Disclaimer: I don't own any of the places, characters, etc. J. K. Rowling owns all of them. (Except Barnabee: he's mine.)

Author's Note: This is my first (serious) fanfiction and I'm delighted that chose to post it here. I absolutely LOVE this website and all of the talented authors and artists here. I would like to thank my splendiferous Beta (I've always felt the word deserves to be capitalized): DancingInMagic. She's been SUPER amazing and wonderful and pointed out some stuff that a first-grader would have known (coughmom/mumcough), and some that my English teacher would have over-looked. Plus, she writes her own awesome stories that are an inspiration to me. So, I'm done now. Thanks for reading this, and please review! n.n

The Tapestry

Ginny sighed and looked around. She was quite lonely here all alone. Sometimes The Man would visit her, or those other silly people, but they didn't stay for long. They usually looked out of the window with leaking eyes. Other than that, though, she was quite lonely. She walked to the window and stuck out her hand, whistling and smiling a few minutes later when she felt the thin grip of Barnabee's little feet.

She greeted him cheerfully and he started whistling, his small orange beak opening and closing as he told Ginny about his day. She giggled into her hand. "That sounds like it was a fantastic game of hide-and-seek!" And Barnabee warbled his reply. He wouldn't be able to visit Ginny very often - he had just had nine eggs hatch and was a very busy father. Still, she appreciated every minute of his time. They chatted for a while and then he flew away, saying it was probably best if he fed his chicks now before they really started making a racket. Ginny thought she could hear the unmistakable chirping sound of a nest-full of young birds. She smiled, something she had been doing surprisingly infrequently recently.

She felt as if the Dark Thing was always weighing on her mind, threatening to collapse on top of her like a thick tapestry. That's it! Ginny thought, satisfied at coming up with an appropriate simile, as she visualized the Dark Thing: a large, heavy cloth hanging on the wall, an illustrated battle scene - with men, and women, and monsters with skull masks and long sticks spewing horrid green light that crawled towards their opponent. Somehow Ginny could feel it hovering just over her, and just as an ominous rain cloud was sure to start flashing and booming with thunder and lightning, it was only a matter of time before the wall's hold broke, and the awful, heavy tapestry would come crashing down. Ginny made an odd whimpering sound and pulled her knees up on the chair she was sitting on by the window. She looked up, terrified that she'd see the long braided fringe hanging down over her head, blowing gently in the breeze coming in.

For the first time in all the time she'd spent here – since World War One, she believed it was - Ginny looked around. Grey. Why were the walls grey? Why was everything grey? And why had she never noticed? The table and chairs in the centre of the room were grey, and the metallic bunk bed in the corner, and the doors, and the floors, and if Ginny leaned forward to see into the bathroom - yes, grey! Even the ceiling was a dark, dull silver. And everything was cold as well.

She wrapped her arms around her legs and shivered as her eyes darted around like a trapped animal's. She jumped up and ran to her bed with her arms crossed over her head in a feeble attempt to shield herself from the shadow left by the Dark Thing. After she dashed under the covers and pulled them up to her armpits, she lay on her back with her arms flat by her sides, breathing heavily. It was a bunk bed. Surely the top bunk would break the Dark Thing's fall? With that calming thought buzzing through her brain like a pleasantly humming bumblebee, Ginny felt her body relax and her breathing even out, as she sunk through the mattress and into the portal of her dream-world.

Ginny was standing in front of a house, a very odd house. It was crooked and mismatched with several extensions that she knew had to defy some kind of law of gravity. But it was warm and cosy and had strange, vibrant flowers scattering the yard and a chicken coup in the back, along with some odd sort of field with tarnished gold hoops that she knew somehow. As she stood, bewilderedly staring at the oddly comforting house, she heard a loud BOOM! from one of the windows on the side of a high bedroom. She heard coughing and saw the window fly open as smoke crawled out, eager to corrupt the fresh air.

