The Highest Good
Chapter Four: Sciamachy
***
This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.
-Theodore Roethke, "The Waking"
***
Something wasn't quite right. Ginny, in that shadowy area between sleep and wakefulness, stretched her arms out slowly. Ruddy lumpy mattress, she thought fuzzily. Wish I could get a new one. Her brain, however, was quietly insisting that a faulty mattress was not to blame for the horrible crick in her neck. Don' care, she told the voice. Too early. Goin' back to sleep. Her brain continued its insistence that something was amiss, pointing out that she didn't generally sleep in a semi-upright position. Conceding this point, she blearily blinked her eyes open.
Lots of orange-- Ron's room, then-- and she was, for some unknown reason, curled up in a chair by his bed. The sun, judging by the slant of the rays through the window, was barely up. Ginny shifted in the chair, trying to find a comfortable position, fully intent on going back to sleep until a more reasonable hour, when--
The figure in the bed moved restlessly. And she could see that the head resting on the pillow did not have the brilliant red hair she had expected.
Ginny sat up, remembering the night before: climbing the stairs, peeking in to check on Harry, speaking to Sirius Black, and-- I must have fallen asleep in here, she concluded, suddenly panicky and embarrassed. She had spent the night at Harry's bedside... and the fact that she hadn't intended to would be completely irrelevant to her brothers. She'd never hear the end of it. And what, she thought in horror, would Harry think? The possibilities were too terrifying even to consider. Gingerly, she lifted the blanket off her lap (Blanket? When did I get up to get a blanket?) and slid silently out of the chair. Ginny wobbled uncertainly on legs that had been tucked up underneath her too long, hoping against hope that she could make it to the door without tripping over anything and escape unnoticed.
Halfway to her goal, there was a soft noise from the bed behind her. Ginny froze, terrified. Caught. She resigned herself to the inevitable explanations and red-faced apologies, and turned slowly around.
She was instantly glad she hadn't said anything right away. It seemed that Harry was still asleep, Ron's orange sheets tangled around his legs at the foot of the bed. Okay, Ginny, she told herself shakily, this is the part where you sprint for the door and thank your lucky stars that he hasn't seen you yet. But as logical as that thought was, her legs wouldn't obey. They were suddenly twice as wobbly as they had been when she first got up, like a bad Jelly-Legs curse. And no wonder. Her brain, which had earlier been preoccupied with the horrors of being caught at Harry's bedside, was now fully grasping that Harry Potter-- Harry Potter-- was not two meters away. In bed, asleep. And this was most definitely not an everyday occurrence.
Oh. My. He looks so different when he's asleep-- Ginny, forgetting herself, took a half-step nearer to the bed.
"Mmnphf." There was that soft noise again. This time it seemed to be more distinct...louder, somehow. As though Harry were-- Waking up, you great idiot! Get out of the blasted room! Ginny shook her head, trying to clear out the cobwebs that had taken up residence, and made her way rapidly to the door. She turned the handle and, willing the hinges not to creak (Please, just this once...), slipped safely out into the hallway. Ginny sighed in quiet relief.
Well, that was certainly an interesting way to start the day, she thought ruefully. Never mind a cup of coffee-- I think my heart's trying to break through my rib cage... Ginny paused on her way down the staircase. Speaking of coffee. There was a faint aroma of the brew drifting up the stairs, and, now that her heart was no longer thudding in her ears, she could hear someone rattling around in the kitchen. At this hour? It can't be later than half five... and Mum and Dad drink tea, not coffee. As she listened, there was a sudden clatter of pans followed by a muffled outburst.
"Sh... ruddy-bloody... son of a motherless goat, that hurt!"
Ginny grinned and tripped quickly down the stairs. There was only one person she knew who swore quite like that. "I believe you owe me five Knuts, brother of mine," she quipped as she entered the kitchen. Bill looked up from the sink, where he was holding his hand under a stream of water. "You know Mum's policy on swearing."
Bill shot a grin her direction. "Ah, but I didn't actually swear, you see." He turned off the tap and turned to face her. "Good God, kid," he said, sizing her up, "I do believe you've managed to grow another foot since I saw you last. You'll be taller than Hagrid, next time I see you."
