A/N: I apologize for the short chapter and Chapter Three's cliffhanger,
which is not resolved in this chapter. You may have noticed that I
alternate between settings with each chapter. This pattern will continue,
but it won't be strictly followed later in the story.
I had hoped to finish this story before June 19th, but it looks as if I won't. I don't think finishing it after OotP comes out will be too much of a problem (time for JKR to contradict me completely!), so hopefully it will still be bearable to read.
As always, thanks to Elanor Gamgee for noticing when my sentences don't match up. (
Chapter Four
"Fear"
"Can I speak with you, er, privately, Professor?"
It embarrassed Harry how tight and scratchy his voice sounded as he strained to speak calmly. He felt Sirius, Hermione, and Ron's eyes fall sharply and curiously on him, and he flushed under the scrutiny. Gulping, he kept his gaze fastened on Professor Dumbledore's narrowed eyes.
"Certainly, Harry," said Dumbledore, raising his head briefly towards Sirius and Harry's friends. "Better get on with it, Sirius."
Sirius muttered his assent, and Harry sensed his godfather's questioning, concerned look before the door opened with a faint draught, and Sirius ushered Ron and Hermione out of Dumbledore's office. A heavy silence followed the soft closing of the heavy door, and Harry surreptitiously wiped his perspiring hands on his robe.
He felt as if he'd go everywhere at once. Such a feeling of helplessness, fury, and panic hadn't overwhelmed him since fourth year, yet it was altogether different than being tied to a grave with only Cedric's dead body to stare at. He, Harry, wasn't the one at Voldemort's mercy. It was Ginny.
And it was all his fault. Of everything battling inside him for his attention, it was this acutely excruciating fact that tore at Harry's heart. Whenever he found himself collecting his raging emotions and thoughts, it was always this knowledge that severed his weak control. He had put Ginny in danger.
Harry stood in Dumbledore's office, relishing and hating the patient silence all at once. It was so different from the silence that had fallen over Gryffindor Tower. Not despairing nor cautiously evasive and considerate, but simply patient and calm. He breathed in deeply, hoping the serenity would permeate his body, soothe him so he could think clearly.
"Something you wanted to discuss, Harry?" inquired Dumbledore in his gentle, knowing voice that really wasn't questioning.
Harry exhaled, feeling his tremulous grasp of calm slip away. Shifting uneasily under that piercing gaze, he licked his cracked and dry lips, then said, "Ginny knew this would happen."
Dumbledore raised his eyebrows and nodded slowly, gesturing towards the old, worn and cushioned chair in front of him. "Please sit, Harry. Tell me what you know."
Harry nodded and obeyed, sinking into the comfortable chair but unable to relax. His knee jerked uncharacteristically, and he frowned deeply at it. Did he have absolutely no control over himself? For a moment he started to delve into his brooding turmoil, but suddenly Fawkes took to the air.
The flash of crimson and gold drew Harry's eyes upwards, following the phoenix's graceful flight across the office and out of the opening and closing door. He stared at nothing for a moment. What was Fawkes doing? Harry had learned long ago that the phoenix was no ordinary bird and had some special role in the alliance against Voldemort. He swiveled around to inquire, but found Dumbledore watching him patiently but unrelentingly.
He looks so old, Harry thought, again recalling the twinkling, eccentric headmaster of his younger school years. It was so disheartening . . .
"Harry."
Right. What I know. Harry took another deep breath intended to calm and collect himself, but all he really wanted to do was break down. Swallowing the lump lodged in his throat, he lifted his head to look directly at Dumbledore.
"Ginny-" It pained him to say her name, but he duly pressed on, "-she knew something like this would happen. Back in fifth year she said something that seemed unlikely at the time, but now . . . now I'm not so sure." As he spoke, his gaze dropped to the paperweight sitting at the front of the great desk. A bumblebee. "She said . . . after that Death Eater attack in fifth year, that she wondered if Voldemort knew about the diary. I mean, about Tom Riddle using her-" Here he had to pause and quell the fury rising up within him.
