The Changeling

by Annerb

Ginny is sorted into Slytherin. It takes her seven years to figure out why.

5. Year Five

A/N: If you've been following this story, I promise you aren't having a strange case of deja vu. After I finished writing the fifth chapter, I realized that the last scene of chapter four really belonged at the beginning of chapter five. So I moved it and slightly reworked the end of chapter 4. Apologies for any confusion!

Trigger warnings: canon character death, depictions of minor violence, injury, and PTSD

---

Fifth Year

Going home to the Burrow for the summer is like time travel, returning somewhere they expect her to be exactly as she was even though she's seen things, done things that can't ever be taken back. She's not a little girl anymore, no matter how appealing it might be to pretend. Dolores Umbridge and a dark night in the Department of Mysteries sometimes feel like the least of it.

It's even worse than Umbridge's class, back to being wandless and spell-less, only now she knows, knows first hand what is out there.

Her parents either don't understand this, or simply don't want to believe it. As if something like housework could possibly matter when people are dying and taking sides and not even Hogwarts feels completely safe.

She can't really hide in numbers any more either. It's just Mum and Dad and Ron and her, a parenting ratio she's rarely faced.

Ron walks through their nearly empty house like nothing has changed, even as the scars on his arms tell a different story. She wants to ask how he can do that, just go on like the world hasn't changed, like they are still children.

He's annoyed by Mum's hovering, just as much as ever, but never does anything more than roll his eyes or sneak out of the house just to avoid her.

Ginny is the one bristling with heat, her mouth getting ahead of her cool in a way she didn't dare allow at school. Dad's not around much, and Ron is smart enough to avoid it. It just leaves Mum in her path, so different from Antonia and Smita and Burbage, bustling around her little house as if any of this matters. As if perfect biscuits and knitting could have helped Ginny in the Ministry, could have helped her deal with the fact that people like Umbridge are real.

It's why every answer out of Ginny's mouth erupts with a sarcastic twist, a barb pressed home with ruthless accuracy. She sees the way her mother tries to pretend it doesn't bother her, this sudden brittleness between them, and the attempt only makes Ginny angrier.

She's pissed off at her mother and can't even say why.

It only takes a week for the storm to reach the breaking point. Ginny doesn't even remember what she said exactly, just the look on Mum's face, the terrible silence at the table after.

"Ginny," Mum says, voice betraying a calm that is a thousand times more shattering than her familiar bellow. "I would like you to leave this table."

Ginny glares over her half-eaten meal, and barely resists the urge to sweep the plate to the floor. Dad's face is set, his eyes not on her, but on Mum. She thinks he must be holding her hand under the table.

Ron's staring at her like she's a stranger.

Ginny stands up without a word and walks out to the front porch. She storms up and down the creaking boards, her breath rushing in and out like she's just finished a race. She has the craziest urge to slam her fist into the porch column.

Would probably bring the whole giant mess of a house down, she thinks viciously, as if she didn't love every worn and familiar inch of this place. What the hell is wrong with her?

It's her father who finally joins her, sitting her down on the steps and taking her hand in his. He ignores it when she tries to tug away, to snap something stupid like, "I'm nearly fifteen, Dad." Not a child any more. Just acting like one.

Her classmates would heap scorn down on her for it.

It's only once she's calmed, once they've sat unmoving for who knows how long that he starts telling her quietly about a girl named Molly Prewett. A girl with fire and spirit and a stinging hex that no one ever forgot. A girl who could have gone anywhere and done anything, a woman who lived through war only to see it come around a second time.

Ginny feels angry tears pressing at the back of her eyes.

Dad leans in closer, like imparting some great secret. "There's a difference between not having power, and choosing not to use it."

Ginny closes her eyes, forcing herself not to hold on tighter when his hand slips from hers.

He leaves her sitting out there to think about it, the sun dragging slowly down below the trees lining the pasture.

Hours later when she slinks back inside, there's a plate with a perfect warming charm waiting for her on the table.

She sits and eats.

Ginny spends the next two days watching her mother as she moves through the seemingly mundane routines of her life—the swish of her arm with each little spell, the tension of muscles and restraint in the snap of her wrist. She imagines herself a stranger and takes a second, third, fiftieth look at Molly Prewett Weasley.

Ginny considers that subtlety is its own sort of power, one not easily mastered.

Blowing out a long breath, Ginny follows her mother outside into the overgrown yard.

Together, they peg up the laundry.

---

"English food," Fleur says, her perfect pert nose crinkling with distaste, "it is so heavy."

From across the table, Ginny wonders if she's just imagining that she can hear the grinding of Mum's teeth. Dad makes no comment, and Ron just looks at Fleur the way he always does, like he's staring at the sun and even though it's burning his eyes, he can't look away. It's been a lot quieter around here with Ron almost constantly struck dumb.

From the other end of the table, Hermione glares at Fleur.

Ginny mostly wants to shrug. She isn't particularly moved by Fleur's thoughtless remark, just one prick among hundreds since Bill dropped her off with a kiss and his half-careless curse breaker smile.

Dad makes a bumbling attempt at restarting the conversation, telling a convoluted tale about a Muggle fire hydrant bewitched to chase dogs down the street that he already told them yesterday.

Fleur sighs, fork clanging listlessly against her plate.

---

And so summer settles over the Burrow. The weather is much more temperate this year, but that doesn't mean it lacks in discomfort. Fleur's arrival only a few days after Ginny and her mum tentatively reached a sort of unspoken truce only added yet another layer of tension to the already volatile situation. Ginny isn't exactly happy to see Mum so worked up, but every time Mum is pushed to the edge of losing her temper by something Fleur says or does, the petulant part of Ginny wants to smirk and point out the irony of the situation in her most acerbic tone.

She doesn't though, because she's trying dammit.

Of course, a lot of things are more difficult this summer than they should be.

Biting her lip, Ginny stares down at the piece of parchment in front of her. So far all it says is 'Dear Smita' with nothing but creamy emptiness below. She has no idea where all her words went.

Determinedly, she picks up her abandoned quill. It hovers unused for a beat too long, a bead of ink dripping onto the surface. Ginny stares down at it, only realizing after a few long dragging seconds that she's waiting for it to sink in and disappear.

She swipes at the glistening blob with her thumb, smudging it across the parchment where it dries and stains. Better.

It's just a letter.

Smita is back in St. Mungo's after an unexpected relapse. Apparently the curse she'd been hit with in the Department of Mysteries was even more serious than originally thought. She is going to be fine, or so her last letter assured Ginny. So Ginny reminds herself at least ten times a day. Smita just has to take a rigorous series of daily potions for a while. And maybe a little less often for longer than that.

Like maybe for the rest of her life.

Ginny's quill presses down, a circle of ink expanding larger and larger.

"I hate her," Hermione announces as she storms into the room, the door closing with a resounding whoomp behind her.

Ginny looks up, not bothering to ask who. Hermione has been bristling at Fleur's every word and look since the moment her parents dropped her off this morning. A lot like Mum. But hate is a strong word.

"Why?" Ginny asks.

Hermione spears her with a look like she's completely insane.

Maybe she is. Fleur just doesn't get on her nerves the way she seems to get on everyone else's. She feels familiar, to be honest. More familiar than Hermione some days.

Hermione is muttering something about Veelas and hair and the stupid French as she gets ready for bed.

"Because she's beautiful?" Ginny guesses, remembering that Hermione's glares have been equally shared between Fleur and Ron. Stupid befuddled Ron.

The deepening scowl on Hermione's face tells Ginny she's hit the mark.

"It's not really something she got to choose," Ginny reminds her.

Hermione snorts. "She never lets any of us forget it either though, does she?"

Ginny doesn't bother responding to that. For a clever girl, sometimes Hermione could be thicker than a tome.

Turning back down to the ruined parchment, Ginny balls it up and tosses it away with a sigh.

---

When Ginny goes downstairs the next morning, Harry is sitting at the breakfast table. Ginny has long since gotten used to the way Ron's friends inevitably appear. It's almost like having triplets for older siblings, and the three of them are still far less trouble than the twins.

