[AN] - I hope you enjoy Harry Potter and the Hall of Records - a sixth year story that begins following the end of Canon Book 5. This story is the result of plot idea that I have been sitting on for years, and wanted to explore. There are so many great stories that cover the sixth and seventh year, so I am hopeful that you will enjoy this one as a new journey through the same time period. To the fanfic authors that have come before me, you may see small hints acknowledging your stories - if you see these, take them as a token of appreciation for your work over the years.
Chapter 1
Harry sat on his bed at Number 4, Privet Drive, twirling his wand aimlessly in his hands. It had been a month since he had returned to the Dursleys, and despite the fact that the Dursleys had been nearly tolerant of him – a massive improvement over his previous summers with them – he couldn't remember ever being more miserable.
It had been easier to avoid thinking about things (as he had come to mentally label events from the Department of Mysteries) while he had been surrounded by the numerous distractions that came with being at Hogwarts. For the past month however, with relatives who rarely spoke to him and letters from his friends that alternately made him want to punch his bedroom door or break down altogether, he had been completely consumed by grief over the loss of his Godfather and guilt at the knowledge that he had been responsible for it.
Harry wasn't completely illogical – he knew that he had not cast the curse that knocked Sirius through the veil – but he couldn't escape the fact that, if he had just listened to Hermione; if he had just taken occlumency a little bit more seriously; if had remembered the two-way mirror that Sirius had given him as a means of contacting his Godfather in a time of need, Sirius might still be there waiting for Harry to arrive at Grimmauld Place with his warm smile and bark-like laugh.
At times, it still felt as if… things had never happened. As if it was too difficult for Harry to wrap his mind around the fact that Sirius was really gone, and so his brain just pretended that one day, his Godfather would send him an owl telling him to hang in there with the Dursleys and everything would be back to normal. In Hermione's letters – more often than not, the ones that made Harry want to punch his door – she had insisted that Harry needed to face his feelings head on rather than bury them away. How could he face his feelings directly if he still felt like his Godfather couldn't possibly be dead?
And then there was the prophecy – the terrible knowledge that Dumbledore had finally told him after the disaster at the Ministry. Harry couldn't bring himself to be angry with the Headmaster; not anymore at any rate. The prophecy had become a constant sense of dread that he couldn't escape like a lead weight in his stomach, and he could see why the Dumbledore wanted to protect him from that feeling – he sometimes wondered if he would be better off if Dumbledore hadn't ever told him. And anyway, even if he had known the prophecy, he still would've gone to the Ministry after seeing the vision of Voldemort torturing his Godfather. How could he not have done?
Harry dropped his wand on the floor with a clatter and wondered with detached interest what would happen if the golden sparks that shot out of the end upon impact had ignited his bedclothes. Would the Dursleys finally overcome their revulsive fear of Mad-Eye Moody's threat and pretend that Harry existed once more? Harry sighed and picked his wand up, glancing at the clock on his bedside table. Eighteen more minutes.
He had received an owl that morning telling him to be ready to be picked up at midnight, and so Harry, in an unusual fit of expedience, had packed his trunk with all of his things and told the Dursleys at dinner that he would be leaving. It was a testament to how terrified of Moody his uncle must have been that Vernon Dursley didn't bother to ask how Harry's wizard friends would be picking him up. Uncle Vernon's face had darkened slightly, and he issued a simple and only marginally strained "very well," before turning back to his meal.
For as much as he hated Privet Drive Harry wasn't sure he really wanted to leave Dursleys. For one thing, he was extremely apprehensive about returning to Grimmauld Place where he assumed he would be going. Beyond that, repulsive as the Dursleys were, they were more than happy to let Harry wallow in his grief and anger at himself. He couldn't imagine his friends doing the same and he was not in any mood to talk about Sirius… or the prophecy. He didn't know if he ever would be.
Harry laid back on his bed, watching the ceiling fan rotate slowly in place, throwing odd shadows against the crown molding. The idea of going back to Grimmauld Place made his stomach turn each time he thought about it. Leaving aside the concern from his friends which he couldn't help but dread, he would not be able, intentionally or not, to pretend that the Department… that things hadn't happened when he would be surrounded by reminders of Sirius. The thought alone caused his throat to tighten uncomfortably. Maybe he would be going to the Burrow; or even Hogwarts. He cleared his throat and then nearly jumped out of his bed when a small 'pop' broke the silence of the evening. It was all he could do to contain a yelp of surprise.
