Second Year, part five.
Christmas break at Hogwarts was like nothing Ginny had ever experienced.
True, she had been there the previous year. Her memories of that time, however, were all fragmented and misty, jumbled up with all the terrible anxiety and confused feelings she'd been suffering.
This year, though, it was amazing.
The feast itself had been incredible, every bit as marvellous as her brothers had always described it. The food had been far beyond her expectations, and for once the voices in her head had all been silent, letting her enjoy the wonderful atmosphere.
She'd gone to bed quite early on Christmas Eve and had woken up to a neat mound of presents beside her bed, far more than she'd thought she'd be receiving.
There was a new set of pyjamas from Jasmine and Priscilla, with a note explaining how they'd noticed that she was growing out of her old pair.
Being in far too good of a mood for the condescending nature of their letter to bother her, she'd simply folded the pyjamas and placed them under her pillow.
From Evelyn, she'd gotten a quite lovely makeup kit. It was a small box roughly the size of her palm, and it unfolded to be almost as big as her torso; containing blush and foundation, dozens of colours of eyeliner, nail polish and lipstick, skin lotion, a set of brushes and combs, a shaving razor, and a mirror that gave fashion advice.
She had to admit that as much as she didn't care about fashion as the other girls did, it was a touching gift. It couldn't have come cheap, and the note with it at least sounded like something a normal person would say, unlike the Woodworths' one.
She'd gotten three bottles of perfume from Bill, and a new set of dragonhide gloves from Charlie.
Percy had bought her a new gobstones set, the twins had given her a bag of fireworks and dungbombs with a note saying that their gift was in case she ever needed bribery material, and Ron had bought her an assortment of chocolates.
From Colin, she'd gotten a book entitled Curses and Counter Curses, by Professor Vindictus Viridian.
It was when she was reading Colin's letter that her emotions returned in full force, guilt, pain, and fear beginning to war within her.
"Hey, Ginny," it read, "hope this gets to you in time. Had to send it through the Muggle post, and I don't know how long it takes before it gets transferred to the wizards who work with it. Hope you're having a good time at Hogwarts, it must be pretty cool having the castle (practically) to yourself. It's great here in Belfast, we haven't seen any snow, but the weatherman says we will next week. It's funny being here with my cousins, I keep almost saying something about the wizarding world, and just catching myself in time. Course, they don't know what I'm on about when I do mess up, so I just pretend like I'm talking about books or something, cause neither of them like reading much. It's actually weird, how much I've forgotten about what it's like to not know about magic. Even at home we still talk about it, so we're not completely separate. Here, though, it's like another planet. Still a lot of fun, even if watching football's boring after seeing a Quidditch match.
Anyway, I hope you like the book. I got one too, when we went to London to buy presents before heading over here. I left mine at home though. I'm sure by the time I get back you'll be able to do every one of those spells!
Have a happy Christmas, and looking forward to seeing you again.
Love,
Colin."
She found herself reading the letter again, rubbing her fingers over where he'd written his name with tears in her eyes.
'So the Mudblood loves you. That's good. It makes it less likely for him to tell anyone about your practising.'
She shook her head, trying to banish the voice.
She didn't want to think of Colin with that word, no matter how much Tom would have approved. She didn't want to turn her friendship with him into nothing more than a way for her to perfect her spellcasting abilities.
But she'd made up her mind about Tom.
'So? Just because I said I'd-I'd help him, doesn't mean I have to think that about Colin. Does it?'
Her pleasant mood quickly evaporating, she pulled the next present from the pile.
"Dear Ginny," the letter said, "I hope that Christmas has been special and that there haven't been too many Nargles around. There always are this time of year, because they breed in mistletoe. Daddy says that's where the custom of kissing under it comes from, because Nargles don't like displays of affection. I've just been at home with Daddy, although we did go for a lovely walk on the hills. We spotted what looked like the spoor of a Graphorn, although we didn't see the creature itself. Daddy says it's a sign of good luck for the coming year, so I hope that includes you also, because I was thinking about you.
We also saw a family of Mokes, but they shrunk before I could take a picture of them.
I saw your parents the other day. They seemed very happy, especially when I told them that you're my best friend.
I hope you like my present. I carved it myself, although Daddy helped with the charms.
Please say hello to The Grey Ghost for me, and to the painting of the unicorn and Sylvena the Strange on the third floor.
Love,
Your friend,
Luna Lovegood.
P.S. The cookie is meant to be eaten on New Year's Eve."
Along with the letter, Luna had sent two photographs, one of which appeared to be the Graphorn's spoor, (although on closer inspection, Ginny decided it was actually a rock) and one of an empty patch of grass where Ginny assumed the Mokes had been before they shrunk.
