Chapter Five: The Kargasa Charm.

A/N: If you recognize it as JKR's, it's hers; if you don't, it's mine or historical fact. The reason this is getting updated so fast is that this is a slightly altered and improved version of what's up on fictionalley. However, after about 6 more chapters I'm going to run out of what I've already got up there, and then it'll slow down some (although I still like to update every couple of weeks.) Thanks to all the reviewers. :)

"Ginny-- you're awake-- we've been so worried--" said Hermione, twisting her hands. "Did you just wake up?"

"Yes, just now," said Ginny. The expression of relief on her brother's face was almost comical. Ron never had been any good at hiding his thoughts. Harry looked at her soberly, tentatively, as if not yet sure if she was friend or foe. Ginny shivered. His full attention, she realized, had never been turned on her before. How ironic, when she'd prayed so desperately for just such an event. Suddenly, fiercely, she wished him as oblivious to her as he'd always been. Those green eyes saw too much. How could she have never seen that before?

Madam Pomfrey came bustling up. "You shouldn't be awake just yet," she said briskly. She handed Ginny a glass of some clear bubbling liquid. The girl drank it, grimacing. It tasted a lot like chalk dust. The room dimmed a bit from its unbearable brightness after she'd finished it.

"Miss Granger-- Mr. Weasley-- Mr. Potter." Madam Pomfrey looked pointedly at Ron, Hermione, and Harry.

"Oh! Right," said Ron. "We'll leave you alone then." They all started to leave the room.

"Wait," said Ginny, frowning. "What time's the last train leaving?"

"Ten," said Hermione. "Just go down to the platform."

"Weren't we going to meet and go together?" asked Ginny.

Ron and Harry exchanged a fleeting glance, and there was something kindly in their eyes that made Ginny go cold.

"No, you go on," said Hermione in a strange tone of voice. She walked over to the bed. "Goodbye, Ginny," she whispered, hugging her friend tightly.

Harry bent down to do the same. Ginny went rigid with shock as she felt his arms around her for the first time in her life. "Be good," he said. He kissed her on the forehead.

Ron leaned down and gripped his sister to him. His brown eyes were very serious on hers. "'Bye, Gin," he said in an oddly choked voice. "We'll see you soon. Very soon. Give my love to Mum, when-- when you see her." Then they were gone.

Ginny lay back in bed and shut her mind off from everything she had just heard. Blackness rolled in on her like a tide. When she opened her eyes again, Madam Pomfrey was bending over her.

"Ginny," the mediwitch said gently, "do you feel quite recovered now?"

"Yes, I suppose so. Can I just go back to my dormitory? I really should pack." Ginny glanced at the Muggle clock on the bedside table. "It's already nine-thirty!" she said in shock. "How did this happen?"

"I... considered it advisable to put you under a sleeping potion for a bit longer," said Madam Pomfrey. "A suitcase has been packed for you."

Ginny looked down, picking at the edge of the blanket. "What happened?"

Madam Pomfrey gave a long, long sigh. "I'm bound to be given an earful about this," the mediwitch muttered under her breath.

"Please, Madam Pomfrey, I-the last thing I remember was fainting in Professor Trelawney's office, and then waking up here. I need to know."

"But I believe that the patient's right to understand her medical condition outweighs any such consideration," the older woman continued as if she hadn't heard. "I always have, and I always will. Regardless of any investigation that may occur."

"An-- investigation?" Ginny echoed.

Madam Pomfrey seemed to come to a decision. "Miss Weasley, are you familiar with the Imperius Curse?"

"Yes, we learned about it in our Defense Against the Dark Arts class this term." Ginny didn't add that she'd never done very well in that class, since Professor Moody always seemed to be watching her with his rolling magical eye. His grim face, which always looked as if it had been crudely carved from a block of wood that had been left out in the rain for months on end, seemed to be turned towards her a good deal more than was necessary. By September, she'd been growing nervous, dropping things, and jumping if spoken to in that class.

The mediwitch nodded. "Yes, they're putting it a bit later in the curriculum than they did, I believe. What you may not have yet learned, since it's taught in the spring term of fifth year if I recall correctly, is that it is only one in a series of curses of its type. The curse you were exposed to during your first year at Hogwarts is another, for example."