"Harry how are you?" said Remus Lupin warmly, reaching a hand out to pull him up off of his bed. Harry stood, looking at Lupin warily. Standing right here in front of him was Sirius' best friend. Would he be angry with Harry? It hadn't even occurred to Harry that it might be Lupin who would come to get him. The older man didn't seem upset, but perhaps he was just hiding it.
"I'm fine," he said quietly, unable to look Lupin in the eye. "Where are we going?"
"To Headquarters," said Remus. "I've got a portkey – are all of your things packed?"
"Yes," said Harry, feeling suddenly light-headed. He took a deep breath and place his hand on the day-old Daily Prophet in Remus' outstretched hand. Something of his apprehension must have shown on his face, for Lupin gave him a sympathetic look that almost made him recoil. He was thankful that the man didn't say anything else.
"On three then," said Remus, tapping the portkey with his wand and grabbing Harry's trunk. Harry picked up Hedwig's cage, looking down to be sure that she had a tight grip on her perch.
Harry nodded resolutely and a breath later felt the familiar tug behind his navel, leaving Privet Drive and his solitary grieving behind.
With a swirl of color, Harry, Lupin, Hedwig, and Harry's trunk appeared in the dimly-lit foyer at Grimmauld Place, Harry just managing to stay on his feet. He set Hedwig's cage down carefully, trying to ignore her reproachful glare.
Alerted by the sound, Mrs. Weasley and Tonks came bustling in from the kitchen. "Harry, dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Weasley with a smile, enveloping Harry in a hug. Harry felt his throat tighten again and cleared his throat angrily.
"Hi kid!" said Tonks brightly, her hair an iridescent blue that was so loud that Harry thought it might actually be giving off a faint glow.
"Hello, Mrs. Weasley," he said quietly, "Hello, Tonks."
Mrs. Weasley pulled back and, gripping him by the shoulders regarded him carefully, and Harry had the impression that she could tell exactly how he was feeling – it was not unlike the feeling Dumbledore often gave of being x-rayed. Mrs. Weasley grimaced slightly and then smiled at him. "The rest of the children are waiting upstairs for you, why don't you go say hello. It is quite late after all."
"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley," said Harry, bending down to grab his trunk and Hedwig's cage.
"Don't be silly, Harry," said Tonks, rolling her eyes. She waved her wand and his trunk raced up the stairs followed by Hedwig's cage, the owl hooting in exasperation as she soared behind Harry's trunk.
"Get some sleep kid," said Remus, "We'll catch up in the morning."
Harry nodded and followed his trunk and Hedwig up the stairs, pausing when he reached the door to his and Ron's usual room on the second floor. "What do you think Hedwig?" he asked the snowy owl perched in her cage atop Harry's trunk beside the doorjamb. She glared back at him, evidently still grumpy about her unceremonious banishing up the stairs. Harry sighed. He could hear Ron, Hermione, and Ginny talking quietly on the other side of the door, but he suddenly found himself uncertain as to whether or not he wanted to see them at all. He had been responsible for each of them getting injured at the Department of Mysteries as well. Their letters hadn't said anything of it, but what if they were angry with him? What if they didn't trust him anymore? And what on earth would they say when they learned about the contents of the prophecy? Worse yet, what if they wanted him to talk about Sirius?
Still caught in between wanting to see his friends and wanting to bolt down the stairs and hide somewhere where he wouldn't have to talk to anyone until September 1st, Harry jumped in surprise when the door swung open, seemingly of its own accord and he came fact to face with Ginny Weasley.
"Harry!" she yelped in surprise. Ginny was wearing an old, tight-fitting t-shirt and shorts that showed quite a lot of her long, thin legs and distracted Harry so completely that he momentarily forgot why he had been standing outside the bedroom door. Over her head, he could see Ron and Hermione sitting very close to one another on Harry's bed, looking towards the door in surprise. Ginny embraced Harry tightly. Hermione grabbed him next in a firm hug as Ron followed her to the doorway.
Slightly puzzled at his divergent thoughts, he said "Hi Ginny. Hi Ron, Hermione."
"How long were you standing out there?" Ginny asked curiously, a smile playing about the corners of her mouth as he and Ron traded a brief, back-slapping hug.
"Yeah mate," said Ron, smiling at his best friend. "We thought we heard something thud outside a minute ago – Ginny was going to see if you forgot which room we were in or something."
