Author's Note: AHA! I had you all fooled! You thought I'd quit writing this story, eh? Well, tough luck, kiddies, here's chapter seven! (Don't worry, I only use excessive !'s when I'm super-hyper.)


The next day Ginny woke up and knew exactly why her stomach was churning from anxiety. Never before in her life had she experienced such inner turmoil - well, perhaps in second year, and this time it wasn't really a matter of life or death. Still.

Though she dressed in her nicest casual robes and put her hair back into a neat ponytail, and though she waltzed into the Great Hall for breakfast pretending to be happy and carefree, she still felt sick to her stomach. At least her acting skills were up to par so no one would notice that she was deeply troubled.

"You look deeply troubled," said Isabelle through her mouth full of scrambled eggs (not a pretty sight).

Ginny frowned. Was it really that obvious? "Oh. I do?"

Isabelle frowned back until a knowing look descended upon her face. "Ahh. . . I think I know what's wrong."

"Oh. You do?"

"Uh-huh. Boy troubles!" she said with relish.

Immediately, two heads snapped in their direction. One belonged to Colin, the other to another fifth year named Doug. Ginny got the feeling that Doug secretly had a crush on her but was too shy to say so, though he'd spoken to her a few times as of late. She tried to treat him with compassion, admitting to herself that she was a bit out of his league. After all, she was dating Harry Potter - that is, she corrected herself, she had been dating Harry. What she assumed to be her ex-boyfriend was currently watching Cho eat as though it was fascinating.

"B-boy troubles?" stammered Doug, his eyes wide with masked hope.

"Boy troubles," confirmed Colin, "is what I heard. How can we help, ladies? I'm told I'm a good listener."

Isabelle considered his request. "What would you say to a completely insane person who"

Ginny didn't want to hear how Isabelle's sentence would end, fearing that soon the entire cafeteria would know. "Who keeps blurting out her friend's secrets?" she interrupted hastily, knowing that Isabelle was in fact trustworthy.

Isabelle rolled her eyes. "A completely insane person who has no faith in her friend's ability to keep her mouth shut." She grinned mischievously. "Although the completely insane person seems to have no trouble keeping her own mouth shut, especially late at night, with"

Ginny slapped Isabelle hard on the shoulder, then turned to see Colin and Doug staring at her. She felt herself turn pink, then realized that between their two heads she could see Draco's, staring at her from the Slytherin table.

She immediately felt herself turn crimson, then excused herself. She saw Draco stand up half-way as if he were thinking she wanted to talk in the hallway, but Ginny shook her head at him and scurried out of the Great Hall toward her next class: Defense Against the Dark Arts.

It was a little-known fact around Hogwarts that the young new DADA teacher was none other than Ginny's aunt's divorced sister's roommate's dry cleaner's second cousin thrice removed's doctor's nephew's secret lover's neighbor. This coincidental and ironically close connection had created a bond between Ginny and Mabel Hurst.

"Hey, Mabel," sighed Ginny as she banged through the DADA classroom's door and collapsed into the first chair she came across. She buried her head in her arms, feeling her hot breath warm her face in the worn cotton sleeves of her robe.

"Uh . . . Ginny?" Mabel said tentatively, a bit shocked by her sudden and dramatic entrance. "You all right?"

Ginny shook her head no, then raised it, resting her chin on the heels of her hand. "Actually no, no I'm not. And how are you?"

"Concerned," said Mabel in a high voice. "About you. How come you're so pale, huh? Oh," a knowing look dawned on her narrow face, "it's a boy. I know that look, Gin. And by the looks of things," observed Mabel, peering into Ginny's puffy eyes, "it ain't Harry."

"What!" exclaimed Ginny. "How could you tell! I mean . . . Where'd that come from? It does too concern Harry. In a way."

Mabel sat on the table next to Ginny's folded arms. "Come on, Gin. There's an eavesdropping-proof charm on the door, and I'm not telling anyone. I can tell you're stressed out, so let's hear it. Beans. Spill."

Ginny took a deep breath, then told the entire story to Mabel. " . . . So Harry's drooling over Miss Rebel Without a Cause, and I'm suddenly really attracted to the one guy who's tormented me for over half my life. I mean, I still like Harry and all, but . . . Draco's just . . . I don't know, more attractive to me, both character-wise and, um, physically." She assumed Mabel would understand about these things, since she wasn't far beyond her teenage years.

But Mabel tapped her finger on her chin. "Ginevra," she said seriously, "listen to yourself. You say you're in love with Draco, but that's only after two nights of pure snoggage. Mostly snoggage, anyway, maybe with some mushy dialogue thrown in. How can you say you love him when you don't really know him? The only Draco you truly know, with proof, is the one that calls you Weasel and makes fun of your family. Remember him? Ferret-face?"

Ginny bit her lip. This was what she was afraid of. This was the revelation she'd been running from, afraid to face the voice of reason. This was certainly the most sensible thing she'd encountered in the past few days, but it certainly wasn't what she wanted to hear.

