Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine. There, that was easy.

A/N: Another chapter. Here you are. Lots of cool action. Yay!

"Block! Strike! Block! Strike! Dodge! Block! One! Two! Five! Watch your footwork! Block! Strike! Block! No, girl! Bad form! Bad form! Don't open your hands! A slap won't get you anywhere!"

The sound of Ginny's yelling would have been echoing all over the neighborhood if there was not a Silencing Charm in place over the house of Ginny and Penelope.

Ginny was teaching Penelope, eight years old now, how to fist fight. It had been going on for about one and a half years, and Penelope had progressed a great deal. She had the natural talent, but not the desperation that had made Ginny learn so well and so quickly. This training was very pleasant, because it was also practice-time for Ginny once Penelope started sparring with dummies. Often, Penelope would stop her practice to watch Ginny fight against a conjured golem that fought back, or practice her assassination skills.

The magic learning had slowed a great deal though Penelope still had her wand (unregistered, so she could do underage magic) and used it when there was no one to see, because now she had started magical primary school where one was prepared for Hogwarts in writing essays and such.

Ginny had gotten a new, registered wand but kept her unregistered one for emergency purposes—still being very paranoid.

In those one and a half years, Ginny had also taken Penelope's advice and made friends with the Marauders and Lily, because that was who the group was. Now they were her very best friends and Penelope was like a big sister to Harry and his new little sister Rosie.

"I know it won't get me anywhere, Mummy, but they might not be expecting a girly slap!" Penelope yelled in response to Ginny's scolding about slapping in a fistfight.

"But it won't hurt as much," Ginny explained. "You have to put far more power into a slap to make it hurt as much as a good punch would, and that is strength that we women, unfortunately, have to work harder to get. Now. Up again. Strike! Block!"

"Is that the doorbell, Mum?" Penelope asked. "Do you think that Lily is coming over? I hope she brings Harry, cause I haven't seen him in a long time and I hope she's brought Rosie—"

"Babbling," Ginny warned with a grin. "Hold up. I'll clean us off a little and just lengthen our shorts and shirts." She did so, as the shorts and shirts were dangerously short, for ease of movement.

Ginny paced toward the front door and opened it cautiously. Her body was tensed for an attack, and indeed there was an attack—little Harry really threw himself at her legs. It was only Harry this time, no parents. And Harry was still about three.

"Auntie Ginny!" the little boy wailed. "Mummy told me to go to my room because I threw peas at Rosie!"

"You what?" Penelope asked. A smile was tugging at the corners of her mouth as she came up behind Ginny. "Threw peas at Rosie?"

Suddenly Harry's eyes widened.

"Oopsie," he said. "Uncle Siri said I wasn't supposed to say that."

"What were you supposed to say?" Ginny asked and pried Harry gently off her legs to pick him up.

Harry's face grew comical in its innocence. "I can't believe I just did aki—accidental magic," he said. "Damn I'm good."

"Um…why say 'damn I'm good?' " Penelope asked. Both she and Ginny were struggling very hard to keep straight faces.

"Uncle Siri said it," Harry replied, his little green eyes wide. "I said that to Mummy and she sent me to my room. She said because I threw peas at Rosie."

"Hey! Ginny!"

"What, Sirius?" Ginny asked. "Oh, you're back and getting your godson to swear. I see."

"What? Oh—that wasn't what I was here for. Just got a new motorcycle."

"All right," Ginny said and turned back to Harry. "But Penelope and I have to get back to our workout that this big boy interrupted."

"A workout?" Sirius asked. His face was adorably confused—adorably because he was a very handsome man, and confused because he only acted smart when he wanted to. This wasn't one of those times, although his large and quick brain was surely turning this new piece of information around and around in his head to examine it from all angles.

"Yes," Ginny replied. "A workout. Now, Harry, go back to your mummy with Uncle Siri and tell her exactly who told you to say that."