She'd also sent a single biscuit in the shape of the letter G, and a wooden statue. Looking at the statue Ginny had to blink away tears as her breath caught in her throat.
It was about ten inches high and perfectly carved, showing a rendering of two girls standing hand in hand.
Her and Luna's faces were depicted in perfect detail on the wood, both of them smiling brightly.
When she carefully placed it on her bedside table, the statue moved, the two girls hugging tightly before taking each other's hands again and skipping around the table.
She let out a sound that was somewhere between a sob and a laugh.
'What would she say if she knew what I had decided?'
She turned away from the heartbreakingly precious sight, grabbing at the last of the big packages.
It was her jumper, the electric blue G on it standing out against the black wool.
A small book fell out of the wrapping along with a bag of homemade baked goods.
She picked up her parents' letter with trembling hands, tearing the envelope as she opened it.
"Dear Ginny,
We can't even begin to explain how proud we are of you. The challenges you faced in your first year at Hogwarts were greater than most adults ever go through, and you came out of them with your head held high. There are few things that make a parent happier than seeing their child succeed through a hard experience, and you've made us the happiest parents in the world.
We love you so much, and just hope that this coming year is one of good times, joy, and peace.
Keep on doing what you are, we're with you all the way.
All our love,
Mum and Dad."
By the time she reached the end of her parents' letter, the parchment was fluttering and damp from her shaking hands and falling tears.
Clamping her teeth together to keep the wail from escaping, she snatched the knife from her bag and ran to the bathroom.
She raised her head quickly enough to make her neck click, focusing on the noise she had just heard.
She stayed perfectly still, her muscles tense, coiled to close the book and run with everything she had.
After a silent minute, she exhaled, still keeping her ears pricked up.
Nothing.
Slowly, her heart went back to its normal speed, and she returned her attention to the book before her.
The Dark Arts, as she'd come to learn, did not refer to a single subject.
There were dozens of different streams of magic grouped together under the same broad title, as different from and as connected to one another as Herbology and Astronomy.
Most of the books in the Restricted Section were meant for reference, either for NEWT students or for the professors themselves.
Almost all of them seemed to assume that she would know far more than she did. Not just in their own subject, but in the theories of other subjects as well.
Still, she was slowly making some sense of it. Over the course of the holidays she'd taken advantage of the mostly empty Hogwarts, spending as much time as she thought she could get away with in the Restricted Section.
She was, she had to admit, lucky that the twins had actually taken her there instead of just telling her how to sneak in. They'd been incredibly helpful, showing her sections of shelving that were filled, they said, with books that would scream or otherwise alert Madam Pince that someone unauthorized was using them.
They'd both looked quite embarrassed, actually, when they had pointed that out, leading her to wonder how many times they'd been caught in there before they'd figured out which books to avoid.
She sighed, writing a note to herself on the piece of parchment beside the book.
The more time she spent in there, the more she realized how little she actually knew.
'Tom was right when he said I didn't know enough. I can barely understand any of this!'
She turned the page, flinching at the gruesome image that greeted her.
It showed a man hanging upside down in mid-air, blood dripping from a cut in his throat and falling into a boiling cauldron below him.
'I don't even know what half of these ingredients are! How the hell am I ever gonna be able to help him like this?'
'Tom said that you need to be a soldier for him. So until you learn how to do this type of thing, focus on spells that you could use in a fight.'
She closed the book gently, nodding as she placed it back on the shelf.
Her new gloves were still a bit itchy, but she had no choice except to wear them. Fred and George had been at their most serious when they told her to bring them, the first time they went in. They'd said that some of the books could damage someone who tried to take them without permission and that it was safest to be protected in there.
'Would they have helped me if they even suspected why I really wanted to get in?'
'Why do you care? Is telling the truth to them nearly as important as helping Tom?'
She bit her lip, her footsteps halting as she reached the shelves she wanted.
The shelves on curses.
An image of the book Colin had sent her swam before her eyes for a second, filling her with shame.
Her hand stopped halfway to the shelf.
'Do you really feel bad about what a stupid Mudblood would think?'
'He's my friend.'
'Your Mudblood wouldn't want you to look at these books, true. But Tom would. If you had looked at them earlier, maybe you could have actually helped Tom.'
With tears running down her face, she pulled the book from the shelf.
"Facerus Timor!"
A fine greyish-black mist erupted from her wand, spreading out as it moved forward into the classroom.
It didn't get too far before dissipating, growing thinner and fainter as it went before vanishing entirely.
She lowered her wand, sweat dripping down her face, feeling exultant.
