"Are you sure you have everything? Your books, quills? Enough parchment? We'd better hurry if we don't want to be late." Hermione was practically vibrating with excitement, Harry noted with a concealed sigh. Ever since he had told the girl of his decision to take Arithmancy instead of Divination, the fervour in her eyes had been alarming. Had he known she'd be this invested he might've picked Runes instead just to save his sanity.
They were currently finishing up a rather harried breakfast at the Gryffindor table. Between Hermione's excited chatter about the upcoming class, and Ron's unsubtle resentful glares, Harry had been left with little in the way of appetite. Although Hermione was over the moon about his decision, Ron was still feeling rather shell-shocked at finding his two best friends had abandoned him to Divination on his own.
His initial incredulity had waned after Hermione had offered an explanation, but Harry could tell that Ron was feeling a little hurt over being left out. Harry knew he'd be too embarrassed to come out and say that, but he knew his friend well enough to know that being the odd one out was a bit of a sore spot for him. Thankfully, he seemed to lose most of his resentment when Hermione, with a sudden surge of excitement, suggested that he drop Divination for Arithmancy, too. Ron had cast a panicked look at Harry, before informing Hermione that there was 'no way in bloody hell' he was swapping the easy-pass of Divination for something as difficult as Arithmancy. "I get a headache just from watching you do your Arithmancy homework, Hermione. Not a chance," he had told the scowling girl, firmly, and with a glance of newfound sympathy towards Harry the subject had been dropped.
That didn't stop the boy from feeling a little morose now, though, Harry knew. He and Ron had been in every class together since they started Hogwarts, and although Harry had assured him that Seamus and Neville would still be with him, he remained unimpressed. Knowing Ron, Harry figured he would need a day or two to grumble, and then it would be forgotten.
Harry's mood was unlikely to improve so quickly. He had selected Arithmancy mostly at random (or so he assured himself), but after a night of Hermione attempting to give him a 'quick introduction' to the subject, he was regretting not simply picking Runes so he could fail the class in peace. The subject, from Hermione's description, seemed utterly daunting. He hadn't quite followed her explanations, but it seemed like maths was a big part, as well as something she referred to as 'numerology'. Harry really didn't want to know.
McGonagall had told him to simply attend the next class of his choice so as not to fall further behind, and that he should arrange a plan for catching up with his new Professor.
When Hermione ushered them up and away from the table, the other Gryffindor boys falling into step with them, Harry attempted to swallow another sigh.
The group walked up several slights of stairs together before they split off, half heading off to Divination, and the other carrying on another few flights up to the seventh floor. "Merlin, I'm not looking forward to walking this twice a week," Harry said, peering through a nearby window out over the grounds.
"That's right," Dean said, sympathetically, "I suppose you've only got little legs."
"Oi!" squawked Harry, pretending to aim a kick at Dean's calf. The other boy stepped nimbly out the way with a laugh, and Hermione rolled her eyes fondly at them both.
Before long they had arrived at the classroom. Hermione and Dean walked straight in, talking amongst themselves, but Harry trailed behind, curiosity warring with nerves in his stomach. It was an odd sensation to be new to a class; Harry had only attended the one Primary school, and he had never joined a class after it had started in Hogwarts. And Ron's earlier gloom wasn't quite unreasonable; it really was bizarre to be in a class without his best friend. He told himself firmly that it was definitely silly to miss the other boy, whom he'd see in less than an hour, but Harry still felt himself glancing aside, ready to share a look whenever Hermione said something crazy. It wasn't a pleasant feeling. As he dragged himself forward behind his friends, he spotted several surprised looks being aimed his way. He ducked his head, and trotted a little to catch up to Hermione and Dean.
The classroom itself had an unusual layout, he noticed at once. It was clearly one of the older rooms in the Castle; small in size, it had two split sections of seating raised in a slope up from where the students had entered. It was reminiscent of a university lecture hall more than a normal classroom, and Harry eyed the ancient-looking wooden desks with mild trepidation. There seemed to only be five rows, separated by narrow steps between them, and Harry scanned the students who were already sitting.
