Title: Almost Speaking
Author: Sonya
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize, I don't own. Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all associated characters, settings, etc., belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, etc. Harry Potter and all associated characters, setting, props, etc., belong to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Inc., etc. No copyright infringement is intended, so please don't sue - all you'll get is a really bratty bird and some really spoiled rats.
Spoilers: Up to 'Wrecked' in the Buffyverse, up to "Goblet of Fire" in the Potterverse.
Pairings: Willow/Snape, Hermione/Viktor Krum, Draco/Ginny, Fred/Angelina. Other 'ships to be decided.
Summary: "I think this line's mostly filler . . " um, okay, really, further exploration of Ginny's mental state as well as Willow and Snape's relationship. Everybody starts to get the first itty bitty hint of a clue.
Author's Note: Just a reminder that this story takes place following "Goblet of Fire" - as in, "Order of the Phoenix" never happened. There will be overlaps, but there will also be differences, and there are no intentional spoilers. So, if you've read the book, you'll see some things familiar and some things not. If you haven't read the book and don't want to be spoiled - use your own judgement. If I don't tell you what's my idea and what's from the book, then you're not really being spoiled, right?
And if anyone cares, I have a Livejournal - It occassionally contains fic-related ramblings. I also have a website, at
Okay, shameless self-promotion over. On to the story.
***
"This has already started to heal," Madam Pomfrey commented, frowning just inches from Ginny's face, her fingers hovering over the jagged wound just above her cheekbone and to the side of her eye. She didn't actually touch it, but Ginny had to fight not to flinch; just the proximity, the possibility of touch seemed to make it throb all the more.
"You're going to have a scar," the mediwitch pronounced. "There's nothing I can do about this now."
Ginny shrugged, a movement that hurt far less at present than it would have an hour ago. The rest of the splinters had been charmed out and the cuts magically sealed, a tedious process that caused a brief burning sensation and then itched like mad for ten minutes in which she had been instructed to lie still and not even think of trying to scratch at her assorted rapidly-healing wounds.
Draco had only pulled out the one splinter, the one in her face; it had bled profusely, and he had turned an interesting shade of puce.
"Don't you shrug at me, young lady!" Madam Pomfrey waggled a finger in her face, before bustling off to retrieve Merlin knew what from a cabinet across the room. "Running off like that was utter foolishness," the mediwitch continued to scold as she rummaged through her supplies. "Completely inappropriate behavior from a fourth year, and a Gryffindor no less! Of course losing control of one's magic is upsetting, but it's no reason to let one's senses run off as well."
She retrieved a small satchel of powder from the back corner of the cabinet, turned, strode back towards Ginny.
"What if you had been seriously injured, did you think of that? What if you'd gotten a splinter in your eye, hrmm? You're lucky all you've got is a scar, you could have been going *blind* while the rest of us searched the grounds for you. Did you think of that?"
If I'd had a splinter in my eye, I think I would have noticed it before I ran off.
No. No, I wouldn't have.
"No, Ma'am," Ginny said quietly. Madam Pomfrey gave a satisfied-sounding hmph, and pressed the small pouch into Ginny's hand.
"Now, you recall how you felt immediately *before* the incident?"
Door splintering and teeth snapping and hot stinking breath and make it stop, make it stop I don't want to die -
"Miss Weasley!" Madam Pomfrey said sharply.
"I'm sorry!" Ginny yelped, flinching. The mediwitch's frown deepened.
"You're quite certain you feel well now?" Madam Pomfrey demanded. "No headache? Nausea? A feeling of prickling cold?"
It's always cold, so cold it hurts, so cold you can't remember what it feels like to be warm, it's hard to even move.
"Where's Riddle? Where is that devil-spawn little bastard?"
"I just feel normal," Ginny answered. "Maybe a little sick, but I missed dinner. I always feel sick if I don't eat."
You'd have died.
Madam Pomfrey nodded, still frowning. "Well, I've checked everything I can think of to check, and you do seem perfectly well. If you begin to feel worse, though, you're to come straight back here, do you understand?"
I'd rather have died.
"I will," Ginny agreed automatically. Madam Pomfrey didn't look particularly convinced.
That's the stupidest thing you've ever said! Do you think this is better? Do you think I wanted to be thirteen and pimply for ever and ever? You think I wanted to stuck in a stinking toilet forever? Oh, poor Tom, he lived! Poor him!