"Same two feet I've always had, actually," Ginny said grinning, taking a seat at the kitchen table. "I grew about two and a half inches, though. Mum's let down all my robes this year. And," she added sweetly, "you know that Mum says it's the intent that matters--"
"--not the language used," Bill recited, searching his pockets for change. He pulled out five Knuts-- most of which were covered with sand. "Here you go, kiddo," he said, handing them to her. "Put those in the Swear Jar for me, okay?" Ginny dropped the bronze coins on the table and brushed the sand off her hands.
"Do you keep the entire desert in your pockets, or what?" she said, wrinkling her nose. "Most people try to keep sand out of their trousers."
Bill ruffled her hair as he came to sit down at the table, coffee cup in hand. "Well, you try living in the desert for a while. I've got sand in places I didn't even know I had...." Bill sipped at his coffee and grimaced. "Ick. Vile stuff."
"Then why drink it?" Ginny asked, swinging her legs under the table, inadvertently kicking her brother.
"Ouch-- Jeez, Ginny, I've got enough bruises without you adding to them."
Ginny giggled. "Sorry."
Bill rubbed his shin thoughtfully. "Anyway, I drink the coffee out of necessity. Caffeine addiction and all that. I've been told I'm about as pleasant as Snape with a wand shoved up his-- ahem, anyway.... I'm just not much of morning person without it."
"No kidding. I don't think I've ever seen you up and about this early before." Ginny bit back a grin. Her earliest memories included her mother screaming for Bill to get his lazy such-and-such out of his bed, or he'd miss the train to Hogwarts. "Anyway, how long are you planning to stick around? I've missed you, you know," she added wistfully. "Although I can't imagine why."
"It's because I'm your favorite brother, obviously, idiot." Bill grinned into his coffee mug. "Well," he said after a swallow, "I'll be here as long as Dumbledore needs me. Told the little cretins at Gringotts that Dumbledore wanted me here, and they're not likely to whine about that. Dunno why they think so highly of him, but they do." He took another gulp of the coffee. "So, how're you holding up? I imagine that was quite a lot to get hit with at once last night...."
Give the boy a prize, Ginny thought sardonically. "No kidding," she said bitterly. "How do you think you'd handle it? 'Oh, by the way, Ginny, we've got some things we've been meaning to tell you: there's been a horrible mysterious attack, we're all a part of a dangerous resistance movement, we've got a convicted murderer under our roof....' No, that wasn't a lot to take in."
Bill winced. "I'm really sorry, kiddo, I am. And I'm sorry we didn't tell you, but--"
"But what?" Ginny demanded. "And I swear, if you say 'But we just wanted to protect you,' you'll never be able to have children."
"Whoa, there, Firebrand." Bill looked genuinely concerned for his reproductive safety. "Let's not do anything rash." Ginny managed a smile. "Honestly though, Ginny, we really didn't mean to hurt you." Ginny opened her mouth to argue, but Bill cut her off. "Wait, let me finish. We really didn't mean to hurt you, Gin. I can see how we must've, but you've got to look at it from our point of view."
"This'll be rich," Ginny muttered. She was rewarded with a swift kick in the leg. "Ow! That hurt, idiot."
"I know. It was supposed to. Now hush up, will you? I'm trying to explain things here." Ginny stuck out her tongue. Bill rolled his eyes. "I thought you were supposed to stop doing that after you turned eight," he said mildly. "Now, to the point: you're the youngest. And a girl. Which would naturally make us all overly protective, anyway, but.... Then there was that thing your first year...."
Ginny closed her eyes. Here it comes. "Bill, I'm not stupid, you know?" she said, trying to keep her voice level and failing. "I know I screwed up. But I've learned my lesson, I swear I have. You don't have to worry about not being able to trust me."
"Not be able to trust you?" Bill asked, leaning forward in his chair. "That's not what I was going to say at all, Gin. We know we can trust you-- that wasn't you, and we all know that. And we know it wasn't your fault at all, no matter what you think." Bill reached a hand out across the table and squeezed her hand. "You beat yourself up about that too much, Firebrand," he said softly.
"I know," she answered. "But it's hard not to."