It was quickly apparent that this class was dominated by Ravenclaws. Harry spotted several familiar faces and nodded awkwardly as they made surprised eye-contact. Merlin, it seemed as if every Ravenclaw in their year was here. He supposed he shouldn't really be surprised.
Following Hermione and Dean towards the desks, Harry pulled a face when he realised the entire front row was already occupied. He noticed Hermione's frown and felt his lips twitch. Count on her to be disappointed not to get a front seat. He turned a little to share a look with Ron, before remembering. After a small huff, he followed them to the second row behind a group of semi-familiar Ravenclaws who already seemed to have their books opened and ready on their desks.
He collapsed ungracefully onto the bench next to Hermione. As the girl began chatting happily with Dean about a previous lesson, Harry spotted several etchings on the desk in front of him. Peering forward, he could make out several phrases; a swear word, two names, and what seemed to be a small poem about a Professor whose name he didn't recognise. He wondered, idly, how long ago they had been made. Hogwarts itself was over a thousand years old, wasn't it? Surely they brought in new furniture sometimes; still, Harry ran one hand gently over the etchings, and wondered if they might be a few centuries old, at least.
Noticing, after a moment, that Hermione and Dean were already set-up, Harry hastily began pulling his things out of his satchel. From where he sat, Harry had a clear view of the door opening once again, and tried to school his expression into nonchalance at the arrival of the Slytherins. As Nott, Zabini, and Bullstrode made their way towards the desks, Harry noted with surprise two more Slytherins following in their wake: Pansy Parkinson and Daphne Greengrass. Harry turned a questioning look to Hermione, who followed his gaze and grimaced. "They've been fine so far," she whispered with a slight shrug, head bowed towards his. Harry nodded back at her and tried to smile reassuringly. Parkinson had never gotten along with them – unlike Nott's group of Slytherins, Harry had no qualms about writing her off. The girl was usually found with Malfoy, snickering cruelly at whatever he said, and Harry knew Hermione was a particularly favoured target of hers.
Harry was just about to drag his eyes back over to his own desk when Greengrass looked up and her dark eyes met his. Her expression seemed… considering, and for a moment Harry couldn't look away. Greengrass's expression cleared in the space of a blink, and the girl startled him by nodding once to him, coolly, before she turned back to engage Parkinson in conversation.
Harry blinked. What on earth was that about? he thought, bewildered. He flicked his eyes over to Nott's group, sitting near the back on the other side of the classroom, and attempted to squash the flicker of disappointment when none of the group looked over to acknowledge him. They were setting up now, and Zabini seemed to be going on one of his tangents, judging by Bullstrode's unimpressed expression and Nott's raised eyebrow.
Before Harry could lose himself in his newfound surveillance of the Slytherins, the door opened once again, and this time the Professor entered. Septima Vector was a tall, austere woman of middle-age, dressed jarringly in dark red robes. Her eyes and skin were dark and striking, and she had an intelligent, impassive face. Casting her eyes around the room, Harry felt a rush of nerves when her penetrating gaze zeroed in on him.
"Mr. Potter," the witch said, in a clear voice, as the murmured conversations around them fell silent. "May I speak with you for a moment, before we begin today's lesson?"
Harry felt himself flush as the class turned curious looks onto him. Standing, he nodded quickly and hurried down the steps to the desk in the corner where Professor Vector waited.
As he neared, he saw that the woman was shuffling papers into a neat pile. Her desk looked very organised, compared to the clutter he'd noticed on some of his other Professor's desks. With a spark of amusement, Harry thought Hermione would be jealous when he noticed what appeared to be a colour-coded filing system. The only personal item he could see was an out-of-place looking photo, near the edge. Glancing at it quickly, he spotted a young woman of striking resemblance to the Professor. A daughter? He looked away sharply, hoping she hadn't noticed him staring, and waited awkwardly at the side of the desk for a moment longer, before Vector turned and gave him a small, surprisingly kind smile.