"Have you guys been here all summer?" asked Harry, sidestepping the question. Ginny had settled herself at the foot of Harry's bed and Harry's eyes kept flicking back over towards her, as if they had a mind of their own.
"Yep," said Ron matter-of-factly. "The day before term ended, Bill's wards knocked out some Death Eaters trying to get into the Burrow, so Mum and Dad decided it was safer for us to be here."
"How are you Harry?" asked Hermione gently. Ginny shot her a sharp look, and Ron watched Harry apprehensively. Harry knew they expected him to respond badly – it was how he had treated them much of last year, and it made him feel ashamed, particularly because part of him wanted to lash out. He picked at a spot on the bedclothes where George had dropped a Whizbang the previous summer, feeling the weight of their eyes.
"I'm… I don't really want to talk about this, Hermione," he said quietly. He tried to ignore the looks of surprise that crossed their faces.
"You can't bottle it all up, Harry," she said again, more insistent this time. "If you ever want to…"
"Hermione," said Ron warningly. "Let's let him breathe. Harry just got here, okay?"
Harry smiled gratefully at Ron. "Thanks."
"I know, we've just been worried about you, Harry," said Hermione, her voice quavering slightly.
"It's not that I don't appreciate the concern," said Harry, looking down at his shoes. "I'm just… give me some time."
He looked up, relieved to see his friends nodding in understanding. "Just know that we're here for you whenever you need us," said Ginny, reaching out and squeezing his knee. He smiled tightly at her.
"Thanks," said Harry. An awkward silence settled over the room, and Harry cast desperately around for something to say. "So… what have you lot been up to the last few months?"
"Holed up in here for the most part," said Ginny with a shrug.
"Hermione's been trying to get us to knock out our summer homework," said Ron rolling his eyes.
"Well, honestly, Ron!" said Hermione exasperatedly. Harry noticed with interest the pleased expression that crossed Ron's face as Hermione lit up. "If you'd just work a little bit each day, it could have been done by now. And you've been moaning about being bored constantly since I've gotten here."
"When did you get here?" asked Harry curiously.
"Last Wednesday," she replied. "I spent the first month with my parents – it was nice to spend some time with them, but," she sighed, sharing a weary look with Ginny. "I had avoided telling them what was happening in our world, but two weeks ago, the Death Eaters murdered a muggle family on the other side of town, and the Dark Mark was spotted in the sky. A man and woman and their two young girls – they were all patients at my parents practice. It was horrible."
"Did your – er – did they," said Harry stumbling over the words.
"Did they know it was magic?" helped Hermione. "Yes, they started to put two and two together. I've mentioned to them that I've been worried about you, but they had thought it was just because of." Hermione stopped short looking dismayed.
Harry's heart plummeted into his stomach. "Because of Sirius," he said squarely, grimacing, but desperate for Hermione to continue her story.
Hermione nodded looking slightly relieved. "Anyway, I told them everything – about Voldemort and how he has come back. They needed to know – they're muggles! What if he comes for them?"
Ron placed a hand on Hermione's shoulder and squeezed supportively while Harry looked down at his feet, trying to ignore the fact that Hermione's parents would be in far less danger if she were not friends with him.
"We had a bit of a row," she continued, "about me going back to school. In the end, they agreed that I'm safer with as much magical training as possible – and here at Headquarters – so they relented."
Harry felt sick. Hermione had been rowing with her parents, and it was because of her friendship with him. "Hermione, I'm sorry," he said painfully.
"Whatever are you sorry for?" she asked, a steely tone to her voice now. "This isn't anyone's fault but Voldemort's. I've just made sure they are taking precautions like the rest of us. The Order has given them emergency portkeys and explained to them how to use them… just in case."
Harry nodded, feeling a little better that Hermione's parents weren't just sitting ducks. He couldn't push aside the nagging guilt that kept telling him that if it weren't for Hermione's friendship with Harry, none of this might have been necessary. He wondered again what his friends would think when he told them the prophecy. They had steadfastly supported him despite everything that he had put them through thus far, but would the horrible knowledge of the Prophecy be the final straw that would finally push them to distance themselves from him? He couldn't decide if he'd feel more relieved or devastated if it came to that.
During breakfast the following morning, Professor Dumbledore arrived via Floo and asked to speak with Harry. Harry, who had been trying to hide his lack of an appetite from Mrs. Weasley, got up immediately and followed the Headmaster up to the Drawing Room, trying to ignore the worried look that crossed Mrs. Weasley's face.