Unless she was very much mistaken, she'd just managed to cast what one of the books had described as the Curse of Terror, a spell that would send horrific, inexplicable surges of fear through anyone hit by the mist, clouding their minds and making thought impossible.
It wasn't necessarily good in a fight, the book said, because it didn't last too long and because it had an easy countercurse, one which apparently worked on boggarts as well.
Still, she felt quite proud of herself. It was the first time she'd managed one of the spells she'd copied from the books in the Restricted Section.
'So? Are you going to revel in your triumph or actually continue?'
She nodded, rubbing her eyes over the next spell in her list.
"Praefoco!"
Her wand made a barking noise, shooting out a sickly smelling cloud of gas.
She coughed, flapping her hands in front of her face and trying not to breathe in the smoke.
'Clearly wrong. Try again.'
As soon as the air cleared, she raised her wand again.
"Praefoco!"
The cloud was much thicker the second time, and stunk horrifically, burning her nostrils as she inhaled it.
She dropped to her knees, covering her mouth and nose with a hand and fighting the urge to vomit.
She stood up on shaky legs, her mouth feeling dry and sore.
'I must be getting something wrong. I'll need to check it up again.'
She trudged out of the empty classroom with a sigh, heading back up to the painting on the fourth floor which hid a secret passageway behind it.
'This is all going to be much more difficult once term starts. Won't have as much free time, won't be able to sneak around as easily. I'm going to have to only go at nights, once everyone's asleep. Can't go too often, otherwise I'll be exhausted all the time. Damnit, it's going to get so much harder.'
'Better make the most of it now.'
The night before term started again, she lay in bed, shivering and staring at the statue Luna had given her with teary eyes.
The wooden girls were whispering to one another, gesturing realistically and speaking the gibberish that Luna's father had enchanted them with.
None of what they said sounded like it was English, or any other language Ginny had ever heard for that matter. Their laughter, however, sounded real.
They laughed often, the wooden Ginny and Luna. Laughed and danced and pranced around.
She stared at them and wept, every sound of joy from them an icicle stabbing her in the heart.
Their innocent, unadulterated happiness mocked her more brutally than any of her roommates ever had. Neither of those two wooden girls ever had to think about such horrible things as she did. Neither of them had to cast spell after spell, gripping their wands tightly and practising for so long that blisters formed on their fingers.
Neither of those girls had to think about Tom until they sobbed, wishing that they'd never met him and wishing that they didn't still love him.
Neither of those girls had decided that they would kill for him one day, if only to be able to bask in his presence once more.
Those girls were as fake as the theories in Luna's father's magazine, as made-up as half of the animals Luna mentioned.
She wished she could believe in them.
She stared at the thick vein in her wrist and wished that she'd been strong enough to slice it, wished that she'd been strong enough to argue with that voice in her head that sounded so much like Tom.
Those girls were a wispy dream, one that she'd cast aside when she admitted that she would still do anything for Tom.
Neither of those girls was a monster like her.
Eventually, a restless sleep took her, the usual dream of bodies in the Great Hall and Tom's lips on hers coming to call.
Except this time, when she stood among the corpses, she looked at what she had wreaked and laughed.
A month after the term had started again, Ginny found herself more tired than she thought she'd ever been before.
With the return of classes, she'd quickly fallen into an exhausting routine; spending one of her breaks in the visible company of either Luna or Colin or otherwise hanging out in the Common Room, and spending the rest of her free time in the library or slowly working her way through her list of spells.
Her nights were likewise full. At least twice a week she found herself sneaking out after curfew and carefully making her way to the secret passageway to the Restricted Section, where she would often spend close to two hours reading things she'd already been through.
Much as she was spending time with the books, most of what she read was still far beyond her.
Of the scores of pages of theory on Necromancy, Rituals, and Curses that she had read, she figured she understood maybe a few paragraphs worth.
Part of the problem was that she was only a second year. The books kept referencing ideas that she'd never even heard of before, let alone mastered.
The other, far more fundamental problem, was that the books in the Hogwarts Library, even in the Restricted Section, were not meant as a how-to guide on the Dark Arts. They were, she came to realize, all about countering the actions of Dark Wizards, or preventing their crimes in the first place.
If they described a ritual or a spell, it was only to teach someone how to recognize it and ruin it, not to help do it.
Of course, when it came to the spells themselves, the books were far more explanatory. They often showed the full wand movements needed, as well as giving precise descriptions of the incantations themselves.
But as she'd discovered after her disastrous attempts at the Choking Curse, Dark Curses often required a specific emotion to accompany a successful casting of them, and the books did not necessarily give those.