"Good morning, Mr. Potter," she began. Harry noticed the volume in the classroom had grown once again, likely – knowing the students' universal love of gossip – as the students realised Harry and the Professor were speaking too quietly to be overheard.
"Good morning, ma'am," Harry mumbled in return. The witch did seem less intimidating up close. She had a stern air, and Harry was reminded strongly of a somewhat younger and more serious Professor McGonagall. Her dark brown eyes, however, had the same kindness in them as he'd seen in Lupin's. Harry felt himself relax somewhat – he'd heard tale of this Professors strictness, and had been admittedly a little nervous to face her.
"Well," Vector continued, "you haven't missed too much, thankfully. For the last two weeks we've mainly been working on an introduction to the subject and have been going over what to expect from this course over the next few years. I trust you were able to find a copy of the core text in the Library?". She waited for Harry's nod before continuing. "Good. That should do you fine until you order your own copy. Now, I've compiled a few handouts for you, summarising what you've missed over the last few weeks, and indicating any reading you should catch up on. Did you have a chance to read the Introductory chapter to the core book yet?" she asked, smoothly handing him the pile of papers she had sorted a few moments before.
Uh-oh, Harry thought. In hindsight, of course he should've read that chapter. It simply hadn't occurred to him, what with Hermione's own excessive 'introduction'. He felt his face heat further as he wracked his brain for what to say. He contemplated lying to the Professor for a moment, but one look at her patiently expectant face made him lose his nerve. "Er," he said, instead.
It seemed this was answer enough. She didn't look angry, but Harry swallowed nervously regardless as she gave him a short nod. "Very well. Prioritise reading that before our next class; I expect, with some effort, that you should be caught up by this time next week. Does that sound reasonable?"
Harry nodded again, suppressing a sigh. There went his weekend.
"Right," the Professor said. "Don't worry if you're a little lost today. We're moving on to our first practical topic, so simply follow the lead of your partner and raise your hand if you're unsure. Alright?" she asked him.
Harry nodded quickly, and she gestured towards back towards the desks. Wasting no time, he mumbled his thanks and darted back to his seat with his papers in tow. Just as he turned to take his seat next to Hermione, Nott glanced up from where he was sitting, and their eyes met for a long moment, before Harry resumed his seat.
The next twenty minutes of class were peaceful, if not stress-free. Despite Vector's assurances, Harry felt completely lost. He was now regretting tuning Hermione out during her crash-course last night. He found himself eyeing the other students, hoping to find someone else looking as lost as he felt, but he was out of luck. The only students he could spot looking anything other than enthralled (Hermione and several Ravenclaws) or politely attentive (everyone else) were a thoroughly bored-looking Parkinson and one of the two Hufflepuffs in the class, Susan Bones, whose eyes looked ever so slightly glazed over as she stared ahead. Hannah Abbott, sitting next to her, was taking notes dutifully.
Harry was brought back to attention when the Professor paused in her lecture. Oh Merlin, he hoped he hadn't missed anything else.
"Right," she said, her strong voice easily carrying her authority. "Now that we've covered the theory, let's have a stab at some practical work. In your pairs from last week's class, you'll each attempt to write a full personal chart for your partner. I expect this to be handed in by two weeks from today. That should allow you plenty of time to complete your charts, and to come to me if you have any trouble."
Harry eyed the rest of the room nervously. No one seemed panicked, or suddenly stressed, though he noted Parkinson looked rather displeased. Merlin, fifteen minutes in and already he had two sets of homework. Maybe Ron had been right.
"You may use your books as a reference," their Professor continued, "and I will be handing out blank charts for you to use for this first attempt. An example will be on the board for you to follow, if needed. The due date for this assignment will be underneath." She waved her wand sharply, and writing appeared across the chalkboard at the front of the room. Harry blinked, rather impressed, before the Professor's words hit him. Hang on, partners? In panic he turned to Hermione, who was biting her lip, mind-reader that she was.
"Sorry, Harry," the girl said, "we had to partner for an activity last week, and I paired with Dean." The aforementioned boy was also shooting him an apologetic look.