Bill gave her hand another squeeze. "I know. And we-- Mum and Dad and Charlie and me, anyway-- beat ourselves up over it too. Gin," he said quietly, "You almost died. I don't think I've ever seen Mum and Dad so... helpless. I don't think they could take something like that ever happening again." He paused. "So maybe that's why we didn't want you to know. We thought that if you didn't know, you wouldn't be in danger, and we wouldn't have to risk seeing something like that happen to you again."
Ginny was quiet for a moment. "It still doesn't make it right," she said softly. "Other people have had to deal with worse things when they were younger. Like Harry," she added in as an afterthought.
"Yes," Bill said slowly, looking past Ginny, "like Harry."
***
Bill stood up from the table and cleared his throat. "Good to see you, Harry," Bill addressed the boy in the doorway. "How are you feeling? We weren't sure we'd see you up and about this soon." Ginny started. How much did he hear? she wondered. I mean, it's not like there was something he shouldn't hear, but still.
"All right, I guess," Harry's voice sounded thin. Ginny turned around quietly in her seat, trying not to stare. Harry leaned against the doorframe, looking pale, but the frightening paper-white of the day before was gone, at least. He should still be in bed... Mum'll tie herself up in knots when she sees him up.
Something about Harry looked-- odd. But aside from looking drained, there wasn't anything strange about his appearance...was there? Wait. Ginny stood up suddenly.
"Your glasses!" she exclaimed, hurrying over to the mantle where Harry's broken pair had been set the day before.
"I was wondering why I couldn't see," Harry joked weakly as he sat down at the table and gave a sick imitation of a smile.
"I don't know if they'll be much use," she explained awkwardly, handing them to him. "They're broken." Oh, brilliant. Like he couldn't tell there's a massive crack down one of the lenses. Harry put on the glasses anyway.
"Well, now you're only blind in the one eye...." Bill said. "Why don't you give those here? I'll fix them right up." Bill took Harry's glasses and made short work of the cracked lens with a brisk Reparo! "There you go. Good as new." Bill handed Harry back his glasses. "You hungry?" he asked. "Mum should be up in a couple of minutes," he said glancing at the clock, "but I can always handle pouring a bowl of cereal."
Harry shook his head. "Thanks," he said quietly, "but I'm not hungry." Ginny and Bill exchanged a quick glance. Harry looked pale and shaky; he really did need to get something in his system. Harry must have noticed their silent assessment, because he added, "Really. I'm fine." Bill looked skeptical, but let the comment pass.
"Oh, by the way, Harry," Bill said casually, "I've got to make a trip over to Surrey this afternoon. I thought I'd pick up your things, if you'd like. Dumbledore says you're to spend the rest of the summer here, and I don't fancy you'd care to borrow Ron's things forever, unless you really like all your trousers to have four-inch cuffs."
Harry sat up at the table suddenly. He looked, Ginny thought, like he'd just remembered that a piece of homework was due two minutes before class began. "Hedwig!" he said worriedly. "I forgot... and they'll not feed her...." He looked at Bill, who was pouring himself (yet another) mug of coffee. "Do you think you could manage to get her for me?" he asked.
"Sure thing. Just tell me where to look for things, and I'll bring back the whole lot." Bill set down his coffee cup, and turned to rummage in a drawer in one of the cabinets. "Better yet, how about you write it down for me? I don't want to miss anything." He handed Harry a piece of parchment and a self-inking quill.
While Harry made a list of his belongings and their locations, Ginny quietly went and poured two glasses of pumpkin juice. Hoping that Harry wouldn't think she was hovering, she set one glass down beside the parchment on the table. Harry looked up at her, and for a moment she thought she caught a flash of irritation in his clear green eyes. But the flash disappeared as quickly as it had come, and Harry just nodded.
"Thanks," he said, looking away.
"You're welcome," Ginny answered, hoping her voice sounded matter-of-fact. Trying to ignore the uncomfortable silence that threatened to set in, she continued quickly. "You have really neat handwriting," she observed, looking at the overly-short list Harry had made. Fascinating, Ginny. What a topic of conversation.
"I guess," Harry shrugged. "It's better than Ron's, anyway." He handed the list to Bill. "That's everything, I think. Thanks."
"No problem." Bill sat down at the table opposite Harry, his countenance becoming more serious. "Harry, are you sure you're okay? Because it's completely okay if you're not-- sorry, that didn't quite make sense. What I mean is that--"
"I understand," interrupted Harry sharply. He rubbed his eyes and his face looked worn. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you," he apologized. "But really, I'm fine. I promise. I'm just a little tired."