And that desperate, sickening fear when he saw Ginny lying unconscious and cold in the Chamber of Secrets. "Ginny! Ginny--don't be dead-please don't be dead! Ginny, please wake up!"
"She won't wake."
Harry shuddered. She's not dead. I would know it. Voldemort doesn't want her dead. Somehow, that wasn't comforting. Taking a shaky breath, Harry continued, aware that Dumbledore wouldn't speak until he'd said everything. "Ginny wondered what Voldemort would do if he found out about her and the diary. If he'd use her to get to-to me, or the Order . . . because he did through his memory before."
He hated saying it like that, as if Ginny was so weak-minded, but they were practically her own words. He could hear her soft voice from that sunny afternoon back in fifth year, her eyes gazing anxiously and uncertainly up at him from under long eyelashes. They'd walked around the edge of the Quidditch pitch, both too restless to be confined within the castle despite the recent Death Eater attack in Hogsmeade. It had been an offensively beautiful early summer day, and only two days before the attack he'd felt certain they'd become friends too late.
And now I've thrown it away again! How could I be fool enough to think I was only protecting her?
Despair was drowning out Harry's words, and he put his head in his hands, trying to fight the nausea swimming in his stomach and up to his head. The floor seemed to sway and tip precariously; the blood rushed to his head.
"Harry." Dumbledore. Always patiently bringing him back to reality. Harry shuddered and fought back another urge to be sick. Slowly, he raised his eyes to Dumbledore's and felt the sickness momentarily recede.
"Did Miss Weasley ever say what she thought Voldemort might use her for?"
"No," sighed Harry, raking his hands through his hair. He righted himself and massaged his throbbing temples. "She didn't know. At least, she didn't tell me. But . . . I think she might have had an idea." Ginny was so open and honest, yet she kept much buried deep down. He'd only reached the darkness on rare occasions, and only because that was a darkness also within him.
"Do you know, Professor?" Harry asked sharply.
Dumbledore shook his head slowly and sighed. "I have an idea, Harry, but I am not certain. Miss Weasley was right to suspect Voldemort would wish to exploit Tom Riddle's diary-"
"I'm so stupid!" Harry suddenly burst out, rising from his seat. "It's my fault! All of it!" Infuriated and boiling, he began rampaging Dumbledore's carpet, his voice rising with each agitated step. "I gave that blasted diary back to Lucius Malfoy! Had I left it with you, Voldemort would never have gotten it back, and maybe-maybe Malfoy wouldn't have told him about it! Why was I so stupid?!"
"Mr. Potter!"
Harry abruptly halted his tirade. Dumbledore was standing tall and erect, looking sternly down his nose, and Harry felt his blood rush to his face, not with rage but shame. He hated losing control before Dumbledore, and his rage seeped through his toes, leaving him weak and shaky. Wordlessly he returned to his seat, sinking further down into the lumpy cushion, head in his hands again.
"What do I do?" he asked croakily.
"For the moment, nothing," said Dumbledore gently, sitting down again. "Except hope."
Hope. Harry had clung to hope, lost it, and found it again his whole life. In the most desperate hour, something had always appeared to fill him with hope and courage. He knew he could fight without hope, fight only because it seemed the only thing he could do, but it was that hope that battled despair.
But hoping didn't solve anything, not really. He could hope Ginny was alive, and he did, oh yes he did, but it did absolutely nothing for her. Wherever she was, whatever she was going through, no one was there to give her hope.
Dumbledore seemed to be reading his thoughts, because he said quietly, "Harry, Miss Weasley came to me at the beginning of her fifth year saying just as much as you told me. Agreeing with her concerns, I placed a charm on her that may provide some protection against Voldemort."
"What? What is it?"
But Dumbledore shook his head. "Miss Weasley wished I keep this information to myself, even from you, Harry." He looked truly apologetic, but Harry couldn't stop the hurt he felt at Ginny's lack of confidence in him.