"You're to go straight back to your dorm," the mediwitch instructed sternly. "I'll send a house-elf up with something for you to eat. Nothing too rich, not for the next few days. No excitement. No strenuous physical activity. And once you've eaten, I want you to go right to bed. Is that all clear?"
Pathetic, worthless little mudblood, laying there on the tile all broken and empty, just a shell, just flesh, powerless -
- but she's *not*, is she? She's still here, isn't she? Something more than flesh.
"Yes, Ma'am," Ginny agreed. "I'm tired anyway."
Flesh. Blood. Blood running down the backs of my knees counting, and again, and you'll never do that again, will you, you little bastard, and again, and again, and bones cracking in fingers and teeth snapping and you'll pay you'll all pay I hate you filthy - filthy, don't touch me, you'll -
I'd have died. I'd have wanted to die.
But I didn't. I lived. Now it's your turn.
Think you can make a better go of it, do you? We'll see. We'll see, won't we, we'll all see -
- no one sees.
"That's to be expected," Madam Pomfrey told her. "Now, this packet of powder - I want you to brew this up if you begin to feel the way you felt before your magic went wild. You do recall how that felt? A tingling sort of sensation, I expect, perhaps?"
"I remember," Ginny nodded. I could hex you into next week, you know.
But you won't.
Draco saw. Draco doesn't do well with screaming.
Or blood. Flesh and blood. More than flesh . . Myrtle and Draco and a little rat down in the dungeons, Crookshanks caught it and it must have been a magical sort of rat because, see . . more than flesh . .
It was the happiest sounding thing I could think of.
"No more than a teacup of water, and you're to use it all," Madam Pomfrey instructed, tone warning dire consequences if Ginny diluted the potion. "It won't taste very pleasant, but you're to drink it down and then come *straight back here*, understand?"
Can't I just go now? I understand. It's clear. Come back if I feel ill, drink potion if I feel tingly.
And between times, go out of my mind, but I shouldn't bother about that. That's only really a concern if it makes me blow things up.
They don't understand, do they? Don't care. Can't see. Why should you care so much, why should you fight -
Myrtle. Draco.
Me. Myself. This is my bloody life, not yours!
Bloody life .. what would you know about a bloody life . .
"Miss Weasley, *do you understand*?" Madam Pomfrey pressed.
"Yes, I understand!" Ginny snapped back, then cringed as the older woman's white eyebrows crept towards her scalp in affronted shock. "I'm sorry, I'm very tired," Ginny apologized. "I didn't mean that how it came out. I'm sorry." The mediwitch's face softened just a fraction, but still looked a little put off.
"Well, I guess that's understandable," she said with a sigh, and patted Ginny's knee. She backed a little ways away from the cot, then paused. "I don't suppose you'll tell me where you hid all that time? No one could find you."
Ginny didn't answer.
I was just in Myrtle's bathroom, but who would think to look there? No one ever goes in there. They've all forgotten. No one sees -
"I didn't think so," Madam Pomfrey sighed again. "You're quite sure you're not feeling at all dizzy? I could call for one of the prefects to come fetch you, if you'd rather not walk back to your dorm alone."
"I'm fine," Ginny insisted. "Really, I don't feel any different at all."
"Off with you, then," Madam Pomfrey made a shooing motion towards the door. Ginny was almost out into the hallway when the mediwitch called after her, "Your Uncle Ted did the very same thing, you know, when he was in his second year."
Ginny turned back, surprised.
Uncle Ted? Uncle Ted the drunk?
"Well, not exactly the same thing, I suppose," Madam Pomfrey amended with a small shrug. "He melted an entire classroom full of cauldrons during his Potions final. It was a terrible mess."
"I - I guess it would be," Ginny said, not knowing what else to say.
"I just thought it might make you feel better, knowing it runs in the family," Madam Pomfrey said. "And he never had another incident like it."
Of course. It'll all be okay, don't worry about it, it runs in the family, it's a terrible mess but no reason to take leave of your senses.
Just some random one-off thing. Get plenty of sleep and it'll all be okay.
How can she be standing there staring at me, and not see anything? How can she possibly not see?
I am Lord Voldemort!
I am Tom Marvolo Riddle, and every finger in my right hand has at least one broken bone in it. They had to heal all on their own.
Madam Pomfrey gave Ginny a bland, reassuring smile.