"You wanted to see me, Sir?" asked Harry as politely as he could after closing the drawing room door. He wasn't sure what to say to the Headmaster, torn between embarrassment at the tantrum he had thrown in Dumbledore's office and lingering frustration with the man for keeping the knowledge of the prophecy from him. Dumbledore pulled out his wand and wordlessly cast a few spells characterized by three gentle twitches of his wand. Harry rose his eyebrows in askance.
"I did wish to speak with you Harry, and I do not wish to be disturbed," offered Dumbledore. "Or overheard," he added with an amused look. Evidently, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny had not concealed their stockpile of Extendable Ears quite as carefully as they had thought. The apprehension must have shown on Harry's face, because Dumbledore added, "it is no crime to be curious, Harry. Indeed, I believe that a well-informed person makes better choices than the alternative."
That statement struck Harry as so ironic that he momentarily forgot his intention to be polite to the Headmaster. Before he could reply with the scathing comment that had risen so abruptly to the tip of his tongue, however, Dumbledore continued:
"Which is why I am going to be meeting with you once a week to update you on the status of the Order and the state of our efforts against Lord Voldemort."
"Are you – Am I allowed to join?" asked Harry, caught off guard by the unexpected gesture of good faith.
"Many of the members believe that you are still too young to be a fully-integrated member of the Order of the Phoenix," said Dumbledore evenly, "However, given the events of last June and your knowledge of the prophecy, it is foolish to pretend that you are not central to our resistance against Voldemort and his Death Eaters. I have made the mistake of treating you as a child before and do not intend to do so again – can you forgive me my mistakes?"
Harry hesitated. The less mature part of him wasn't ready to conciliate Dumbledore so quickly. It wanted its chance to make Dumbledore feel every bit of pain that Harry had been feeling – it wanted to enjoy watching the older man's guilt as if seeing someone else's pain could provide a modicum of comfort that Harry wasn't suffering alone.
The realization Harry had come to with more and more clarity over the past few weeks was that he couldn't truthfully and definitively tell himself that he would have handled telling the prophecy any differently than Dumbledore had. All of Wizarding Britain, perhaps the entire Wizarding world, stood at the precipice of war at the crux of which Harry figured to be standing. It wouldn't do to be fighting battles on more than one front, particularly with someone who Harry believed, through his frustration, held his best interests at heart.
Harry took a deep breath and nodded mutely. "Er – professor – I need to apologize too," began Harry awkwardly. "I shouldn't have broken your things, and – er – I'm sorry." Harry blushed and looked down at his trainers.
"I appreciate your apology, Harry, and I can only imagine how you were feeling. I quite understand why you reacted the way you did in my office. You had had a terrible night and in many ways, you were right to be angry."
Harry didn't know what to say, so he continued to examine his shoes.
"In addition to keeping you informed, I also plan to help you prepare for the path before you myself. That is, if you are willing to accept my help?"
Harry looked up at Dumbledore and nodded slowly. "That would be great sir, thank you. I don't…" Harry rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. "I don't know how I'm going to succeed, but I'm going to do my best."
"You underestimate yourself, Harry," said Dumbledore, peering at Harry over the tops of his half-moon spectacles.
Harry snorted humorlessly. "I'm not even a fully qualified wizard and he's the most powerful Dark Wizard since Grindelwald!"
"You are more powerful than you realize, Harry," said Dumbledore evenly. "And you already have powers that Lord Voldemort cannot understand." Harry tried to interrupt, but Dumbledore continued, "And because he cannot understand them – cannot understand you – he will underestimate you."
"What powers? Love?" asked Harry, unable to keep the bitter derision out of his voice now. "My love for Sirius played right into his hands. My power to love nearly got all of my friends killed – got Sirius..."
"Voldemort is a master of manipulation. However, you still foiled plans he had been working on for well over a year. And you did so with no formal training – a misjudgment on my part which I will always regret. I believe when you finally meet Voldemort, your power will surprise even you. Voldemort will always underestimate you because he is a slave to his ego and does not understand your love and loyalty for your friends – something he has never given or received, despite his many followers. His ego will cause him to make misjudgments and you will beat him for his stupidity."