A silence fell as Harry tried to think of what to say. He needed to be alone, but he hadn't been alone since that morning, when he'd been oblivious to everything but his own anguish. He wanted to grab a Time- Turner and flip all the way back to last night when he drew her away from the table. Everything would have been so different if only he'd told her the truth.
The office blurred. Unaware of the moisture in his eyes, Harry reached within the folds of his robes and drew out an object from his pockets. It was a very tattered, wilted quill that had once been a luscious emerald that he self-consciously knew matched his eyes. Staring blearily at the now deplorable quill, he brushed his fingertips over the darkened feathering. Ginny's Christmas gift to him fifth year. She'd been so embarrassed and blushed as she muttered that she hadn't known what to give him "because Ron only gives you disgusting things or Quidditch stuff, and Hermione suggested books."
Not even Ginny knew that he still kept the quill far after it'd been unable to write anymore. Actually, it could have been useful a little while longer, but he'd wanted to keep what he could of it.
"I suggest you get some rest, Harry," interrupted Dumbledore.
Harry jerked, startled out of his musings. He blinked against the wetness in his eyes, furiously realizing he must have been crying. But his cheeks weren't wet, only his eyes. Rubbing them with his fists, he nodded obediently. Good, he wanted to be alone. Away from Ron and Hermione's bleak faces and hushed whispers, their nervous, darting glances.
"Allow me to escort you back to the common room."
Of course he wouldn't be alone! Harry felt too weary to argue as Dumbledore placed a firm but gentle hand on his shoulder and guided him down the spiraling staircase. As the gargoyle pushed aside, Terry Boot, the Head Boy, and Susan Bones, a Hufflepuff prefect, were just coming around the corner of the corridor on their patrol.
"Ah, Mr. Boot! Miss Bones!" called Dumbledore in the cheeriest voice he'd used all day. "Would you kindly escort Mr. Potter back to Gryffindor Tower?"
"Yes, Professor Dumbledore," they chorused, sending Harry curious looks. Harry looked away, wanting to scream in frustration. He'd hoped Dumbledore would leave him on his own, but he should have known better. It seemed that no one trusted him not to do something drastic or foolish--like surrendering to the Death Eaters.
Terry opened his mouth, as if to say, "Come along, Harry," but quickly closed it and cleared his throat. Wordlessly, Harry followed the Head Boy down the corridor, feeling like a prisoner as Susan walked on the other side.
My own little prison guard, he muttered sarcastically to himself.
~*~*~
It was a ridiculously awkward journey back to Gryffindor Tower, but the uncomfortable silence allowed Harry to decide on a course of action. Returning to Gryffindor Tower was unthinkable to him just now; he feared he'd go mad if one more person looked his way with such polite concern. Or Hermione and Ron followed his frantic pacing with edgy eyes. He knew what they were thinking, that he would suddenly do something irrational, like rush out of the castle waving a white flag.
Not that it hadn't crossed his mind . . .
Harry knew plenty of empty classrooms around Hogwarts. He'd retreated to them upon several occasions, whether to escape prowling professors, Peeves, Filch, or merely to escape the crowded confines of Gryffindor Tower. Often he'd fantasized about seeking out one such vacant classroom with Ginny . . . And as he had then, he violently shook the thought away.
Terry and Susan glanced nervously at Harry, but he ignored the fervently earnest looks. Perhaps it was rude not to say anything to either student, but what the heck was he supposed to do? Make small talk?
"Yeah, how 'bout them, N.E.W.T.'s, eh?"
He had to find a way to escape entering through the portrait hole, or else he'd be accosted without hope of escaping. But how to shake the Head Boy and a prefect? Or evade more patrolling professors and prefects?
If only I had my Invisibility Cloak, he thought wistfully as they turned the last corner and the Fat Lady stood (or rather hung) guard at the end of the long corridor.