"Thanks," Ginny said flatly, and tried to smile back. In her mind's eye her smile looked like the grinning of a skull, just lips drawn back from teeth. Just flesh, flesh and blood and bone. Madam Pomfrey didn't seem to notice.
***
Willow thought it must be nearing midnight; her clock informed her only that she'd missed dinner yet again. The search for Ginny Weasley had ended less than an hour ago, when the girl had simply presented herself at the hospital wing. Tired, emotionally drained, and frustrated at the ridiculousness of a faculty composed entirely of witches and wizards being unable to find a single missing student, Willow had felt just slightly like strangling her.
Which isn't very nice at all. She was just upset. I'd be upset.
Willow took a distracted bite of belated dinner - assorted leftovers sandwiched in the middle of a bagel, she hadn't wanted to bother the house elves for something more palatable at this late hour - and tried one more time to focus on the text in front of her.
She thought she'd read the first page of 'Theories in Applied Transfiguration' at least five separate times now, but she couldn't be completely certain, because she kept forgetting what she'd read.
I need to give up and go to bed.
No, I need to read this. At least the first chapter. This is stuff I should have learned in 6th year, if I'd had a 6th year. I mean, a 6th year here. I had a 6th year, sort of. Junior year.
During which I restored a vampire's soul, which is whole freakin' lot more impressive than turning dust into dinner plates, if you ask me!
Not that anyone did. Ask me. I think I'd have rather done the dinner plates, really, but such is life.
And I need to know at least as much as my students, which means I have to read this.
Again, since I have no idea what I just read. UGH!
Willow groaned aloud, slapped her rather unappetizing sandwich down onto its plate and braced her elbows on either side of the book, dropping her forehead into her hands.
"The atomic composition of most solids," she read aloud in a very determined tone, "may be manipulated through the application of -" her door swung open without preamble and bounced off the far wall, interrupting her.
"Just come right on in," she commented sarcastically. "Don't bother to knock."
The swirl of black robes and dark hair that stalked into the room through the door answered her with an inelegant snort, before dropping itself length-wise onto her couch. A hand, draping off the edge of the cushion, made a dismissive gesture, and across the room the door closed itself.
"And make yourself at home," she added, blinking at Severus' prone form. He'd ended up with most of his hair tossed over his face, his nose protruding from a mass of black locks. She bit her lip to keep from giggling.
He turned, hair falling away from his face, giving her a questioning look. She did her best to look annoyed, scowling at him. He grimaced, and began to push himself up off the couch.
"I'm teasing!" she exclaimed, breaking into a somewhat exasperated grin. He is just not getting this "having friends" concept. "TEA-sing! Look it up!" She abandoned 'Theories in Applied Transfiguration' and grabbed up the plate with bagel sandwich, crossing the room towards him. He made a sour sort of face, clearly conveying exactly what he thought of her teasing, and collapsed back onto the couch.
Willow stopped a foot away, frowning down at him. After a few moments, he seemed to sense her presence, and blinked one eye open, quirking an eyebrow up at her.
"Well I was gonna join you," she explained. "But you're talking up the whole couch."
"Sit on the floor," he suggested laconically, snapping his eye shut again. She thought the corner of his lip was twitching ever so slightly. It wasn't much, but it was enough for her to know this was revenge of the teasing sort.
Could I get used to that? Little lip-twitches and half-smiles and lots of sarcasm? Would that make me happy?
Stupid confusing jerk-person.
She stuck her tongue out at him, half expecting him to see what she was doing right through his eyelids. He didn't budge.
"That's my couch, Mister," she pointed out tartly.
"It's also your floor," he answered smoothly.
Poop-head.
"I was studying," she complained.
"Do continue," he said, waving a hand in a lazily dismissive gesture.
"And what if I wanted to study on my couch?" she snapped, chewing her lower lip and grinning.
Yeah, I could like this. I think I could.
"We can't always have what we want," he answered in his best, most condescending lecture voice. Willow crossed her arms and glowered down at him. Well, fine then. He wants to play? Let's play.
She stomped back across the room, dropping the plate and bagel sandwich down on the kitchenette table with a ringing sort of clang as the plate spun and then settled. 'Theories in Applied Transfiguration' was tucked under one arm. She stormed back, and plopped down with a little more force than was strictly necessary, directly on his stomach.
Severus' eyes flew open, and he spent a very satisfying moment sputtering in disbelief. The hand that had been dangling off the couch tried to lift, encountered the back of her knee, and promptly dropped away again.
