08 November 2001 - 11 November 2001

Three years, four months, and twenty six days after Malfoy Manor, Ginny fully intended to fly in the evenings with Harry.

His invitation had both intrigued her and startled her enough to get her to say yes, and she'd alternated between looking forward to it and dreading it. Strangely, as the Sunday following the match blurred by, she'd found herself looking forward to it more and more and dreading it less and less. Harry made it easy for her to forget to be humiliated, and she found his presence more restful than she could have imagined. Had she asked herself last summer, for instance, how she would react to extended periods of time in Harry's company, she would've thought that she'd be restless and jittery and dying to escape.

But he was so completely undemanding of her that she could place Malfoy Manor in the back of her mind and forget that she'd dreamed of him attempting to kiss her twice now and simply enjoy the fact that someone who might have more baggage than she did existed. It wasn't very kind or caring of her, but he made it clear that not only did he understand why being asked if she was all right irritated her so much, but that he felt the same way.

Unfortunately, just before she was about to go down to dinner and then to the pitch, her period started with a vengeance and forced her to stay in Gryffindor Tower. And it's not like I can send him a note, Ginny thought, curled up on her side in the fetal position, and holding a pillow up to her stomach. Hi, Harry, sorry I couldn't join you, but I'm bleeding. You know. From there. Because I'm a girl, and the universe hates girls.

Once her crankiness annoyed even her (and there was no escaping the mean little thoughts in her own head), Ginny entertained herself by imagining embarrassing things happening.

Three years, four months, and twenty seven days after Malfoy Manor, the cramping had eased, and she'd be able to sit a broom again without too much pain, but Ginny didn't join Harry. He'd looked at her questioningly during class, as though he wanted to know why she hadn't met him the night before. What if he asks me? she thought, feeling paranoid. And what if I suddenly blurt out the truth and he can't even look me in the eye anymore? She reminded herself that her throat closed up over the most minor of things, and that it was highly doubtful she'd be able to talk about it even if she wanted to (not that she ever would in a million years), and she was just being silly.

Three years, four months, and twenty nine days after Malfoy Manor, her period was almost over, and Ginny felt more confident that she wouldn't embarrass herself (or him) by blurting out uncomfortable truths. But surely she'd missed her chance? Maybe his invitation had had a specific window of opportunity and she'd missed it originally because of the cramping, and then because she'd been worried over nothing.

She wanted to linger after class and ask him if his offer still stood, but she didn't.

Three years, four months, and thirty days after Malfoy Manor, a letter from her mother arrived in the evening and sent her straight out to the pitch.

She knew immediately when she saw Magellan coast into the Great Hall at dinner that she would not like what she found. Normal, routine letters (and even the ones from her father landed in this category) arrived in the morning. Her mother only sent post that got to Ginny in the evening when she was uncertain of how it would be received and had procrastinated until she'd finally sent it. Molly Weasley procrastinating was not a good sign.

Dear Ginny,

Professor McGonagall told us all about your Quidditch match the other day. Twelve goals! We're very proud of you; all of your hard work has paid off. Your brothers are very impressed (and slightly jealous, I think). We would all like to see a match of yours. Would you consider letting us come for the last one? McGonagall says that she'd be surprised if Gryffindor didn't take the Cup, and I thought we might use it as an excuse to make a Weasley day of it.

Speaking of Weasleys, I'm certain that Ron is going to ask Hermione to marry him sometime this year. And before you roll your eyes (as your father and Bill just did), keep in mind that I know my youngest son. He's been very frugal lately (perhaps saving up for a ring!) and has been exceptionally nice to her (they were over for dinner the other day, and he didn't say one thing about Viktor Krum, even though he's been in the news again after he did the Wonky Faint and caused that poor Italian player that awful injury). George and Angelina are also doing well, though Fred let it slip that they might be moving in together soon.