Harry stared at Dumbledore, unable to believe that the Headmaster truly had this much faith in him, but warmed by it nonetheless. "I'm not sure I feel as confident as you, sir, but I'll do everything I can."
"I know you will, Harry."
"Sir," said Harry after a moment. "Does the rest of the Order know the prophecy now?"
"I shared it with Remus earlier this summer – as your guardian, I thought it important that he knows so that he can be supportive. I have not revealed it to anyone else. To be fair, I imagine that a good many of our number have an idea of what it entails."
Harry nodded, unsure whether he was happy with that answer or not.
"Have you spoked about it with your friends?"
"No sir, I don't," he stopped uncomfortably. "I don't know exactly how to tell them."
"I understand that it is difficult," said Dumbledore nodding. "But do not underestimate the relief of a shared burden. You can decide who you feel most comfortable talking to, but I do hope that you will talk to someone."
Harry nodded again.
Dumbledore sighed heavily. "Lastly before I go, I need to speak with you about Sirius's will."
Harry felt as if he'd been kicked in the stomach. "His Will? Sir, I really don't want to talk about this… not yet."
"I understand, however, it is my duty to tell you that Sirius last wishes were to split his estate equally between you and Remus Lupin, and to name Remus Lupin as your guardian until you reach the age of majority."
"Professor Lupin? I – his estate?"
"Speak with Remus and he can explain more. I believe it may do you both good to talk – I think that you may be able to better understand how each other are feeling than anyone else."
"Okay – do I – er – do I need to do anything? You know with the – with Sirius's…"
"No Harry, you do not. It will all be taken care of. If I am honest with you, Remus can tell you more than I can."
"Okay sir, I'll talk with him."
"Excellent," said Dumbledore. "I must head to the Ministry to speak with Fudge, but I will meet you here on Tuesday morning to discuss your training."
"How are things going at the Ministry, sir?" asked Harry curiously.
Dumbledore sighed. "As well as could be reasonably expected, I suppose. Minister Fudge has agreed that Voldemort has returned, but he is hesitant to work proactively against the Death Eaters."
"Why not? How can he hide from the truth now – he saw Voldemort himself? He saw the Deal Eaters captured in the Department of Mysteries!"
"Ah," said Dumbledore tiredly, "therein lies part of the problem. Some of those Death Eaters are wealthy, long-time donors to the Minister's campaign and charities. Cornelius is in the difficult political position of trying to avoid alienating his allies while still doing his job.
"Do you think he is in league with Voldemort?"
"I do not think so, no," said Dumbledore shaking his head. "I think Cornelius has become accustomed to being in power and fears that decisive action will polarize his popular support. It is a delicate thing, politics. One must often choose between doing what is right for their constituents and doing what is right for themselves. I am hopeful that I can remind Cornelius that he is called to serve, not to be served."
Dumbledore stood up. "I will see you on Tuesday, Harry. In the meantime, relax with your friends, and take care of yourself."
"I will sir," said Harry, standing with Dumbledore.
As the Headmaster left the Drawing Room, Harry remained where he stood, his stomach rolling uncomfortably. Between grief over losing Sirius amplified by being back at Grimmauld Place and now having to deal with his Godfather's Will – a further mark of finality that Harry didn't want to face – and the unyielding, stifling weight of the prophecy, he had so many thoughts running through his head, his mind couldn't decide which thoughts to focus on first. It left him feeling horribly unsettled.
He took a deep breath and headed upstairs, his thoughts still a whirling mess. Opening the door to his and Ron's room, he took two steps toward his bed before he realized that someone was already there.
Ron and Hermione lay tangled up on Harry's bed kissing each other enthusiastically enough that they didn't immediately recognize his presence. Harry froze, rooted to the spot, unable to comprehend what he was seeing.
It was Hermione who noticed him first – her eyes shot open in alarm and she scrambled off the bed, her cheeks turning a bright red.
"Hermione, what the – " said Ron jumping at her sudden movement. He noticed the direction of her gaze, and he scrambled around to look at Harry, his ears matching the color of Hermione's cheeks.
Harry stared at his two best friends, unsure what to say and feeling both mortified to have walked in on them snogging and the white-hot heat of anger spreading across his back for reasons he couldn't explain.
"Harry! Sorry mate – er – didn't see you there!" said Ron glancing at Hermione, his expression clearly begging her for help.