Suddenly a dark, polished broomstick with neat, perfectly cut twigs that licked back appeared in front of Ginny, hovering before her, looking very impressive. Raised golden letters on the handle spelled out Firebolt and she traced them with her index finger, enjoying the smooth texture and tingling feeling that danced up her arm. Slowly, she lifted her leg over the broom, and gripped it tightly with her thighs and hands. She thought that she must look rather funny straddling a cleaning utensil, and wished Barnabee could see her, but before she could whistle for him, the broom rose a few feet in the air, almost unsaddling Ginny, and shot off.

"AAAHH!" she screamed, but smiled at the same time. She was frightened, but it was a thrilling terror that filled her abdomen and escaped from her chest in a shriek of delight. She clung to the smooth wood and leaned forward against it; she felt as if she was born to do this . . . whatever it was. But the ride was short and after a few laps around the strange house, it stopped in front of a door on the roof. Perplexed once more, Ginny got off of the broom and walked slowly across the tilted shingles to the door built into a brick wall. She put her hand forward and tentatively wrapped it around the cool handle.

Then, right before her eyes, the door grew darker and the handle melted from it, scalding her hand and dripping onto the shingles with a sizzle. Crying out and wrapping her throbbing hand in her shirt, Ginny watched in horrified stillness as the wood transformed into a fabric and bricks became stone. A large castle wall stood erected before her, from it hanging a thick dark tapestry. She stood there, facing it off with her eyes and mouth wide. The fog that had been covering her mind dissipated and she looked upon its depiction with comprehension, if not memory.

Slowly, her hand extracted itself from her shirt and glided towards the thick cloth. Soft, her mind told her. She had expected it to be rough, but the texture was similar to that of velvet. The next thing her mind took notice of was the background of the picture. Behind all the cloaked and uncloaked figures fighting with sticks or laying unmoving on the ground, a huge mountain crawled up from the rocky earth. And atop that mountain stood two men, one taller than the other and clad in a long robe. Both men were in shadow and both held sticks pointed at one another. A blob of green light hung in the air between them, but it was impossible to tell from whom it had come.

All of a sudden, the pictures began to writhe and move and the still illustration became real as two dimensional people yelled at each other in Latin and cast each other down with light from their sticks. Ginny thought it was almost like watching television, though she wasn't sure what a television was . . .

Abruptly, the scene changed and the foreground faded as the background was zoomed in on. A long streak of luminous lightening split the night, shedding it's brief light upon the two figures, and the picture was still once more, frozen, a captured moment.

The man on the left, who looked more like a boy than a man, had ruffled black hair, a thin physique and bright green eyes behind square glasses. The long scar on his forehead matched the bolt poised between the two figures, except it was burning a deep red.

This brought Ginny's attention to the other man, though he didn't look much like a man either. His eyes were thin red orbs, slanted like a cat's, and the rest of him was snake-like: two slits for a nose, skin almost scaly and a starving look on his face. His long cloak hung in the air, as if whipped by the wind. Ginny turned away from the cruel-looking one to reach her hand out to the boy.
Slowly, her hand shaking, she inched closer until her fingers brushed the fabric and came to rest on his cheek. Unwillingly, a bubble of speech rose in her throat to come whispering from her lips. "Harry . . . " The green light between the two figures shot at the snake-like one, whose body absorbed the beam and flew backwards with a confused expression. Harry's head turned to face her and he smiled.

Ginny bolted up in bed, gasping and sweating, rolled up in her bed-sheets. She sat there for a moment, gathering her wits, or what little left there was of them, and felt even more confused than usual. Eventually, she calmed down enough to get out of bed and change into her clothes. The door opened quickly and Ginny jumped. It was Victoria. Queen Victoria II really, but Ginny preferred to call her Vicky.

"Hello Vicky!" she said cheerfully. The old woman had white hair, rosy cheeks, and looked a bit like an old-fashioned nanny. She sighed. She had long ago given up trying to tell the young girl that her name was Muriel, and she was certainly not the queen of England.

"It's Saturday, Gin," she told her kindly, silently praying she wouldn't respond as she always did.

"Saturday? Ah, yes, of course . . . So?"