Fleur is sitting next to him, beaming and chatting brightly about Gabrielle while she butters some toast for him. Mum stands a few steps behind, looking put out that she can't butter Harry's toast herself.

Forgetting herself for a moment, Ginny snorts with amusement, everyone's attention swinging to her.

"Good morning," Ginny says, taking a seat opposite Fleur. "Hi, Harry."

He seems a bit surprised for a moment, staring at her. Still shaking off the effects of Fleur first thing in the morning, she imagines. "Hi, Ginny," he says, eyes sliding away from her.

Ginny frowns, taking in the slump of his shoulders and the poorly slapped on smile he has returned to Fleur. Sirius, she thinks, her mind unwillingly going back to that strange room, to whispers and shadows and Smita crumpled on the floor.

She is going to be fine.

Ginny's heart is beating fast now though, a rush building in her ears. Mum drops a plate down in front of her, snapping her attention back. She focuses gratefully on the toast and eggs, forcing a slow breath out.

"Thanks, Mum," she says, her voice still a little strange to her ears.

Mum doesn't necessarily seem to notice though, her frown temporarily easing at her daughter's unusual politeness. Not that she looks any less wary. There have been far too many angry words between them. "You're welcome, dear."

Ginny nods, looking up from her plate to find Harry watching her.

Before she can say anything, Ron thunders down the steps, Hermione close on his heels. "Harry, mate! When did you get here?"

They embrace, beating each other on the backs like they're trying to see who will wince first. Hermione follows, her hug more controlled but no less eager. When she pulls back, Ginny can tell she's looking at Harry closely, gauging his mood and his health.

"Later," Harry says in an undertone to his friends before they can ask any questions of him.

They eat in heavy silence until Harry casually mentions their OWL results arriving today, and then there is just Hermione burning up all the air with her ceaseless worry.

Predictably, the owls wing their way in and all three have done well enough. Hermione nearly better than both boys combined, but that isn't really a surprise to anyone. In a whirlwind, all three disappear upstairs.

Fleur, sitting forgotten at the table, watches them go.

Ginny considers her unfinished letter upstairs.

"Would you like to walk down to the village?" Ginny asks Fleur.

Mum shoots Ginny a grateful look, like she's just thrown herself in front of a curse for the benefit of all. Ginny presses her lips together against a scathing remark fighting to be free.

"I suppose," Fleur sniffs, getting gracefully to her feet. "There is nothing else to do."

"Great," Ginny says, teeth aching a bit with the pressure of holding her temper. She really just needs to get out of the house for a while.

Outside, Ginny breathes deep, feeling the tension leave her body as her pace lengthens, the Burrow left behind. It's a beautiful morning, the sun just beginning to beat back the cool shadows. Fleur keeps up without a word, though Ginny likes to think she looks a little relieved to be outside as well.

After a while, Ginny slows her pace, giving them both a chance to actually take in their surroundings. She holds a hand out over the tall grasses lining the path, feeling the rough tickle against her palm.

"Is there nothing at all to do here?" Fleur sighs. "Other than look at cows and drink tea?" Ginny has the bizarre thought that if Fleur were a little less elegant, she would have kicked petulantly at a stone.

"No, not really," Ginny says. There are, in fact, plenty of other things to do, but Ginny suspects there is something more at play here than simple boredom. She isn't sure why, but for some reason Fleur is a tempting puzzle. Far less dangerous that Mum or Smita…

Ginny presses her lips together.

Fleur lapses back into silence rather than respond, almost peevishly, as if she's annoyed she hasn't managed to start a fight.

Interesting.

"Tell me about your home," Ginny says after they pass another few minutes in silence.

"My home?" Fleur echoes, voice brusque. Ginny wonders if she's imagining the slight edge of wariness. Like she's looking for a trap.

"Where you grew up." Ginny sweeps an arm around them, indicating the trees and the pastures and the smell of dirt and hay. "Was it like this?"

"Oh, no," Fleur says, hair glinting almost blindingly in the sun with the shake of her head. "My home is…soft and green and full of flowers in neat straight rows. There is a lazy, wide green river, shaded by the chestnut trees, and the village children have boats to row in the summers. There is one long lane through the village with shops on each side, and on the weekend mornings the market spills down the street. We buy delicate sweets and sit by the river and Gabrielle points to the birds and knows all their names."

Fleur snaps her mouth shut as if something has crawled into her throat, or she's realized just how much she has said and how quickly.

Ginny is still catching up, shifting carefully through all the particulars. "It sounds…" Familiar. Comfortable. Not lonely. "Lovely," she eventually decides on. "I'd like to see it someday."

Fleur turns to her with one eyebrow raised as if she suspects Ginny of humoring her. Or more likely, just thinking that even if Ginny did visit, she wouldn't really be able to appreciate it. But Ginny also remembers the way Fleur was with Harry this morning, chatting away, but more like clinging to him like a lifeline.

Ginny takes a long moment to look at Fleur, really look at her. Not the shine of her hair or the perfection of her features, but rather for any sign of the girl underneath. To her credit, Fleur looks straight back with something almost like relief tangled into her aloofness.

It makes Ginny wonder how many people actually bother to look for Fleur and not just the Veela. If that is how Bill loves her.

For the first time it occurs to Ginny how brave Fleur is, even being here. Coming to a foreign place, falling in love with someone, letting him dump her alone in the countryside with his large family. She considers that actively making them dislike her may seem a better strategy than letting them decide to dislike her on their own.

No, that doesn't quite sit right. It isn't all an act. There may be fear or loneliness twisting her words, but this is who Fleur is. And Bill loves her. She thinks that's more than enough reason for them to try a little harder to know her. To accept her.

"I'm glad you came to visit," Ginny decides.

Fleur looks too surprised to answer.

Ginny turns and continues up the path.

Fleur catches up after a few steps, her fingers tweaking the end of Ginny's ponytail. "Your hair," she says, her voice a bit breathy. "It could actually be pretty with some help."

Under this seeming insult, Ginny finally registers it—the way her fingers tug with the feel of I miss my sister.

Ginny turns to her and smiles. "I've never had a sister."

Fleur nods as if this explains it.

---

"Mum," Ginny asks the next morning after breakfast, moving to stand next to her at the sink. "Do you know any French recipes?"

Her mother's hands tighten, face indignant as she turns to look at Ginny. "So now I'm supposed to cater to her?"

Ginny pauses to let the inevitable surge of annoyance fade. Then she touches her mother's arm, voice soft and only slightly chastising. "Mum, she's homesick."

Mum blinks a few times, finally pressing her lips together as her natural compassion rises. "I think I might have a recipe for Vichyssoise somewhere," she says, fingers drumming on the counter. "Can't say it will be good enough for her."

"Maybe not," Ginny says. "But it's worth it to try."

Mum gives her a long look, like she's trying to decide where this all fits in with Ginny's bizarre moods this summer.

Ginny bites down on the inside of her cheek on the cutting retort she'd like to make. Give your mum half the chance you're giving Fleur, she reminds herself. "Can I help make it?"

Mum nods.

Later that night, the whole table seems to hold its breath as Fleur takes a sip of Mum's soup, only Harry looking on as if unsure of what exactly is happening around him.

"It is not quite right," Fleur eventually says.

Mum tenses, Ron's eyes going wide as if he's got front row seats for the fight of the year. Mum seems to take a moment to breathe though, her shoulders eventually dropping. "Perhaps there are some other recipes you could share with me?" she asks, voice not quite warm, but not nearly as brittle.

Fleur shrugs. "I suppose."

Ginny wonders if she's the only one who notices that Fleur finishes every last drop of the soup.

---

Growing up in a small house with six siblings, you learn to seek out and ruthlessly protect any opportunities for solitude. The Burrow is not nearly as full as it has been in years past, but Ginny still rises early each morning, just for a chance to breath and be. Inevitably, she ends up out at the paddock, an old broom from the shed in hand.

Nothing centers her like time spent on a broom.

The trees around the paddock are nearly thirty feet tall, providing good cover from any Muggle eyes. There are rudimentary goals rigged up at either end that have been there for as long as Ginny can remember. It's not exactly regulation, but it works well enough.