"A'right," Harry agreed, and when he was placed on the ground, ran back to his house with Sirius swearing behind him.

"Damn kid! Don't say that! No!" Sirius' voice came echoing back as he dashed off.

"You WHAT?" came Lily's shriek predictably about five seconds later.

Ginny sighed, still looking off toward the Potters' house.

"I never thought I'd be this happy, Penny," Ginny said. Her eyes were far away.

"Mum," Penelope said gently. She rested her hand lightly on Ginny's arm. "You deserve it."

"I do?" Ginny sighed. She tore her eyes away from the Potters' house, where Lily's shrieks could be heard above the loud laughter.

"Let's finish our workout, Mum," Penelope insisted. She hated it when Ginny got this way. It scared her; that there could be so much pain out there in the world to make it so that Ginny didn't think that she deserved simple happiness.

"I've killed so many people, Penny," Ginny sighed. She ignored Penelope's request to go back inside. "Who am I to judge who dies and who lives? I feel like I'm so evil…" she lifted her face to the soft wind. "I thank whatever deity there is every single day for all this…I thank whatever deity there is every day for you, Penny…"

"Mum, you made this all happen, from what I understand," Penelope said, brushing strands of Ginny's white hair from her face where the wind had blown them. "You're the one that people should be thanking for the lives of Mr. and Mrs. Potter, and Harry, and even Rosie…really, Mum, you're the one who made it all happen by taking care of Riddle."

"Thank you Penny," Ginny said. She finally looked at Penelope's face. The pain and guilt in her brown eyes were lightened a little, at least for a while, and the tiny lines of pain on her face eased up a little. "Now, you still need to work on not slapping your opponent. And you have to do your homework. School's tomorrow, remember."

"Yes, Mum, I remember," Penelope replied. She rolled her eyes but she was relieved that Ginny was back to normal. Ginny saw this relief and enclosed Penelope in a huge, warm hug.

It was quite amazing as to how Ginny could be such—such a Mrs. Weasley, when she had white hair, wore black leather, and was pierced all over. No one really questioned it. All the neighbors knew them too well to criticize really. There were no Aunt Petunias in Godric's Hollow, that's for sure. A good thing, too.

"Now, back inside," Ginny commanded and walked slowly back into the house. Penelope trailed behind her back down to the basement.

"Can we do swords?" Penelope asked wistfully once they were down in the basement, gazing at the wall hung with blades in naked longing.

"Once you master this, you can," Ginny said. She stretched: she'd gotten a bit stiff in the break.

"Can you at least demonstrate?" Penelope asked. She loved watching Ginny sword fight against one of the golems, though it always put her in her place—there was no way that she would ever get as good as Ginny, at least in Penelope's opinion.

"Fine," Ginny sighed and inspected the walls. After about a minute of pondering, Ginny chose a shortsword and a dagger.

"You really need to do competitions sometime," Penelope remarked to Ginny. They had seen several competitions of martial arts talent. It was Penelope's lifelong aspiration, now, to enter one of those and win against all other participants…or maybe just save the world, like Ginny…

"I might," Ginny replied. "Maybe next year. I have been thinking about this. That money in my vault will wear out soon. Unless we want to go to the future, but we don't. So…we need some money…" She spoke the short incantation to activate the dummy. "Vivicorpus."

The dummy sprang upright.

"Top level," Ginny said. Top level would just barely provide her with a challenge. It won about .5 of the time.

Now the dummy gained a certain fluidity that is only seen in the masters of the master fighters. It was an incredible feat to watch.

Both Ginny and the dummy bowed. They took ten paces back—or at least were supposed to. After six paces, the dummy leaped forward in an attack, its longsword outstretched. Ginny, while not fully expecting this, was alert and dodged easily. She attacked, and the dummy blocked.

Soon, all that could be seen of the fight was a blur of steel, and a combined blur of cloth and skin. It seemed like longer than a minute before the duel was over and Ginny's blades had pierced the 'fatal' points of the dummy.