Suddenly, it clicked in his mind, but he doubted it would work.
Terry and Susan stopped just before the Fat Lady, who was hastily hiding her handkerchief within the folds of her pink skirt. She regarded the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff suspiciously, raising her painted eyebrows meaningfully.
"Oh-er, right then," coughed Terry, flushing slightly. He gave Harry a skittering look and nod. "We'll be going then, Harry."
"Yeah-bye." Susan blushed furiously, embarrassed by something.
Harry managed a curt nod and watched as the two seventh-years hurried down the corridor, glancing quickly over their shoulders before turning the corner and descending the staircase.
I wonder . . . Harry frowned and ran a hand through his hair, pulling at the tufts. He was alone, but where could he go without getting caught? His initial plan had been to go on in to the common room, mutter something about sleeping, and grab his Invisibility Cloak if Ron and Hermione bought the lie and stayed down below. It'd be a risk, opening the portrait hole on his own, but maybe no one would notice. Now, however, he didn't need to bother with that, unless he was planning on roaming the school. About the only corridor not patrolled, that he knew of, was the one he was standing dumbly in.
"Well?" said the Fat Lady, rather impatiently.
Harry glanced at the portrait wonderingly. No one was to be anywhere in the castle alone (a toilet stall or bath being the exception, of course). The Fat Lady wasn't exactly a human, but she was certainly a responsible, authoritative entity of Hogwarts. After all, she did protect almost a hundred students-when everyone actually attended Hogwarts-just behind her frame . . .
"Did you forget the password, Mr. Potter?" demanded the Fat Lady irritably.
"No," said Harry, hoping he didn't sound cheeky. "Sorry," he added quickly. The Fat Lady huffed and raised an eyebrow, but Harry ignored her and quickly surveyed the corridor. A corner to tuck in was ideal, but the best alcove was certainly beside the portrait.
Sighing, Harry lowered himself to the floor, pressing his back against the wall and tucking his knees up, making himself as small as possible. Closing his eyes, he let his head fall back until it hit the wall, and for a blissful moment, he felt nothing but relief.
"Just what do you think you're doing?"
But only a moment. Harry cringed against the urge to snap bitingly at the portrait, took a steady breath, and said, "Sitting. It's too loud in there," he added, hoping she'd get the hint.
"Sounds rather quiet to me. You're not to be left alone, you know."
"But I'm not. You're here."
The Fat Lady was silent for a minute, then she finally gave a small 'humph'. "Well, it's your own fault if you're caught."
Harry waited another two minutes before relaxing again. If it be could called relaxing. The brief moment of bliss had been dashed away by the irritable portrait, and everything inside him was on edge again. He tried breathing deeply, but the rush of oxygen only unsettled him further. Why couldn't he do something?!
You've done enough already, haven't you? a biting voice accused. Harry sucked in sharply. Immediately he saw her before him, as he'd last seen her, trembling from his words. Vibrant coppery red locks messy from hasty attempts to pull it back while studying, soft brown eyes glistening, her face pale and pinched as her mouth quivered . . .
A low moan escaped Harry. Her mouth . . . his ached for the sensation of her soft, trembling lips . . . how still she'd been, as if in disbelief, or dreaming and afraid to disrupt it . . . and then . . . No adjective he'd ever known could describe that moment when Ginny's lips had moved almost skittishly against his own.
"I'm so stupid," he mumbled, rubbing his face fiercely to drive away the memory. Why oh why had he stopped it? In that pivotal instant, he'd lost control, and while drowning in that indescribable rush, it had returned like a hard smack across the face.
"Harry . . ."
"Goodnight, Ginny."
Two nights in a row, he'd slipped away from her, misled her, and had agonized over her. No, the first night he had been truthful, more honest than perhaps ever before. It hadn't been the truth of his feelings that had condemned her, but the deception wrought of his protection.
And he was deceiving himself again, he knew, unable to smother the thought any longer. Blaming himself was merely a distraction from imaging what could be happening to Ginny now.