Ginny looked down at the floor. That was all she needed-- to be reminded of the diary right now. She pressed her eyes tightly closed for a moment, wishing she could lie down for weeks on end in the darkest, quietest room in the world.

"All of these curses have one thing in common. They strike at the free will of their victims, eroding or completely destroying their power of choice. Imperius is the best known, of course. But there's one that is perhaps even more dangerous. It's adminstered in a potion, so it's very easy to use. It has no taste, no odor. Its victims rarely know that they have been dosed. It is called the Disinhibio potion." The mediwitch's face looked very tired, Ginny now saw. "I had hoped that no student at this school was capable of using it against another person. But someone has."

"That's what I drank, isn't it," whispered Ginny.

Madam Pomfrey nodded. "Its effects are more subtle than Imperius or Veritaserum. Which is why it isn't considered an Unforgiveable Curse. But in some ways it may be even worse."

"How does it work?"

"By removing all inhibitions from the victim's mind. He or she acts in a way bounded only by their impulses and hidden desires. In a way, I suppose you might say that it reveals one's true personality. But there are reasons why we don't take every action that crosses our minds, or obey every impulse we feel." Madam Pomfrey leaned closer. "For example, you might have a fleeting thought about someone who happened to annoy you -- 'I wish that person were dead.' In the normal way, that idea might occur to you, but you would never act on it. Under the Disinhibio potion, however, you would. And unlike Imperius, it has lasting effects."

"I don't understand," whispered Ginny.

"No-one does, dear, no-one does..." Madam Pomfrey sighed. "There's never been a properly controlled study, you see. Only anecdotes. Some have claimed that it gives the victim extraordinary powers of perception, or skills at divination; I'd be inclined to doubt that one, myself."

The remembered vision in the tarot cards, in Professor Trelawney's office, flashed through Ginny's mind.

"Others have claimed that physical changes may take place after Disinhibio. Again, I'm rather sceptical, but there was a curious case in Surrey in the fourteenth century in which a girl who'd been dosed was being-- er-- attacked. Severalwitnesses are recorded as having insisted that she turned into a bird and flew away. She was not an Animagus beforehand. The girl was found in a forest quite some distance away, returned to her normal self, and I believe she was perfectly well afterwards. Although the magihistorian writes that she never could abide heights from that day on." Madam Pomfrey caught herself. "But the point, Ginny, is that administration of this potion is a serious matter indeed. Your brother seems to feel that the identity of the perpetrator is quite clear, but without proof--" She hesitated. "I must ask you. Can you think of anyone-- anyone at all-- who might have a reason to administer this potion to you?"

"I don't know," said Ginny. She did. But her mind was racing, racing through all her options, all avenues of possibility, desperately trying to figure out how much was safe for her to say.

"Please think about this. Think hard." Madam Pomfrey's tone was almost pleading. "This is a very serious offense, and if we fail to catch the guilty party, he-- or she-- may strike again."

The glass of punch at the table, right after Colin sat down with her and Neville. The glass later on in the high North tower, the one Draco had given her, exactly where she now knew Colin had been watching them. The glass of pumpkin juice Colin had poured for her after knocking over her old one at the breakfast table this morning.

Oh God. It had been Colin Creevey.

But why?

Ginny blushed slightly, remembering the Astronomy Tower earlier that day. He'd clearly thought that if she could only set aside her shyness and act on her true emotions, she'd jump on him in a mad excess of passion. Little had he known that she'd only punch him in the mouth. But why go to such lengths and take such a risk just to get her? Ginny knew she wasn't small and delicate and doll-pretty, like Pansy Parkinson or Xanthia Morgan; she was too tall, her hair was too red and too wild, her features too strong, her breasts embarrassingly large compared to the rest of her; Mum was forever having to haul out the sewing machine and alter her school robes to fit. Her lithe child's body had turned on her in the past two years, gleefully dragging her through a funhouse mirror, making her unrecognizable to herself.