Muriel sighed. "Mr. Potter will be visiting you today . . . are you okay, Miss?" she asked, slightly worried. Ginny froze as voices flashed through her brain.

"What's that?"

"Blimey. Are you - ?"

"He is. Aren't you?"

"What?"

"Harry Potter."

"Oh, him. I mean, yes, I am."

"You know that black-haired boy who was near us in the station? Know who he is?"

"Who?"

"Harry Potter!"

"Oh, Mum, can I go on the train and see him, Mum, oh please . . . ."

"You've already seen him, Ginny, and the poor boy isn't something you goggle at in a zoo. Is he really, Fred? How do you know?"

"Asked him. Saw his scar. It's really there — like lightening."

"Poor dear — no wonder he was alone. I wondered. He was ever so polite when he asked how to get on to the platform."

"Never mind that, do you think he remembers what You-Know-Who looks like?"

"Miss Ginny?" came the shrill voice of the queen. "Oh dear, I'll go get the doctor!"

"Doctor?" Ginny asked, dazed. "What doctor?"

Vicky froze on her way to the door and turned to smile at her, her hand over her heart. "Nothing, dearest. I believe Mr. Potter will be here soon."

"Harry . . . " the bubble welled up through her mouth again, unbidden.

"Erm, yes," the old woman said suspiciously. "Yes, Harry Potter. He visits almost every Saturday. You – uh – remember him?"

And there was that Dark Thing. There was the tapestry again, shadowed and harsh, threatening her mind with clearance and realization. But Ginny clung to madness. For now.

"No . . . just the name . . . " she said evasively, trying to sound upbeat and empty-headed. It usually came naturally.

"Ah. I see. Well, how are you today? Any flashes? How's Barnabee?" (Vicky really didn't sound that interested in how Barnabee was, which annoyed Ginny a bit.) And Queen Victoria went on a familiar tirade of questions pertaining to Ginny's mental health, which also irked her slightly. Shouldn't she be in a deck of cards somewhere, shouting "Off with his head"? She brought Ginny's breakfast and shuffled out, telling her that Mr. Potter would be here soon.

Ginny felt strange. She felt as if she had lost her grip on reality. Even worse, she felt oddly as if she'd lost her grip long ago, and had only just started to realize it. What in Merlin's name had that dream done to her? . . . And who was Merlin?

Ginny pushed the remains of her chip buttie to the side and finished her milk, jerking up when the door opened and The Man came in, smiling nervously. She froze. It was him. It was the man from her dream, from the tapestry.

"Hello Ginny," he said as he sat down. And she knew he's sat there before. She recalled a few of the times he had.

"Hello."

"How's Barnabee?" he asked, looking genuinely curious. He looked older than the boy in the tapestry.

But then all thoughts of jarring dreams evanesced for a bit, as she concentrated on the bird. "Oh, he's had nine eggs hatch yesterday!" she said enthusiastically. It was nice to have someone to share her interest in her wonderful little friend.

"Has he named them?" That man leaned forward, a small smile on his face, his green eyes bright.

"Yes!" Ginny got more excited. She had so been aching to tell somebody! "Yes! He's named them Arthur, Molly, Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, George, Ron, and Hermione . . . Hee-hee . . . funny name . . ." She paused, wondering if she should test him. "Oh . . . and Harry."

The Man had frozen when she'd said the first name, but Ginny casually dismissed it. He blinked a few times and seemed to come to his senses. "Er . . . wow! . . . That's ten, though. Thought you said there were nine?"

"Oh . . . um – " Ginny felt heat crawl up her neck and over her face, which perplexed her to no end, and she lifted her elbow to rest it on the table, but accidentally set it down on the rest of her chip buttie. The plate crashed to the floor and she lunged to pick it up. She felt more heat reddening her face as she brushed the butter from her elbow. To her surprise, The Man was laughing! He looked at her strangely, and said, "Some things never change." The emphasis he seemed to put on "never" made him sound so sad . . .

The moment she saw Harry, Ginny accidentally knocked her porridge bowl to the floor with a loud clatter. Ginny seemed very prone to knocking things over whenever Harry entered a room.