Victoire misses you. She has two new teeth. I can't believe how quickly time flies. Fleur tells me that her new favorite person is Teddy Lupin, and she's been exerting much effort trying to turn her hair turquoise just like his. Dora tells me that Teddy is not thrilled by the attention; apparently, he has decided that little witches are a waste of time. Frankly, I don't remember my sons going through that stage. They were very excited when you were born because you are a girl (all except George, oddly, who not only wanted a set of triplets, but wanted more brothers because he liked boy names better; your father and I were very happy that he didn't get his wish).

We all miss you. I've been thinking about you a lot lately. I can't help it, I'm your mother, and that's my job. I can't help but think that maybe you're ready to talk to someone about what happened. It doesn't have to be us. We can send you to someone again; I really do think that if you talk about whatever you're thinking and feeling it will help you. I think that you've made some strides in the last year, and letting someone in might help you take even more. I know that when your uncles died in the first war, I found solace in having a stranger just listen.

Let me know what you think, and we'll talk about it over Christmas. Your father and I are counting the days until we see you again.

Love,
Mum

And because she didn't want to think about it until she was soaring above the ground, Ginny stuffed the letter into Arnold's bag. He happily munched on it while she went to retrieve her Nimbus 2121. Her stomach rolled. There's no way I'm going to go see some Healer, she thought, indignant at the suggestion. It helped carry her down the stairs, out the doors and toward Harry.

He was sitting in the stands, and Ginny had the disconcerting feeling that he was waiting for her.

"Hi," she said, stopping some distance away.

His eyebrows flew up. "Hi," he said, rubbing the back of his neck and standing up. He grabbed his Firebolt and the feeling that he'd been waiting for her to arrive increased.

"I'm sorry I didn't come before," said Ginny after she'd stared at her feet for a while.

He didn't ask her why she hadn't, nor did he tell her that he no longer wanted to fly with her. All he did was nod, and the knot in her belly eased. And without further conversation -- perhaps he saw that she didn't particularly want to talk -- he mounted his broom, kicked off, and shot up into the deepening twilight.

"I won't be long, Arnold," she assured her pygmy puff. He ignored her in favor of chewing the parchment of her mother's letter. Scowling and annoyed all over again, she followed Harry into the sky.

Why is it so difficult for them to get that I don't want to talk about it? she asked herself. Pushing the handle down, she went into a steep dive that was more a Seeker move, though it had its applications for a Chaser as well. Her hands were red from the cold within moments, and she wished she'd thought to bring her gloves.

She wished her parents would just leave well enough alone.

For more than an hour, Ginny found solace in the cold air that held a hint of coming snow. But it soon became too brisk; her annoyance with her mother slowly dissipated and she began to think longingly of a hot butterbeer and maybe even a bath in the Room of Requirement (the only place in Hogwarts that offered complete privacy). Her feet touched the ground moments after Harry's; for the first time, she noticed that he had white lines of tension around his mouth.

"My Mum wrote me a letter," Ginny admitted. "It bothered me."

He didn't ask her what it had contained and why it had bothered her. "I'm going to Remus and Dora's for dinner tomorrow night," he said. He didn't have to add that a part of him (a large part, Ginny guessed from his grimace) regretted this. Ginny was a little surprised herself (his hermit status was a legend), but she didn't want to mention it.

"Are you going to fly the day after tomorrow, then?" she asked just before they parted company. Arnold poked his head out of his bag and warbled goodbye to Harry.

"Are you?" he asked. "I mean, I'll be there, regardless, but--"

"I'll be there," Ginny said.

He didn't mention that she'd said that last time they spoke, and Ginny was grateful.

HPHPHPHPHPHP

12 November 2001

Harry scuffed his feet, checked his watch, and adjusted his robes, waiting for seven o'clock to roll around. Waiting to step into the hearth and floo to Remus and Dora's home. To have dinner with them. It seemed entirely too normal, and he wished -- for the millionth time that day -- that he hadn't agreed. He'd much rather be out flying in the air with Ginny. In spite of the past (and Harry was beginning to think it was because of it) being around her was easier than being around anyone else.