A/N: Okay okay, NOW I'll get on with Ginny meeting Voldemort.
I had hoped to finish this story before June 19th, but it looks as if I won't. I don't think finishing it after OotP comes out will be too much of a problem (time for JKR to contradict me completely!), so hopefully it will still be bearable to read.
As always, thanks to Elanor Gamgee for noticing when my sentences don't match up. (
Chapter Four
"Fear"
"Can I speak with you, er, privately, Professor?"
It embarrassed Harry how tight and scratchy his voice sounded as he strained to speak calmly. He felt Sirius, Hermione, and Ron's eyes fall sharply and curiously on him, and he flushed under the scrutiny. Gulping, he kept his gaze fastened on Professor Dumbledore's narrowed eyes.
"Certainly, Harry," said Dumbledore, raising his head briefly towards Sirius and Harry's friends. "Better get on with it, Sirius."
Sirius muttered his assent, and Harry sensed his godfather's questioning, concerned look before the door opened with a faint draught, and Sirius ushered Ron and Hermione out of Dumbledore's office. A heavy silence followed the soft closing of the heavy door, and Harry surreptitiously wiped his perspiring hands on his robe.
He felt as if he'd go everywhere at once. Such a feeling of helplessness, fury, and panic hadn't overwhelmed him since fourth year, yet it was altogether different than being tied to a grave with only Cedric's dead body to stare at. He, Harry, wasn't the one at Voldemort's mercy. It was Ginny.
And it was all his fault. Of everything battling inside him for his attention, it was this acutely excruciating fact that tore at Harry's heart. Whenever he found himself collecting his raging emotions and thoughts, it was always this knowledge that severed his weak control. He had put Ginny in danger.
Harry stood in Dumbledore's office, relishing and hating the patient silence all at once. It was so different from the silence that had fallen over Gryffindor Tower. Not despairing nor cautiously evasive and considerate, but simply patient and calm. He breathed in deeply, hoping the serenity would permeate his body, soothe him so he could think clearly.
"Something you wanted to discuss, Harry?" inquired Dumbledore in his gentle, knowing voice that really wasn't questioning.
Harry exhaled, feeling his tremulous grasp of calm slip away. Shifting uneasily under that piercing gaze, he licked his cracked and dry lips, then said, "Ginny knew this would happen."
Dumbledore raised his eyebrows and nodded slowly, gesturing towards the old, worn and cushioned chair in front of him. "Please sit, Harry. Tell me what you know."
Harry nodded and obeyed, sinking into the comfortable chair but unable to relax. His knee jerked uncharacteristically, and he frowned deeply at it. Did he have absolutely no control over himself? For a moment he started to delve into his brooding turmoil, but suddenly Fawkes took to the air.
The flash of crimson and gold drew Harry's eyes upwards, following the phoenix's graceful flight across the office and out of the opening and closing door. He stared at nothing for a moment. What was Fawkes doing? Harry had learned long ago that the phoenix was no ordinary bird and had some special role in the alliance against Voldemort. He swiveled around to inquire, but found Dumbledore watching him patiently but unrelentingly.
He looks so old, Harry thought, again recalling the twinkling, eccentric headmaster of his younger school years. It was so disheartening . . .
"Harry."
Right. What I know. Harry took another deep breath intended to calm and collect himself, but all he really wanted to do was break down. Swallowing the lump lodged in his throat, he lifted his head to look directly at Dumbledore.
"Ginny-" It pained him to say her name, but he duly pressed on, "-she knew something like this would happen. Back in fifth year she said something that seemed unlikely at the time, but now . . . now I'm not so sure." As he spoke, his gaze dropped to the paperweight sitting at the front of the great desk. A bumblebee. "She said . . . after that Death Eater attack in fifth year, that she wondered if Voldemort knew about the diary. I mean, about Tom Riddle using her-" Here he had to pause and quell the fury rising up within him.