Ron has never been an early riser, so she usually has the space all to herself. About a week into Harry's stay however, he starts bringing his broom down about a half hour after Ginny. He finally looks rested and well fed, and it's enough to make Ginny wonder just what his Muggle relations do to him each summer. Or maybe he is just finally starting to climb back out of the loss of Sirius.

Ginny doesn't know and doesn't bother to ask, far too aware of the way Harry looks at her these days. Like she's some wild anima, and he's just waiting to turn on him and attack. It's almost enough to make her think that night in the infirmary never happened.

When they do talk, it's about Quidditch—which drills are best, the merits of certain techniques.

It's the language they best understand.

---

"What did you do to your hair?" Mum shrieks when Ginny appears one morning at the table for breakfast.

Ginny lifts a hand to her shortened locks. Fleur had been true to her word, suggesting removing some of the heavy length, adding some soft layers here and there. Ginny never before realized just how much extra weight she's been lugging around.

"I would have thought that was obvious," Ginny says, forgetting her pledge not to talk back to her mum. But honestly, it's just hair. She hadn't realized that is one of the things she's supposed to ask permission about.

"But it was so nice and long! How could you-," Mum says, really beginning to work herself into a lather, the dishes in the sink starting to rattle.

Hermione jumps in, her voice high, "I think it looks nice, Ginny."

Ron grimaces around a mouth full of sausages when Hermione elbows him. "Yeah," he sputters. "Real nice." As if he cares at all about his sister's hair.

Ginny rolls her eyes. "Fleur helped me do it last night. And I really like it." She sits down as if that is the end of it.

Mum harrumphs, turning back to the stove. Hermione, for her part, suddenly looks like she's not as keen on the haircut now that she knows Fleur had a hand in it.

Merlin, Ginny thinks in exasperation, the people around me.

Ginny looks at Harry sitting next to her. "And you?" she asks, still heated with annoyance. "Apparently everyone gets to have an opinion."

Harry looks up from his plate with something bordering on horror at being dragged into this particular conversation. She might feel bad if she weren't in such a perverse mood.

"It's uh…," he sputters. "Ni-."

"Don't you dare say nice," Ginny says.

Harry glances around the table in alarm, but Ron just shrugs unhelpfully. Ron is a lot of things, but he's in no way stupid enough to put himself in the middle of this.

Ginny props her chin up on her hand, beginning to enjoy Harry's panic. "My mother thinks I shouldn't have cut it."

Harry's face scrunches up like he's thinking really hard, really fast. "Well, it's, uh, your hair, isn't it?" he says, darting a wary glance at Mum, like he's trying to decide which of them to be most afraid of.

She beams at him. "Why, yes it is. Thank you, Harry."

He blows out a breath, as if he's managed to dodge a nasty curse.

Mum drops a plate down in front of Ginny. "You've made your point. Now leave the poor boy alone and eat your breakfast."

"Yes, ma'am," Ginny says, giving her a little salute.

Mum mutters under her breath as she walks away.

Next to her, Harry looks like he's trying to make himself as small as possible while still managing to shovel food in his mouth.

Ginny sighs, reaching across him for the butter. "Sorry about that."

He shakes his head, nudging the dish closer to her. "S'okay."

She smiles at him. "Just part of staying at the Burrow. You have to deal with the Weasleys and all our insanity."

He glances around the kitchen, something passing behind his eyes. "Small price to pay."

Ginny digs into her food, deciding that there are layers there she would never be able to pick apart, even if she wanted to try.

"Must you eat like that?" Hermione complains to Ron, the ensuing snipe fest easily filling the silence of the breakfast table.

"I do like it," Harry says quietly after a while, clearing his throat awkwardly. "Your hair."

Her eyebrows lift. "Yeah?"

He nods, glancing over her hair. "It's kind of…" His hand flaps. "Floaty."

"Floaty?" Ginny repeats, trying valiantly not to laugh.

His face tinges the slightest pink. "Like you just finished playing Quidditch or something." He frowns then, like he's realizing that might sound like an insult.

She takes mercy on him, smiling widely at him. "Much better than 'nice'."

Fleur comes down the stairs then, clapping her hands when she sees Ginny. "So pretty!" she coos. Her fingers are in Ginny's hair even before she takes a seat, tugging this way and that. "But you did not brush it quite right. I will have to show you again or you will look a fright!"

---

It's been two weeks since Ginny received Smita's last letter, and she's still working on writing a response.

Almost by default she starts out by asking how Smita is feeling, if she's getting better, but guilt starts welling in Ginny's stomach and the words are just all wrong.

I shouldn't have dragged you along with us that night. I shouldn't have taken you to the DA in the first place.

I should have been able to do something….

She wads the parchment up and throws it in the trash.

She tries a different approach, thinking to describe Fleur, but she seems to defy explanation. She gets down a couple of paragraphs about Ron and Hermione and Harry only to burn the parchment when she's done.

Smita's never been to The Parlor and Quidditch has never really interested her, so Ginny's thoughts on those parts of her life are out. She doesn't particularly want to ask about Tobias.

The visits of Order members with increasingly grim tales of Muggle disappearances and strange attacks don't seem like the right thing to tell a girl ailing in a hospital. Tom always did like his games.

She tells herself she can't be sure who is reading her correspondence these days and siphons the ink back up from the page.

She considers trying to write about the anger she brought home from Hogwarts. The way one moment everything is fine—she's laughing, she's calm, and then all of a sudden it all wells up unexpectedly. It's still nearly always only ever directed at Mum. It's almost as if every time her mum says anything, or even does anything, she's filled with this crushing feeling of annoyance.

Ginny's trying though, her father's gentle chastisement never far from the back of her mind. At the very least, Ginny keeps her mouth shut and tries very hard to just do as she's told with minimum stomping and eye rolling. It's hard though, even with her practice at controlling her emotions from last year. It's harder to be a glacier here where she used to be a child, that child who knew nothing, knew nothing and lived a charmed life because of it.

So it's "Yes, Mum" all the time and it's better than the yelling and the hurt in Mum's eyes that only made Ginny angrier, but there are still moments of tension no one can escape.

She tries writing about that to Smita, but every time she reads it back over she ends up embarrassed by how much she sounds like a snotty, petulant child.

Another letter left sitting unfinished.

---

Early one afternoon, Ron gets it in his head that they should play two a side Quidditch. The only problem is that there are only three of them. The obvious solution seems to be getting Hermione to join them. Ron's been badgering her all week, getting more and more obnoxious the more Hermione tries to demur.

"Don't make Hermione do that," Ginny sighs.

Ron looks up from where he's harassing Hermione with an extra broom from the old shed. She wonders if he is really so dense that he can't see the panic on Hermione's face at the thought.

"You and the twins played as three all the time," Ginny reminds him. His ears tinge red and Ginny inwardly smiles, knowing that playing with the twins had really just consisted of a rather nasty game of keep away.

Harry looks confused. "Didn't you play with them, Ginny?"

She notices he doesn't bother asking why Percy never played with them.

"Of course not," Ron says dismissively. "We had no idea she was any good." He frowns then, turning to look at her. "Come to think of it, how did you manage to get so good?"

Ginny smiles. Little did her brothers know that she's been stealing their brooms and secretly practicing since she was six. "A Slytherin never tells," she says, tapping the side of her nose.

Ron rolls his eyes and calls her something profane, but Ginny is more surprised by Harry's reaction, finding him watching her with that inscrutable look in his eyes again. Yet instead of looking disturbed, he almost looks…relieved. Like he's glad to hear she knows how to keep her mouth shut.

Ginny blinks, thinking back over the things they talked about last year, his voice brittle—Could you kill if you had to? She considers that she may be carrying around more of his secrets than she realized.

"Hermione," Ron says again, shaking the broom. "We need a fourth!"

"Hold on," Ginny says, heading back up towards the Burrow. "I have a better idea."

A short search leads Ginny out to the small front garden, where Fleur sits reading a book in the shade of an apple tree. "How are you on a broom?"

Fleur looks up with interest. "As good as I need to be," she says, a sly smile curving her lips.

Ginny hooks a thumb over her shoulder. "Want to help me make the boys look stupid?"

Fleur laughs. "How hard could that be?"