She'd only even learned that fact from a small footnote in one of the theory books, in the section about the Unforgivables.
She often left the Library in a state of total frustration, with dozens of new spells that she knew she probably wouldn't be able to cast properly added to her list.
Her attempts at teaching herself the Dark Arts might have been fruitless, but she still couldn't stop herself from forcing her aching legs out of bed once her room had filled with gentle snores.
She couldn't stop herself, not if she wanted the voices to stay calm, not if she wanted to at least feel like she was doing something for Tom.
As much as she sometimes may have wished that she could.
Useless as her time in the Restricted Section was, it did come with some unexpected benefits.
For one, her marks had steadily risen until she was in the top few students in most of her subjects. It shouldn't have been surprising, really, what with the amount of time she spent trying to understand stuff far beyond her capabilities.
It wasn't surprising, in fact. It was just something that she hadn't thought about. Something she didn't care about, really.
Professor McGonagall's compliments may have put a genuine smile on her face, but one day she'd get praise from Tom again, and that would put a smile on her whole world.
The bigger and more important benefit to her intense routine was the calming of her mind.
The busier she kept herself, she found, the less pressure built up within her. She'd gone a full five days without needing to use the knife, and her nightmares had been coming less frequently.
Anything would have been worth it for that.
She tore a piece of toast in half, tossing it carelessly into the lake.
A cold wind blew her hair back, making her scarf fly into her eyes for a second.
Luna giggled as she pulled it down, clearing her eyes just in time to see the tentacles pulling her bread beneath the surface.
"Hermione's cat ate Ron's rat yesterday," she said. "Ron's furious."
"That's what cats do," Luna says with a shrug, "it was probably quite an adventure for the poor rat."
"It's so stupid. Scabbers was the stupidest pet ever. He did nothing but sleep all day. And now Ron and Hermione aren't talking. It's so stupid."
"People do silly things when they're upset. I'm sure your brother will get over it."
"It was just a stupid rat," she grumbled, "not like it's anything important. From the way Ron's going on, you'd think the cat actually hurt him."
"I'm sure his rat was important to him," Luna said in an annoyingly sensible tone, "what did you say about it all?"
"I told him he was being an idiot and that it didn't matter."
"Oh. That was a bit insensitive of you, I think."
She turned to Luna, her mouth dropping open.
She was being insensitive?
Ron sat there day after day, chumming around with the boy who had ruined her life, not caring enough to even notice the pain and suffering she was going through.
Ron was crying over a bloody rat as if it was something that actually mattered, and she was the insensitive one?
'She doesn't know. I need to tell her. If there's anyone at all who I could tell, it's her.'
'Naive little girl. She'd run away before you even finished the first sentence. If by some miracle she didn't immediately go to Dumbledore, you know damn well that she'd never look at you again, let alone talk to you. Tell her and the best case scenario is that she hates you.'
'I deserve to be hated.'
'You deserve to be with Tom, and Harry took that from you.'
The burning need arose within her, her right hand clenching automatically even as the shaking gripped her.
She closed her eyes tightly, hoping that it would just go away.
'It's been two weeks!' She told herself, 'two weeks! I can manage without it! I don't need it!'
'Maybe you just need it once every two weeks, when everything gets too much.'
'I don't! I don't!'
'Don't you? It's not like you deserve anything better. You probably should tell Luna. You don't deserve to have her as a friend anyways.'
"I think I'm going mad," she whispered.
Luna's giggle made her open her eyes, to see the Giant Squid taking yet another piece of toast.
"I'm sorry," Luna said, "did you say something?"
She looked into Luna's face, all lit up with joy.
"No," she replied, "nothing important."
For the second time, she lay in the Great Hall, staring at the enchanted ceiling and thinking about Sirius Black.
He'd been looking for Harry, that much was obvious.
So why did he run?
He must have known that he was in the right room, so why didn't he just kill Ron quickly and move on to find Harry's bed?
Wasn't that what he wanted? Revenge on Harry, for being the one to do whatever he had to Voldemort?
Wasn't that what she wanted?
'I don't know.'
'Liar. You do know. You wish you could see Harry suffer the way you are.'
A shudder ran through her at the thought, a solitary tear falling from her eye and making its way down her cheek.
'I don't. I don't want to hurt anyone. All I want is to be happy again.'
'You'll never be happy without Tom.'
'I was happy before I met him.'
'You were ignorant.'
'I was still happy.'
'Were you?'
She cast her mind back, trying to focus on what life had been like before she'd found the diary.
It was like trying to grasp at fog. She could remember events, things that she'd done or said or heard.
But she couldn't remember what she'd felt, back in her day-to-day life.
