic in Draco's eyes. Then her body went limp and she fell forward in to darkness.

DRACO sat beside her bed, in the sterile white hospital room at St. Mungo's; it was enough to cause one to go mad. The tired, worn faces of her parent's only added to the monotony of his own. Her brother's crowded the private floor waiting room, along with Potter and Lovegood. Granger had returned immediately, when Weasley sent her an owl at her parent's.

No one was sure what had sent her into the comatose state, though Draco had his own theories. Nothing was conclusive; Granger was still running some test on her. Nearly a day had passed since he found her in the Quidditch tent, and she collapsed in his arms. McGonagall had told him of the conversation she had with Ginny earlier in the day. At first he thought maybe she had seen a memory that had her rattled in the Pensive, but according to McGonagall and Dumbledore she did not make it to look in the Pensive.

As Draco sat there, staring at her watching her breathe, he thought how she looked so pale, so fragile. He squeezed her hand tightly in his own, he cried only when he was alone with her, until his eyes ran dry. He was tired and on edge, never a good combination for him. Few words had passed between him and her parents, it wasn't as if anyone was holding anyone else responsible, it was worry and concern that had stolen the words in the looks and sighs passed back and forth.

He glanced at his watch; it was nearly time for them to rotate visitation, the hospital, especially Granger was strict in enforcing the three visitor rule. He sighed and ran his hand over his face then to his neck, followed by a shove through his hair for the thousandth time. A nurse came in the door, clad in violet purple robes and equipped with her usually tools; a few phials of different colored liquids, quill and paper and her wand.

"Good evening Mr. Malfoy," she said as she entered, "Mr. and Mrs. Weasley."

"Evening Delia," they all said in near unison.

"You know the routine," she reminded them as she checked Ginny's vital signs.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley filed out of the room, one behind the other. Draco as usual lingered until she absolutely threw him out.

Delia looked over her shoulder as if to make sure they were alone in the room.

"Mr. Malfoy, Healer Granger wanted a word with you, she asked me to ask you to wait on her." Delia wrote down some numbers on the paper she was carrying with her. "She will be here shortly."

Draco nodded his head and then moved across the room and leaned in the window sill. He watched Delia perform her job and administer the phials of liquid through Ginny's skin, each turning the immediate area of vessels a different color until it was carried through out her body.

"I won't see you anymore tonight," Delia informed him as she adjusted Ginny's head and covers. "My shift is over in an hour, Gabrielle will be coming in."

"Thank you Delia," he muttered.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head on the paned glass of the window. He heard Delia close the door behind her. It was a few minutes when the door opened again. He lifted his head and blinked his eyes several times. Granger was walking toward him, a clipboard in hand, and red framed glasses on her nose.

"Granger," he greeted her. "Did you find anything out, from the test you ran?"

She handed him the clip board and then turned her attention to Ginny, opening her eyes as she shone a light in them from the tip of her wand. Draco held the clip board up to the bright light of the window, it took him a second to focus, and his eyes were extremely tired and were begging for sleep.

He read over the paper several times to make sure he was reading it correctly.

"Are you sure about this?"

Hermione stopped and looked up at him over her spectacles; she held a remarkable resemblance to McGonagall, with the serious lines etched around her mouth and eyes.

"Yes," she said austerely, "I did the lab work myself."

Again his fingers massaged his temples, the clipboard dropped to his side.

"Do you think that's what caused her to pass out?" he said concernedly as he moved toward Ginny, laying his hand on her arm.

"No," said Hermione, "it is highly unlikely that it was the cause of this." She ran her wand over Ginny's forehead, then down her nose and back up again. "My guess is she suffered from a memory overload."

"But McGonagall said she never looked in the Pensive." He now was squeezing her hand again.

"I know, but something triggered this, sparked this, and the last time it happened, if you will recall, though under different circumstances was a memory overload."

"But that was different wasn't it; I mean Dumbledore performed Legilimancy on her."

"Still the same principal, she relived a few days worth of content, in a couple of seconds, imagine if she relived a whole missing section of your life in that same amount of time."

"So you think she had memories of her own come back to her?"

"That is my theory, nothing conclusive."

"Is there anyway to find out for sure that is what happened?"

"There is," she said with a bit of disapproving in her voice. "But I would prefer not to do that without someone's permission. I think she will wake in a day or so."

"So your saying, if that is what happened, it was sort of shock that caused her to pass out?"

"Yes, that is what I am saying."

"Will this affect anything else?" he said holding the clipboard up momentarily.

"No," Hermione half smiled as she spoke, "I don't think this will affect them at all."

"Them?" Draco questioned.

"Yes, didn't you read it all, there are two? Mind you she is still very early on, but I got the distinct reading of two."

Draco sat on the edge of the bed and pushed Ginny's hair from her face.

"And, um I think you should keep this bit of information to yourself, until she wakes at least and you have a chance to talk with her."

Draco looked up at Hermione and nodded his head in silence.

"Not even your mother, not a soul; I have even removed all evidence of even performing the lab tests."

Again he nodded his head. He was trying to process the information, he felt as if he too were going to suffer from information overload.

Ginny was pregnant; with twins.

AN: The post will be a bit more staggered over the next couple of weeks. Spring is a very busy time of year for me; so I may not get to the comp for a couple of days, that is why it is taking a bit longer in between updates, just incase anyone was wondering. Thank you for your patience.