"That's alright," Harry replied, trying not to sound disappointed. "I'm sure there'll be someone else free."
Harry turned in his seat to scan the room, an unpleasant feeling in his stomach, wishing more than ever that Ron was here. It looked as if the Ravenclaws had paired off evenly, and he scanned the two Hufflepuff and Slytherin girls sitting together with trepidation. That left… Oh, Merlin. As he turned to them, he saw the three Slytherins up the back looking at him with anticipation. Zabini was smirking happily, and Bullstrode seemed to be eyeing him with a frown. Nott's face was characteristically blank as he watched Harry. Right. Of course he had gotten himself into this situation. Well, nothing for it. With a tight smile at Hermione's concerned look, Harry gathered his things and headed up the stairs and across the row towards them.
"Hello," he said once he was standing next to them, with an awkward little wave.
"Potter," Zabini said, smirk still fully in place. "Fancy seeing you here."
Harry rolled his eyes, and grimaced uncomfortably. The other two did not greet him.
"Er, looks like there's an odd number, so I reckon I'll have to pair with one of you," he said, ears burning.
Zabini's grin grew wide, and he cast an undeniably mischievous look at Nott, who was watching him placidly. "Well, Millie and I always work together, you see, so I suppose you'll just have to work with Theo today." He smiled up at Harry winningly.
Bullstrode seemed to be having a hard time deciding whether to laugh or glare. Harry cleared his throat and tried not to look at Nott. "Alright, then. I mean, if that's alright with you, Nott," Harry said, faux-casually, trying to subtly eye the other boy to see if he looked upset.
There was a pause, before Nott dryly replied, "Sure," and stood. Most of the pairs had put a few seats between their classmates for some privacy, so Harry followed Nott to a part of the bench a few metres from the Slytherins, who were watching them retreat with open amusement.
As they sat and lapsed into an uncomfortable silence, Harry cursed himself again for picking Arithmancy instead of Runes, where he would probably be enjoying a nice nap around now.
"So, er, you know I've missed the classes so far, so I'll probably be a bit useless at this," Harry admitted as the silence began to grow unbearable.
Nott surprised him by snorting, and opened his notebook. "That's alright, Potter. It's fairly straightforward, once you understand the theory. We have two weeks, so hopefully you'll be caught up by then. Now," he began, but was cut off as sheets of paper began pouring from the front of the classroom. He glanced down, and saw the Professor's wand lazily being lowered. For one bizarre moment, watching the fluttering sheets, Harry was reminded vividly of his Hogwarts letters being delivered en masse before first year. He blinked, and his brain caught up with him as two sets of handouts fluttered to a stop on the desk in front of them. He couldn't help but smile. "It's always brilliant when they do that," he said, inspecting his sheets with only a little bit of resigned horror. When he received no reply, he glanced up to see Nott giving him a strange look.
"What?" Harry said, wondering for a horrible moment if some of his jam from breakfast was smeared on his face. Nott just shook his head slightly, and seemed to become focused once again, scanning the proffered blank chart with a critical eye.
"Right," he said. "There's a detailed guide on how to create personal charts in the textbook, but I'll give you the basic rundown."
Harry felt an uncomfortable flutter of guilt that he was already more interested in Nott's 'rundown' than Hermione's impassioned treatise the night before. Sending a silent apology to his friend, he turned in his seat and gave Nott his full attention. His light brown hair was as neat as ever, flopping a little over his forehead, but the dark circles under his eyes told a different story. He watched Harry for a moment, before clearing his throat.
"First: what do you know about Arithmancy already?" Nott asked, leaning back in his chair.
"Er, not all that much," Harry admitted. "It's to do with… numbers, I think, and how they relate to magic. I got that much from Bullstrode yesterday, at least. Oh, and it can be used to predict the future a bit. Way more reliable than Divination, she said, but with, uh, more limited application. And Hermione said something about charts being dead useful for, er, categorising things? And learning more about them, she said, though I'm not sure what that meant by that, really." He grimaced. "It seems pretty complicated, to be honest. I bet I'll be rubbish at it." Harry realised he was rambling a bit, and cut himself off with an awkward smile, but Nott simply nodded, face neutral as always.