Fleur isn't particularly skilled on a broom, but she's cunning and a little ruthless, both of which Ginny would expect of a Triwizard champion. Fleur chooses her targets wisely, zooming into Ron's eye line from odd, unexpected angles, rendering him mute and useless just long enough for Ginny to get by him. Harry seems to be made of slightly sterner stuff, but one on one, they are fairly well matched. Ginny just has a better arm and far more comfort with goal shooting. He's quick though, and makes unexpected moves that catch Ginny off guard.

The match ends in a hopeless tie, the four of them breathless and laughing as they tumble back on the grass below.

"I suppose," Fleur admits begrudgingly, "it is not completely terrible here."

Ginny laughs up into the deep blue summer sky.

---

The summer settles into a comfortable routine, and for a while it almost feels like the golden days of summers before, like the specter of Tom and Umbridge and Sirius' death just can't reach them.

Ginny gives up trying to write a letter to Smita. It feels like everything is too impossible to write about. All that's left is the weather. She refuses to stoop that low.

Everything will be fine when they both get back to Hogwarts. Ginny's sure of it.

One Sunday morning near the end of the summer, the Burrow is once again full of family. Bill is back visiting Fleur like he does most weekends, this time with the news that their new place is almost ready for them to move into. The twins are also here for Sunday brunch. Despite Bill's far too long hair and the way Fleur hangs on his arm, Mum seems happy enough to have such a crowd in the house again.

They've all just finished eating when a quartet of Hogwarts owls wing their way into the kitchen, school letters attached to their legs.

A small grey owl with a white face and yellow eyes flaps down in Ginny's plate. She feeds him a little egg before unknotting the missive from his leg. She opens the envelope below the lip of the table, already feeling the weight of something extra in her envelope, but not daring to hope.

Mum catches sight of it and practically shrieks. "A prefect badge?"

Ginny doesn't bother trying to explain that most Slytherin actively avoid getting a prefect badge, that the last thing she needs is that complication in her life. Instead she takes a breath and opens her hand.

A gold Quidditch Captain's badge sits on her palm.

Mum does a credible job of hiding her flicker of disappointment, coming over and hugging Ginny tight. "How wonderful, sweetheart. Four prefects and two captains in the family!"

Across the table, Harry holds up his matching Captain's badge.

George and Fred look between Harry and Ginny. "We have got to make it to that first match."

---

They all travel to Diagon Alley the next day, despite Mum's worries that it is no longer safe. Ollivander's disappearance has shaken a lot of people. Ginny's just glad she already has her wand, wondering what all the new students will do this year.

Even having heard the stories, none of them are ready for the way people scuttle from store to store, for the reality of the charred black hole that used to be the wand shop. Florean's is dark and silent.

By unspoken agreement, they all gather their books and supplies as quickly as possible in the noticeably quieter shops.

Passing in front of the Quidditch Supply Store, Ginny eyes the sleek, expensive new brooms in the window. Getting a captain's badge is reason enough for her to finally get her own broom.

"Shall we go inside?" Mum asks, one hand in her pocket as if she's weighing the contents of her money pouch.

"Actually," Ginny says, surprising herself as much as anyone. "There's a broom at school that works fine for me."

"We can afford it, sweetie," Mum says, trying not to look embarrassed. Harry conspicuously shuffles a few steps further away, the way he always does when the topic of money comes up.

"I know," Ginny says, and she really does. She knows they would scrape and scrimp and make it happen. It's not about that. "It would just really mean a lot to me to get this particular broom. Do you think we could buy that one?"

Mum is still frowning at her.

"Please," Ginny says, swallowing everything else down. She really doesn't want to have to explain that the school broom is a reminder of sorts, of what it takes to be great, of the paths she doesn't want to go down again. She's let herself be blinded by a fancy broom before.

Never again.

Luckily Mum doesn't ask, eventually nodding her ascent. "I'll write to Madam Hooch."

Ginny smiles, taking her mum's hands and squeezing them. "Thank you."

"Whatever makes you happy, dear," Mum says with that my-daughter-is-beyond-reasoning-or-understanding look in her eye that has become pretty commonplace this summer.

Ron is the one to outright call her mental.

Ginny just gives him a sugary sweet smile that makes Ron pale a shade.

Turning for the twins' shop, they head further down towards Gringotts. There seems to be more activity at this end, Ginny seeing several familiar faces, including one tall figure more familiar than most.

"Antonia?" Ginny asks, stopping to approach her.

The girl turns, deep emerald robes swirling about her ankles. "Ginny," she says with a smile. She glances at Ginny's family still heading down the alley, and if her gaze pauses at all on Harry (The Chosen One, the papers say), Ginny can't tell. "Having a nice summer?"

Ginny shrugs. "More or less," she says.

Antonia laughs as if she understands exactly what the 'less' means.

"Ginny?" Mum calls, finally having noticed she's lost her youngest.

The rest of her family shuffles into the twins' shop, Mum coming back to collect her.

"Mum, this is Antonia. She's-." Ginny breaks off awkwardly. Antonia has been such an important part of her life the last few years, but she's still not sure she has the right to call her a friend exactly. More like mentor, but would Mum have any idea what she meant by that?

Antonia doesn't miss a beat, holding out a hand to Mum and smiling pleasantly at her. "I'm her housemate at school."

"Oh," Mum says, and Ginny knows she's mentally thinking, A Slytherin. She awkwardly takes Antonia's hand, shaking it. "It's so nice to meet you. I haven't gotten to meet many of Ginny's friends."

There's far too many awkward places to go there. That Ginny doesn't have many friends, that her friends might as well be from a different planet being in Slytherin, that Ginny is hiding things from her mum.

Ginny clears her throat. "Getting your school supplies?" she asks, trying to push past the inevitable clumsiness of her mum.

Antonia shakes her head. "Just taking a quick break from work. My family runs a bookshop."

"Really?" Ginny says, automatically glancing back towards Flourish and Blotts.

Antonia shakes her head. "In Knockturn Alley."

"Oh," Ginny says before she can think better of it, the surprise clear in her voice.

"Well," Antonia says, lips pressing together. "I have to get back. See you in a few weeks?"

Ginny watches her disappear down Knockturn Alley, once again feeling like she'd flubbed an important exam.

"Come along," Mum says, steering Ginny back towards the twins' blindingly bright shop. Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes is a lot like loud noise poured directly into your eye sockets.

It's brilliant.

Fred and George are waiting from them at the front of the shop with Ron, Hermione, and Harry. They squire them around the shop, stopping here and there to show off particular products.

"Our new WonderWitch line," George says as they near a section of the shop that is gratuitously pink.

"Subtle," Ginny says.

A lot of the girls are squealing over pigmy puffs and love potions. Ginny notices Hermione looking a little too fascinated herself.

"It's just really interesting magic!" she claims.

Ginny rolls her eyes and wanders off through the rest of the shop. She walks down long, crowded aisles, pausing now and again to say hello to people from school, mostly former-DA members. There's no sign of Smita or Tobias.

She distracts herself from this by exploring the endless shelves of things dreamt up by her brothers. She considers grabbing another pair of extendible ears. Those are always handy. She peers at the headless hats for a while, thinking of all the uses for hiding your identity. Again though, a good spell would be just as effective and far less conspicuous. Not that discreet is something her brothers understand.

Near the back, there is a small section that is noticeably quieter.

"Are these Muggle magic tricks?" Ginny asks when one of the twins follows her in.

"Yeah," Fred says. "Not huge sellers, but there is definitely a niche market. Mostly for weirdoes like Dad."'

Ginny smiles, thinking she knows another weirdo who would love them. She picks up a Miraphorus Magic Set.

She reaches into her pocket for a few sickles preciously hoarded, but Fred just waves her away. "An early birthday present," he says when she protests.

She gives him a kiss on the cheek and calls him a softie.

He just laughs and makes her promise to tell Ron he made her pay for it.

She's happy to see the twins doing so well at something they clearly love. The shop is an oasis of light and laughter and color in what is quickly becoming a really dark place. She can't be sure if she should admire that or just worry.