Bill nodded. "That's all right. I shouldn't have pried." He paused, and listened to the faint stirring that could be heard coming down the stairwell. "And unless you want to answer the same questions about eight more times, I'd suggest you disappear back to Ron's room and try to get some more rest. Dumbledore will be back around noon, and I think he'll probably want to talk to you. I'm sure we can leave you alone until then, if you like."
Harry looked relieved. "Are you sure that's okay?" he asked. "I mean, it's not that I don't want to see everyone... it's just I can't... I don't...." Harry's voice trailed off and Ginny's heart broke to see the look of strain and panic creep back into his eyes. Something inside her snapped, and before she could stop herself, Ginny reached across the table and laid her hand on top of Harry's.
Harry started and his eyes met hers for a moment before focusing on the wall somewhere behind her head-- but he didn't move his hand. Ginny felt lightheaded. Okay. Okay. Just-- lift your hand up and leave now before you make a fool of yourself. But her hand was suddenly lead, too heavy to lift, and every nerve in it sang at the contact with Harry's skin. His hand was warm under her palm, an almost feverish heat, hot-- It burns.
Ginny gasped slightly and withdrew her hand, snatching it back as though she had just laid it on a stove. Harry had moved his own hand off the table, and looked at Ginny curiously, rubbing the back of his hand nervously with the other.
"I'd better go--"
"I'm so sorry--" They simultaneously rose from the table, Harry bumping into a chair on his way to the door, and Ginny fussing needlessly with the tablecloth. Bill leaned back against the cabinets, silently watching the proceedings.
Harry paused at the door. "Er-- thanks, Bill." He flexed the fingers in his right hand, staring blankly at the back of his hand. "Ginny." He looked up at her, and Ginny shivered to see a bit of unmistakable fear in his eyes as he disappeared through the doorway.
Ginny slowly exhaled. She sank back into the chair, burying her head in her hands. "What," Bill asked deliberately, "was that?" Ginny shook her head and closed her eyes tightly.
"I don't know," she whispered. "I don't know." It had felt like a thousand sparks at once, a fire so hot that the skin on her palm glowed molten It had hurt-- burned, and she could still feel the stinging in her palm Harry must have felt it, too-- he had jumped back as suddenly as she. She turned her hand over and examined the skin, tracing her finger over the lines that crisscrossed it. Her skin was as pale as ever, completely unblemished, unmarked. What is happening to me? she thought, panicked. The scroll last night, and just now--
Her thoughts were interrupted by the Bill's hands resting heavily on her shoulders. "Gin," he asked quietly, "are you okay?"
Ginny tried to smile. "Yeah. I'm fine, Bill," she said emptily.
"Is it that bad, Firebrand?" Bill asked, his voice sympathetic. "I had it bad when I was a sixth year. It was awful-- I don't think she even knew I existed," he continued. Ginny got up abruptly.
"Just-- stop," she said quietly. "Stop." Bill dropped his hands from her shoulders, and stepped back. "It's not something I have, Bill," she said, still tracing the skin on her palm and avoiding his eyes, "it's something I am."
"Ginny--"
"I can't." She took a deep breath and shook her head. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice shaking. "Can we talk later, please? I need to go and-- I need to go." And before Bill could say another word, she ran back upstairs.
***
Ginny changed clothes quickly; she still wore the wrinkled blouse and skirt from the day before. She pulled on the only pair of jeans she owned and an old jumper that used to belong to Fred. It was oversized, and she had to roll the sleeves up several times before her hands showed below the frayed cuffs. She needed to take a shower at some point, but the rattling pipes told her that someone else was already up and taking advantage of the early morning. That, or the ghoul was being unusually active.
"Percy!" Ginny heard Ron's voice break through the quiet. "Get out of the shower! I need to pee!" Not the ghoul, then. Just brothers. Not there's much difference, sometimes, really. Ginny shoved her feet into her trainers, pulled her hair back into a messy ponytail, and ran downstairs and out the front door before anyone else peaked out of their rooms. She didn't think she could take facing another person at the moment.