"You've got the gist," he said. Nott seemed to think for a moment, head cocked to the side slightly like some sort of intimidating, studious bird. He sat forward again, hands clasped loosely before him, and began. "So. I'm sure you know this already, but numbers have meaning – you've likely heard of the power of the number seven? A seventh son of a seventh son, for example, is said to be extremely powerful. Well, Arithmancy focuses on the relationship of numbers to the universe; in particular, Arithmancers study the relation of numbers to magic. Using Arithmancy, each number is determined to have a specific meaning, and from this, ideas and sometimes predications can be gleaned about people, magic, and sometimes, yes, the future. There are a few different branches of Arithmancy, but to start with we've been looking at Numerology.
In its most basic sense, using a certain system, a letter of the alphabet will be given a specific numerical value; say A is one, for example. A chart might then be created to examine a particular spell – say, Wingardium Leviosa. If each letter in the alphabet has a value, we can then translate – in a sense – this spell into a set of numbers. When read in combination, this can reveal certain things about the spell. That's why just waving your wand around and saying gibberish does nothing; each spell must be carefully crafted to channel the right kind of magic, and Arithmancy is a part of it. It's more complicated than that, obviously, and there are lots more things you can do with a reading, but that's the essence of it.
Now, for a person, we can follow the same principles. The basic, entry stuff – like a personal chart – involves readings using a person's name, their date of birth, their proportions, their magic, and so on. The one we've been set doesn't seem too complicated; it's probably just to introduce us to writing charts. If we go through it step-by-step, it shouldn't be much trouble." Nott finished this impromptu lesson with a refined shrug, and waited patiently for Harry to speak.
Harry, meanwhile, was trying to gather his thoughts. That was definitely the most he'd ever heard Nott speak at once, and he was a little overwhelmed by having the intense boy's focus trained on him so thoroughly. The subject sounded… surprisingly, almost interesting. Theoretically. Harry was still confident that he'd be rubbish at it, and he definitely wasn't looking forward to doing the work, but with Nott as a partner, he felt himself relax a little; perhaps this wouldn't be entirely horrible.
"Ughhhh," Harry moaned, "this is the absolute worst."
From where he was currently lying, head hanging dolefully off the end of the couch, Harry's view of Hermione was blocked, but he could almost hear her eye-roll.
"Honestly, Harry. You're barely halfway through the first chapter. You can't be complaining already."
"Well, I am. This is torture, Hermione. I don't know how you stand it." He knew he sounded petulant, but he couldn't care less. Harry felt he was entitled to a bit of a whine after slogging through 15 pages of his Arithmancy book – it read like it was a foreign language, for all the good it did him.
"Is it that bad, mate?" Ron asked, from where he was treacherously playing chess against Ginny one table over. Judging from his sister's scowl, Ron was winning, as usual. They were in the common room, and the quiet chatter from the few dozen students still loitering around, as well as the pleasant heat from the nearby fire seemed to be conspiring with his Arithmancy text to put Harry straight to sleep.
He cast a baleful look over to Ron. "It's awful," he told his friend, who had already turned back to his game and seemed to be deep in thought. "I get one paragraph down and forget what I've just read. Maybe this book has a curse on it, or something? I did get it from the Library. Who knows who had it before me," Harry said to the room at large, a hopeful note to his voice.
"It's not cursed, Harry. You're just not processing it properly. Honestly," Hermione huffed. "You're not even taking notes. What do you expect?"
"Notes?" Harry said, scandalised. "Just to read a book?"
Hermione seemed to pause, mouth pinched, to gather her patience. Harry, who sometimes knew when to quit, tried to make himself look very meek.
"Do you listen to anything I say?" his friend asked him after a moment, frown bordering on hurt. "I know I've told you that you should take notes when you read. It really helps with taking the information in. I do know what I'm talking about, sometimes." Yes, that was definitely hurt in her voice.