She knew that she hadn't felt that indescribable empty sorrow, the one that had sat in her chest like a bowling ball since Harry killed Tom.
But whether she'd been as happy as once she had Tom, that she couldn't recall.
'I still don't want to hurt anyone. I don't have to, I just want to help Tom. That's all.'
'Idiot. Tom already told you the only way you can help him. You need to be a soldier for him.'
'I don't-'
'Or are you going to betray him again?'
Her muscles tensed as the remembered agony shot through her, her teeth slamming shut over a scream.
'Never. I'll never do that, not again.'
As the hundreds of students around her stopped their whispered conversations and fell asleep, she lay awake.
She lay awake until the sky began to brighten, wondering if she would one day be the one standing over a teenager's bed with a knife.
"'Ok,' she wrote, watching as the words sunk into the page, 'I still think that you're wrong about Muggles. But even if you're not, what's wrong with Muggleborns? They're witches and wizards, just like you and me.'
She leaned back in her bed, waiting for Tom's response and stifling a yawn.
Since she'd challenged him about muggles, he'd had her spend hours reading up on history, all about horrific subjects like the Witch Hunts and the Inquisition. It was only with his help that she was even barely managing to keep up with her homework, and even then she'd had to stay up really late a few times frantically writing essays.
It was probably just because of her late nights and busy days, but the last few nights she'd had weird dreams, and had even been sleepwalking once.
If she didn't think it was so important to discuss this with Tom right now, she'd probably have just followed her roommates' examples and been asleep already.
She barely felt her heart rate begin to rise as his writing appeared.
'Hardly like you and me, Ginny, but the essential point is correct. Firstly, at least in my time, research was beginning to prove that there is in fact no true Muggleborn. They are the descendants of squibs who left the wizarding world and chose to live among muggles. The potential for squibhood is higher in a Muggleborn than in any other witch or wizard. That is one point. Secondly, they come into our world bringing all their Muggle ideology along with them. Think of all the negative effects Muggle culture has had on our own. Of those, the vast majority can be laid at the feet of Muggleborn who wished to make our world more comfortable for themselves.'
'Well, I think-'
She cut off quickly, pulling her quill away as more of Tom's words appeared.
'Thirdly, Ginny, those of us coming from the ancient and illustrious pure family lines have the deeds and wonders of our ancestors to inspire us. We are gifted with tales of their actions, and are constantly driven to match them, to act in a way that would make them proud. But all of these reasons pale before the most important and biggest reason of all. The Muggleborn are a great risk to us.'
'What do you mean?'
'The Statute of Secrecy only works if Muggles do not know of our existence. Muggleborn pour into our world, and their family all are told the truth. The more muggles that find out the truth, the greater the chance of them waging war on us. And do not be mistaken, if we are not prepared for such a war, we will all perish.'
'You're wrong, Tom. No one would do something so harmful to their family, even if they're Muggles.'
'Oh? Didn't you yourself tell me of how your brothers had to rescue Harry Potter from his family? How his guardians treat him like a beast to be caged? Think of that, Ginny, and understand that they know of our existence. What happens when someone in the Muggle military or government has the same reaction to our existence? They will want to cage us all. If they do not simply execute us.'
'You're wrong, Tom.'
'I am afraid that I'm not. Do not allow your emotions to interfere with your thought processes, my dear. Think it through. You will see that I am correct.'
'You're not. Even if you are, what would you do about it? You can't stop something like that!'
'I'm glad you asked. Total separation, that is how we stop it. We pass laws that criminalize fraternizing with muggles, severely punishing romantic entanglements. We Obliviate every Muggle who knows about our world, and implant trained witches and wizards into specific roles in the Muggle government and military, to ensure that as soon as they find out about us, we are aware. We remove magical children from Muggle homes the instant they show signs of magic, and we Obliviate their families and them, making sure they know nothing about their origins.'
'That's horrible! Taking children from their parents!'
'Horrible or not, it is necessary for survival. You will see, Ginny. You will see that I am right. I always am, aren't I?'
'Not about this.'
Long after her conversation with Tom finished, Ginny tossed and turned before falling into a thin, restless sleep, and having the worst nightmare that she could remember.
What Tom had said was obviously still on her mind, because she dreamed that she was in a large cage, the type they had at the menagerie.
Big Muggle men stood outside her cage, carrying guns and pointing her out to the huge crowd,
When she woke with a start, the first thing she did was open the diary and write a frantic message to Tom."
Two weeks before Easter break, Professor McGonagall handed out the sign-up sheets for their elective classes the next year.