It was cool outside, a low mist hanging over the garden. It would warm up considerably as the day wore on, but for now Ginny was glad of the jumper. She walked out to the shed, and brought out Charlie's old Cleansweep. The bristles were uneven and broken-- too many rough Quidditch matches-- and the finish had been stripped and reapplied more times than could be counted. But it was still a good broom, and Ginny smiled faintly as she walked with it out to the hollow by the pond.
Ginny wasn't a spectacular flyer-- she couldn't dive and pull up a hairsbreadth from the ground, she couldn't change direction with the same speed and flare as Charlie, she didn't have the raw athletic power that Fred and George demonstrated while beating back Bludgers-- but, as her dad had proudly told a dinner guest when she was younger, she had grace. "She makes that old Cleansweep dance like a Firebolt," Mr. Weasley had boasted, and Ginny liked to think that he was right.
Ginny smiled to herself as she pushed off from the ground, circling upwards until she was just level with the crowns of the oaks surrounding the hollow. The air was light, the sun was rising higher, and she only had to compensate for a slight breeze from the east. This, she thought, is better. Why can't everything be so simple? Ginny shook her head. It didn't do to dwell. Besides, she came out here to clear her head, not muddle it further.
A red-breasted robin flit past her, and Ginny's eyes followed the bright spot of crimson as it darted into the woods. Right, she resolved, turning her broom to give chase. No more thinking for a while.
***
Ginny landed an hour or two later, her cheeks and nose whipped to a brilliant rose from the wind and sun. It was always strange, she noted, how her legs were so rubbery after flying-- like they had forgotten that their original purpose was to walk, not grip a broom. She swung the broom over her shoulder and wandered slowly back to the house, much more at ease than she had been when she left earlier in the morning.
Ginny stopped to put the broom back into the shed, and was surprised to see Professor Dumbledore standing in front of her when she turned back around after fastening the door. Her mouth went dry; Dumbledore looked terribly grave.
"Has anything happened?" she asked anxiously, her stomach dropping into her shoes. No, please-- I don't know if I can take much more.
The headmaster shook his head and slowly lost some of his solemnity, seeing her face blanch. "No," he said comfortingly, "thankfully. Although your family was afraid something had." Ginny groaned-- she knew what must have happened. She could almost hear her mother's irate ranting already.
"I missed breakfast and they couldn't find me," she said dully. "Am I going to get a lecture on wandering off without telling anyone?" she asked dismally, her former lightness of spirit gone in a heartbeat.
Dumbledore chuckled. "Oh, I imagine so," he said. "Your mother is a force to be reckoned with when upset. Although I would say she has a right to be; it is not entirely safe at the present-- at least not until the wards are placed." Ginny nodded and kicked a pebble out of the path.
"It was stupid of me," she said, glancing up at the old wizard. "But I just couldn't-- I love my family, but it's hard sometimes," Ginny felt the words pour out before she could stop them. "I was confused and I needed to think, and it's hard to do that with Mum forcing you to eat another pastry and Dad rattling on about plugs and Fred and George making something explode, and everyone treating me with kid gloves...." She trailed off. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "I know there are bigger problems right now than me being a spoiled brat." Ginny looked away and started to turn up the path to the house.
"Miss Weasley, if you will wait a moment, there is still something I believe we need to discuss," Professor Dumbledore said. Ginny turned back around suddenly.
"How did you know about that?" Her face reddened as the scene in the kitchen replayed itself in her head. "Did Harry talk to you?" she asked, twisting her hands nervously. "I swear, I didn't mean for it to hurt-- I don't know why it did that."
Dumbledore raised one of his thick white eyebrows. "Did what, Miss Weasley?" he asked in a level voice. Ginny tried to hedge; it was obvious that the Headmaster hadn't been told.
"Oh, nothing," she said hurriedly. "It was nothing. What did you want to talk to me about?" She desperately wished she had been calm enough to keep her mouth shut. Lovely, Ginny. Well done. Dumbledore exhaled slowly, and motioned for her to follow him over to a small bench by the rows set aside for cabbages. Ginny brushed dirt off of the seat (as well as a few pairs of Wellington boots-- they sprang up around the yard like mushrooms after a rainstorm) before they sat down.