She nodded, blushing to the roots of her flaming hair, and put her elbow in the butter dish.

Ginny shook her head and cleared her throat in an attempt to erase the words that had etched themselves in her mind. It didn't work. "Yes . . . well . . . " She hoped he hadn't noticed her temporary loss of expression, but he had stopped laughing and was staring at her intently.

"Do you remember that . . . special shake I gave you last week?" he asked cautiously, seeming extremely anxious. "Did you – er – try it?"

Ah, yes. The special drink The Man had given her the week before. It had tasted rather good, like strawberries. "Yes. Yes, I drank it. It was very nice. Thank you." She smiled happily at him, which made him smile a bit as well.

"Do you feel any . . . different?" He tried to sound casual. Ginny immediately put her guard up, saying suspiciously, "Why? . . . Maybe . . . Should I?"

"Erm – maybe." He was starting to fidget and was looking a bit desperate. "It wasn't anything bad, like poison or anything! It was just supposed to help . . . your . . . condition." The Man looked very nervous.

"What condition?" she asked. Honestly, she was so sick of being confused all the time lately! Or maybe she had always been confused, but hadn't noticed . . . or something. Still, bells were chiming softly, locked away in a bock in the back of her mind. She wondered if she should open the box and listen to the secrets they were trying to tell her . . .

"I – I'm such an idiot. I've let it slip before, but you normally ignore it or forget it or misunderstand it. But now you're getting better and I won't have a second chance if I mess this up!" he said in one breath, gripping the table rather tightly.

"I – I'm getting better? You let it slip before? My condition? I don't understand!" Ginny started feeling very flustered and then panicked as the box of bells rattled. She wasn't ready for the sanity. Not yet. Her breath quickened and she covered her ears with her hands in case the box was opened and the jingling secrets leaked out.

"M-maybe I should get Hermione. She's the one who made the potion!" The Man said, more to himself than to Ginny. He seemed quite lost.

"Hermione is Barnabee's daughter's name and that was not a potion! It was . . . " Her sentence trailed off and her eyes squeezed tight. The lid on the box was being pealed back.

"Smart girl, that Hermione."

"Ginny? Ginny? Are you remembering Hermione? Do you understand?" The Man was asking.

She blinked a few times and focused her eyes. The Dark Thing was back, lower than before, closer. She wasn't ready. Not yet.

"Hermione is Barnabee's chick! She plays hide-and-seek with him and has tea parties with Molly while the boys play Spinach with the twigs from their nest!" she blurted out, trying to stop the lid from ripping off. Those stupid bells kept whispering musical tales.

"No, Gin!" The Man said, firmly, but kindly. "No. Hermione is your friend! She's going out with your brother Ron and your mum is Molly and Arthur is your father and – " he reached across the table and, as gently as possible, took her hands away from her ears. She was starting to cry and shake her head back and forth, " – and Bill and Charlie and Fred and George are your brothers! And sometimes they do get together and play Quidditch with their broomsticks. And Percy's your brother as well, though an insufferable prat. And sometimes Molly and Hermione do have tea together and talk about 'how incorrigible the male species is' or something! . . . And I don't think Hermione plays Hide-And-Seek with Mr. Weasley, so I'm not sure where you got that one . . . " he said desperately. She needed to remember this. She just needed to.

Ginny felt the tears spill over her eyes lids and free-fall down her cheeks and she felt her body convulse with sobs. And she couldn't stop the waves of memories assaulting her stupid damaged brain.

"And me, Ginny!" He hadn't wanted to go there, more for selfish reasons, but if it helped . . . "Do you remember me?"

"No! No I don't remember you!" Ginny started. But she stopped. Because suddenly she did.

"Oh, Mum, can I go on the train and see him, Mum, oh please . . . ."

"Ginny! Ginny — don't be dead — please don't be dead — Ginny, please wake up."

"I didn't want anyone to talk to me."

"Well, that was a bit stupid, seeing as you don't know anyone but me who's been possessed by You-Know-Who, and I can tell you how it feels."

" . . . I forgot."

"Lucky you."