Harry sat up, mouth pulling down a little. "Of course we listen to you, Hermione. And I'm pretty sure you know what you're talking about all of the time. I'm sorry. It's just a bit overwhelming. Being behind is pretty rubbish." He pulled a face, avoiding her eyes.
The girl sniffed, and softly closed the book she had been reading. "I know what it's like to be behind, Harry. Remember when I was petrified last year? I had plenty to catch up on, then. You might just ask for my help, you know."
Harry's stomach fell. He had actually, momentarily, forgotten that Hermione had fallen behind last year. The memory of his friend, frozen and utterly unresponsive, still appeared in his nightmares rather frequently; that he could never forget. He supposed they'd all been so excited over Hermione being unpetrified that he hadn't given much thought to how she'd handle the consequences.
Harry stuck out his foot and gently bumped her calf. "I'm sorry," he said, as the girl looked up. "You're right." He smiled at her apologetically, and after a moment she rolled her eyes and smiled back. He sat up straighter, with a smirk. "So," he cleared his throat, and tried to channel his inner Percy Weasley. "Hermione Granger," he began, pompously, and her lips twitched. "Would you, resident expert on managing schoolwork and all things academic, pretty please do me the honour of helping me read this terrifying textbook?"
He watched her with wide, sincere eyes, and Hermione couldn't help but laugh. She rolled her eyes again, but this time it looked distinctly fond. "Yes, I suppose I could," she said, leaning forward and picking up his discarded textbook. "Now," she started, "you're going about this all wrong, Harry…"
The common room began to empty as the evening wore on, the sunlight along the walls giving way to lamplight and casting a warm, mellow blanket of light over the remaining students. An hour of Hermione's tutelage, and Harry was willing to grudgingly admit that his study methods left a lot to be desired. He was feeling distinctly less stressed about the swarth of homework ahead of him by the time his small group decided to turn in for the night. They were the last left in the Common Room, Harry noted, as Ron began packing away his chess set (he was being particularly gentle with the pieces, as they had been rather aggrieved earlier when Ginny had taken to launching hers at her brother's head in the wake of her third consecutive loss). Eying the younger girl, Harry was seized by a sudden idea.
He waved Ron on as he waited for him at the bottom of the stairs to the boys' dormitory. "Go on ahead, I'll just be a minute."
Ron gave him a frown, but simply shrugged and headed up the stairs with a sleepy wave.
Hermione and Ginny had begun heading for their own stairs. "Er, Ginny?" Harry asked, clutching his satchel in front of him like a shield.
The girl looked back over her shoulder expectantly.
"Do you, er, mind if I have a word, quickly? In private?"
The two girls shared a look; Hermione was frowning, and Harry could see her curiosity plain, but when Ginny simply nodded back to him consideringly, Hermione's face relaxed, and she bid them both goodnight.
When Hermione had disappeared from view, Ginny approached. "Alright, Harry?" she asked, hesitation in her voice. Harry could see a little pink in her cheeks, but thankfully nothing like the tomato imitations that had plagued her last year. Ginny's crush on him had made him tremendously uncomfortable then; he was beyond glad that it seemed to have mostly faded now.
"Um, yeah. I was just – thinking," he started, and found himself immediately trailing off. What to say? Though he'd been paying attention to Hermione's tutelage, over the last hour his mind kept sneakily drifting off to Hermione's comment about the events of the previous year. It was a jarring reminder of what had transpired the during his second year. Harry still felt a sliver of guilt at not really addressing it properly before now. Everything had happened so fast at the end of term – and everyone was so grateful when the threat was over that the unpleasantness of it all almost took a backseat to the relief. Term had ended quickly after, and there hadn't been much mention of it in his correspondence with his friends over the summer, beyond a few references to Hermione's workload and Ron once mentioning that Ginny was doing a bit better. Some things were hard to put into letters, he reasoned. But still – it was several weeks into term, and he ought to have talked to his friends about this before now, he felt. And who was more involved in everything that had happened than the girl in front of him?