She tried to ignore the feeling of stomach muscles tensing under her thighs - what was I thinking? Was there thinking involved in this? I think there was a real lack of thinking - and gave him her best superior, triumphant stare. She quirked an eyebrow. He goggled. She turned pointedly away, setting her textbook down on her knees.
"The atomic comp -" the book was snatched away from her. She turned and glared; he held it out over his head, smirking at her.
"You are *this* close, Mister," she growled, lunging for the book and blushing furiously at the realization that the movement had pretty much shoved her chest in his face. Just don't act embarrassed. You do this all the time. You're sophisticated. He shifted the book to his other hand and grinned in a sneering sort of way; it was most definitely a dare. She grabbed at the book. You are world-wise, and jaded, and - she overbalanced.
- and you're falling off the stupid couch oh crap!
She yelped, and clutched at the nearest available surface, trying to catch herself; the nearest available surface happened to be Severus' robes. The both rolled; Willow grunted as her elbow and her tailbone hit the floor simultaneously, the plush carpet doing little to cushion the impact with the stone floor beneath.
There was a startled, rather colorful exclamation from beside her, then a thump to her right, between her and the couch. She rolled her head to the side, and found herself meeting Severus' eyes from inches away, through a curtain of tangled dark hair.
She giggled. He scowled. She giggled more.
"Ow," she muttered between giggles. "That hurt." His scowl deepened. "Well don't look at me, it's your fault!"
"Really," he drawled in a clearly doubtful voice.
"Uh-huh," she insisted, propping herself up on one elbow. "Completely your fault. And your hair is all in your face."
"So is yours," he retorted.
"No it's not," she snapped back, just because the moment seemed to call for it, tossing her hair hastily out of her eyes. A few reluctant strands clung to her cheeks, and from the very bemused look on Severus' face, she suspected the rest was sticking out everywhere with the static electricity generated by their tumbling.
"It most certainly is," he said, reaching out and pulling a tendril away from her face, holding it out in front of her eyes for her inspection. "What do you call this?"
"I plead the 5th," Willow said sullenly, watching his face. His expression was not even a little bit guarded now, and it was making her stomach jump.
"You plead the what?" he said dismissively, twirling the strand of hair between his fingers.
"The 5th Amendment," Willow explained, "it's an American Muggle law, it says that -" and then there were lips on hers.
That's the second time he's done that - cut me off. I think he just kisses me to shut me up, she thought inanely. His lips were as warm as she remembered, moving insistently against hers, and his hand had slid around her cheek to cup the back of her head, drawing her closer. She shifted toward him, movement made awkward by carpet and tangled skirts and robes.
She found herself pressed against a long, rather hard, warm body. It was quite a lot of body; they were doing no more than they'd done standing up on Solstice night, but it felt like more. Her knees were bumping into his thighs, and she could feel a hot flush going down the back of her neck.
Willow brought a hand up to his shoulder; his lips parted ever so slightly, hesitant. She parted hers in answer, and then her hand was clenching on his shoulder, unclenching, sliding around to the back of his neck.
Her heart was hammering in her throat, her whole body feeling caught between tension and bonelessness, as if even her skin didn't know how to feel. Oh, this is nice .. this is so very nice, but . . so much, this is so much, and I don't even really know him and he's older and he's so jaded and dark and sophisticated and I'm so not and I don't know what he expects and I don't know if I can do this with a male-type person again though, actually, I think I could . . I think I'm liking this rather a lot, but I don't know if he'd like it with me, and what if I don't remember how, and -
She pulled just a little back, breaking the kiss, sucking in a much needed breath. Severus watched her, waiting, fingers still playing with the hair at the base of her skull.
Say something. Not 'that was nice.'
"So - so I guess Draco came back?" she squeaked out. Severus blinked at her.
"Yes," he answered flatly, and drew his hand away.
Oh, that was great. Wonderful. Somebody shoot me? He was sitting up, and looked a little annoyed. Well, why shouldn't he be? He must think I'm absolutely the hugest tease in the entire world. Or just the biggest dork. Or both. That's me, the big teasing dork.
This is so beyond dumb. So we kissed. It was nice kissing. So stop reverting to freakin' twelve years old and say something!