"I'm sorry."

"I . . . I wish I could talk to Sirius, but I know I can't."

"Well, if you really want to talk to Sirius, I expect we could think of a way to do it . . . "

"Come on. With Umbridge policing the fires and reading all our mail?"

"The thing about growing up with Fred and George is that you sort of start thinking anything's possible if you got enough nerve."

"Well, we'll have to fly, won't we?"

"Okay, first of all, 'we' aren't doing anything if you're including yourself in that, and second of all, Ron's the only one with a broomstick that isn't being guarded by a security troll, so — "

"I've got a broom!"

"Yeah, but you're not coming."

"Excuse me, but I care what happens about Sirius as much as you do!"

"You're too — "

"I'm three years older than you were when you fought You-Know-Who over the Philosopher's Stone, and it's because of me Malfoy's stuck back in Umbridge's office with giant flying bogeys attacking him — "

"Hold on. Did I hear right? You've been taking orders from something someone wrote in a book, Harry?"

"It's nothing. It's not like, you know, Riddle's diary. It's just an old textbook someone's scribbled on."

"And Ginny, don't call Ron a prat, you're not the captain of this team — "

"Well you seemed too busy to call him a prat and I though someone should — "

"You'd think people had better things to gossip about. Three Dementor attacks in a week and all Romilda Vane does is ask me if it's true you've got a hippogriff tattooed across your chest."

"What did you tell her?"

"I told her it's a Hungarian Horntail. Much more macho."

"Thanks. And what did you tell her Ron's got?"

"A Pygmy Puff, but I didn't say where."

"I suppose I'm just going to have to accept that he really is going to marry her."

"She's not that bad . . . . Ugly though."

"Ginny, listen . . . . I can't be involved with you anymore. We've got to stop seeing each other. We can't be together."

"It's for some stupid, noble reason, isn't it?"

"It's been like . . . like something out of someone else's life, these last few weeks with you. But I can't . . . we can't . . . I've got things to do alone now. Voldemort uses people his enemies are close to. He's already used you as bait once, and that was just because you're my best friend's sister. Think how much danger you'll be in if we keep this up. He'll know, he'll find out. He'll try and get to me through you."

"What if I don't care?"

"I care. How do you think I'd feel if this was your funeral . . . and it was my fault . . ."

" . . . I never really gave up on you. Not really. I always hoped . . . . Hermione told me to get on with life, maybe go out with some other people, relax a bit around you because I never used to be able to talk if you were in the room, remember? And she thought you might take a bit more notice if I was a bit more — myself."

"Smart girl, that Hermione. I just wish I'd asked you sooner. We could've had ages . . . months . . . years maybe . . . ."

"But you've been too busy saving the Wizarding world. Well . . . I can't say I'm surprised. I knew this would happen in the end. I knew you wouldn't be happy unless you were hunting Voldemort. Maybe that's why I like you so much."

"Harry . . ." Ginny whispered, face awestruck and criss-crossed with shimmering tears. She looked up and saw the tapestry gliding to a stop above her head. Harry was yelling her name, but the tapestry dropped – not falling on top of her, but disappearing inside of her – and she fell sideways off the chair as her eyes rolled back in her head and she fainted.

"Stupefy!" Ginny smiled. This wasn't as hard as she'd expected. Fully-grown Death Eaters weren't really that much better at duelling than the majority of the teenaged DA.

She was dirty and sweaty, and cut and bruised, but her veins were pulsing with adrenaline and they had practiced for this all year. Still, she didn't feel as safe knowing Harry wasn't here to fight with them . . . and Ron and Hermione, too, of course . . . Yeah.

She wondered if this would be it. The "final battle" they were all anticipating. Or maybe it would just be Hogwarts' final battle. Or her own.

"Incarcerous!" She heard a frightened voice quiver out, and turned to see Colin Creevey take out a tall broad Death Eater, ropes spinning from his wand and wrapping themselves around the man's chest and limbs, tying knots at the end.