"But, Mabel," she moaned, "I know what you're saying is true and all, but - how am I supposed to get over him? He's always in the back of my mind - "

" - and mouth - "

" - and I can't just stop liking him all of a sudden." Ginny huffed a sigh. "What should I do? I want to do what's in everyone's best interests," she said, sounding like some sort of insurance commercial on Muggle television.

Mabel nodded. "I know you do, hon. I think the thing to do now would be to talk to Harry and officially break it off, since technically he's cheating on you, no matter what kind of sick curse he's under. Then, talk to Malf - er, Draco - and tell him that you can't see him until you sort things out. Face it, Ginny," she said as her classroom door opened and jabbering students began to pour in, "whirlwind romances never work out like they do in the movies we love. Good afternoon, class! Ready to hex each other!"

Mabel mostly left Ginny alone for the next class period while she called on other students. Ginny, deep in thought at the back of the classroom, decided to go along with Mabel's advice, though it seemed fairly cynical to her. Who's to say whirlwind romances never, ever work out? Ginny thought. Sometimes they do. But what about this time? . . .

She didn't see Draco for the rest of the day, taking pains to avoid him until The Talk. It deserved capital letters in her mind, because it was such a daunting thing to her. She and Isabelle did their homework in the corner of the Common Room so their conversation wouldn't be overheard.

"So, that's it?" asked Isabelle. "Just tell Draco you can't make out with him anymore, and go along with our merry little lives?" She snorted. "Bit blunt, that is, Gin."

Ginny scribbled out an incorrectly spelled name on her handwritten map of springtime constellations and rewrote it. "Well, I won't be that blunt. But that is the gist of it, yeah. You were the one who said I was trying to be fixer-upper."

"Don't blame me for breaking it off with him!"

"I'm not 'breaking it off with him', I'm telling him I need to sort things out!"

"Which is basically saying, please give me time to figure out whether or not to drop you, thank you very much."

"Don't make this harder than it already is," said Ginny in an unusually harsh voice. "Sorry," she added when she saw Isabelle flash her a warning glance. "But I think maybe I was being fixer-upper. I saw him really smile once and was so surprised and - and enthralled that I wanted see him that way all the time . . ." Her voice trailed off into silence as she reviewed what she'd just said. It was amazing how she could sum up her feelings and motives without meaning to.

Isabelle finished her Potions essay and dotted her last period with a flourish. She rolled up her parchment and sat in silence, until she took a deep breath. "I think Professor Hurst is right," she said finally, referring to Mabel. "It seems like the most sensible thing to do."

Ginny nodded. "But it's the hardest thing to do, Iz. I can't be within ten feet of him without throwing myself at him. Telling him this is going to be so difficult." She scribbled out something else on her map then looked up to the ceiling in frustration. "All of this is so weird! How could I have let this happen, Isabelle?"

Isabelle's eyes suddenly became bright. "What if they planned it, Harry and Draco?" she said excitedly. "What if Harry wanted to snog Cho again, and Draco had a secret but embarrassing crush on you the entire time he teased you? So they decided to swallow their pride and switch rooms - oh. Sorry."

Ginny turned her death glare from her friend back to her map and accidentally blotted one of the galaxies. Her parchment was beginning to look like Ron's artwork, and that was saying something. Professor Sinistra would not be pleased, but Ginny couldn't care less about it at the moment.

"I'm going to do it tomorrow," Ginny said suddenly, without even realizing it. "The Talk. After school. By the lake. I'll owl him. Get me an owl from the owlery?"

Isabelle shook her head as she stood up. "I hope you understand, I don't make trips to the tallest tower on the opposite side of the castle for just anybody," she said sternly. "Only for people who are in intense state of distress."

Ginny nodded. "From now on," she said solemnly, "every time I ask you to go to the owlery, I'm in an intense state of distress, okay? Get me one of the smaller ones, I don't need a big one. Thanks a bunch, Iz!"

Isabelle wiped her quill and left it between some pages in her Potions book, then left for the owlery. Ginny took out her Muggle Studies homework but felt that she was unable to properly concentrate on how Muggle prisons worked or what their fences were topped with. Instead she attempted to script The Talk in her head, but even in her own mind it was harder than flossing with barbed wire. Not that she'd tried that.

She imagined herself holding his hands in hers and gazing up into his eyes and using all of her willpower - and then some - to hold herself back from his kisses.

She imagined blinking back soft tears, and telling him that right now she couldn't be with him that way.

She imagined him frowning sadly and asking why, running a hand through her hair.

She imagined herself pushing his hand away and telling him her reputation was at stake as well as his, and she wasn't sure she was doing the right thing anyway.

She imagined herself sobbing into his heaving chest, then realized that she was really sobbing into her Muggle Studies homework. She raised her head suddenly and hiccuped. The ink on the parchment was beyond legible now, it was so heavily smudged, and the Common Room noise level had dimmed noticeably as people gawked at her.

"Ginny?" It was Doug, standing to her right. "You all right?"