"Yeah!" yelled Penelope. She clapped her hands. "Yes! Mum! You rock!"

"Have you been hanging out with Americans lately?" Ginny asked mock-sternly, her hands on her hips. The effect was ruined, however, by her dog-like panting and the hearty swigs she took out of the water bottle.

"Of course," Penelope answered. "I'm going to do more drills, okay?"

"Good," Ginny said. "I'm done for now."

"See you," Penelope said with a blithe wave. She headed off to another dummy and started doing drills against it. Ginny sighed and turned away to a couch in the corner, made for the express purpose of what she was about to do. Nap! Yay!

Well, probably not nap, but at least rest. Ginny laid herself down on the cushions and sighed again.

So many things were going right. But there were so many things to worry about, so many feelings swirling around inside her, so many thoughts trying to get to the forefront of her mind first…it was terribly confusing.

I am a still lake. I am rock. I am calm, Ginny thought over and over. Maybe that would help her sort through everything that was happening.

Ginny started to breath slowly and evenly. Meditation was probably her best bet right now; the most calming and the best way to sort through emotions. With the ease of much practice, Ginny entered the trance. What she saw was a swirling welter of—well, everything.

What was she so worried about? What? There was no doubt that Ginny was anxious, but how much of that anxiety stemmed from not knowing what the original anxiety was about?

Let's see, Ginny thought. This little consciousness was her, but an objective, calculating little her. As Harry would have put it, her Slytherin side. No, not split personalities, don't worry. It was just the very top of her consciousness.

There was the usual worry that nothing could be as happy as this world she lived in. There must be something plotting for its downfall—there must be something going on—Ginny ignored this one. It had been there for quite a while now.

There was another worry. A question, really. Did she really belong here anymore? Did she really belong in this world? She'd done her task. Now this world was nothing like the one she'd known. In fact, she'd had to forge legal papers! That wasn't too much of a hardship, neither morally nor physically, but still…if you have to forge papers, isn't there something wrong?

And…well, Ginny missed her friends. She'd been missing them for a while now. Ever since they'd all died.

And living right next door to her now was Harry. One of her best friends. How could she deal with seeing him grow up?

Almost breaking the trance, Ginny sighed.

Yet another thing weighed on her conscience. All those people she had killed. Yes, every day she prayed to—whatever—for their souls, and for forgiveness, but she had killed them. In cold blood.

Heh. That was her job.

Too many people had died. Too many at her own hand.

What did Ginny really want right now? Right now…right now, al she wanted was someone who would comfort her and tell her that everything was all right. And Penny, no matter how perceptive and sweet and beloved she was, would never take the place of a lover.

So finally, there was the last problem. She felt selfish, not thinking that Penelope was enough and wanting something more, felt like such a selfish bitch as you would never believe.

Ginny shifted a little on the couch. There was a spring digging into her back.

Yes, Ginny knew that wanting some sort of romantic involvement, or whatever, was nothing to feel guilty about. But…her mind knew it and her heart didn't believe it.

"Mum! I'm going to the school to get my report card, okay?" Penelope's voice broke through Ginny's meditation and musings—which interruption she took gratefully. Ginny was both happy that her dark thoughts were interrupted and that Penelope would soon be getting her grades—sure to be good—from the local Education branch of the Ministry.

"See you, Penny," Ginny replied. "And remember, if you get straight A's, you can make a reasonable request."

"Still haven't given up on bribery, eh, Mum?" Penelope asked slyly.

"Of course not," Ginny said. "Now shoo."

"All right, all right. But I do know exactly what I'm going to ask."

"Fine," Ginny said. "Go, go." Penelope went.

Ginny sighed and stood up. A little more training wouldn't go amiss. Unknown to Penelop e, there was another little part of the house down here. A little password, a little retinal scan, and a little bit of blood was all that was needed to open up the secret stairway that led to a whole other complex.

