A/N1: Standard disclaimer; see chapter 1 for details.

A/N2: This chapter takes place on the same night as the previous one.

It had been a pleasant evening, spent with his closest friends and the friends of his parents. However, all of Harry's good feelings crashed and burned once he hopped through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room.

The phosphor globes no longer flashed like disco balls and instead glowed dully, reflecting the absence of the festive atmosphere which he had left behind two hours earlier. Now the students milled about in small groups, appearing tense and worried. His head of house was conferring with the four Weasley brothers near the table which displayed the Quidditch Cup and the seven broomsticks of the victorious team members.

Harry had barely reached Dean's side to ask what had happened when Ron rushed over and punched him in the face. He wiped his mouth and looked up from the floor. "What was that for?"

"Where's my sister?" the redhead yelled, spittle spraying all nearby.

"How would I know?" he asked, rising warily. "I've hardly been introduced to her."

"You liar!" The boy would have sprung for him again if each twin had not grabbed one arm to restrain him.

Harry's gaze shot to McGonagall, who approached with Percy. "Mr. Potter, Miss Weasley earlier told her dorm mates that she was having a romantic rendezvous after the game."

"What does that have to do with me? I thought I made it clear that I had no such interest in her."

"Our family not good enough for you, Potter?" Ron squirmed, but his brothers' grips were firm.

"Not at all. Why am I the sole suspect?"

"Apparently," McGonagall explained, "the young lady has been writing extensively in a diary. When asked, she said that it communicated with the 'only boy she would ever love'. You can, therefore, understand the conclusion."

"Let me get this straight," Harry said slowly while discreetly activating the universal alarm on his signet ring. "She has been missing all this time and you've done nothing but wait for me to return. What about search parties?"

"The only searching we've been doing is for you, you bastard!" Ron cried.

"Actually, Mr. Potter, I preceded your entrance by a scant few minutes. Perhaps," she turned to a cluster of younger girls, "a glimpse inside that mysterious diary?"

They exchanged guilty looks before Siobhan confessed for the group, "We've tried before to get into her trunk and look for it, but it's warded in some way."

"Any Weasley can open it," Percy volunteered. "If you could bring it down here, Professor…"

"Damn that for a time waster!" Ron broke free of his brothers' hold and snatched a broom from the table. "I'll go up there myself and fetch it!"

"Yeah," Fred said, staring after him, "flying up would certainly outwit the jinx on the stairs."

"Why did we never think of that, less handsome brother?"

"And why did he take my broom instead of one of yours?" Harry asked, wincing at crashing noises and the definite sound of splintering wood.

Their younger sibling slid down the transformed stairs, holding on to both a dark red diary and the remnants of his classmate's broom. "Got it!" He began rifling through the pages while his brothers read over his shoulder. Their expressions were gradually darkening when someone opened the door in response to violent pounding, and Hermione tumbled through the portrait hole.

"Miss Granger!" McGonagall's eyebrows rose almost to her hairline. "What are you doing here, and so late?"

She took a moment to catch her breath. "I received Harry's S.O.S. and ran across the roof to get here more quickly."

"That's dangerous," she remonstrated. "Did no one notice you?"

"No," she denied, "everyone was fussing over Cho barely making curfew when I slipped out of an open window."

The Scotswoman's mouth pursed. "There are entirely too many people wandering around late at night. Was she also meeting a boy?"

Hermione shook her head. "She said she spent the evening flying, to console herself for the team's loss. I believe her," she added quickly, "because half her hair was out of its ribbon and she was decidedly windblown. Plus, she was carrying her broom. Harry!" she exclaimed when she saw the mangled remains of his, "what happened?"

"Who cares?" The destructor of other people's property shoved forward the open diary. "Here it is, Potter. Proof positive that you've been lying to all of us."

There was clearly a correspondence which included an invitation to meet after the match behind Hagrid's hut. "'You have long wanted to cast aside the secrecy of our relationship, dear Ginny'," Hermione read aloud, "'and tonight you will understand just how much you mean to me.' Harry, that doesn't sound a bit like you."

"Trying to deny it now, Potter?"

"I am not trying to deny it, I do deny it." Harry pointed at the page. "That is not my handwriting. Professor," he spoke to McGonagall, "can you affirm that?"

She adjusted her spectacles. "Indeed, you are correct, Mr. Potter. The strokes are familiar…"

Hermione squinted. "That's Neville's style of writing descenders."

"Did I hear my name?" Neville and Draco entered the Gryffindor common room; like Hermione, they appeared out of breath.

"We met up on one of the staircases," the Slytherin disclosed. As the students tried to assimilate the fact that members of the other three houses were in the domain of the Lions, no one noticed Ron's face turn the colour of his hair.

"Are all of you hoity-toity guys in on this?" he roared. "No one treats my sister like a common–"

"Language," Hermione automatically and pre-emptedly interjected as she examined the outside of the diary. She gasped suddenly, "This looks exactly like the one delivered to Marietta."

"You mentioned that when you were trying to decide what to get your folks for Christmas," Draco mused, "but why would she want to play the littlest Weasley for a fool?"