"Miss Weasley," the old wizard began, pushing his glasses up his long nose, "we live in a most complicated time. Simple information can be of the gravest consequence, and the wrong secret kept can have terrible results. Something happened with Harry this morning, did it not?" he asked directly. Ginny nodded, flushing to the roots of her hair. "I would ask you to tell me what occurred," he said quietly. "I will not force you to, child, but please make sure that any reason you have for concealment is sound."
Ginny nodded and sighed. "It really wasn't much," she protested, and told Dumbledore what had taken place in the kitchen. "My hand just got hot," she said, embarrassed by how silly it sounded to her own ears. "I might have imagined the whole thing, but Harry-- I think he could feel it, too." Ginny swung her legs underneath the bench and looked out across the garden to avoid Dumbledore's pale gaze.
"So." Dumbledore's tone was serious, musing. "It begins, then." Ginny looked up sharply.
"What begins?" she asked. "I just touched his hand-- it wasn't anything important, was it?" Dumbledore smiled to himself and patted her arm.
"Settle back, Miss Weasley. We have much to talk of, you and I."
***
"Have you never wondered why Harry is so vitally important in the fight against Voldemort?" Dumbledore asked abruptly, his pale blue eyes seeking out Ginny's. "Harry is essential to the Order for more than one reason-- for more than just his scar, for more than the legacy of his parents. Harry is part of the Balance." Dumbledore paused, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Ginny looked at him questioningly. "So Professor Binns has not yet gotten around to a discussion on the Old Ways, has he?" Dumbledore mused. "Ah, well. His area of scholarship was always the Goblin Rebellions; I believe philosophy and radical thought was always a bit too lively for him." Ginny giggled slightly. 'Lively' and 'Professor Binns' were not words that went together easily or well.
"The Balance," Dumbledore continued, "is just what is sounds to be. There can be neither excess nor deficiency of anything in the Universe without there being a disturbance. Therefore, whenever a force gains the upper hand, the Balance intervenes to even things out, so to speak." Ginny nodded slowly, not quite sure if she understood what the Headmaster was trying to say.
Dumbledore picked up on her confusion, and sought to explain in more concrete terms. "Think of it this way: the Balance works like an apothecary, responsible for making certain that the end result of the potion or salve is a useful one, and must measure out the ingredients carefully to achieve this end. Consider the Elevating Elixir: its two main ingredients are extract of black nightshade and powdered hartwort, correct?" Ginny nodded; the third years had learned to brew it the previous year, and there had been much agonizing over that particular portion on the practical exam.
"What happens," Dumbledore asked, "when too much nightshade is added with too little hartwort to counter it?"
Ginny thought quickly. "Convulsions and death?" she answered, crossing her fingers behind her. She hadn't studied much for that particular exam.
"Precisely. And when the reverse is the case?"
"Um," Ginny went out on a limb, "Paralysis? And-- er-- eventual death."
Dumbledore looked pleased. Lucky guess. "Excellent, Miss Weasley! Professor Snape would be most impressed." Oh, I bet he would, Ginny thought with a half-smile, imagining the scowling face of the Potions Master. "So, although each ingredient can be lethal in excess, or with a deficiency of the other, when combined in the proper proportions they are completely benign. The Balance works in a similar manner, as a sort of universal apothecary, measuring out the proper amounts of everything."
"I'm guessing that the Balance isn't exactly a person?" Ginny asked, trying to see how this had anything to do with the events of the night before.
Dumbledore nodded. "It is not. It is more of a force, a pattern-- a natural necessity. There are many books on the subject-- I will have Professor Lupin suggest some reading on the subject for both you and Harry; the two of you will need to do some research on the matter, it seems."
"Why?" she asked, looking up at the Headmaster. "What have we to do with the Balance?"
Dumbledore shook his head gently. "More than I ever supposed," he said musingly. "You see," Dumbledore turned back to face her directly, "Harry was born at a time when Voldemort was just reaching his most powerful. There was a great Unbalance at the time; Voldemort had thrown the equilibrium off with the vast amount of Dark powers he controlled. The Balance needed a conduit through which to force a return to stability-- and Harry was born at the right time. So he became a conduit." Dumbledore paused. "I would venture to say that the Balance was the primary reason why Voldemort disappeared that night at Godric's Hollow."
"And yesterday?" Ginny began to understand.