And that desperate, sickening fear when he saw Ginny lying unconscious and cold in the Chamber of Secrets. "Ginny! Ginny--don't be dead-please don't be dead! Ginny, please wake up!"
"She won't wake."
Harry shuddered. She's not dead. I would know it. Voldemort doesn't want her dead. Somehow, that wasn't comforting. Taking a shaky breath, Harry continued, aware that Dumbledore wouldn't speak until he'd said everything. "Ginny wondered what Voldemort would do if he found out about her and the diary. If he'd use her to get to-to me, or the Order . . . because he did through his memory before."
He hated saying it like that, as if Ginny was so weak-minded, but they were practically her own words. He could hear her soft voice from that sunny afternoon back in fifth year, her eyes gazing anxiously and uncertainly up at him from under long eyelashes. They'd walked around the edge of the Quidditch pitch, both too restless to be confined within the castle despite the recent Death Eater attack in Hogsmeade. It had been an offensively beautiful early summer day, and only two days before the attack he'd felt certain they'd become friends too late.
And now I've thrown it away again! How could I be fool enough to think I was only protecting her?
Despair was drowning out Harry's words, and he put his head in his hands, trying to fight the nausea swimming in his stomach and up to his head. The floor seemed to sway and tip precariously; the blood rushed to his head.
"Harry." Dumbledore. Always patiently bringing him back to reality. Harry shuddered and fought back another urge to be sick. Slowly, he raised his eyes to Dumbledore's and felt the sickness momentarily recede.
"Did Miss Weasley ever say what she thought Voldemort might use her for?"
"No," sighed Harry, raking his hands through his hair. He righted himself and massaged his throbbing temples. "She didn't know. At least, she didn't tell me. But . . . I think she might have had an idea." Ginny was so open and honest, yet she kept much buried deep down. He'd only reached the darkness on rare occasions, and only because that was a darkness also within him.
"Do you know, Professor?" Harry asked sharply.
Dumbledore shook his head slowly and sighed. "I have an idea, Harry, but I am not certain. Miss Weasley was right to suspect Voldemort would wish to exploit Tom Riddle's diary-"
"I'm so stupid!" Harry suddenly burst out, rising from his seat. "It's my fault! All of it!" Infuriated and boiling, he began rampaging Dumbledore's carpet, his voice rising with each agitated step. "I gave that blasted diary back to Lucius Malfoy! Had I left it with you, Voldemort would never have gotten it back, and maybe-maybe Malfoy wouldn't have told him about it! Why was I so stupid?!"
"Mr. Potter!"
Harry abruptly halted his tirade. Dumbledore was standing tall and erect, looking sternly down his nose, and Harry felt his blood rush to his face, not with rage but shame. He hated losing control before Dumbledore, and his rage seeped through his toes, leaving him weak and shaky. Wordlessly he returned to his seat, sinking further down into the lumpy cushion, head in his hands again.
"What do I do?" he asked croakily.
"For the moment, nothing," said Dumbledore gently, sitting down again. "Except hope."
Hope. Harry had clung to hope, lost it, and found it again his whole life. In the most desperate hour, something had always appeared to fill him with hope and courage. He knew he could fight without hope, fight only because it seemed the only thing he could do, but it was that hope that battled despair.
But hoping didn't solve anything, not really. He could hope Ginny was alive, and he did, oh yes he did, but it did absolutely nothing for her. Wherever she was, whatever she was going through, no one was there to give her hope.
Dumbledore seemed to be reading his thoughts, because he said quietly, "Harry, Miss Weasley came to me at the beginning of her fifth year saying just as much as you told me. Agreeing with her concerns, I placed a charm on her that may provide some protection against Voldemort."
"What? What is it?"
But Dumbledore shook his head. "Miss Weasley wished I keep this information to myself, even from you, Harry." He looked truly apologetic, but Harry couldn't stop the hurt he felt at Ginny's lack of confidence in him.
