It was indeed a happy day for Ginny when Harry Potter arrived one Saturday morning.

Fred's voice yelled from behind the front door: "Let us in, it's bloody boiling out here! Good God, it must be 200 degrees!" George flattened his face against the fogged up window and whacked his hand repeatedly against the glass.

"Okay, OKAY! I'm coming!" screamed Ginny from her room, leaping down the hallway and scrambling downstairs to let her brothers into the house. She threw open the door, and once Fred and George had tumbled impatiently into the living room, Harry was left on the front porch gazing sheepishly at her.

"Thank you, Ginny, for letting me stay with you. I really appreciate it," he said, flashing a quick but brilliant smile.

"It's no problem! I'm just glad you're not dead!" Immediately she regretted blurting that out, and clapped a hand over her mouth. Harry raised his eyebrows and blushed faintly.

"Why would I be dead?"

Ginny began to stutter while Harry stared curiously at her. It was his quiet patience that made Ginny so nervous...his innocent, wide-eyed gaze completely enraptured the girl, and it seemed that she had completely forgotten how to form words. Finally, after what seemed like minutes of incoherent speech, Ginny gave up trying to explain herself. "Hungry? I made breakfast. Mum and Dad went out to grab some supplies for the barbecue today, and I have absolutely no idea where Ron is. Causing trouble around the neighborhood, most likely."

Harry grinned. "No...I'm sure he's somewhere around here, just being confused. Like, staring at the wall or something."

Ginny giggled and opened the door wider, gesturing for Harry to enter the house. He did with a polite nod of his head and walked toward the kitchen. "I'm actually really hungry, I'm so glad you offered to feed me." Ginny quickly pattered behind him and, once in the kitchen, placed a plate and napkin on the table.

"Sit. Eat." She poured a cup of milk and set it next to the other tableware. Harry sat down gratefully, smiling cheerfully at Ginny every time she walked over and placed more food on his plate. Once she seemed to run out of sustenance to supply him with, she sat down in the chair next to Harry and waited quietly for him to finish eating. She really wanted to ask him about what she saw in the crystal ball.

When Harry realized that Ginny was waiting for him, he set down his fork and regarded her with a pleasant expression. "Hello. How are you?"

Ginny fixed her eyes upon the handsome young man, the corners of her lips twitching upward in a subtle smile. "I'm just fine. And you? I noticed you wincing as you sat down."

The rosy color of Harry's cheeks paled slightly, but he showed no other signs of apprehension. "Yeah...I hurt my ribs a few days ago. But I'm okay."

Of course, Ginny was not satisfied with this answer. "How did you hurt them?"

He was silent for several seconds as he tried furiously to think of a believable lie, an action not gone unnoticed by Ginny. "I...think I...might have...fallen. Yeah, I fell. Right on my face."

"Sure, Harry. If you don't want to tell me the truth, that's fine. I won't get mad." She stood up and grabbed a paper towel off the kitchen counter. Harry looked up at her as she leaned directly over him to place it next to his plate. "I know you already have a napkin, but those pancakes look messier than I anticipated."

He stared blindly at the paper towel. "I'll tell you."

Ginny dropped into her seat and gaped incredulously at him. "Are you sure?"

Harry shrugged. "Whatever. I trust you."

"Really? More than Ron?" Ginny leaned forward and crossed her arms on the table, resting her head sideways atop of them so that she faced Harry.

"No, he's my best friend. I just feel like I can tell you this sort of thing, as long as you don't tell anybody. ANYBODY." Ginny nodded and waited for his explanation.

"Well...I don't know how to start...I know I have four broken ribs, and I know how it happened." He took a deep breath. "It's not because I fell. I'm a Seeker, so I'm coordinated and I don't fall. It's because..." He stared at his paper towel again. "It's because I was hit pretty hard, and I deserved it. That's how I got all these cuts on my arms." Harry pulled back a sleeve to show her what looked like hundreds of tiny brownish-red lacerations.

Ginny watched him with great interest. "Who hit you?"

Harry looked like he was about to throw up. "My uncle."

Before Ginny could ask any more, Ron exploded into the kitchen with a rush of energy. "You're here! AND NOBODY TOLD ME! How long have you been here, mate?" Harry beamed as he received a joyful clap on the back.

"About twenty minutes. Hey, what's this barbecue I heard about?"