"I suck at this so much," Willow blurted, pulling herself up so that she was kneeling. Severus had propped himself up against the couch, and he was watching her. "I mean, not in the - you know, not like *sucking* at - I mean, not that I *object* to that if you - which of course you're not even thinking of because we were just kissing and that's all and - god, why do I even bother to open my mouth?"
Why do I *do* that? I'm 21 freakin' years old, I should not squeak and I should not babble!
He grinned, that slightly crooked, wicked-looking grin.
"Stop enjoying this!" she accused, and slapped the nearest part of him she could find, which happened to be his knee. "It's not funny, I am being seriously pathetic here!"
"You'd prefer if I weren't amused?" Severus inquired. Her discomfort seemed to have relaxed him; the half-annoyed hesitance of a moment earlier had vanished, and he was his usual, snarky self again. Willow found she was a little annoyed herself, at his apparent ease.
"Yes!" she snapped. "Well, no." He gave her that questioning, should-be-patented Snape quirked brow.
"I merely finding it intriguing that a young, mostly sane, rather attractive witch is rolling around on the floor with possibly the ugliest, most hated, least appealing person to have ever walked these halls, and *she* seems to be the one who is nervous."
Willow blinked, stared, and blinked.
"What?" she exclaimed after a moment, brow furrowing. "You aren't ugly or unappealing or - and I'm not any of that stuff either! I mean, okay, I'm sorta young, but that's a matter of perspective, and your perspective is so not as bad as - mostly sane? What do you mean, *mostly* sane?"
"You expected unfettered praise?" he asked drily.
He thinks he's ugly.
He thinks I'm . . . rather attractive.
"Bastard," she snapped, feeling a strange combination of elation and pure terror. We're in majorly uncharted territory here.
"Babbling twit," he pronounced, leaning forward, and their lips met again, just briefly, a reassurance.
"You don't mind?" she asked, pulling back and biting her own lip. "I'm likely to be like this for a while. I mean, not the babbling part, but the nervous part, about stuff like - stuff - and god I sound like I'm ten and that so can not possibly be attractive, I mean, you spend all day around bratty little kids and you don't seem to like them much and I'm not - really I'm not *this* immature - I'm just nervous."
"I had noticed that, if you recall," he reminded her.
"We weren't *rolling around* on the floor," she pointed out.
"Must you pick at the semantics?" he scowled.
"Yeah," Willow answered, grasping at the opportunity his words provided and holding her breath. "Yeah, I think I must. This is a big deal, being with somebody - you know, male. I didn't think I was going to do that again. So yeah, I must be weird and immature and babble and pick at the semantics."
And now you can stay or you can go. And I can live with either. I can.
"Fair enough," Severus nodded, after a moment's consideration. "I suppose if you can put up with -"
"Don't you start insulting yourself again!"
"I will insult myself if I so choose."
"You . . confidence-lacking person."
"Interfering do-gooder."
"Poophead."
"*Poop*head?"
"Bite me."
Yeah, I could get used to this.
***
I don't know if I can do this.
I can. And if I can't, I will anyhow.
She missed Viktor so badly it was an almost physical pain, and added to that was the guilty feeling that she ought to be missing her parents.
I was wrong. It doesn't seem more real. It seems less. Everything's normal, I'm back at school, I'm -
- I'm sitting up waiting for Ginny to get back from the hospital wing, where she is because she had an episode of wild magic and decimated the Charms classroom. Waiting up because she might not come back, because she hid for almost six hours already.
And the Marauder's Map didn't show her.
Unless she was that unmarked dot on the third floor. But - no, that doesn't make sense. It's always showed her name before. Hasn't it? I don't think I ever noticed.
But I would have noticed if it hadn't. I think I would.
Or maybe not. Maybe I'm not half so smart as I think I am, and she's never shown up properly on the Map, and I just wasn't paying attention.
But why wouldn't she -
"Oh, I'm sorry," said a startled sounding voice. Hermione blinked up at Katie Bell, who had paused in the act of reaching for something on the table in front of Hermione's chair.
"You were sitting so still, I didn't even see you there," Katie said, smiling a little nervously. "I didn't wake you up, did I?"
"No, I was just thinking," Hermione tried to smile back. She had the feeling her smile was no more genuine than Katie's.
"I just left my quill," Katie explained, reaching out to grab the object in question, tucking it hastily into a robe pocket.
Why is she being so twitchy? She's a prefect too, she's allowed to be about past curfew. Katie was still watching her.
