Hogwarts was not the same. Not nearly. And Ginny was not enjoying it at all anymore.
There was no more Harry, which was hard enough; there was no more Dumbledore, which was awful. Everyone was watchful, fearful. Ginny would often twitch herself out of restless dreams, covered in sweat, listening for screams that did not sound.
There were changes, major ones. Some of them reminded her of her first year; people were made to travel in groups, led everywhere by a teacher. No one was allowed out at night, and prefect patrollers took shifts to help guard the castle each night and, consequently, prevented any sneaking out to see Hagrid. Ginny was rather angry about this, because Hagrid needed to be seen; he seemed to have lost his way, often trailing off in the middle of lectures with sudden tears welling up in his huge eyes.
What was ruining Hogwarts the most, however, was the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.
There was a consensus that she was good; most people liked her. Ginny liked her too, but she would have preferred if she did not involve herself in school affairs. It was embarrassing to have your teacher give you a sweater after class and remind you to eat your vegetables.
For, of course, the new Professor was Molly Weasley.
Mrs. Weasley had had a motherly dilemma over the summer: should she make Ginny go back to school? Part of her motherly self wanted Ginny to continue her education; the other part wanted Ginny safe, and Mrs. Weasley couldn't have been sure that her daughter was safe at Hogwarts, not now that Dumbledore had passed on.
Mrs. Weasley also began to become frustrated, watching Arthur, Bill, Charlie, and now even Fred and George risking their lives for the Order and not being able to contribute anything of her own. Now that the Prophecy no longer needed protection, she had nothing to do, no shifts to take. She'd finally asked her husband if there was any way she could take a more active role in the Order.
"I'll see what I can do," had been his answer. It had taken several hush-hush meetings, and a few covert trips out of Grimmauld place, but soon Arthur had informed her of a position that needed filling. McGonagall gave her the details. It was perfect; being a professor at Hogwarts would allow Ginny to continue at school while affording her the protection Mrs. Weasley had so needed for her youngest.
So Mrs. Weasley was now Professor Weasley, and Ginny had to endure having her Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher call her "sweetie"
She wrote the twins for Skiving Snackboxes, but they sent her a set of Patented Daydream Charms instead, with a note saying that mum knew all about the Nosebleed Nougat and Fainting Fancies, so she'd be stupid to try it. Ginny sulked all that week, refusing to touch the twins' substitute, but after a particularly painful lesson, in which Mrs. Weasley not only called her "dear," but also called her up to the board against her will to have her recite the mnemonic device used when facing an unknown magical creature (SIP--Stupefy, Impediment Jinx, Patronus), she spent the next few sessions in a torpor, glassy eyed and absorbed in a manufactured reverie.
There was no more Harry, which was hard enough; there was no more Dumbledore, which was awful. Everyone was watchful, fearful. Ginny would often twitch herself out of restless dreams, covered in sweat, listening for screams that did not sound.
There were changes, major ones. Some of them reminded her of her first year; people were made to travel in groups, led everywhere by a teacher. No one was allowed out at night, and prefect patrollers took shifts to help guard the castle each night and, consequently, prevented any sneaking out to see Hagrid. Ginny was rather angry about this, because Hagrid needed to be seen; he seemed to have lost his way, often trailing off in the middle of lectures with sudden tears welling up in his huge eyes.
What was ruining Hogwarts the most, however, was the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.
There was a consensus that she was good; most people liked her. Ginny liked her too, but she would have preferred if she did not involve herself in school affairs. It was embarrassing to have your teacher give you a sweater after class and remind you to eat your vegetables.
For, of course, the new Professor was Molly Weasley.
Mrs. Weasley had had a motherly dilemma over the summer: should she make Ginny go back to school? Part of her motherly self wanted Ginny to continue her education; the other part wanted Ginny safe, and Mrs. Weasley couldn't have been sure that her daughter was safe at Hogwarts, not now that Dumbledore had passed on.
Mrs. Weasley also began to become frustrated, watching Arthur, Bill, Charlie, and now even Fred and George risking their lives for the Order and not being able to contribute anything of her own. Now that the Prophecy no longer needed protection, she had nothing to do, no shifts to take. She'd finally asked her husband if there was any way she could take a more active role in the Order.
"I'll see what I can do," had been his answer. It had taken several hush-hush meetings, and a few covert trips out of Grimmauld place, but soon Arthur had informed her of a position that needed filling. McGonagall gave her the details. It was perfect; being a professor at Hogwarts would allow Ginny to continue at school while affording her the protection Mrs. Weasley had so needed for her youngest.
So Mrs. Weasley was now Professor Weasley, and Ginny had to endure having her Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher call her "sweetie"
She wrote the twins for Skiving Snackboxes, but they sent her a set of Patented Daydream Charms instead, with a note saying that mum knew all about the Nosebleed Nougat and Fainting Fancies, so she'd be stupid to try it. Ginny sulked all that week, refusing to touch the twins' substitute, but after a particularly painful lesson, in which Mrs. Weasley not only called her "dear," but also called her up to the board against her will to have her recite the mnemonic device used when facing an unknown magical creature (SIP--Stupefy, Impediment Jinx, Patronus), she spent the next few sessions in a torpor, glassy eyed and absorbed in a manufactured reverie.