"The Balance again. Understand, it can't be controlled-- it simply acts to achieve what is needed at a critical point. The attack at Privet Drive yesterday was, for some reason, a critical point. Had Harry not performed the spell he did at that very moment, something would have been lost to us, and the equilibrium would have been thrown off."
Ginny nodded slowly. "I think that makes sense," she said uncertainly, "but--"
"But what does that have to do with you?" Dumbledore anticipated her question. Ginny nodded slightly. "Well, Miss Weasley," Dumbledore said with a wry smile, "it would appear that the Balance has set you aside for a similar purpose. And I would hypothesize that what you felt this morning was in some way related to your status as a conduit. In what way, I am not yet certain."
Ginny was quiet for a moment. It reassured her to know that she hadn't done anything to hurt Harry, but that raised another question. "So there's something working through me?" she asked, trying to sound nonchalant and failing. Dumbledore nodded. "Everything I do...." Her voice trailed off, and she swallowed and tried again. "It's not really me? There's something in me that makes me do things?" She looked away and bit her lip, remembering her first year at Hogwarts. She had never been more terrified than when she realized that she might not have control over her actions-- the strangled roosters, the paint on the walls, the basilisk....
Dumbledore must have sensed her train of thought, and patted her shoulder gently. "The Balance does not make your decisions for you, child. It does not tell you what you should wear every morning, what courses to take in school, what profession to choose, or whom you are to love. Do not suppose yourself to be powerless in your choices. But there are certain things that will happen, that must happen, and the Balance will ensure that it can act through you if necessary." The old wizard paused, and his tone altered slightly. "The Balance will not control you, as Tom Riddle did."
Ginny nodded quietly. "But I still don't like it," she said.
Dumbledore smiled. "Unfortunately, Miss Weasley," he said, "one can not cease being a conduit. It is simply something you are." Ginny looked up, surprised to hear her own words echoed back. Dumbledore met her gaze and added quietly, "You cannot cease being a conduit anymore than you can rid yourself of what Riddle left in you."
Ginny's eyes widened. "There are nightmares, are there not?" asked the headmaster, his pale blue eyes peering into hers. "Dreams in which you hear and see things you never wished to know about? The feeling that something is lurking in the back of your mind-- something you ought to remember, something that is just waiting and biding its time."
Ginny recoiled. He knows. Dumbledore continued on in a voice that made her shudder with its intensity. "Last night, when you signed your name, you felt something. There was a struggle in you."
"It hurt," Ginny whispered. "Something hurt, and I almost couldn't sign. It wouldn't let me."
"Ah," said Dumbledore, a smile breaking over his face, "but you did sign. The struggle you felt was, I believe, a fight between yourself and what remains of Tom Riddle."
Ginny looked puzzled. "I thought he was gone," she said.
Dumbledore shook his head gravely. "Most of Tom has gone," he conceded, "but he lived so vividly in your mind that a part of him still resides there. He is a part of you, however weak he is-- and I fear he will remain until Voldemort is no more." Dumbledore smiled at Ginny's confused face.
"It will make sense in time, my dear," he said, rising from the bench. "In the meantime, I could do with some tea. Or maybe some chocolate," he mused. "Yes, a mug of chocolate with a nice lemon tart would be quite nice."
I don't understand it, Ginny thought, following the headmaster to the house. He can go from discussing possession by numerous forces to lemon tarts in ten seconds. Something darted quickly across her mind, and she groaned in frustration. "Professor Dumbledore, wait!" she cried out, running to catch up with him. "The scroll, last night--," she panted out. "My name didn't fade. Why didn't it? Am I not supposed to be admitted to the Order?"
"Ah." Dumbledore turned to face the redhead. "It's actually quite a simple matter. The Scroll of the Order is bewitched to recognize the intent of those who sign it. All who sign in good faith will see their names flash gold and disappear into the parchment. Those who do not mean what they promise will see their names turn scarlet and drip though the Scroll like wet ink. Your name, Miss Weasley, did neither. The Scroll recognized the struggle within you, and faced a situation for which it had no precedent-- you meant what you signed, but Tom Riddle did not. So the Scroll chose a happy medium. You would not have been allowed to sign at all if you had not been able to best Riddle in the struggle, but the Scroll knows that there is something in you that has not been seen before. You are, Miss Weasley," Dumbledore concluded, "a wild card."