Either way, she hugs both of her brothers very tight before she leaves, finding both of her pockets suspiciously full of skiving pills and dangerous looking candies when she gets home. She takes this as a sign of their faith in her sneakiness, and a reminder not to let Filch get too comfortable.

And if Ron suspiciously turns into a canary at supper, she certainly has nothing at all to do with it.

---

Hogwarts letters and trips to Diagon Alley are, as always, a clear signal of the end of summer. Everything subtly shifts as they prepare to head back to their studies, to see friends, to get out from under the sharp eyes of their parents.

But Ginny feels like something more than the simple ending of summer has shifted at the Burrow. Things have taken a decided turn to strange.

Ginny was paying attention more than enough to notice that Ron, Hermione, and Harry had disappeared from the twin's shop for long enough that no weak excuse of just being lost in the store can explain. Added to that, Ron and Hermione are back to sharing those not-at-all-subtle looks of concern every time Harry's back is turned. As for Harry, he's got this intense look in his eye that Ginny doesn't particularly like.

Honestly though, she rarely has a clue what those three are really up to and she has her own problems to worry about.

Like how to explain to Smita why she hasn't written.

Things don't really improve when they finally leave for the Hogwarts Express. Ministry cars and stiff-looking Aurors, all of it obviously revolving around an increasingly irritated Harry. Ginny considers that if she finds it hard to go from being a person at school to a child at home, how much the worse to go from a long summer being a person at the Burrow to a Chosen One—protected and stifled to within an inch of his already frayed temper.

Ginny does her best to just be efficient and stay out of the way as much as possible, even if she does take the time to trip Ron into the dirt for still staring at Fleur like the star-struck idiot he is. She shares a wry smile with Fleur over the sprawled body of Ron.

Fleur laughs and promises to write.

Of course, the mention of a letter just makes Ginny's thoughts start to spiral, something tense and awful in her stomach. She at once can't wait to see Smita and dreads it.

With all the special treatment, they get to the Hogwarts Express early. Ginny walks the length of the train, but doesn't see Smita anywhere, eventually settling in a compartment with Caroline and Astoria. They share general pleasantries that Ginny doesn't pay much attention to.

It's nearly time for the train to depart when Ginny finally catches sight of Smita in the hallway. She pushes to her feet, waving her hand to catch her attention. Smita nods, pulling open the door. She barely gets a step inside when Tobias appears as well, his hand reaching for her elbow.

"Hi," Ginny says, voice faltering.

This close, Ginny can see how pale Smita is, the dark smudges under her eyes. She's thinner too, Ginny thinks.

Smita gives her a fleeting smile. "Hi."

They spend a moment shuffling around the space, Ginny ending up sitting next to Caroline and across from Smita and Tobias. It's still close enough to hear Tobias when he leans into Smita and says, "Are you comfortable?"

Smita gives him a look that makes Ginny turn her attention out the window.

"How was your summer?" Ginny asks as the train starts moving, desperate for anything to say. She regrets it almost immediately. She knows how Smita's summer was—potions, hospital, and illness.

Tobias jumps in, giving an animated recounting of his summer, clearly full of three lies for every truth. Astoria and Caroline just roll their eyes and lower their heads together to talk about other things.

"You?" he asks after he's exhausted the topic.

Ginny pauses, feeling the press of a million things needing to be said. "Oh, you know. Mostly Quidditch drills and chores and my brother's fiancé."

Smita looks up with interest. "One of your brothers is getting married?"

Ginny nods, just about to explain Fleur when a scared looking second year appears in the doorway. "Ginny Weasley?" he asks, voice trembling.

"Yes?" Ginny says, giving him an impatient look. She doesn't like to be interrupted just as things are starting to be less awkward.

The boy's eyes widen, and he practically shoves a note at her before darting back out of the compartment.

"Nice to see you're still terrifying small children," Tobias says.

Ginny sends him a profane gesture and unfolds the note.

Miss Weasley,

Would you do me the pleasure of joining me for a spot of lunch in compartment C?

Sincerely,

Professor H. E. F. Slughorn

She stares down at the note in annoyance. She's had barely enough time to even get over the awkwardness, let alone try to explain anything real to Smita. Then again, she doesn't particularly feel like doing that in front of Tobias anyway.

He's like a limpet, never moving even an inch from her side.

"What is it?" Smita asks.

Ginny wordlessly hands the note to her.

Tobias reads it over her shoulder, letting out a long whistle. "Moving up in the world, are we, Miss Weasley?"

"Must be the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," Smita says, handing the note back.

Ginny shrugs, frowning down at the note. "But why would he want to see me?"

"Only one way to find out," Tobias says.

Ginny sighs, knowing he's right. Besides which, it's not like she can really say no to a professor. "I guess I'll be back after lunch." She looks at Smita, trying to convey…something, and Smita stares back with that endlessly calm look of hers.

Out in the halls, she passes Antonia's compartment on the way, a few other girls from The Parlor sitting inside. Ginny waves, Antonia giving her a rather cool nod in return.

All in all, a really great train ride so far.

Near Slughorn's compartment—and how exactly did he manage to get an entire section to himself, she wonders—Ginny bumps into Harry and Neville.

"Hi, Neville," she says, giving him a smile. "Have a nice summer?"

He's the first person today to look genuinely pleased to see her. "Hi, Ginny. It was all right. You?"

She shrugs. "You know. Had to put up with this lot," she says, gesturing at Harry.

Harry rolls his eyes.

Glancing down, she sees notes in their hands. She's relieved to know it's not just her, holding her own up for them to see. "Any idea what this about?"

Harry nods. "Apparently Professor Slughorn likes to…collect promising students."

She raises an eyebrow, not particularly liking the sound of that. Too much like catching bugs and pinning their wings to a board.

"Not sure why he's asked me then," Neville says.

Harry frowns, looking discomforted by Neville's trademark self-deprecation.

Ginny links her arm through Neville's. "Well, clearly it just means he's smarter than the last DADA teacher we had."

Neville gives her a bashful smile. "Most people would be."

Ginny laughs appreciatively. "Come on," she says, tugging Neville's arm. "Maybe we can at least get some good food out of this."

They walk into the compartment to find that the entire space has been festooned with rich fabrics and comfortable chairs. Slughorn himself looks like the kind of man to enjoy comforts, pretty much exactly as Harry described him. He beams happily at them, urging them into chairs. One quick sweep of the room confirms that Ginny is the only girl. She finds this more than a little surprising, considering the level of ambition and talent she's seen in The Parlor.

Despite what Ginny told Neville, Professor Slughorn's taste in 'promising students' turns out to be dubious. There's arrogant Cormac McLaggen and slimy Blaise Zabini, who seems to regard Ginny with the same level of distaste she feels for him, though he saves his real vitriol for Neville and Harry.

The only point in Slughorn's favor is that he seems put out when he realizes that despite his family connections, Marcus Belby is a dull-witted bore. Maybe Slughorn isn't completely hopeless after all.

As Slughorn's interrogations of each student progresses, it becomes abundantly clear that everyone here has famous family members, Neville included. And Harry, well, he's Harry. The Chosen One. By the time Slughorn gets around to turning his attention to her, Ginny's really wondering what the hell she's doing here.

"And you, Miss Weasley," he says, turning a smile on her that would almost be friendly if it weren't so predatory. "From what I hear, you are poised to be the next Gwenog Jones!" He leans in a little closer, patting the back of her hand. "I would be happy to introduce you. I get free tickets to every game, you know."

Ginny isn't sure the food is worth this.

Luckily the lunch doesn't last long, the students needing to get back to their compartments and changed into their robes before they arrive.

"Yes, yes," Slughorn says as he ushers them out. "I will send you letters soon for our first dinner!" Though the way he doesn't say goodbye to all of them tells Ginny that at least she probably won't have to suffer through Belby's presence anymore.

Cormac is still talking Harry's ear off about Quidditch as they head down the hallway, Neville and Ginny following behind.

They reach Harry and Neville's compartment first. Luna sits inside reading.

"Hi, Luna," Ginny says.

"You've cut your hair," Luna says by way of greeting. "I hope you were careful where you put the trimmings."

"Of course," Ginny says with a smile, knowing Luna probably isn't just talking about the risk of Polyjuice potions.