He'd realized something yesterday when they'd walked up to the castle together carrying their brooms. Her presence was like a balm to him. She didn't expect things from him; no questions about what had happened passed from her lips. Ginny didn't need to ask if he was all right. It was the strangest thing imaginable that he would have this ease with Ginny, but their boundaries overlapped, and the experiences she'd lived through and he'd witnessed sort of united them. Granted, she might feel exactly the opposite (she'd avoided flying with him for several days, after all), but he hoped she felt the same.

He loosened his collar; it suddenly felt very tight and constricting.

I wish Dora was a bit more like Ginny, Harry thought glumly. He hadn't spoken to her since before he'd come to Hogwarts, and the memories of that last visit were still jarring. Dora Lupin was a great person, but sometimes she pushed too hard. Why am I doing this again? he asked himself, still slightly surprised.

The invitation had come at a weak moment. Harry had still been both shocked and impressed by Ginny's Quidditch skills that he'd been distracted enough to accept before he thought twice about it. He'd woken up quite surprised at himself, and was slightly mollified that Remus had been equally stunned.

As long as she doesn't mention the shagging, Harry thought, repressing a shudder. In typical brash, Dora fashion she had pressed the issue. And while Harry knew he was a normal bloke, and did normal bloke things in the shower while thinking about the parts on girls normally hidden by clothes, the idea of actually having sex with another person did not really appeal to him. The level of intimacy required for that was too high, and he didn't see the need. The random girl parts that marched through his head offered relief. They weren't attached to breathing bodies with demanding mouths.

Harry shook his head and, at a minute before seven, entered the hearth and said, "Lupin Residence." He spun through the grates, catching glimpses of other wizard dwellings, and finally landed in a modest sitting room decorated with wild colors. He only had a second to catch his bearings when something hard hit him in the legs and he went down in a tangle of limbs. A turquoise head was plainly visible.

"Teddy!" Remus rushed into the room, plainly dismayed. "What have we told you about attacking guests?"

"Don't remember," Teddy muttered.

"Sorry, Harry," Remus offered him his hand. Harry took it and stood up. The sight of the little boy actually relieved him; Dora could not be completely off the wall if he was around. Though he was still pretty young... what if they didn't mind what they said in front of him?

"Do you swear in front of Teddy?" Harry asked bluntly.

"Er," Remus looked bemused. "We try not to. He has a habit of repeating everything we say."

"Good," Harry said. "I mean -- I'll try not to."

"Harry Potter," Dora grinned at him, leaning against the door jam. "You get weirder every time we see you." She held out his hand to shake his, and then pulled him into a tight hug. Harry patted her awkwardly on the back, glad to see that her hair was bright pink and not tipped with black. It would have been an ominous sign if she'd been annoyed at the sight of him.

"Hi," said Harry.

"Thanks for coming, Harry," Remus said. He put his arm around his wife and his hand on his son's shoulder. It struck Harry as quite picturesque.

"Is it true you're a crab?" Teddy said, pulling on his bottom lip.

"Erm," said Harry.

"He means a hermit, though crab fits too," Dora said pointedly. She hid a smile behind her hand. "Teddy, what did we tell you about being rude to guests?"

"Same thing we told him about attacking them," Remus said ruefully. It felt surreal that Teddy Lupin was old enough to ask adults blunt and embarrassing questions. In many ways, it didn't seem that it had been almost three and a half years since Voldemort's demise. Occasionally, Harry would wake up, certain he was back in the tent with Ron and Hermione; those were the days he woke up happy.

"I can't believe how big he's gotten," Harry admitted.

"That's what happens in three years, Harry," Dora said tartly.

"Dora," said Remus, shaking his head. "Would you like a glass of wine, Harry?"

"Yes," said Harry, relieved. A bottle was summoned and opened, and Remus poured a generous measure of the alcohol into a goblet. "How have the two of you been?"