It was one of the easiest decisions of her life. Out of the subjects offered, only two of them were those she thought would help her with her studies in the Restricted Section, and she had no interest in any of the other three anyway.
More times than she could count, she'd seen references to the Arithmantic properties of numbers that simply flew straight over her head. Similarly, many times there were full paragraphs written in Ancient Runes, and she barely had managed to use any of the Runes Dictionaries she'd found.
She checked the boxes next to those two subjects and handed the page back to McGonagall, who smiled at her and congratulated her on her foresight.
She leaned against the entrance to the Common Room, panting and sweating with a racing heart.
The fire had burned down to nothing more than dying embers, the clock above the fireplace showing a quarter to two.
The room was empty, all of the normal students fast asleep.
'Dumb!' She chided herself, 'stupid! How could I have been so damn stupid?!'
She'd spent almost an hour and a half in the Restricted Section before giving up, unable to make heads or tails of the theory.
Idiotically enough, she'd chosen to go and practice her spellcasting before calling it a night, and that was only where her screw-up began.
After failing to cast the Choking Curse twice in a row, she'd been quite frustrated.
'I didn't think, I didn't think. Damnit, damnit, damnit, I didn't think.'
It was then that she returned to the spell she was still trying to master.
The strongest variation of the Exploding Charm.
She still was nowhere near perfect at it, but tonight, after her whisper of "Bombarda Maxima!" she'd achieved a larger explosion than ever before, actually shattering the desk she'd been using as a target into hundreds of pieces.
She'd stood there for a moment, looking at the wreckage and feeling triumphant, before realizing how monumentally stupid she'd just been.
She'd let off an enormous explosion in the middle of the night.
As soon as it hit her, she was running, trying to get back to her dorm as quickly as possible.
And on the way, she'd seen the glowing eyes and heard the tell-tale hiss of Mrs Norris.
'If she recognizes me, if she somehow points me out to Filch...I'll be done for. They'll realize I've been lying to them. They'll all know something's up. Oh, bloody hell. If she recognizes me I'm screwed.'
"Fuck," she growled, "What am I gonna do?"
'There's nothing you can do. If the cat recognizes you, you're done. That's all there is to it.'
'Why couldn't Tom just have killed the stupid thing?'
She made her way up the stairs to her room, terrible images of Filch grabbing her and taking her to Dumbledore circling her mind.
'I need it,' she thought as she walked up to her bed and pulled the knife from her bag, 'otherwise I'll never sleep tonight. I won't do it again this week, but I need it now, I need it.'
Her roommates slept on, blissfully unaware of the tears dripping down her face and the blood dripping down her pale arm.
The Easter holidays seemed to fall upon Ginny suddenly, all but taking her unawares.
For the entire week leading up to them she'd been jumpy, flinching whenever she saw Filch or Mrs Norris and waiting on tenterhooks for a summons to Dumbledore that she was sure would come at any moment.
She hadn't dared the Restricted Section, and hadn't even gone near any of the empty classrooms she usually practised in, telling Colin that she was feeling a bit ill and skipping their duelling.
Apparently, however, her excursion had gone unnoticed, or at least her identity had.
For all of her anxiety, no one had said anything to her, and as far as she'd noticed, none of them had even looked askance at her.
She woke up alone in her room on the first day of the holidays, feeling relaxed and calm.
'I just need to be more careful. I need to see if I can find a silencing spell, something I can put on a room as a whole.'
These holidays were looking to be quite different from how the Christmas break had been. For one, many more students had stayed, including Colin. Luna had gone home, but with Colin there, she'd at least have someone to stave off boredom with, not to mention they'd probably be duelling far more often.
Another difference between the two breaks was the amount of homework given. Over Christmas, the professors had seemed content with letting the students really have a holiday, assigning very little work to be done. They weren't treating the Easter holidays the same, probably due to the upcoming exams.
'Ok. I'll find a silencing spell, and then do the library work for the Potions and History exams.'
After a quick breakfast in the oddly quiet Great Hall, she set out to the library to do just that.
"Hey," Ron whispered, "Ginny."
She let the quill drop from her aching fingers, absently massaging them with her other hand as she turned to him.
"Hey," she said, "what's up?"
He looked around the Common Room for a moment, seeming to judge that no one else was near enough to hear him.
"All good. Listen, Harry said I could have a go on his Firebolt, tonight."
"Ok…"
"He'll let you too, if you ask," he said, leaning slightly closer, "or I could ask if you want."
She felt a thrill of excitement roll through her for a second.
A Firebolt. A real, actual Firebolt. She'd never ridden a broom half as good as one of those, except in her daydreams.
'He killed Tom, and you're going to beg him for a turn on his broom?'