Ginny was waiting patiently, but Harry could detect more than a hint of apprehension in her eyes. Taking a deep breath, he tried to organise his thoughts.
"I've been thinking about last year."
Ginny's expression shuttered immediately, to be replaced by a wary, blank look which put him, bizarrely, in mind of Theodore Nott.
"Er – I'm sorry to bring it up when I know you probably don't want to talk about it – it's just… are you alright?"
Ginny continued to stare at him, but her eyebrows were slowly inching up.
Harry felt his cheeks begin to tinge. "Sorry, that's a silly question. I mean – how've you been? Y'know, since then?"
There was another beat of silence, before Ginny gave him a mildly derisive look. Well, he hadn't expected that.
"How've I been since a teenaged You-Know-Who possessed me and made me set a giant snake on the whole school?" Ginny asked.
Harry nodded. "Well – yeah."
"Not great," the girl said after a moment, dry as the desert. Her lips twitched, and Harry felt a jolt of panic that she might start crying, but the action simply morphed into a small, grim smile.
"Yeah, er. Of course," Harry said, trying to quell the mortification crawling up his throat. There was another pause as Ginny looked back at him, expectedly.
"D'you want to talk about it?" Harry asked at length, when it seemed like the girl wasn't going to say anything else.
Ginny's expression turned shrewd for a moment, but whatever she saw on his face must have meant something to her, as she grimaced and gave a sharp shrug. After a moment, she sighed, and collapsed tiredly onto the nearest couch in a heap of limbs. She'd grown a little over the summer, and despite her size, Harry figured soon she'd take after Ron in the gangly department. Harry took the seat across from her, sitting gingerly and hoping fervently that he knew what he was doing.
"I don't know," she said eventually, watching the lowly burning fire instead of him. "Mum wanted me to talk about it all the time, you know, right after it happened, but I kept shutting her down." Her voice was subdued, and Harry wondered for a moment if it was wrong to make her talk about this, but she seemed to be deep in thought and he didn't think he'd be able to stop her now that she'd started. "I just… I guess for them it was this sudden thing, me getting taken down to the Chamber, but they seemed to forget that it was happening all year for me, you know?" Her voice was quiet but strong, and remarkably serious for the usually fiery girl. "I was – trying to deal with it, and it was horrible and I didn't know what to do and I had to deal with it all by myself, and then overnight everyone knew and just - wanted me to talk about it, suddenly. After months of keeping it to myself. I just - didn't want to talk about it. Eventually mum and dad stopped asking. Then they thought maybe keeping me busy would help, so I had a whole summer of – degnoming the garden and mum trying to teach me how to knit again." She finally tore her eyes from the fire to pull a face at Harry, who had a sudden vision of an enraged Ginny setting fire to Mrs. Weasley's knitting yarn with the power of her glare. He laughed, and after a moment she smiled back at him knowingly. Their geniality only lasted a moment, though, before Ginny's face slowly fell again. Harry couldn't help the pang that went through him. She was only a year below him, but he was so used to thinking of her as Ron's little sister that she always seemed particularly young to him. He supposed that wasn't quite fair. In his dreams, he still saw her dying on the Chamber floor.
"I guess when I was finally ready to talk about it, it was too late," she continued, voice a murmur now. It seemed like she was talking to the fire, rather than him. "I mentioned it at dinner once, and everyone just got this awkward frozen look on their faces, like they didn't know what to say and wished I hadn't brought it up." She grimaced, and Harry shifted on his seat. He wasn't entirely sure, had he been in that situation, that he wouldn't have reacted like the Weasleys. He was worried for a moment that Ginny might see his discomfort on his face, but the girl was still staring at the fire.
"But then there was Egypt, and I got to see Bill. It was nice, I guess. He always knows what to say, and – and he told me, 'cause he works with cursed items all the time, that he's seen loads of people, older and more powerful, who got tricked by curses and that it wasn't my fault. I mean, mum and dad said that too, but I guess it felt more true coming from Bill. Maybe since he knows what he's talking about, working with curses and things. He's always been nice to me, you know? You met him in Diagon this summer, didn't you? D'you remember?"