Directly after Ginny touched down on the carpeted floor, the staircase and door above her disappeared. One could never be too careful.

This small place—actually more than double the size of the building above—was Ginny's special place. Windows were enchanted to be able to see anywhere Ginny wanted with an almost undetectable scrying spell—one that was impossible to see unless (with every spell there was always an unless) one crossed their eyes, crossed their fingers, stuck their tongue out, and did the macarena. Needless to say, no one that Ginny spied on did any of the above actions, much less at the same time. There was an enchanted door that led to any place that Ginny knew the appearance of. It was a very easy way to travel.

That was only the first room, however. When Ginny walked into the next room, it was totally different. Weapons lined the bare, concrete walls, and not just standard weapons like the ones in the above building.

Throwing stars, tipped in poison, were on one section of the walls. There were deadly stilettos—again, poisoned—on another section, wires designed to cut a target's head right off on another, weapons of the true assassin's art all over. A whole other wall was devoted utterly to poisons, poisons and potions, all in crystal bottles. Blowguns and their darts lined a small section of the wall, and little handheld crossbows with both wooden bolts (vampires) and silver bolts (werewolves) hung on another wall. With them were guns, for times when all hope of stealth was eradicated and one merely needed to kill and get it over with.

Silver bullets were there—for werewolves again, and some evil Fey who had joined Voldemort in Ginny's time—and special guns that shot wooden stakes (vampires), guns like Supersoaker waterguns that shot holy water and at great force. There were grenades, stun and others designed to create diversions; grenades that exploded with Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder—a handy thing the Weasley twins' had in stock at their store; grenades made purely for shrapnel; grenades that set fires that stayed aflame until Stunned—absolutely devastating; and the original muggle version.

In other words, here lay the tools of Ginny's true trade.

Quickly Ginny strapped on her gear, of which a black catsuit with many, many bottemless pockets; an assortment of over twenty blades strapped over her person; five guns of various kinds; the guns' ammo on her belt; a small crossbow and its bolts; the grenades needed for a clean getaway after being spotted; and a wide strap across her front—like a sash—that had tiny pockets for vials upon vials of potions and poisons, all designed to keep from knocking against each other constituted. Over all went another suit with a bit of an illusion on it. It looked exactly as if it were the original catsuit right over her skin. But it was able to become immaterial at her will so she could reach anything beneath it.

Dead useful, and the magic could not be detected unless one crossed their eyes and fingers, stuck out their tongues, and did the Cotton-Eyed Joe in slow motion—while humming 'Mission Impossible.'

Before leaving, Ginny paced silently through the other rooms in her annex. There was a set of rooms where she made all her poisons and potions, a set where she developed charms, some rooms where she invented curses and countercurses, a couple of rooms where she developed transfigurations, rooms where she developed nearly every other subject of magic—and if she wasn't developing it, she was studying it—and a couple of other rooms where she never went in unless dressed in a magical hazmat suit.

Finished, Ginny paced back to the first room and grabbed the hood that she used to disguise her white hair and her voice. Then she visualized the dark alley three down from her true destination and stepped through.

Immediately Ginny blended into the shadows around her and moved quickly to the alley a block away. Waiting there should be her client—and yes, there he was. Dressed in a billowing black robe, there was no mistaking his identity. Too many times had Ginny seen him move to not recognize various mannerisms—and she had been trained to recognize and remember these subtle things.

One smooth tug brought him through the wall to the small wizarding pub hidden behind it. This was quite disreputable, but the Walking Galleon was renowned for forgetting its clients as soon as they disappeared from view. Any business done here would immediately be forgotten except by the ones who took part in it, due to the inherent and powerful Memory Charms set on the walls.

"A private room," Ginny demanded the bartender. She kept a firm hold on her clients arm and didn't twitch when her voice came out as a silky man's.