Her joy evaporated almost as swiftly as it had arrived, leaving nothing but a dull sensation of shame, her now false smile frozen on her face.
'He's the hero of the wizarding world. You're the monster who loves the man who tried to kill him. You don't deserve any favours from him.'
"Thanks, Ron," she said softly, "but I'll pass."
His mouth fell open, his eyebrows rising and turning his face into the perfect picture of surprise.
"You'll…pass? It's a Firebolt!"
"I know. I just-"
"He really doesn't mind," Ron said quickly, "he was just saying no to everyone the other day because then he'd have to let everyone have a turn. But now, there's so few of us around, we can keep it quiet. A Firebolt, Ginny!"
'He killed Tom. I don't want to use anything of his. And I was meant to be meeting Colin tonight.'
"I've had an upset stomach," she said, the lie dropping effortlessly from her lips, "I don't think it'd be a good idea."
"A Firebolt," he muttered, shaking his head and standing back up, "Balmy. Absolutely mad."
She stared for a minute, watching him leave the Common Room.
Then she picked up her quill and carried on her Transfiguration essay, feeling like she was going to burst into tears at any moment.
"Whew," Colin exhaled, leaning with his hands splayed out against the desk, his breath still coming in short, sharp bursts. "Wow. You know, I haven't beaten you since the middle of term."
Ginny nodded, holding her hand against her ribs where a Bludgeoning Hex had taken her.
"It's a pity we don't have a duelling club," he said, "you'd be at the top for sure."
He straightened up, wiping the sweat from his forehead and stretching his back.
"You sure you don't want to ask Professor McGonagall about starting one? Or even Professor Flitwick, I heard when there used to be one, he was in charge of it."
"Sorry, Colin," she said, looking away from his earnest expression, "I'm just not interested in that type of thing."
"It would probably be better for you," He wheedled, "sparring with someone more on your level, I mean."
Her hands curled into fists, the pain in her side momentarily blotted out by the sudden flash of rage that shot through her.
"If you don't want to carry on," she said, her voice tight and words clipped, "you don't have to. I won't force you."
"I didn't-" he started, looking crestfallen.
"And if you want to go to McGonagall and make it a whole thing," she continued, steamrolling his attempts at speech, "go ahead. Just leave me out of it. I'm not interested."
"I didn't mean that," he burst out, "I don't want to stop! I like this. I just thought you might be-might be getting bored of beating me all of the time."
"I'm not," she said, anger beginning to drain out of her, "I like spending the time with you too much for that. You're one of my best friends, Colin. I wouldn't trade this time for anything."
He blushed, staring down at his shuffling feet.
'Look at him. The Mudblood loves you. You can use that.'
She nodded, smiling a little.
"I'm sorry I snapped at you," she said, softening her tone with a small effort, "I just-I like it, just the two of us."
His head rose, a toothy smile appearing.
'Far too easy. He barely even counts as practice.'
"Hello, Hagrid," Luna called, waving wildly, "how are you?"
Hagrid stomped over to them, his beard looking more unkempt than ever.
"Hullo," He said, nodding to them, looking distinctly downcast.
"Excited for the Quidditch tomorrow?" Luna asked.
"If Harry wasn't playin', don't think I'd go," he said, "I'd jus' sit with Buckbeak, while-while I still can."
He withdrew an off-green handkerchief the size of a hand towel from his pocket and blew his nose, his massive eyes welling up with tears.
"There's still the appeal," Luna said, "you mustn't give up hope. Right, Ginny?"
She nodded, a horrid guilty sensation writhing in her belly.
She'd barely even seen Hagrid this year. Last year, she'd spent hours and hours at his hut, listening to his stories and drinking his tea.
This year, she'd been too busy thinking about helping the man who'd gotten him expelled from Hogwarts to visit him, even after Ron had told her all about his Hippogriff.
'Feeling bad about the stupid oaf? You really are pathetic.'
"It'll be ok, Hagrid," she said, somehow managing to keep her voice sounding normal, "you'll see. It'll be ok."
"I hope yer right," Hagrid said, "but those Ministry folks, they're no' easy to deal with."
"I'm sure it will turn out well," Luna said, "especially if you show them how much Buckbeak means to you."
"Thanks," Hagrid muttered, "why don't you two come by later? I've got to go an' feed Beaky now, but its bin a while since ye've come for a bit o' tea."
"I'd like that," Ginny said, "Luna?"
"Me too," Luna said, "maybe after dinner?"
"As long as ye'll be back before curfew," Hagrid said, "I don't wan' anyone gettin' in trouble for me."
"We'll make sure of it," Luna promised.