"Did you have to be doing that on mybed?" he asked hotly. It was like a switch had flipped inside of him and he suddenly wanted nothing more than to verbally abuse Ron and Hermione. How long had they been keeping their apparent relationship a secret from him? Why did he have to find out like this? Just after he had had an exhausting discussion with Dumbledore and in his room! On his bed! It was his bed! Surely they should know that no one would appreciate that!
"Erm," said Hermione sharing a look with Ron that clearly communicated that they had been worried that Harry would respond the way he had. It only incensed him more.
"So what are you, dating now?" spat Harry. "Nice way to tell your best friend!"
Before either could respond, Harry spun on his heel and strode out the room trying to get as far from Ron and Hermione as he could. He took the stairs two at a time towards the attic, figuring that Buckbeak might make for some nice company at the moment. Harry closed the door to the attic behind him a bit harder than was strictly necessary, and inclined his head, preparing to bow to Buckbeak as he had many times before. It took only a glance around the attic to realize that Buckbeak was not there.
"Does no one tell me anything?" muttered Harry darkly. He flumped down on the unfinished wooden floor next to the small, dingy window that peered out onto the street below. It was a bright sunny day, and the cheerful light streaming through the window, dappled by dust and grime, was at odds with Harry's mood. It was like some part of him wanted to be angry – with Ron and Hermione, with this stupid, dusty room, with Buckbeak, with Sirius for leaving him in Grimmauld Place alone – and he didn't know where it had come from or how to turn it off.
What was wrong with him anyway? He hadn't felt angry like this since the school year – before Sirius had died. He had been surprised to find Ron and Hermione kissing, but did he really care that it was on his bed? If he was honest with himself, he wasn't really surprised that they had gotten together – so was it just the shock of walking in on them that had caused him to go off like that? A creeping sense of shame began to spread over him, putting out his anger. Harry knew he had put his friends through hell last year, and after having privately resolved to be a better friend to them, he had gone and bitten their heads off once again. He put his head in his hands, massaging his forehead in frustration.
"Are you all right, Harry?" asked a tentative voice in the doorway. Harry looked up and saw Ginny standing there, looking concernedly at him.
"Where did Buckbeak go?" he asked grumpily, side stepping her question.
"The Ministry quietly called off the search for him after McNair was identified as a Death Eater. Dumbledore brought him back to Hogwarts for Hagrid to watch over him – I think he is going to a Hippogriff preserve in Ireland before the end of the summer. I wish you could have seen the look on Hagrid's face when Dumbledore told him – it was after an Order meeting here; in the kitchen. He was over the moon!" Ginny smiled at the memory.
"Oh," said Harry, glad for Hagrid, but not enough to erode his foul mood. He was silent for a moment before he asked, "How did you know I was up here?"
"I saw you rush by," said Ginny with the equivalent of a verbal shrug, taking a step towards him and closing the door behind her. "What's bugging you?"
Harry could hear a note of uncertainty in her voice. Did she expect him to lash out at her as well? It would only be fair for her to feel that way, he reasoned. Surely Ron and Hermione have told her what a great prat you were last year. A wave of shame melted over him and he felt his anger retreat a little further.
He sighed. "Nothing, really," he said. He tried to keep his tone light, but really didn't want to talk about any one of the myriad of thoughts running through his head.
"Nothing," repeated Ginny skeptically. She hesitated. "Harry – you know you can talk to me… if you need to. Ron and Hermione too, of course. We're just – we're worried about you and we're here for you."
Harry looked up at her, unsure of how to respond. He knew that his friends were there to listen to him if he wanted to talk. They probably even hoped that he would take him up on it. On some level, that was comforting to him, but couldn't they understand that he didn't want to talk? About anything? Just the thought of it made him queasy.
Ginny waited a moment, and apparently interpreting his silence as an invitation to continue, she said, "I can't imagine how you're feeling about Sirius, and I know that's the last thing you want to hear. I remember how my Mom kept saying she knew how I felt after… after the Chamber."
Harry, whose eyes had dropped to the floor when she began speaking, looked at her sharply. It was only the second time he could remember her ever referencing what happened in her first year. The first had been after they had visited Mr. Weasley at St. Mungo's last Christmas when Harry wondered if he was being possessed by Lord Voldemort.
"I hated it – every time she said that. How could anyone know the guilt that I felt? That I had nearly killed all of those people for being a stupid little girl."
"You weren't stupid!" defended Harry, automatically.