She looked across the room, dully, and saw her reflection in the mirror on the far wall; the frizzled hair and the frazzled face, the big bags under her golden eyes, the cheekbones too high, the chin too pointed. (This one should have been a boy, her father had said. All her brothers got seasick in the punt on the lake outside Ottery St.-Catchpole. But Arthur Weasley told her stories of his days in the Muggle's Royal Navy and slapped her on the back, half-roughly, because she would grow up wasted, a girl.) There was nothing about her to drive any boy to such lengths. Neville liked her because she didn't laugh at him. She'd thrown herself at Draco; his response was no credit to her. He probably hadn't even meant anything he said afterwards, had only asked her to do those things because they were nasty and vicious and would make her writhe in embarrassment. (A tiny part of me wanted to come back to his room with him when he asked but I was drugged, that wasn't me, couldn't have been me--) And Colin wanted her because... well, who knew why Colin wanted her. What he had done just seemed sad, sordid, and creepy.

But what if he had done what he'd done for another reason entirely?

What did Colin really want from her? What was it that he thought she knew?

And why, oh God, why had he winked at her?

"The effects of repeated doses are unknown," Madam Pomfrey was saying. "I saw your lab work, and I knew that you had received at least two. Ginny, if you know, you must tell me."

Ginny opened her mouth. The truth was on the tip of her tongue. But then a sudden, horrible thought went all through her, and she clamped her lips shut. The mediwitch was looking at her with narrowed eyes, a probing expression on her normally pleasant face, but Ginny didn't care. Her mind was racing, racing.

If she told Madam Pomfrey that she knew it had been Colin, he'd be charged with the crime. Would it be handled by the student disciplinary board? Ginny thought that it would not be; it was too serious for that. It would go up before the Ministry of Magic, then. Colin would try to defend himself in any way he could, and he would undoubtedly take a leaf from Ron's book and blame Malfoy. After all, Colin had told the truth about one thing. Draco had actually given her that glass of punch when she was lying on the stone bench on the balcony of the tower, lying with her head in his lap, feeling the warmth of him under his wool robes, his hands moving over her so gently before they became less gentle, and then-- She forced her mind away from the treacherous thoughts. But there was no relief from them.

In order for Colin to blame Malfoy, he'd obviously have to tell everyone what Ginny had really been doing, not the silly cock and bull story he'd fed Ron. Have to? He'd relish it. Everyone would know that she'd been panting and pawing at Draco Malfoy like a bitch in heat. And worst of all, Colin had photographs to prove that every word he said was true. Ginny pictured the reactions of her family. Her housemates. Her friends. Ron. Oh God, Ron.

Ginny had thought she'd seen him truly angry earlier, after what Colin had told him. But she knew with a sudden sharp clarity that she'd seen nothing yet. Knowing that she'd done what she'd done with Draco of her own free will would tap into some bottomless pit of rage in her brother that she had never before seen, was afraid to even guess at. If Ron knew everything, it wouldn't matter what Harry or anybody else said or did. No power on earth could keep him from trying to kill Draco Malfoy with his bare hands.

And this could not be allowed to happen.

She didn't allow herself to think about the reasons why.

Madam Pomfrey was looking at her with outright suspicion. Ginny realized that her silence had gone on too long.

"I don't have the faintest idea who it could be," she said. "None at all." She couldn't tell. Ginny knew why Colin had winked at her, now. He had her in a box. She wanted to fall back against the bed, but forced herself to sit up straight. "May I go back to the Gryffindor dormitory now, to pack? I'm really feeling much better."

Madam Pomfrey cleared her throat. "There is another issue."

"What?" asked Ginny stupidly. With a sudden, horrible, sinking feeling, she was very much afraid that she knew what.

"Colin Creevey has declined to press charges, but there is the matter of an unprovoked attack on another student."

Ginny opened her mouth and then shut it again.