Ginny watched sullenly as Ron and Harry exchanged blissful chatter. She was so close to finding out the whole story, and her stupid goofy brother had to ruin everything. Dejectedly picking herself off her chair, she sulked upstairs and sat in the hallway outside her room. She could hear the boys talking about the barbecue, then Hermione, then school. "What does he mean, his Uncle hit him?" she thought. "Does this happen regularly? And how could he hit him so hard as to break his ribs? Why is his skin all cut up?" Her mind flashed back to the first scene in the crystal ball, when Harry was bleeding on the bathroom floor. "It's weird that he looked so wretched there, but he acts so happy around everybody," she thought, picking at a hardened stain on her sock.

"Alright Harry, I'll be back in like...ten minutes," echoed Ron's voice from downstairs.

"Cheers," responded Harry, who voice sounded like it came from the living room. The front door slammed shut, and light footsteps bounded upstairs. Harry arrived in the second floor hallway to notice Ginny sitting quietly on the carpet. He stood in front of her, waiting for her to notice his presence.

Ginny looked up when she saw a pair of khaki pants in front of her face. "Hi, Harry."

"Ron went to get his broom from your neighbor's house," he said. "We're going to play Quidditch."

"Oh." An awkward pause ensued. Ginny spoke again to break the silence. "We never finished our conversation in the kitchen."

"I know," said Harry, sitting next to her against the wall. He obviously did not want to initiate speaking about the delicate subject.

Ginny absentmindedly pulled at the thin straps of her bra. Neither of them made eye contact. "Has he hit you before?" Harry nodded. "Why?" she asked.

"He gets mad a lot," explained Harry. "But not just pissed...I mean like, violently mad."

Ginny shifted her sitting position so that she was directly across from Harry, leaning against the opposite wall with her hands resting on her knees. "Does he hurt you badly?"

"Sometimes. This isn't the first time he's broken bones. But don't get the impression that he's evil, because he's not. He's just a frightened Muggle, and he doesn't like the fact that I've got weird powers. I think it scares him." Harry stretched out his legs, which had been carefully folded up to his throat, and pulled up his shirt to expose his bare chest to Ginny. Several ragged strips of old fabric had been taped and knotted around his ribcage, and had been fastidiously arranged as if they were applied by a medical professional. The contrast of such shoddy material with Harry's meticulous workmanship would've been humorous had the situation not been so grim. "These aren't really working," said Harry, motioning towards the bandages. "And...I haven't gotten any painkillers. Sometimes it gets hard to breathe."

Ginny's jaw hung half-open, and she crawled across the hallway so that she knelt near Harry. Peering closer at his chest, she painstakingly lifted the edge of a strip of fabric to see a savage pulp of black and blue. She ventured a finger towards his bare bruised skin, but Harry gently caught her hand and set it on the carpet. "Does it hurt?" she asked.

"Yeah," said Harry. "Do you have anything I could take, or do wizards not use pills?"

"My brothers or Mum or Dad could put a charm on you so that you don't feel anything!," exclaimed Ginny hopefully. "Here, Gred and Forge- I mean, Fred and George -are home, they could do it!"

"No!" cried Harry with an expression of horror, causing Ginny to draw back in alarm. "I mean- no adults. Don't tell anybody, please, I trusted you."

Ginny sighed and bounced back and forth on her bum impatiently. "But- but you're hurt, and I can't help you 'cos I'm underage. Neither of use can use magic outside school, and we don't keep any Muggle pills around the house. Harry, there's nothing we can do but wait and make sure no one whacks you in the ribs until you're healed."

Harry dropped his gaze towards his feet and knitted his brow in worry. "That could be until like...Christmas."

"Or more, without treatment," said Ginny, biting her lower lip. "I know you hate to hear this, but...you need medical attention. You can't just break multiple bones and leave them completely exposed to whatever might come your way." She waited for Harry to say something, but he was silent. "What if today, when you're playing Quidditch with Ron and Fred and whoever else, a ball hits you in the chest? A broken rib could puncture your lungs, which would fill up with blood and suffocate you. Or one could pop out of your skin and you could be seriously injured or even die from blood loss. Not only that, but the player that accidentally hit you would think that your death was all their fault, when it was really your Uncle's."

"It would be mine," said Harry, "because I was the one who chose to play knowing the risks I was taking."

"You couldn't tell them that if you were dead."

Harry sighed softly and dropped his shoulders in disappointment. "So...what should I do?"