"Very well," Dora beamed at him, mood shifting rapidly.

"We're expecting another baby," said Remus. For a moment, his face fell into worried lines, but brightened again. It was sort of disconcerting to watch. It was as though Remus had forgotten for a moment to be happy. But the tidings of new life were, of course, always welcome.

"That's great," Harry said honestly. "That's really great. When are you due?"

They toasted the promise of a new baby. Harry watched Remus out of the corner of his eye, wondering how the old wolf was truly doing with the fear of what might be passed to his child just for being born; would the baby have the illness? He remembered well the ugly scene in the basement kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place, when he'd had to refuse his offer of help and goaded him to returning to Dora.

"If you think I'm going to run out on them, think again," Remus said mildly.

Harry suddenly realized how quiet it was. Where was Teddy? He was meant to be the buffer, the security that they would not broach topics Harry had no interest in pursuing. Just then, the turquoise haired little boy ran back into the room, brandishing his father's wand like a sword.

"Teddy! Drop that wand!" Dora said. "Do you want Harry to think you're a little barbarian?"

Other than a few quirks, Harry had to admit that the little boy was very well behaved for a child so young. All through dinner (which was shockingly good; he hadn't figured Dora for an excellent cook), he kept up a lively conversation about his fork, his napkin, and one of his shoes. Harry was content to listen to him, and was both disappointed and slightly nervous when Dora left to give him his bath and put him to bed.

"I can't believe we're doing it all over again," said Remus, shaking his head, as he poured them both a glass of firewhiskey. Harry watched the flaming amber liquid swirl in his cup.

The moment was suddenly fraught with tension. Harry knew what was coming, and waited for it.

"Are you all right?" asked Remus.

Harry had his angry I'm fine ready. It was on the tip of his tongue, and then he remembered laughing about it with Ginny. And for the first time in a long while, he considered the question. He had a job. He spoke to people on a regular basis. Kreacher had stopped planning elaborate dinner parties to which Harry never invited anyone.

He shrugged.

"Seems like an improvement," Remus observed.

Harry downed the alcohol in one gulp; it burned down his throat. Steam came out of his ears, and he opened his eyes to find Remus smiling at him reminiscently. "Your father could never hold the fire in either," he said. "His hair actually ignited the first time we all got drunk together."

"Did you do that often?" Harry asked. "Get drunk, I mean?"

"Pretty often when we were younger," Remus admitted.

Harry had gotten drunk exactly once, a few weeks after Malfoy Manor. It hadn't been a pleasant experience.

Remus regarded him steadily. "I wish they were here," he said. Harry stared down at his empty glass. "I have a feeling that your dad would know exactly what to say to you. And Sirius -- he'd be bitter with you until you found yourself laughing with him. He was tricky that way."

To Harry's horror, he felt a sudden lump in his throat. The quiet grief in Remus' voice made it impossible to get angry with him; Remus had every right to miss them and talk about them. He'd known them better and longer than Harry, who had only had his godfather for a few short years, and had never known his father at all.

Bitterness flowed through his veins. Because of the prophecy.

They'd died to get him to the end, to fulfill his destiny at Malfoy Manor. Malfoy Manor. The thought choked him. He covered it up with a cough.

Dora did not return for long minutes. Harry suspected she was stalling to allow them more privacy, and had to admit this was unusually tactful for her. For the first time since Voldemort fell, Harry wanted to tell someone, but not Remus. Maybe Sirius, who had been imprisoned in Azkaban for years. He most wanted to tell Ron and Hermione, but that seemed so impossible.

"Thank you for the meal, Remus," Harry said, standing up. "And the company."

Remus did not by word or gesture appear to be disappointed in the fact that Harry was retreating. Perhaps the old wolf had only had one angry lecture in him. "And thanks for... you know, last summer," he said. He hadn't known he was going to say it until he did. Strangely, he meant it. He wouldn't be at Hogwarts, passing himself off as a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

Footsteps clattered down the stairs. "The barbarian is asleep," she said brightly. "Are you leaving so soon, Harry?"