Luna nods, turning her attention back to her book.

Harry is still standing in the doorway, his attention riveted to something down the hall. Ginny leans out just in time to see Blaise disappear into the next car.

Harry shoves his hands in his pockets. "I'm just going to…" he says, clearly distracted. His eyes land on Ginny almost as if he's forgotten she was there. "Walk Ginny back to her compartment." He nods to himself as if this makes perfect sense.

It doesn't make any sense at all.

Clearly it doesn't strike Neville as odd though, because he just waves and goes inside, leaving them alone out in the hall.

"Come on," Harry says, taking Ginny by the arm. "This way."

"I do happen to remember where my own compartment is, Harry," she says, tugging her arm free.

"Right," he says, looking sheepish, but no less determined. "Let's go. Don't want to be late."

He starts walking down the hall at a fast clip. Ginny just barely refrains from asking him if he's completely lost his bloody mind, quickening her step to catch up.

The students in the next few compartments are mostly Ravenclaw, eventually giving way to more Slytherin. They near the compartment with Blaise and Draco and their cronies inside, and Harry's feet slow.

"I thought you were walking me to my compartment?" Ginny says, the pieces beginning to click into place. She doesn't particularly appreciate him using her to spy on Draco.

Harry blinks at her. "Oh, yeah. Of course."

He's a really terrible liar.

To his credit, he does walk with her down into the next car where Smita and Tobias are still sitting like they are glued to each other.

Ugh.

"Here we are," Harry says, patting her on her shoulder and immediately heading back the way he came without so much as a backward glance or a goodbye.

Boys, she thinks, shaking her head.

Steeling herself with a deep breath, she goes back into the compartment.

---

The rest of the train ride mostly consists of Tobias making an ass of himself and Ginny failing miserably to find anything of real substance to say. It's almost a relief when the train comes to a stop.

On her way off the train, she notices Draco lingering alone in his compartment. Which is strange enough, considering he always has cronies around him. He looks up, their eyes connecting. His hand moves to his forearm, the same place he inked her so many years before.

She waits for him to notice the gold badge on her robes, for him to care or be annoyed, but he just looks away like he doesn't have time for her.

His indifference is probably more than she can hope for at this point.

She turns and walks away.

Outside, the security at the gate is noticeably heavier, including Dementors around the fence line. Ginny's hand tightens around her wand in her pocket. Even though she can cast a Patronus now, she'd still dearly love to never see a Dementor again as long as she lives.

The worst shock is still to come as she heads for the waiting carriages, glancing around to see where Smita and Tobias have disappeared to.

Ignorance is kind of blissful, she thinks, staring at the skeletal forms of the thestrals hooked up to the carriages.

Luna appears at her side. "Come along," she says, gently guiding Ginny to the carriage. "They're really quite nice."

Even if they are, Ginny would still prefer they had remained invisible.

---

The feast is the usual utter chaos of Sortings and reunions and piles of food.

Harry is noticeably late. Mostly because when he walks in, his robes and face are covered in blood. Her eyes narrow as she hears Draco crowing over something at the other end of the table, Harry's name clear in the taunts.

Walk her back to her compartment, her arse. She catches Harry's eye, crossing her arms over her chest to make her disapproval clear. Frankly, whatever happened to him, it seems like maybe he at least partially deserved it.

He scowls and looks away.

The rest of the feast continues without incident. The only interesting bit is when Dumbledore introduces Slughorn as the new Potions teacher. Not Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. That is to be Severus Snape. Up on the dais, Snape looks like Christmas has come early, which is disturbing on many levels.

"This should be interesting," Tobias comments around a mouthful of treacle tart.

No doubt.

---

The high spirits of reunions follow them back to the common room, the space full of voices and antics and the chaos of unpacking. It's late by the time everything settles down, the other girls in their room quieting.

Ginny feels like she may finally, at last, get her chance.

She sits down on the edge of Smita's bed, incredibly relieved to finally have a moment together to talk. It's time to try to explain, to justify the lack of letters.

Ginny has barely sat down when Smita pushes to her feet. "I have to go to the infirmary," she says.

Ginny looks up in dismay. "What?"

Smita gazes back at her. "To take my potion."

Ginny grimaces, wondering if she is ever going to stop feeling guilty. "Oh. Okay."

Smita gives her a tight smile.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Ginny blurts, getting to her feet.

"No, it might take a while." At the door, Smita pauses to look back at her. "But thanks for offering."

Ginny moves back to her own bed. She lies there, staring at the old familiar hangings, telling herself that she will stay up all night if she has to.

She's asleep long before Smita returns.

---

Lessons start the next morning. They get to begin with Defense Against the Dark Arts, the first students to experience Professor Snape teaching his supposed favorite subject at long last. It's a new subject and a new classroom, but Ginny still doesn't expect any great transformation.

Then Snape starts with an impassioned speech about the Dark Arts, the subtlety required for circumventing and undermining attacks against your person. It's not that he wasn't like this in Potions, but it seems clear that he loves this subject. Ginny has the absurd thought that it feels a bit like seeing the real Snape for the first time.

Then he has to go and completely ruin everything by saying the most dreaded words of any class: "Put everything away but a quill."

Many of them had clearly hoped to actually do something in DADA this year.

He walks down the length of the classroom. "Your education in Defense Against the Dark Arts thus far has been patchy at best. You have been saddled with a coward, a monster, and a traitor among other things."

Ginny wonders which category Umbridge falls under.

"Catching you all up will be a nearly impossible task, but one I take seriously. And you shall as well." He stops to sweep the classroom with a gaze that makes clear he will not accept any less.

"Aren't you worried about the curse, sir?" someone asks from the back.

Snape raises a cool eyebrow at the outburst, but surprisingly doesn't punish the student. Or not surprisingly, considering every student in this room is from Slytherin. Unlike Potions, they don't share class time with Gryffindor house for DADA. Ginny hadn't considered what a difference that may make.

Snape moves to stand behind his desk at the front of the room. "Frankly, I'm more worried about all of you failing your OWLs and making me look foolish. Which is why we will start by establishing what you know and what you don't." His expression makes it clear he expects far more of the latter.

He pulls out a huge stack of papers. It's a written test, the longest by far that Ginny has ever seen. The class collectively groans.

Snape seems unmoved. "You have one hour."

Ginny glances over at Smita to share a look of commiseration, but she's looking the other way at Tobias sneering at his paper.

Ginny focuses down on her test.

She knows just about everything on the first three pages. She recognizes a few things past that, at least well enough to know that they are not OWL level concepts. Ginny considers how much of her knowledge she really wants to share, lest someone want to know where she learned it.

Gnawing on the end of her quill as she considers, she glances up just in time to find Snape watching her. Almost like he knows what she's thinking.

Ginny shakes her head, laughing at herself for being so fanciful. She focuses back on her test.

---

The rest of Ginny's lessons that day includes a coma-inducing History of Magic, where it appeared Binns may have kept lecturing all summer without even realizing they were gone. After lunch is double Potions, where Slughorn proves that he doesn't just play favorites in private. He fawns a bit over Ginny and spends the rest of the class with his eyes alert for any hidden potential. Like every other professor though, he piles enough homework on them to last a month.

It's only the first day, and Ginny feels like falling asleep in her pudding.

At dinner she purposely seeks out Thompson. She's not going to keep him in limbo the same way Bletchley had done with her. Plus, she'll need his help. (This only has a little bit to do with the fact that she walks into the Great Hall only to stop at the sight of Tobias putting things on Smita's plate like she's an invalid.)

Ginny sits down across from Thompson with a groan. "How is this much homework on the first day even legal?"

He glances up from his plate. "OWL year is a killer," he says sympathetically.

"I imagine NEWT year is even harder," she says, giving him a speculative look. For all she can read him on the pitch, sometimes she has absolutely no idea what he is thinking off of it.

He shrugs. "It is what it is."

She peers at him another long moment before realizing she's never going to find out what she wants without straight out asking. "But you'll still have time for Quidditch, right?"

He pauses, something unreadable in his eyes. "Of course, if there's a place for me."