Harry did indeed remember Bill Weasley, of the long hair and pierced ear and charming smiles. He felt his face flush, but nodded back at Ginny firmly. She smiled at him, warmly, and Harry thought for a moment again how much older she seemed than her twelve years – much older than the girl he'd met last year. Was that because of everything that had happened? He tried to think if he'd seemed different like that, after what happened with the Stone and the Basilisk and Tom Riddle last year. No one had said anything, if he did. He wondered if that was the sort of thing you noticed at the time, or if it wasn't until years later that you looked back and realised you had grown up early.
"It's weird being back here. I keep – feeling like he's going to be here, somewhere, you know? Or that I'm going to open my bag one day, and the d-diary will be there." She was biting her lip now, and Harry had no idea what to say.
"The dementors don't help, either," she said, bitterly, and Harry remembered how she'd reacted on the train. He gave her a sympathetic look, which she returned. She sighed.
"The worst part is that I spent so much of last year dealing with – dealing with Him, that I missed out when everyone was off making friends and being normal first years. It's awkward, with my Dormmates, now. I dunno if I'll ever really make any friends, other than Colin. It didn't seem that important, last year, with – well, you met him. You know how charming he could be." She swallowed, thickly.
Harry remembered talking to Tom, being sucked into that memory of Hagrid – he remembered wanting to impress the older boy, the way he seemed so interested in Harry and knew exactly what to say. He was taken by surprise by the sudden surge of compassion he felt towards Ginny. Even as just a memory, Voldemort couldn't stop hurting innocent people.
"Yeah, I remember," he mumbled, after a moment.
Ginny let out a sigh and looked up at him. The mood seemed to lift a little, and the haunted look that had overtaken her face seemed to have left. He noted, with a slightly guilty surge of relief, that she didn't seem to be blushing over being in his presence, anymore, either.
"Sorry, Harry. I don't know where all that came from, really. I shouldn't have unloaded it all onto you like that." She looked a bit guilty now, herself, and he rushed to assure her.
"No, no, I mean – it's fine. I asked, didn't I? I just, er - I just wanted to make sure you have someone you can – talk to. Y'know? I have Ron and Hermione, and I know your brothers are here, but... I just wanted to check, I guess. In case you need someone who isn't family to talk about it with." He shrugged, and he could feel his face heating once again.
Ginny's smile was small, but warm. "Thanks, Harry. That actually… felt pretty good to talk about. And… I don't know, I guess. I mean, there's Bill, but I don't want to bother him with this stuff when he's working." She looked down, suddenly reminiscent of the painfully shy girl he'd met at the station on his first day at Hogwarts.
"Well," Harry said, slowly, "I mean, I'm sure he wouldn't mind, right? I don't know what it's like to have a brother, but he'd probably want you to talk to him, yeah? I bet he's worried about you, and it'd make you both feel better to talk about it. I mean, he's family, right? That's what he's for."
A squirming feeling of bitterness swelled in him, but he squashed it, promptly, and tried to focus on the girl in front of him.
Ginny's eyes were a little wet, Harry noticed with horror, but the girl simply sniffed and smiled at him again. "You're probably right, Harry. I'll think about it, I guess."
There was silence for another few moments. Slowly, the tense atmosphere started to fade away, and a sense of awkwardness seemed to rise up between the two.
"Er," Harry said, when he couldn't handle it anymore. "I better – go check on Ron." Merlin, he chastised himself, what a ridiculous thing to say.
Ginny seemed to feel the awkwardness all at once. Biting her lip, the girl nodded quickly, and lurched to her feet. Biting back a sigh, Harry noticed tell-tale pink running along her cheeks. "Yeah, um, g'night, Harry. Thank you for – all that," Ginny mumbled.
"Er, you're welcome - night," he said, giving her a little wave and a rather fixed smile. She smiled back at him quickly, then darted off up the stairs, leaving Harry alone to watch the fire for a moment longer, before he followed her up to bed.