"I have things to do in the morning," Harry said evasively. "But -- thanks for having me. It's been very nice."

"Surprised I didn't kill you with my cooking skills?" she grinned at him.

To tell the truth, he hadn't expected her to make a decent meal. She didn't seem the type. "It was the best I've had in years," Harry said honestly.

The two of them exchanged glances. "We'll be sure to tell Molly," said Dora. "She'll be glad to hear you liked it."

HPHPHPHPHPHP

13 November 2001

It sounded like a dozen children had invaded Shell Cottage instead of just two; Teddy was loud all by himself, but Teddy and Victoire together were exceptionally noisy. Bill watched the two little bundles of mischief carefully. Victoire had the tendency to throw off all of her clothes (including her nappy), and the November day was far too cold to be a nudist.

"I'm telling you, he's better than he's been since it happened," said Dora Lupin. She stood beside Fleur, wand at the ready, poised to intervene in case of threats of injury or childish scuffles. "It was a miracle that he even came over, you know, and then he sat in the sitting room and asked Remus a question about his father and Sirius."

Bill was impressed. He hadn't seen Harry in years, of course, but from everything he'd heard, this was highly unusual behavior. I wonder how Ron will react, he mused. Ron had been the most affected by Harry's departure from their lives, and Bill wondered if it would hurt that his best mate had chosen to open up to someone else. Though asking Remus about James Potter couldn't have been that huge of a deal, he reminded himself.

"Your Mum was in raptures when I told her he enjoyed the meal," continued Dora. "And he didn't run away as soon as she was mentioned like he normally does. I think--"

But Dora was cut off by a particularly loud shriek coming from Teddy. He was on the ground, and Victoire had grabbed hold of his ears. Bill hid a grin; his daughter was certainly feisty. A cloud passed over the weak sun. Ginny had been feisty as well, and she'd been even smaller and daintier than Victoire. He sometimes wondered if all that sass had gone into keeping herself sane because he couldn't imagine such a vital part of her completely disappearing.

Fleur laid a gentle hand on his arm while they watched Dora mediate between the two fighters and propose a truce. "It's hard to think of Harry without wondering what happened," admitted Bill. "A part of me doesn't want to know, you know," he added. He turned his head a little to the right and watched the ocean.

"I theenk we all feel the same way," said Fleur.

Bill didn't answer. He thought it was a little different for him. He had a little girl now; he had a greater understanding of the deep well of grief that his father carried, and also of the fact that it was killing his dad to be so, so--

"What word would you use to describe Ginny's feelings toward Dad?" Bill asked his wife when his mind stuttered over his own thoughts. "Does she hate him? Despise him? Feel betrayed by him?"

Fleur was silent for a long moment. "I do not know," she said finally. "It iz not so easily definable, in French or in English."

Bill watched the waves crash on the rocks. He never, ever wanted Victoire to feel and act toward him the way Ginny acted toward their dad. But he would never say that out loud. "I wish I knew why," he said at last.

There was an unsettled, troubled look on her face. "I'm not sure I want to know."

HPHPHPHPHPHPHP

16 November 2001

The dungeons of Hogwarts were dark and smelled of mildew and rotting bodies. Ginny stood in the very center of the corridor, completely paralyzed. The walls whispered to her; she could make out snatches of conversations, heard her name mentioned over and over again, but except for "Ginny, Ginny, Ginny," she couldn't make out another word.

Her stomach rolled and clenched. She stuck her hand out to steady herself, and she shrieked a little, and pulled her hand away. It came away covered with thick liquid. For a moment, she thought it was blood. Then, when she saw the substance that had the consistency of mud, she knew it was worse. Distantly, she heard herself screamWake up! Wake up! and she knew the nightmare had come back after being dormant for such long stretch of time.