He snarled at Colin and said in a deep, throaty voice, "Let me go, Pipsqueak, or you'll regret it!" Ginny winced. No one called Colin 'Pipsqueak' . . . Except maybe Harry. If Harry had of called Colin 'Pipsqueak' a few years ago, he'd probably have wet himself with joy that Harry had noticed him. Ginny knew. She would have as well . . . a few years ago, of course, not anymore . . .

Colin's nervous face hardened and he shouted, "Expelliarmus!" and when the Death Eater's wand flew into his hands, he gripped the two ends and snapped it in half. The man howled and another Death Eater turned around behind Colin and pointed his wand at him.

"Petrificus Totalus Extende!" Ginny shouted, and two bursts of light hit the other man's stomach. His arms and legs snapped together, straight as a soldiers, and he fell over backwards.

"Extende?" Colin asked quickly, his eyes darting around, wand outstretched.

"If you say it after most basic spells, they take twice as long to wear off," she said, also looking around at the battling students, ready if one of their opponents turned to face her.

"Thanks," he smiled slightly. "Good to know. Stupefy Extende!" Ginny swung around to see another cloaked (and masked) figure hit the ground. "Now we're even."

And then they went on, fighting their own battles. Ginny had no warning whatsoever when she was hit. She was fighting a Death Eater, nothing significant about this one fight, and the next thing she knew a high, hissing voice had shouted out "Jumbumblemus!" and she felt as though her brain had been scorched and was melting inside her head. She dropped to the ground, clutching her head and screaming in agony, and she passed out from the intense pain.

Jumbumblemus. The word shot around Ginny's subconscious, and she though she heard it consciously as well once, but she was too confused to be able to tell the difference. She didn't know how long she'd been asleep once she'd woken up, or even how she'd fallen asleep. When the realization swam over her, it was slowly – piece by jumbled puzzle piece – instead of all at once, and she was thankful for it because she didn't know if she could have stayed awake if it had.

She was in the process of organizing her newly acquired sense of things when she had her first visitor. A short, plump woman with frizzy, fiery hair and teary eyes opened the door and walked in, mumbling to herself and shaking her head. She obviously didn't know Ginny was awake, so she took the time to observe her. Someone, somewhere in the back of her mind, told her it was Mother Goose, but Ginny wasn't listening to her anymore. She bit her trembling lip and tried to stop her tears as she whispered, "Mummy?"

The woman instantly swung around and gaped for a second before charging over to her and wrapping her arms around her. Mum, Ginny thought. There was a measurable degree of warmth in her hug, but Ginny couldn't seem to notices that right then, because she couldn't breathe. "Mum!" she managed to croak out.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, dear!" Her mum pulled away, and blessed air filled Ginny's lungs as she listened to the rambling with an increasingly wonderful soaring feeling in her stomach, as well as quite a bit of confusion. "I'm sorry, I just miss you s-so much and we could never stand to visit for v-very long because it was so horrible and for two years we've waited for you to snap out of it and then Hermione – bless her, fantastic girl, she is, you know – well, H-Hermione told us she'd been working on something to cure you and we were all worried but we knew the real you was worth the risk and Harry was the only one you seemed to respond to the most, and he could handle it, so he was the one who gave you – "

But Molly was interrupted when the door bashed open and a sea of bright red stormed in, all screaming and crying and running straight at Ginny. And she was scared at first, but as each person hugged her and cried into her hair and looked into her eyes, yelling that they weren't empty anymore, she recognized them all as her family and didn't think she'd ever felt so marvellous.

Finally, the only one in the room without the Weasley red came over, looking into her eyes and hears and pinching her skin, mumbling to herself about "stupid potions" and "after-affects."

"Hermione!" Ginny intoned, catching her attention. "I'm fine! Thank y- " Well, she was getting quite used to the literally breathtaking hugs, but it was still unpleasant to not experience that lovely inhale-exhale feeling she was rather fond of. And when Hermione pulled away, crying, Ginny could tell another rambling of thanks and apologies was about to escape, but she held her tongue and looked at the door where a sheepish version of The Man stood, looking a bit uncomfortable. No, Ginny told herself. Not "The Man", Harry.