A silence fell as Harry tried to think of what to say. He needed to be alone, but he hadn't been alone since that morning, when he'd been oblivious to everything but his own anguish. He wanted to grab a Time- Turner and flip all the way back to last night when he drew her away from the table. Everything would have been so different if only he'd told her the truth.
The office blurred. Unaware of the moisture in his eyes, Harry reached within the folds of his robes and drew out an object from his pockets. It was a very tattered, wilted quill that had once been a luscious emerald that he self-consciously knew matched his eyes. Staring blearily at the now deplorable quill, he brushed his fingertips over the darkened feathering. Ginny's Christmas gift to him fifth year. She'd been so embarrassed and blushed as she muttered that she hadn't known what to give him "because Ron only gives you disgusting things or Quidditch stuff, and Hermione suggested books."
Not even Ginny knew that he still kept the quill far after it'd been unable to write anymore. Actually, it could have been useful a little while longer, but he'd wanted to keep what he could of it.
"I suggest you get some rest, Harry," interrupted Dumbledore.
Harry jerked, startled out of his musings. He blinked against the wetness in his eyes, furiously realizing he must have been crying. But his cheeks weren't wet, only his eyes. Rubbing them with his fists, he nodded obediently. Good, he wanted to be alone. Away from Ron and Hermione's bleak faces and hushed whispers, their nervous, darting glances.
"Allow me to escort you back to the common room."
Of course he wouldn't be alone! Harry felt too weary to argue as Dumbledore placed a firm but gentle hand on his shoulder and guided him down the spiraling staircase. As the gargoyle pushed aside, Terry Boot, the Head Boy, and Susan Bones, a Hufflepuff prefect, were just coming around the corner of the corridor on their patrol.
"Ah, Mr. Boot! Miss Bones!" called Dumbledore in the cheeriest voice he'd used all day. "Would you kindly escort Mr. Potter back to Gryffindor Tower?"
"Yes, Professor Dumbledore," they chorused, sending Harry curious looks. Harry looked away, wanting to scream in frustration. He'd hoped Dumbledore would leave him on his own, but he should have known better. It seemed that no one trusted him not to do something drastic or foolish--like surrendering to the Death Eaters.
Terry opened his mouth, as if to say, "Come along, Harry," but quickly closed it and cleared his throat. Wordlessly, Harry followed the Head Boy down the corridor, feeling like a prisoner as Susan walked on the other side.
My own little prison guard, he muttered sarcastically to himself.
~*~*~
It was a ridiculously awkward journey back to Gryffindor Tower, but the uncomfortable silence allowed Harry to decide on a course of action. Returning to Gryffindor Tower was unthinkable to him just now; he feared he'd go mad if one more person looked his way with such polite concern. Or Hermione and Ron followed his frantic pacing with edgy eyes. He knew what they were thinking, that he would suddenly do something irrational, like rush out of the castle waving a white flag.
Not that it hadn't crossed his mind . . .
Harry knew plenty of empty classrooms around Hogwarts. He'd retreated to them upon several occasions, whether to escape prowling professors, Peeves, Filch, or merely to escape the crowded confines of Gryffindor Tower. Often he'd fantasized about seeking out one such vacant classroom with Ginny . . . And as he had then, he violently shook the thought away.
Terry and Susan glanced nervously at Harry, but he ignored the fervently earnest looks. Perhaps it was rude not to say anything to either student, but what the heck was he supposed to do? Make small talk?
"Yeah, how 'bout them, N.E.W.T.'s, eh?"
He had to find a way to escape entering through the portrait hole, or else he'd be accosted without hope of escaping. But how to shake the Head Boy and a prefect? Or evade more patrolling professors and prefects?
If only I had my Invisibility Cloak, he thought wistfully as they turned the last corner and the Fat Lady stood (or rather hung) guard at the end of the long corridor.
Suddenly, it clicked in his mind, but he doubted it would work.