She stared down at her hand and wanted to curl up into a little ball. She wanted Arnold. Where was Arnold?

Pollux Sennet stepped out of the shadows, his fleshy lips curved in a knowing smile. His eyes passed over her body -- she felt a cold draft and she was suddenly naked. She drifted to the floor and he came closer. And suddenly he was on top of her, wet tongue soaking her neck. Ginny squeezed her eyes closed, knowing that any moment now--

"Open your eyes, Ginevra," said her father. She had to obey. Keep your eyes open, Ginevra, they always said. And they didn't give her a choice. He thrust between her thighs, balding head shining with sweat, eyes staring down at her breasts. His breath was hot in her ear as he moaned his pleasure.

Wake up!

And then there was bright, blinding light, and he was pulled off her with a squelching sound. Harry's face was lit with rage and disgust. Ginny tried to close her legs and roll over, but her limbs were leaden and she was pinned to the ground. Don't look at me.But it was so bright, she knew he could see everything. He knew everything. He could see it all.

Something slimy slithered across her belly and under her back. Slowly it began to squeeze and Ginny couldn't move. Harry turned his back to her and spread his arms. A flash of green light arced through the air with glacial speed. She tried to scream at him to move, but he didn't. He stood there and it hit, and he fell back on top of her--

Ginny thrashed awake, back arched and heart pounding. Arnold was pulling at her hair, as though he'd sensed her distress and had been trying to wake her. Tears stung her eyes, and she pressed the heels of her hands against her brow to hold them in. There was pressure on her stomach; the sheets had twisted around her, like Nagini had once.

The sunlight that streamed in through the window seemed too bright; it was jarring to wake up to the morning sun. She stopped herself before she could even think about the dream. It was just a dream, just a dream, just a dream, she chanted. Pollux Sennet was never there. Harry wasn't there for--

Ginny flopped over and untangled herself from the sheets, and focused on getting ready for the day. Don't think about it. She fed Arnold and cuddled him for a little while. Malfoy Manor was three years, five months, and four days ago. It was just a dream. Flinging her books into her bag, she slung it over her shoulder and, still holding Arnold, she exited the dorm.

Her first class of the day was Harry's, and she did not even bother going down to the Great Hall for breakfast, but leaned up against the wall in the corridor outside his room. Breathing in and out slowly, she held Arnold in the palm of her hand and forced herself to calm down. And slowly, slowly it began to work.

"Ginny?"

A wave of relief. "Hi, Pro--"

"Don't," he said irritably. "If you call me 'Professor Potter' one more time, I'll -- I'll give you detention."

It was sort of endearing the way he sometimes didn't make sense, and that combined with the relief and the shaky aftermath of a particularly bad nightmare made her chuckle a little. He looked just as surprised as the first time she'd laughed, but he still didn't say anything, for which she was grateful. "All right," she said. "Harry. Hi."

"Were you waiting for me?" he asked, releasing the spell that locked the door.

"Just for class," said Ginny. Her stomach cramped a little and she let her eyes slide away from his. "Are you going to go tonight? Flying?"

He gave her a sharp look, but he allowed her her privacy. "Yeah," he said, scratching the back of his neck. "I sort of thought about... you know. Going earlier. Skipping dinner."

She knew he had just made that up on the spot, but she appreciated it nonetheless.

The day dragged on, and by the time her last class (Transfiguration, never her favorite in the first place) finished, she was so eager to escape into the sky that she was practically dancing with it. Gryffindor Tower had never seemed so far away; she raced to it, silently urging the moving stairs to move faster. She threw herself up to the girl's dorm, grabbed her broom and the cage she'd made for Arnold when she knew he'd be too active and impatient to stay in his bag for more than an hour.

It seemed as though the images from her dream were chasing her, and it took her less than ten seconds to nod at Harry (who seemed equally eager to take flight) and get Arnold situated. They kicked off at the same time into a climb so steep and fast that it felt like a free fall. Ginny focused on the wind in her hair and how cold the air was. It was blissful oblivion.