"I'm waiting for Ginny," Hermione said, feeling as though she ought to explain her own presence in the common room at a quarter to midnight.
"Oh," Katie said again, then paused. There was an awkward silence. "Is she okay, then? I heard - well, something, I don't remember what I heard," Katie shrugged a little self-consciously, her pale complexion flushing, letting Hermione know that whatever the older girl had heard about Ginny, it wasn't flattering. "I'm surprised Fred and George aren't out here too, and Ron."
"McGonagall made them go to bed," Hermione explained. "Well, she made them go to their dorms, anyway. She thought they'd make Ginny nervous."
"Oh, well, she's probably right," Katie agreed. "I mean, having all those brothers hovering over you, it'd make anybody nervous, I'd think, though I'm just guessing since I haven't got any. Do you -" Katie stopped abruptly, swallowing visibly, as if she wished she could pull her words back.
"I don't have any brothers or sister, no," Hermione answered. I thought she knew that. I don't know why, though. It's not as if we've ever talked very much.
"I'm - I'm so sorry about -" Katie started awkwardly.
"Thank you," Hermione snapped out. Katie flinched; Hermione couldn't bring herself to care. If one more person .. just one more person says they're sorry . . I'll scream. I'll blow something up too. Why can't they just leave me alone, I don't know why people apologize when someone dies, that's just the stupidest, most pathetic thing to do - as if the person who lost them won't be having a hard enough time just - just existing, just not screaming, without having to be polite and gracious and accept all of their stupid bloody pointless apologies.
"G-goodnight then," Katie muttered, and retreated hastily back up the stairs, towards the prefects' dorm. I may as well have the plague. Or leprosy. I might as well have festering boils and parts falling off for all that anyone can stand to be near me.
They just want to apologize and run. Like it might be catching.
I want to be left alone. Just not - not like *that*.
The portrait door swung open, and Ginny stepped inside, still in the robes she'd worn to the hearing. They were tattered and faintly bloodstained, now; Ginny herself looked whole but tense, except for a jagged red slash across her cheekbone, almost at her eye. Hermione pushed herself up out of her chair, threading her way between scattered furniture and across the room.
"I'm so glad you're alright," she said, pulling the younger girl into a hug and trying to ignore the way Ginny tensed as she did so, the odd look in her eyes. I can't think about that. I can't. I can't worry about anyone else, I just can't. Ginny hugged her back awkwardly at first, then a little fiercely, wirey arms tightening around Hermione as if clinging for dear life, in the moment before she let go.
"I'm fine, really," Ginny said with an little shrug. "Madam Pomfrey says my uncle did the same thing once. Runs in the family. Is Ron -"
"McGonagall sent them all to bed," Hermione assured her quickly. "They all wanted to stay up and wait for you, but she wouldn't let them."
"Oh," Ginny said, crossing her arms and rubbing her elbows just slightly, as if she were cold. "Are - are you doing alright? With being back at school?"
"I'm managing," Hermione answered, forcing her lips into a reassuring smile. Mustn't give her anything else to worry about. Too much stress. That's what McGonagall said, bouts of wild magic are usually brought on by fatigue or stress.
I've been leaning on her too much, the last two weeks. Can't do that anymore. Have to manage on my own.
And if I can't, then I have to anyway.
Viktor will be here next weekend. He said next weekend, if I wanted. Just for a day. Oh god I don't think a day is enough . . I can't . .
.. but I will. I will anyhow.
"That's good," Ginny said, smiling back in a way that didn't reach her oddly shadowed eyes. Stress. She's just been under too much stress. Her dad was injured and then me - I've been an enormous burden, I've been like a baby, she's had to hold my hand and remind me to brush my hair and no wonder, no wonder she broke down. Anyone would.
"You should go get changed," Hermione suggested, trying not to stare at the gash on Ginny's face and wondering why Madam Pomfrey hadn't healed it. "Have you had anything to eat?"
"Madam Pomfrey said she'd send food up," Ginny said.
"Oh, that's good," Hermione agreed, feeling the stilted formality of their conversation like a weight on her shoulders.
We're talking past each other, she realized suddenly. We're both lying and we both know it.
"Would you like me to wait with you?" Hermione offered, feeling like it was pitifully little to offer in compensation for everything the younger girl had done for her in the past weeks.
"Okay," Ginny agreed. "Okay, that'd be nice."
***
TBC . .