Ginny breathes out, her shoulder relaxing. "Good." She's going to need at least one person on her side if she has any hope of pulling this captain thing off. Draco and his cronies no doubt are going to make it difficult enough on her. She pulls some of the dishes towards herself and starts loading up.

Once dinner is done, Smita is nowhere to be found. And neither is Tobias. Not in the Great Hall, and not in the common room either.

Switching tactics, Ginny scans the common room for any other familiar faces, but none of the members of The Parlor are out there. She glances over at the entrance, wondering if she's supposed to knock or something, or if she would even be welcome. She's been to The Parlor a handful of times now, but always in the company of Antonia.

She sits in a chair with a clear view of The Parlor entrance and waits. About fifteen minutes later, Millicent crosses the common room.

Not the perfect choice, but then again, Ginny has been working very hard to be more friendly to Millicent.

"Hi, Millicent," she says, falling in step next to her.

She barely grunts in response, which is a step up from the open suspicion and hostility the greeting engendered the year before.

"Have a nice summer?"

Millicent gives Ginny a look that seems almost designed to remind her that they aren't friends, and her summer isn't any of her business.

Right, Ginny thinks.

Millicent pulls the door open, and Ginny was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she didn't notice if she did anything special to get the door open. Blast.

"You coming down?" Millicent asks, looking back at Ginny as if she's lost her mind.

"Oh. Yes. Of course," Ginny says, scrambling to follow her downstairs.

Other than the couple of girls who graduated last spring, everyone is there. And no one looks surprised to see her.

Antonia looks up from her spot on a settee, and Ginny lifts her chin, refusing to look like an interloper waiting to get kicked out.

The corner of Antonia's mouth twitches, something wry and knowing layered in there, before she turns back to her book.

Ginny breathes out and crosses over to say hello to the Carrow twins.

By the time she gets back up to the dorms, the curtains are drawn tight around Smita's bed, the room silent.

---

Ginny nearly misses breakfast the next morning when she oversleeps. Bridget and Helena clearly didn't care enough to wake her. Not surprising considering Ginny has never been their favorite person. That just leaves Smita. Knowing she has to get up really early to go to the infirmary doesn't make Ginny feel particularly better.

All in all, by the time Ginny slides into her seat next to Tobias in Muggle Studies, she's not in the happiest of moods.

She glances around. "Where's Smita?"

Tobias gives her a strange look. "She had to drop Muggle Studies for Care of Magical Creatures, remember?"

"Oh, right," Ginny says like it isn't the first she has ever heard of this. But the truth is that Smita never breathed a word of it to her.

Tobias narrows his eyes, looking like he's about to say something else, but Ginny turns away from him, pretending to dig around in her bag for something. It's a weak subterfuge at best, but she just doesn't want him to explain. She shouldn't have to learn things about her best friend from someone else.

They don't talk for the rest of the lesson.

The next class is Charms, and without giving it much thought, Ginny crosses over to sit with Luna.

She doesn't look at Smita or Tobias.

---

If there's ever been one thing in Ginny's life that she can always count on to center her, it's Quidditch. When she's not in class or in The Parlor, she throws her every extra minute into organizing the trials.

The second Saturday of the term, Ginny stands on the pitch with nearly a dozen hopefuls. She's so intent on calling out drills, watching each player intently as they fly, that she forgets to be nervous. She does notice the glaring absences of certain players and knows she's not the only one.

Draco hasn't so much as looked at Ginny this year other than that one strange moment on the train. It seems he's found something else to fill his time. It's confirmed when he doesn't show up for the trials, even his interest in lazing on the pitch suddenly gone.

Ginny had braced herself for dealing with Crabbe and Goyle, thinks she will be perfectly capable of giving them a fair shake. But she doesn't end up having to put herself to the test, Draco's little cronies deciding they have better things to do as well.

It's not really a relief, she tells herself. She doesn't have much time to think on it, to be honest, because now she has an entire team to build from scratch and it's at once liberating and terrifying. The only returning player she has is Thompson.

Luckily she already knows who the third Chaser should be, and the trials merely confirm that. Vaisey improved a lot the year before, so much so that he already seems better than Warrington. The only other person with any promise as a Chaser is Urquhart. Ginny supposes by some measures he might be better than Thompson. He's quicker, sure, but he's also an arrogant arse, and this is a team, not a solo act. Thompson already knows all the plays and she needs at least someone on the team who knows what they are doing.

In tandem with the Chasers, she's able to see that Martin and Gilbert are still the two Keepers with the most promise. In the end, Martin manages to save slightly more goals, Gilbert clearly letting his nerves get in the way. Another decision rather easily made.

The selection of Beaters is anything but easy. Usually with Beaters you want a matched pair. Not every team has the benefit of a Fred and George though. Even Crabbe and Goyle had been like two sides of a really dense coin. Physically, most of the candidates Ginny has to pick from are somewhat similar.

She looks at the beefy sixth year Tristam Bassenthwaite. He's a bit of a thug, but not a malicious one. He flings his body around with a concentrated sort of frenzied joy and both his power and accuracy with a bat are promising. Precedent tells Ginny she should pick Bassenthwaite and then find someone else that matches him as well as she can.

But being a Beater is about more than sheer size and ruthlessness. They have to work like a seamless pair, anticipate each other's moves. That doesn't always just mean being the same size. She'd read in a book Tobias gave her last year about the joining of opposites. Point and counterpoint.

She keeps cycling back to the smaller third year Graham Pritchard. He has a flinty look to his eye that Ginny likes. A quieter presence to balance the boisterous Bassenthwaite. Graham is younger too, with less experience, but maybe also not so set in his ways. On paper, it seems a ridiculous pair. It's a bit of a risk—a calculated one certainly, but Ginny's never particularly been one for the easy path.

By the time the trials are done and she's dismissed all the players, she's still mulling over her options. She wanders up to the Great Hall for lunch with everyone else, but spends the entire time scribbling down thoughts and ideas into a small notebook.

After lunch, she walks back down to the pitch to watch the Ravenclaw trials. The other captains had watched her trials this morning. It's simply logical to know exactly what they will be up against.

Sitting down in the stands, she flips through her notes, a decision beginning to form.

A while later, Harry appears, his hands shoved almost casually in his pockets.

"Malfoy's not playing this year, huh?" he says, overly casual, like he's trying to look like he doesn't particularly care when it is patently clear that he does.

Ginny looks up from her notes. It's the first time they've talked since his disgusting display back on the train and the first thing he wants to do is ask her about Draco? "Here to walk me back to my common room?"

Harry grimaces. "No."

She puts a hand on her chest, eyes fluttering. "But what if I get lost?"

He closes his eyes for a moment, pinching at the bridge of his nose. "Okay. You've made your point."

She huffs, turning back to her notes. "Good."

He shifts on his feet for a moment, like he's trying to decide just how unwelcome he is. He's been an idiot to be sure, but as Ron's sister, she's more than used to boys being idiots.

"Oh, sit down," she says with exasperation. Looking up at him is cricking her neck.

"What?"

She rolls her eyes. "You are here to watch the trials, right?"

"Oh," he says, plopping down next to her. "Yeah."

Ginny graciously swallows back her laughter. "Your trials are next Saturday," she says, since he clearly wants to talk about something but is too ridiculous to come out with anything.

"Yes," he says, looking relieved.

Ginny looks back at her notes, doodling in the margins. "Think Ron will make it?"

Harry sighs. "I hope so."

It's hard. She knows that technically Urquhart may be better than Thompson, but starting a whole new team from scratch is overwhelming. Knowing there is at least one person who is already up to speed is a huge relief.

"You seem to have an abundance of Chasers to pick from," he says, almost as if he understands her struggle.

She nods. "You can have Urquhart," she jokes.

He leans into her, peering at her notebook. Ginny has to master to urge to slap her hand over the names. Goodness knows it will be common knowledge soon enough.

"Sibazaki, huh?" he says, looking at her Seeker choice.

Ginny instantly bristles. "I know she's not the obvious choice."

"No," Harry agrees. "She isn't." His lips twist wryly. "I was really hoping you'd overlook her."