Terry and Susan stopped just before the Fat Lady, who was hastily hiding her handkerchief within the folds of her pink skirt. She regarded the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff suspiciously, raising her painted eyebrows meaningfully.
"Oh-er, right then," coughed Terry, flushing slightly. He gave Harry a skittering look and nod. "We'll be going then, Harry."
"Yeah-bye." Susan blushed furiously, embarrassed by something.
Harry managed a curt nod and watched as the two seventh-years hurried down the corridor, glancing quickly over their shoulders before turning the corner and descending the staircase.
I wonder . . . Harry frowned and ran a hand through his hair, pulling at the tufts. He was alone, but where could he go without getting caught? His initial plan had been to go on in to the common room, mutter something about sleeping, and grab his Invisibility Cloak if Ron and Hermione bought the lie and stayed down below. It'd be a risk, opening the portrait hole on his own, but maybe no one would notice. Now, however, he didn't need to bother with that, unless he was planning on roaming the school. About the only corridor not patrolled, that he knew of, was the one he was standing dumbly in.
"Well?" said the Fat Lady, rather impatiently.
Harry glanced at the portrait wonderingly. No one was to be anywhere in the castle alone (a toilet stall or bath being the exception, of course). The Fat Lady wasn't exactly a human, but she was certainly a responsible, authoritative entity of Hogwarts. After all, she did protect almost a hundred students-when everyone actually attended Hogwarts-just behind her frame . . .
"Did you forget the password, Mr. Potter?" demanded the Fat Lady irritably.
"No," said Harry, hoping he didn't sound cheeky. "Sorry," he added quickly. The Fat Lady huffed and raised an eyebrow, but Harry ignored her and quickly surveyed the corridor. A corner to tuck in was ideal, but the best alcove was certainly beside the portrait.
Sighing, Harry lowered himself to the floor, pressing his back against the wall and tucking his knees up, making himself as small as possible. Closing his eyes, he let his head fall back until it hit the wall, and for a blissful moment, he felt nothing but relief.
"Just what do you think you're doing?"
But only a moment. Harry cringed against the urge to snap bitingly at the portrait, took a steady breath, and said, "Sitting. It's too loud in there," he added, hoping she'd get the hint.
"Sounds rather quiet to me. You're not to be left alone, you know."
"But I'm not. You're here."
The Fat Lady was silent for a minute, then she finally gave a small 'humph'. "Well, it's your own fault if you're caught."
Harry waited another two minutes before relaxing again. If it be could called relaxing. The brief moment of bliss had been dashed away by the irritable portrait, and everything inside him was on edge again. He tried breathing deeply, but the rush of oxygen only unsettled him further. Why couldn't he do something?!
You've done enough already, haven't you? a biting voice accused. Harry sucked in sharply. Immediately he saw her before him, as he'd last seen her, trembling from his words. Vibrant coppery red locks messy from hasty attempts to pull it back while studying, soft brown eyes glistening, her face pale and pinched as her mouth quivered . . .
A low moan escaped Harry. Her mouth . . . his ached for the sensation of her soft, trembling lips . . . how still she'd been, as if in disbelief, or dreaming and afraid to disrupt it . . . and then . . . No adjective he'd ever known could describe that moment when Ginny's lips had moved almost skittishly against his own.
"I'm so stupid," he mumbled, rubbing his face fiercely to drive away the memory. Why oh why had he stopped it? In that pivotal instant, he'd lost control, and while drowning in that indescribable rush, it had returned like a hard smack across the face.
"Harry . . ."
"Goodnight, Ginny."
Two nights in a row, he'd slipped away from her, misled her, and had agonized over her. No, the first night he had been truthful, more honest than perhaps ever before. It hadn't been the truth of his feelings that had condemned her, but the deception wrought of his protection.
And he was deceiving himself again, he knew, unable to smother the thought any longer. Blaming himself was merely a distraction from imaging what could be happening to Ginny now.
A/N: Okay okay, NOW I'll get on with Ginny meeting Voldemort.