"O'course, o'course," the bartender replied. He escorted them to a tiny little room whose walls shimmered with incredibly powerful Silencing Charms, Non-Business Repellant charms, and various others. And those were only the surface; only for distracting attention away from the charms and spells beneath. Those ones were far nastier and far more effective.

"'Ere you are," the bartender said graciously and handed them into the cramped space. His thick cockney accent made his next words nearly a foreign language, but Ginny thought that he'd said "And good business to ye."

"I have a proposition," the client began.

"Of course you do," Ginny said. She leaned back, lazy, in her chair but she was absolutely ready to dodge a spell or weapon and kill her client if need be, and her senses were totally alert. "It better be a well-paying one, to bring me out here in broad daylight."

"You know very well that this time is perfect for meeting," the client said, a sneer evident in his voice. "Now, why don't you tell me who you really are? And take the voice altering charm off."

Ginny was faintly surprised. He must have detected a flaw in the voice charm; perhaps a slight monotone? Or maybe a bit of lag-time from true voice to false? She would have to fix that.

"I think not, Mr. Snape," Ginny said coolly. Her body did not tense in the least bit but again, she was prepared for anything. "Why don't you tell me why you are here? You have no business proposition."

Snape lowered his hood. "Oh, but I do," he replied silkily.

"Who is your master?"

"I have no master, thief," Snape said.

Before he could blink, there was a wire around his neck—ready to cut off his head if the need arose—and Ginny was behind him, whispering in his ear.

"I am no mere thief," Ginny whispered. "Now, what are you here for?"

"I work for Albus Dumbledore, but he is not my master—" That was what was so nice about Slytherins: they realized that death threats were to be taken seriously and reacted accordingly, instead of being stupid and rash like some Gryffindors.

"Who is your master?" Ginny asked again.

"I have no master."

"Of course," Ginny said sarcastically. "So, what did Albus Dumbledore send you here for?" All throughout, her voice retained a lightly cold and mocking edge to it.

"I was told to find your identity, since he believes that you have meddled with time to kill a certain child."

"Then you know my identity."

"Yes, Ginevra Molly Weasley. And I have reason to believe that you are living in the neighborhood of Godric's Hollow under the name of Westley."

"I will see Dumbledore," Ginny hissed. "But you will tell no one. If this gets out, no matter whether you say you did not leak it or did, I will hunt you down." A little bit of pressure increased on the wire. Snape's neck began to bleed a little.

"Yes…"

"Remember: I will hunt you down." She slipped the wire off Snape's neck and paced outside the room. She hid in the shadows of the pub—it was dark inside it, as if the sun was not shining fiercely outside. A few coins clattered on the bar in front of the bartender, and Ginny escaped to the alley.

Hiding there were two people, cloaked heavily and fidgeting. They saw her emerge from the pub—having a wall ripple as you emerge really increases one's visibility, not nice for an assassin—and stood up straight. They pulled their wands and trained them on her.

Ginny's hand darted to her suit. She willed it to become immaterial, and her hand passed through it to get a couple of darts and a blowgun. Her other hand uncorked a vial with the ease of long practice, and dipped the tips of the darts inside it. This all took about a millisecond of flickering hands. Ginny willed her suit to become physical again, and loaded the blowgun. She brought it to her lips and shot off the tiny darts.

Each buried itself in the large vein on the neck, right where Ginny meant to place them. Hiding and stowing the blowgun back in its proper place, she waited the necessary five seconds before the poison was washed off the darts by the rushing blood, then pulled them carefully out. Couldn't be losing her equipment now, could she? A drop from another bottle healed the incision on the necks without a scar and for spreading it a little on other places on the body, so that no one would know where the darts had gone in. And finally, the darts were wiped of poison and put away.

Cleaning up done, Ginny Disapparated in the alley she had come in from. There were major chores that needed to be done.

A/N (#2!): Bye.