Ginny shrugged and watched a butterfly float lazily across a nearby window. "The only thing I can think of is to see a mediwizard."

"But...," began Harry uneasily, "How could I do so without the rest of the family knowing?"

The door opened and slammed shut downstairs, and heavy footfalls sprung into the house. "Oi, I've got the stuff, and I brought my neighbor!" yelled Ron from the living room. "He's gonna play with us! Harry, get my brothers and come outside!"

Harry glanced at Ginny, who shook her head ominously. "Don't go, Harry. You're going to get hurt." He stood up, and not breaking eye contact, shrugged and bounded downstairs. Ginny jumped to her feet in disapproval and had gotten halfway down the stairs when she heard a scream.

Ron and another young man were standing over Harry, who was lying on the floor. The unfamiliar young man had turned a very pale shade of green and seemed like he wanted to run away, while Ron knelt over the limp, slender body. "Mate, this isn't funny. Get up." Harry didn't move. "GET UP!" Ginny ran over to where the three boys were congregated and knelt on the other side of Harry. She placed two fingers on his corroded artery- a pulse was still beating in his neck. She sighed in relief; he was just unconscious, not dead.

"What happened here?" she asked, looking up at Ron in anxiety.

Ron threw up his arms in ignorance and stared fearfully at Harry's face, which was a sickly pale color. "I just smacked him, and he freaked out and like...fainted or something."

"Uh-oh," thought Ginny. "Ron, where did you smack him?" she asked.

"In the ribs. You know, we were just fooling around."

Ginny stood up and walked over to the bottom of the stairway. "FRED! GEORGE! Get your wands and get down here, QUICK!" Several seconds later, the twins jogged downstairs and came to a dead halt when they saw Harry's condition.

"What happened?" asked Fred, standing over the seemingly lifeless figure. George used his foot to tap Harry's shoulder, and succeeding in turning the boy over on his back, but did not wake him up.

"Ron hit him right in his broken ribs!" cried Ginny indignantly. Ron shot up in alarm and faced Ginny, aghast.

"What broken ribs? What are you talking about?" he demanded.

Ginny kneeled next to Harry again. "Remember when we saw him in the crystal ball with the bandages on his chest? It's because his stupid Uncle broke his ribs, he told me so!" Ron was silent, turning this information over in his muddled mind.

"His uncle hit him?" asked George quietly. Ginny nodded matter-of-factly. Fred sighed and pulled out his wand.

"Okay, I know how to partially heal unconscious victims- me and George had to learn when people started passing out from our Violent Violet Suckers." He pointed his wand at Harry and muttered some Latin words.

The healthy pink color that could usually be found on Harry's cheeks began to slowly return, and the boy tentatively opened his eyes. Harry propped himself up on one shoulder and looked around the room, stopping his eyes on the Weasley's neighbor. "I don't believe we've met," he croaked in a valiant attempt to regain his strictly polite British manners, "My name is Harry James."

The blonde young man, who appeared a bit frightened, replied, "My name is Michael Alexander. H-how do you do?"

Harry paused to consider this question. "I'm alright. A little wheezy, but I think I'm alright." He coughed, and spatters of blood flew onto his hand and face. "Not again," he moaned, lying back down. "Ginny, dear, would you be so kind as to hand me a napkin or something?" Ginny sprinted into the kitchen and came back holding a handful of tissues. Harry accepted them gratefully and coughed into them.

"Listen," he began, "When you hit me in the chest, you got me right in my ribs - four of which are broken. I'm sorry I didn't tell you, Ron, about this problem. It's not your fault that I'm all messed up now. And Fred, thanks for waking me up, but honestly I'd rather stay asleep because I can't feel anything when I'm unconscious. And Ginny-" the only girl in the house glanced up when Harry said her name, "You're a sweetheart. You're the nicest person I've ever met...I suppose that just needed to be said." Ginny blushed, and Ron looked a bit unsettled. "Now," said Harry, struggling to sit up, "I think I need to get some better bandages, or maybe some sort of splint, if that's possible."

Suddenly Michael, who had been mostly quiet the whole time, finally spoke up. "My mum's a nurse, so we've got plenty of wraps, gauze, and antiseptic lying around the house. I could run home right now and get some," he offered, motioning with a thumb towards the door.

Harry grinned, much to the surprise of everybody else. "Sure! That'd be just lovely." At these words, Michael dashed out the front door and ran the entire way home.