Harry kept up with her for hours. Ginny, cold and frozen to her broom, wondered if he was trying to fly faster than his own demons, or if he only meant to help her with her own. She suspected it was a mixture of both. Once her father's face stopped cropping up behind her eyelids every time she blinked, she began to slow and circle around the pitch in an easy descent. The sky was spangled with stars, and Ginny had no idea what time it was, only that it must be very late.

Her lips twitched.

"What's funny?" Harry asked, voice raspy from disuse. He watched as she freed Arnold and placed the snoring pygmy puff in his bag.

"That it's lucky I'm with a professor," said Ginny. "I've got a feeling that curfew already came and went."

"A few hours ago," said Harry, checking his watch. For the first time, she noticed that he didn't wear her uncle Fabian's watch, the one her mother had given him for his seventeenth birthday. The sight of the utilitarian silver band made her eyes sting. She blinked and looked away. "Are you hungry?" he asked, as they ambled up the path to the castle.

Her stomach gave a loud growl.

He chuckled a little. "I take that as a yes. I should have known; you are a Weasley."

"A healthy appetite comes with the red hair," said Ginny. "Surely dinner is over, though."

He shrugged. "I figured we'd go to the kitchen. Or, if you'd prefer it, I could have Kreacher make us something and we could eat somewhere else."

"The kitchen sounds fine to me," Ginny murmured.

They were silent the rest of the way; Harry led her down the corridor and stopped in front of a painting of fruit. He tickled a pear, and it swung open revealing a large, warm room that smelled like all sorts of delicious food despite the late hour. Ginny inhaled deeply, and narrowed her eyes when she saw Harry hiding a grin. Warmth licked over her, and she felt her lids growing heavy, amazingly enough. After a dream, sleep was generally hard to come by.

The elves brought a plate of warm bread and cheese and hot chocolate, and for long minutes neither one of them spoke.

"I had your mum's cooking," Harry offered.

Ginny dropped her cheese. "You went to the Burrow?"

He shook his head. "When I went to Remus and Dora's. She made the meal."

"Probably for the best," said Ginny. "Dora is a very talented Auror, but a cook she is not." Her stomach clenched with sudden nerves. "I'm sure that Mum liked that a lot. They miss you."

She couldn't read the expression on his face. The firelight from the large hearths flickered across his face and shadowed his eyes. The silence swelled and billowed, and she knew they were both thinking of the same thing. Why Harry had never gone home. Her nightmare rushed back at her suddenly. "Do you ever have nightmares?" she blurted out.

He blew out a breath. "Frequently," he admitted carefully.

The tension was thick enough for a Severing Charm. Ginny took another few bites, though she couldn't taste the food all of a sudden. "Bad ones?" It was as though she was looking down at herself, and couldn't stop herself from talking. A part of her wanted to take it back... but a larger part suddenly wanted him to acknowledge what had happened, though she had no idea why.

"Pretty bad, yeah," he said in a low voice, then took a gulp of his hot chocolate as though it was firewhiskey. And despite the fact that she couldn't even see the vivid green of his eyes, she knew he was watching her intently. "But you would know what I dream about, wouldn't you?" He played with the rim of his mug. "And I'm sure that however bad my dreams are, yours are worse."

But Ginny didn't want to talk about her dreams. For reasons unknown to her, she wanted to hear about his. Her fingers trembled, and she blew on her drink, despite the fact that it had cooled long ago.

"Sometimes I dream that I never heard anything," he said. "And I just left without..."

Ginny suspected that he'd given her the best scenario of his nightmares, and she was mostly glad of that. "I felt like Nagini was squeezing me again," she said, not wanting to tell him about Lucius Malfoy's masquerade, nor that Harry always died and his body fell on top of her, and sometimes she had a hard time deciding which was worse. Her heart thumped in her chest.

"I guess I could remind you that you had your revenge on the snake," he said.

"I could say the same thing," she said.