"And why would she use Harry's name and my handwriting?" wondered Neville.

"Handwriting!" Hermione grasped Harry's arm. "Your injury after the Hufflepuff game!"

"Professor Flitwick allowed Neville to write my essay once I showed him my notes and outline. He said he could be my amen- amon-"

"Amanuensis."

"But how does Edgecombe fit into this?" asked the Hufflepuff.

"Excellent question," McGonagall straightened, "and we shall soon find out." A ghostly cat patronus soon scampered before the group marching through the halls. "That will tell Filius that we have a 'situation' involving one of his students. He will meet us in the common room."

Hermione still gripped Harry's arm as she walked along automatically, her mind in constant motion. She jumped when Draco smacked his head and exclaimed, "Dr. Strange!"

"Is this the proper moment to annoy me with your ridiculous expletive substitutions?" she asked testily.

"Edgecombe," he said excitedly, "is the Ravenclaw who was making goo-goo eyes at Harry on the Express last year. Edgecombe received the diary. Her best friend showed up late in the dorm the same night that Ginny Weasley didn't. Do you see a pattern?"

McGonagall's jaw clenched even harder. "Mr. Malfoy, indeed I do. Now let us see if that pattern holds. Mr. Weasley," she addressed the sixth year prefect, "could you and your brothers attempt to control Ronald? He has already caused violence to one person tonight and I don't want him to jump the gun again."

It was all too easy. Cho crumbled at the first question, her guilt for assisting her friend having destroyed her peace of mind all year. Neither Flitwick nor McGonagall offered absolution, but pressed her for details of her evening's activities.

"Mari used the potion again to turn in Harry," she admitted in tears, "and recorded messages on the parchments used for the Valentine greetings."

"Are you telling me, Miss Chang, that Miss Edgecombe successfully brewed polyjuice potion in her third year?"

"Yes," she sniffed, "and in Myrtle's bathroom."

"Astonishing!" he exclaimed.

"Aye, Filius, she is talented, but her motives are most impure. I have a feeling that she will not be returning to Hogwarts next year." Her glare settled on the defiant Marietta, who had refused to say a word. "If she is not going to be of use, please have prefects escort her to the Headmaster's office and tell him to contact her parents and the Weasleys."

"And mine?" asked Cho fearfully.

"Yes, my dear, but what we tell them will depend upon Miss Weasley's condition when we retrieve her. Now, what was the purpose of those parchments?"

"They were to lead Ginny deep into the forest. They all said something like, 'Just a little farther' or 'You're almost there'. I'm the better flyer, see, so I was hovering above her among the branches and activating them as she walked."

"And she entered behind Hagrid's house. In what direction did you take her?"

"I'm not sure." She quailed under the stares. "It depended upon how clear it was to fly in the trees. I'm pretty sure it was more than one kilometre but less than two."

"Kilometre?" The older woman looked confused.

"The metric system," Hermione informed her. "Around three quarters to one mile."

Flitwick pondered then turned to the brothers. "Has your sister a good sense of direction?"

"Not really," Percy replied slowly.

"Yeah, she once got lost in our own orchard," one of the twins added.

"Of course, we were experimenting with Peruvian Darkness Powder at the time," admitted the other.

McGonagall harrumphed. "Very well. I shall proceed to the headmaster's office and contact the auror department. I'm sure that Amelia Bones will love rousting her troops for a nighttime search. All of you," she gave them a stern look, "back to your proper dormitories. I will let the portraits know that you have fifteen minutes to reach your destination, and they will inform me of any stragglers."

The students retreated in her wake; Flitwick, attention on a weeping Cho, did not notice that another of his house also exited.

"Now, Minerva, I do not see any need to involve the Ministry in this matter." Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling madly. "After all, this is not the first time that we have had a student out of bed for, shall I say, the sake of love."

"Albus Dumbledore! Did ye not hear me when I said that was not the case?"

"I'm sure that young Harry simply pulled the wool over your eyes. Obviously he has become enamoured of young Ginevra, and a finer possible mate for him I daresay we would be hard put to find."

"Ye old fool! They are but eleven and twelve years old. There is naught going on between them!"

"Are you certain? When I spoke with Molly, she informed me that the two had become quite the Romeo and Juliet of the school. While she is aux anges with that development, she is a trifle concerned with the current situation. I was able to convince her that I had it all in hand."

"In case it has slipped your mind," McGonagall gritted out, "Romeo and Juliet died! And as far as we know, that may already be Ginny's condition."

"No, no, that cannot be. I must say that young Harry surprised me in figuring everything out so young. Alas, I wished for him to have a happy childhood before I burdened him with the news, but since he has already discovered the link to defeating Tom is love and death, we must allow events to continue as they have begun. I cannot permit you to interfere." The headmaster had expected his deputy to hinder him by magical means and had prepared thusly; he had not, however, taken into consideration that she might borrow a leaf from Ron Weasley's book and deck him with her fist. The restrained and silenced Marietta watched with wide eyes as McGonagall opened the floo connection; she was currently second-guessing her decisions over the school year.