"Hi, Harry!" she said cheerfully, trying to abolish his awkwardness.

"Er – 'lo, Gin," he mumbled.

She sighed. She'd try again later; right now she wanted to hear a story. Her story. "Okay, so one minute I'm swatting Death Eaters like there's no tomorrow, and the next I'm sitting in a hospital, getting the breath knocked out of me by my mother – not that I didn't enjoy it, mind you, Mum – and there's a bunch of fuzzy stuff in between that really makes me doubt my sanity!" she said sarcastically, but everyone winced. Her parents almost looked like hearing the sound of her voice was heavenly. Ginny's eyes narrowed. "I have no reason to doubt my sanity, do I?" she asked suspiciously.

"Not anymore!" Hermione cried, jumping out from the semicircle surrounding the bed to stand in the centre. "You see, you were fighting when Voldemort himself hit you with a curse – something that was quite amazing actually, he doesn't really even bother cursing people unless they're really important . . . Oh! Not that you're not! But I mean . . . anyway, the curse was the Jumbled Mind Curse. It was a really oldcurse used in Ancient Rome to confuse Muggle rulers. It hasn't been used in centuries – it was outlawed almost directly after it was created – but I guess he dug it up somewhere. It basically takes your brain and rattles it around in your skull. It was once referred to as the Addled Brain Curse, I believe – "

"That's fantastic Hermione, but I don't need the spell's history, I need to know what it did to me," Ginny said as calmly as she could. She was just a teeny bit nervous learning that she'd spent the last two years as a crazy person.

"Oh, yes, of course," Hermione said, blushing a bit as the rest of the room laughed a little, and Ron mumbled something under his breath with a fond smile. "Well, the symptoms are short- and/or long-term memory loss, severe confusion, and mild insanity. You suffered from . . . well, all of them basically. You couldn't remember anything that had happened before you were hit with it and couldn't remember most things that happened after either, except for the maid – who you called Queen Victoria – and Barnabee – your – er - bird friend. You were reported by your maid to be confused often as well, more so during the week after you drank the potion. And finally, your mild insanity . . . You weren't violent or difficult, just a bit . . . crazy. Well, we were – erm – giving you a while to, maybe, overcome it, but you never did. I had been working on something to sort of clear up your brain. It almost re-organized it to be like it had been before the curse hit. It took forever, but I swear I really tried to work faster and – " she started, looking desperate.

"Hermione! It's because of you that I'm sane at all right now. Please don't feel any type of guilt," she said honestly. "Any of you!" she added.

Hermione smiled widely. "Well, a dream was supposed to trigger the clearance. A dream created with your own mind. I've been curious, what was your dream about?" she asked eagerly.

And Ginny told them about the tapestry, looking at the bed and talking softly when she came to the part about Harry, thankful for her hair, which draped around her face and hid her deep blush.

"I told you," she heard a throaty voice say when she had stopped. She sighed. Anything to stop the silence that had followed her retelling. But when she lifted her head to look at Harry, it was with a puzzled expression. Everyone around them looked surprised and confused. He shrugged, smiling crookedly with his hands in his pockets. "I told you there was lightening. No one else saw it, but it flashed and it distracted me. Voldemort shouted out those two stupid words and I knew it was over, but the curse froze between us and we just stood there, wands outstretched, confused as hell. Then I heard something. I told all of you, I heard Ginny say my name and . . . and the light shot at him. That's how it happened."

Ginny's eyebrows almost melded with her hair and her eyes widened. "But it – it was just a dream!"

Everyone around them watched with stunned curiosity at the exchange. "It was. But it held some odd sort of truth . . . I dunno how . . ." he trailed off.

Ginny shook her head, smiling in disbelief. "Wow . . . Guys . . . I'm back!" And they all ran to her bed, smothering her with breathtaking hugs and wet kisses and everyone was crying and laughing and smiling, because it was all over. The war had been over for a while, but it hadn't really felt like it had until now. Now all the turmoil that had haunted them all (consciously or not) was gone. And they could enjoy life together, as a family. And that's what makes life worth fighting for.