"This sort of behavior is typical of the Disinhibio potion, of course. The aftereffects are very unpredictable." Madam Pomfrey bustled about near the window, plucking a long dressing-gown from a hook. She turned back towards the bed. "You need supervision. Care. Rest. So in a brief conference this morning, the teachers decided on a solution." The mediwitch's eyes were very kindly. Too kind, too pitying. Ginny had seen eyes like those before. Rings of them, surrounding her on all sides; the eyes of the teachers, the mediwizards, the aides, even the representative from the Ministry of Magic who had visited her and questioned her as she sat dully on a hospital cot in her bathrobe. Four years before. Madam Pomfrey was holding out a robe and a pair of slippers now. Ginny recoiled from them.

"No," she said, shaking her head. Even before knowing, she knew.

"It will be the best thing for you, my dear. Please, try to understand."

"I don't want to understand. I don't need to understand! I need to go home, oh please, please just let me go home!" Ginny was dimly aware that she was babbling; that she'd leaped out of bed and was swaying unsteadily on the floor.

"A private room's been arranged for you," Madam Pomfrey said coaxingly, as if the prospect might tempt Ginny to go meekly.

"No!" Hearing confirmation, Ginny went white, swaying where she stood, clinging to the bedpost.

"A few weeks' rest at St. Mungo's will do you a world of good. Think of it as a sort of rest cure--"

"You're sending me to the nuthouse!" shrieked Ginny. "Do you think I don't remember what happened after they found me in the Chamber of Secrets?"

The long, white corridors of St. Mungo's. The tests she'd had to take, the dowsing wands strapped to different parts of her body, the herb essences applied to her pulse points and their reactions carefully recorded. The questions she'd been forced to answer. She'd stared at the stone floor and mumbled at the mediwizards with the parchment and quills, and they'd looked at her, their faces creased with puzzlement and pity. The magical electrodes wired to her head, probing her brain, seeking out some hidden core of wrongness unknown even to herself. She'd cried through everything, cried for hours and days and weeks on end, knowing that she must be fundamentally flawed in some horrible way, or else Tom Riddle couldn't have found her, used her, twisted her.

Once the orderlies had caught her in the middle of the night taking her tenth shower of the day, her fingers and toes shriveled to prunes. Ginny had been scrubbing at her arms with a rough washcloth until the skin was red and raw. "I'll never get him off me," she'd sobbed, and they'd looked at each other over her head, and sighed. Once they'd found her scraping at her left thigh with a piece of jagged aluminium she'd found on the pavement during recreation hour. "Now what did ye do that for?" the nurse had scolded, passing her wand over the wound with a Coalescus charm. "There'll be a scar, mark my words." "It's where he touched me," she'd said in a whisper, and she'd seen the all-too-familiar look of pity spread across the nurse's face. "Hush, lambie, hush," she'd said, patting Ginny awkwardly. "It'll be all right." But even then, Ginny had known that it wouldn't. Couldn't be.

They'd let her go at last, and she'd run to her mother in the hospital room and seized her with all her twelve-year-old might. They hadn't allowed her family to even visit her for the first two weeks; they never did allow that, with patients. "No exceptions," the head nurse had said through pinched lips.

"It's all right, Ginny, shh, shh. It'll all, all be all right," Molly Weasley had soothed her daughter, as Ginny cried uncontrollably on the sidewalk and in the taxi and all the way up the cracked cobblestone walk to her house.

And now they wanted to send her back.

Madam Pomfrey was standing in the middle of the floor, "The St. Mungo's aides will be here shortly," she said. "Please understand, Ginny. It's our duty to do what's best for you. We're all agreed on this."

A soft knock came at the door. The mediwitch opened it a crack and whispered something to whoever was on the other side. There were low whispers in return. For a very long time, Madam Pomfrey simply stood there, unmoving. A sharp pungent smell, like burning green pine branches, drifted through the room. Although her movements were quick, there was something oddly slack about her face. "They've arrived," she said dreamily.

Ginny clung to the bedpost. "No," she repeated.

"There's no reason to make such a fuss," Madam Pomfrey said in a strange monotone. She did not appear to be looking at Ginny, even though her face was turned towards the bed.

Something's wrong, darted through Ginny's mind. It's not just that I'm terrified of going, even though I am, God knows. But there's more. Something's horribly, horribly wrong. But that was all that Ginny had time to think. Then the door opened fully, and she saw who was standing on the other side.