"Right. See yer then."
"Poor Hagrid," Luna remarked as they continued walking. "I hope Buckbeak gets let off."
"I don't think he will," Ginny said, "Dad says Fudge is in Lucius Malfoy's pocket."
"Poor Hagrid," Luna repeated in a heartfelt tone, "poor, poor Hagrid. At least they're not firing him. I'm very much looking forward to his lessons next year."
"I'm sure they'll be wonderful."
"Well, I've never quite liked Arithmancy. But I'm sure it will be nice as well. What do you think will happen in the Quidditch tomorrow?"
Ginny snorted. Conversations with Luna were often like that, with sudden switches from topic to topic with barely an apparent reason for them.
"I'm sure Potter will somehow pull off a crazy catch," she said, "so it all depends on our Keeper and Chasers."
"Do you not like him?"
"Huh? Who?"
"Harry Potter. The way you said his name just now, it sounded like you were angry at him or something."
"No, no. I've got no problems with him."
'He ruined my life. He killed Tom. It's all his fault.'
"Oh. Well, I hope Gryffindor wins. I don't think the Slytherins deserve the Cup this year."
'I hope Harry falls off his broom again.'
She narrowed her eyes, looking at Ron and Harry and Hermione.
The three of them were sitting together, whispering with intent and serious expressions.
Something wasn't right. Something about the whole story they'd all been told wasn't right.
Of course, she didn't have any real details. There were dozens of rumours going around, and Ron hadn't seemed willing to share with her exactly which ones were true and which weren't.
But something about the whole story just didn't make sense to her.
If Sirius Black really had caught Harry, Ron, and Hermione, why hadn't he just killed Harry?
Why hadn't he just killed all of them?
How had Snape come into the picture, and how did Black even escape?
'After getting away from Azkaban, breaking out of Hogwarts was probably child's play for him.'
Still, it didn't make sense. People were talking about Dementors being involved, and she'd heard someone say that Snape had been knocked out.
The three of them stood up, Hermione walking up to her dorm and Harry and Ron heading to theirs.
"Ron," she called, waving to him.
He said something to Harry before coming over to the armchair next to hers.
"What's up?"
"Nothing. I just wanted to ask if you'd mind telling me what actually happened with Black?"
A strange series of expressions flirted across Ron's face.
"Uh, you know. We'd been over at Hagrid's before his appeal, and then Black, he just-he grabbed us. Had us at wandpoint."
He spoke too quickly, his words ringing with a rehearsed sound to them.
She tuned him out, watching his face carefully as he spoke.
He was lying to her, or at least, not telling her the full truth.
'As if you've been honest with him.'
"...and then Snape brought us back to the castle. Then I was waking up and they were saying that Black escaped."
"Must have been terrible," she said.
"Yeah. It was. Real scary."
"I'm glad you're alright," she said, reaching over and giving him a tight hug.
"Thanks, Gin," He said after a moment's pause.
'What really happened?' She wanted to scream, 'why couldn't Black just kill him?'
She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes for a second, the pistons thrumming through the floor as the train moved.
She'd gotten her exam results back a few days previously, and had already received an owl back from her mother congratulating her on them.
It wasn't surprising, really, that after all the long hours she'd spent in the library and practising spells she'd be getting some of the highest marks in her year, particularly in Defence, Charms, and Transfiguration.
Unsurprising, but utterly meaningless.
As the train moved further and further away from Hogwarts, she could feel the dread beginning to settle in her stomach.
Over two whole months that she'd have to spend at home. Two months where she'd have to be pretending to be perfectly fine to the people who knew her best, two months where her parents would be looking over her shoulder.
Two months where she wouldn't be able to study, where she wouldn't be able to tell herself that she was trying to learn what she needed to help Tom. Two months where her thoughts would slowly turn inwards and her mind would all but shatter under the pressure.
Two summer months where she'd have to be wearing long sleeves as much as possible, just in case someone noticed something.
At least she could do magic, if her roommates were to be believed. She'd have to be careful, because her parents wouldn't be pleased if they caught her, but she could do it.
She could still practice her hexes and curses, especially if she managed to get that silencing charm up on her bedroom walls.
And when she would need to, she'd still be able to cast the Healing Charm.
"I wanted to tell you," Luna said, interrupting her meandering train of thought and jolting her back to reality, "Daddy said that you could come over for a few days, if your parents let."
"I-I'd love to."
"Wonderful. You know, Ginny, you're my first real friend. I'm so happy to have you."
"Thanks, Luna," she said, settling back again, "I'm happy to have you as a friend too."
'I just wish that I had Tom. I wish I could tell you the truth.'