"You're nice to say that," said Ginny. "Anyway, I know that I don't know how you're feeling, and I'm sure you don't want to talk about it. But talking does help – it did for me, anyway. It doesn't have to be with me, but I really hope you'll trust in someone."
Harry looked at her, both touched by her care and annoyed at her insistence. Ginny pursed her lips and nodded at him. "I'll leave you to it then."
"Wait, Ginny," said Harry as she turned to leave the room. She looked back at him curiously. "It's not that I don't trust you," he said, looking at his hands clasped together around his knees, "or Ron or Hermione. It's just… I don't know how to talk about it. Or want to talk about it. I mean, I don't even want to be here! Everything in this place reminds me that he isn't coming back – that I've lost the closest thing I've ever had to family – and that it's all my…"
Harry shut his mouth, taking a shuddering breath – quietly so Ginny wouldn't hear. He hadn't meant to say all of that. It was like it had come bursting out of him as soon as he gave it a chance to.
Ginny considered him for a moment, and then walked over to him slowly, as if approaching a wounded animal, unsure if he would lash out at her or not. She sat down in front of him, crossing her legs and being sure not to touch him with her knees.
"That it's my fault," he finished in just above a whisper, his eyes on the floor once again.
"It's not your fault, Harry" said Ginny firmly. "Voldemort used your love for Sirius against you – he tricked you."
"I was stupid enough to let him trick me," said Harry stubbornly. "I should have known he would try something like that – I can see into his head for Merlin's sake!"
"You just got through telling me I wasn't stupid for letting Tom trick me through his diary."
"You were just a kid, Ginny, how could you have known better? And who would suspect a diary of being entranced by the most evil wizard in the last century?"
"How is that different?" persisted Ginny. "And if anything, your ability to see what Voldemort is doing means you know how his mind works. It didn't surprise you that he would try to capture Sirius – and you tried to reach Sirius here, remember? Kreacher told you he had gone to Department of Mysteries! How were you supposed to know that Kreacher was working for the other side when we all thought he was sworn to Sirius? We know how House Elves are with loyalty – it was impossible to imagine that Kreacher would tell a lie that might get his master hurt."
"Kreacher is evil enough," said Harry darkly.
"He is," agreed Ginny. "But he's still a House Elf who should have been bound by magic to protect his master."
Harry was silent for quite some time, idly playing with the frayed shoelaces on his trainers. "I just wish he was still here," he whispered.
Ginny put her hand on his knee. "I know you do, Harry. Me too."
Harry took a shuddering breath and cast about for a change of subject. "So when did Ron and Hermione get together?"
Ginny looked surprised for a moment but then laughed softly. "Oh, that? Apparently, they came to some sort of 'understanding' last week, after Hermione got here."
"An understanding?" Harry asked quizzically.
Ginny snickered. "That's how Ron described it to me when I asked."
Harry smiled in spite of himself. "And what are the terms of this understanding?"
"As far as I can tell, assaulting as many people as possible with the view of them snogging."
Harry nodded. "Sounds familiar."
"Figured as much," said Ginny with a smile. "Where did you catch them?"
"On my bed."
"Your bed?" gasped Ginny. She burst out laughing – a rich, layered sound that made Harry feel oddly pleased. "That's just not right!"
"Tell me about it," said Harry chuckling along with her, somehow finding the memory funny now instead of embarrassing and infuriating. Ginny's smile lit up her face, the mirth, clear in her eyes, and warming Harry's mood as if he'd just had a bottle of butterbeer.
A bit puzzled by the abrupt change in his feelings but thankful nonetheless, Harry put his hand over Ginny's, still on his knee. "Thank you," he said.
"I meant what I said before," she said, the directness of her gaze drawing Harry's eyes as if it were magnetic. "I am here for you, anytime you need me."
Harry nodded. "I might take you up on that. I'm just not ready yet."
"I can live with that," she smiled warmly. "Now," she said standing up. "How about some lunch? I bet we can make Ron and Hermione squirm – they've been awfully easy to needle since they started snogging."
"I think I might need to apologize, actually," said Harry, remembering his earlier explosion. "They caught me by surprise and I – er – didn't react particularly well."
Ginny laughed again. "That'll be even better – come on." She grabbed Harry's hand and pulled him downstairs. Harry followed her, trying to ignore both his anxiety at how Ron and Hermione would respond to his earlier outburst and the fact that when Ginny grabbed his hand, it had sent butterflies flurrying through his stomach.