Ginny swallowed a sob and used the collar of her robe to wipe her eyes. She crumpled the ruined homework in her hand and slowed down her breathing. "No, I'm not, but I will be someday. Um. Boy troubles."

Doug nodded. "Still?"

"Yeah. . . Yes, boy troubles still." She suddenly wondered if she had ink on her face, and fished around in her bag for her compact mirror.

"Well - Ginny," Doug said timidly, "if there's anything I can do, let me know okay? I hate seeing pretty girls cry." He suddenly realized what he'd said, and then looked a little impressed with how suave it sounded.

Ginny chuckled, figuring it was a joke as she peered into her mirror to see puffy eyes and faint traces of mascara-tinted tears. Her hair was pulled back into a messy bun below her left ear, and her mouth was permanently turned down even when she laughed. "Thank you, Doug. Very sweet. But please don't worry about me, I'll pull myself together. It's no big deal. I'm just a little stressed." She motioned toward her homework, lying profusely.

Doug shrugged. "If you say so. No more bawling though, okay? I could hear you from my dormitory." He trudged back up the staircase, leaving Ginny to start her Muggle Studies homework over again. She was glad that someone besides Isabelle and Mabel cared for her well being in this time of distress. Draco would, too!, she reminded herself, if he'd seen all this. She reconsidered this. She actually had no way of knowing this for sure, Mabel's voice echoed in her head. This was definitely a doomed whirlwind romance, just like all the others . . . Why did she feel like she already knew Draco? She was obviously suffering from some unknown childhood trauma. Why else would she be acting so weird?

Isabelle returned forty-five minutes after she'd left. Ginny was beginning to panic, and was just about to clamber out of the portrait hold in search of her. But Isabelle stomped in, panting, and threw herself into the chair opposite Ginny's. She tossed her the small owl carelessly.

"Whoa! Thanks." Ginny nearly missed catching the tiny owl, which hooted shrilly in surprise, forgetting to extend its wings. "Explanation?"

Isabelle rubbed her eyes vigorously. Her head was resting on the back of her chair so that it was parallel to the floor and her hazel eyes were staring blankly at the ceiling. "I passed by the library," she started, "and saw Cho and her friends and some other people hanging out, doing homework, whatever. And then suddenly Harry leaps on her and starts to swap spit, majorly. And everyone in the library gasps, you know, and they won't stop. Until Madame Pince comes along and pries them apart and gives them detentions for PDA. So then after they left I had to defend you and try to decide what to tell them." She whipped her head forward and gave Ginny a sharp look. "I told them you and Harry broke up, is that okay?"

Ginny nodded sadly. "Yeah, I mean, it's basically true. Thanks, Isabelle." A strangled peep reminded her that the owl remained in her fist, which had clenched tighter and tighter as Isabelle told her story. "So what are they all saying, that Harry's gone off the deep end? Or that Cho's his recovery girl? Or that he's a cold-hearted jerk for rebounding just like that?"

Isabelle's eye twitched. "All of the above."

"Poor Harry. Well, at least we have ample warning. I'm going to be bombarded tomorrow. Maybe I'll barricade myself in the dormitory."

Isabelle patted Ginny's arm. "I think you should. You've had far too much excitement lately. I can tell the professors that you have a slight cold and that you're suffering from sleep deprivation due to school- and family-related factors that have distressed you immensely."

Ginny's face took on an impressed expression.

"I had some time to think about it as I sprinted from the library to here," confessed Isabelle. "But honestly, I think you should. And besides, you have to keep yourself away from him."

"Yeah, I might lose all control and start snogging him in the halls."

Isabelle opened her mouth to say that that wasn't the 'him' she was talking about, but then closed it. "So, you'll stay in the dorm tomorrow." A slight pause in which they both gathered their thoughts, and then - "So what's the owl for, now?"

Ginny glanced down, remembering again that the owl was limp in her hand, looking quite relaxed, or perhaps it was losing consciousness from lack of oxygen. She set it aside, against Isabelle's Potions books, on which it leaned.

Ginny stared at the blank piece of parchment in front of her and said, "I'm just writing a note to Draco saying to meet me at the lake." She scrawled it on the paper in half-cursive, half-print, and tied it to the owl's leg. "Draco Malfoy," she said intently to the owl, in case it hadn't heard. It took off through the portrait hole, nearly colliding with the head of a first year who'd just entered.

"Time for bed," said Isabelle bossily, taking control. Ginny allowed herself to be steered to the dorm, feeling like an infant. "In you go. No bedtime story this time, just sleep. Good girl." Isabelle grinned as she shoved Ginny toward her bed. "Nighty-night!"

Ginny smiled gratefully at Isabelle as the curtains were closed. She stared at the canopy's rich velvet sheen, lamenting the fact that she wouldn't be able to fall asleep for hours, what with all the thoughts bouncing around in her head.

A minute and five-sixths later, she was impenetrably steeped in merciful, restoring slumber. She slept for thirteen hours straight.


A/N (04/05/05): thanks to san-lee for correcting me on my use of Virginia vs. Ginevra!