It shouldn't matter what Harry thinks, but for some reason she finds it strangely comforting. That someone else agrees that little Reiko Sibazaki has potential. "Scared of a little competition?" she teases.

Harry smiles, shaking his head. "Let's be honest. Anyone would have to be an improvement over Malfoy." He frowns then, like he's thought of something bothersome.

"I don't know, by the way," Ginny says.

Harry turns to look at her in question.

"Why Draco isn't playing," she clarifies.

"Oh," he says, something hard in his expression that she doesn't particularly like.

"Why does it matter?" she asks, more curious than anything. She isn't blind. She knows very well that Draco and Harry have always had an abiding hatred for one another. But Harry seems almost overly keen.

Harry considers her a long moment, his mouth opening, only to shut again, as if he's changed his mind about something. "I suppose it doesn't," he eventually says.

She's almost certain he's lying.

Down on the pitch, the trials start. They watch the other team run through drills and quietly debate the merits of various players.

"Cho is still the obvious choice," Ginny observes.

Harry doesn't say anything, but his face does some sort of weird grimace.

One of the potential Beaters nearly brains himself with his own bat, and Ginny grimaces.

"Clearly the perfect choice," Harry says.

Ginny huffs. "Certainly would make our lives easier," she agrees.

One thing becomes perfectly clear as the trials continue—Ravenclaw is going to be a fast team.

Ginny and Harry share a look, knowing they both have their work cut out for them.

---

The next week, Snape takes great joy in telling all of them how miserable their tests were. He doesn't seem to care that it was one they didn't get to study for, or that it came after a long summer with no classes. Instead he institutes a condensed remedial crash course, with a promise of another test at the end of the month.

"And this one I will not be so sanguine about," he warns them.

Like everyone else, Ginny received a failing grade on the test, even if she may have gotten some parts wrong on purpose. Still, Snape somehow seems to know that Ginny, Smita, and Tobias are much further ahead of the rest of the class. He never singles them out, but neither does he look surprised when they are able to do a spell the rest of the class flubs.

One day during a chaotic practicum class, Snape approaches her.

"I hear you can produce a Patronus," he says, and she understands with certainty that he knows the part she played in the DA.

"Not a corporeal one, sir," she says, realizing there is no point in lying. "I never quite managed that."

"I see," he says, lips twitching. He moves on to the next student before she can be stupid enough to ask what exactly he thinks he sees.

Potions is also proving to be interesting, but for completely different reasons. Smita has always been competent, but her new ease in Potions is something far more. Ginny isn't the only one to notice, Slughorn coming over to peer into her glistening cauldron.

Smita blinks, looking a little vacant. "Ginny taught me everything I know," she lies through her teeth.

Ginny turns to look at her in surprise, but Smita just stares innocently back at her.

"Not just a Quidditch phenom then, Miss Weasley?" Slughorn says, actually clapping his hands with glee.

Ginny gives Slughorn a strained smile, knowing nothing she could say would make a difference. Slughorn loves nothing more than to be proven correct about his 'collections'.

"Better you than me," Smita mutters under her breath as Slughorn moves on to the next desk.

"You are hanging out with Tobias way too much," Ginny complains.

Smita gives her a look she can't quite interpret and turns back to her cauldron.

---

Saturday morning, Ginny watches the Gryffindor trials. Her first clue that something is amiss is the sheer amount of people waiting on the pitch. For the Slytherin trials she's had the fairly good turnout of sixteen people.

There have to be at least forty people there for the Gryffindor trials.

Harry walks out onto the pitch, coming to a confused stop when he sees the crowd. Ginny realizes what this all about almost the same time Harry seems to, his cheeks burning red, an equal mix of embarrassment and anger.

It's an utter mad house, full of giggling girls and people more interested in The Chosen One than Quidditch.

Harry seems in no way equipped to deal with this, ineffectually trying to gain control of the crowd. At one point he glances over in her direction, panic clear on his face, and Ginny just laughs.

It takes him a while to get rid of the girls who aren't even in Gryffindor, shooing them back up into the stands. She hears more than one whisper behind her about love potions and the Chosen One. Ginny rolls her eyes.

The rest of the trials run without much incidence besides Cormac McLaggen uncharacteristically losing focus and letting a perfectly easy shot through the goal. It's a relief though, because it means that Ron gets to keep his position as Keeper. Ginny's glad for her brother and for Harry.

After lunch are the Hufflepuff trials. Harry comes to sit by her again, warily eying some of the girls still sitting in the stands behind them.

"You should watch who goes near your pumpkin juice," Ginny says helpfully.

Harry sighs.

It's late by the time Ginny makes it up to the castle. Shoveling some food in her mouth, she goes up to the library to knock out one of her essays.

When she finally drags herself back up to the dorms, it's dark and silent. She pauses by Smita's bed, but doesn't hear anything other than soft steady breathing.

She turns for her own bed.

---

The end of the third week of school, Slughorn hosts his first dinner party for what people are calling the Slug Club. Ginny objects to that name on many levels.

She still doesn't really feel like she can say no though, so when the appointed time comes, she braces herself for an evening of awkwardness and promptly arrives at Slughorn's rooms. Unsurprisingly, they are large and well packed with comfortable-looking furniture and shelves of photographs and fine objects, like one giant showroom. A long table set with linens and candles and china sits to one side.

The first person she sees is Hermione. Ginny isn't surprised to see she's been added to the group. It's not like Slughorn could fail to notice the smartest witch of the age when she's right in front of him. Even he isn't that dense.

Hermione looks very relieved to see Ginny. "I'm glad you're here. I hated coming alone!"

"No Harry?" Ginny asks. Slughorn must be crestfallen to not have his crowning jewel here.

Hermione shakes his head. "Detention with Professor Snape."

Ginny raises an eyebrow at that, but Hermione just waves it away. "Still can't keep his mouth shut around him."

Ginny snorts. Glancing around the room, she notices a few other absences from the original group on the train. Belby, which isn't a surprise. And Neville, which is.

"No Neville either?" Ginny asks.

Hermione shakes her head. "I don't think he was invited."

Ginny grimaces. She knows how nervous Neville can get under pressure. Social pressure that is, not real pressure. She remembers far too well how much he kept it together in the Department of Mysteries. Slughorn clearly hadn't been able to see the difference.

The door opens, and Ginny is surprised to see Antonia walk in with a tall boy in Ravenclaw robes. Not because Antonia isn't worth watching. Ginny has always thought so. This just doesn't seem like the sort of thing Antonia would be interested in.

Slughorn appears then, ushering a fourth year Ravenclaw towards them. "Miss Weasley, Miss Granger, so nice of you to come. Do you know Melinda Bobbin?"

Melinda Bobbin, it turns out, is charming, in much the same way a hippogriff is charming right before it eats you. Ginny stays just long enough to be polite and then carefully gives the Ravenclaw a wide berth, moving around the room to greet Antonia.

"Smart move," the handsome Ravenclaw standing with Antonia observes as Ginny joins them.

Ginny gives him a look of confusion.

"Melinda," he clarifies. "She's brilliantly ruthless." He says this like a compliment. One thing you have to admire about Ravenclaws, they never play dumb.

"And you're not?" she asks, finding something about him inexplicably disarming.

He gives her a one sided smile that only renders him more handsome. "I'm ruthlessly brilliant. It's quite a different thing all together."

She isn't entirely sure he isn't teasing her.

He holds out a hand. "Lucas."

Ginny takes it. "Ginny."

He nods. "Yes. Antonia's little project," he says.

Antonia's serene expression doesn't slip. "That's your problem, Lucas. You see everything as a project."

He shrugs. "Not sure how that's a problem. What is life but one endless experiment?"

Antonia gives him an indulgent smile Ginny has rarely ever seen her use on anyone. "Some of us just call them friends."

At that pronouncement, the dinner chime sounds, and they all find seats at the table.

---

Ginny hadn't been relieved exactly when neither Crabbe nor Goyle showed up for tryouts. If they'd proven to be the best candidates, she could have worked with them. She knows how to put the team first. But they'd chosen not to come, and her Beaters are just fine if not better, so she doesn't give it much thought.

Only then the two thugs start spreading it around that the only reason they hadn't tried out was because they didn't want to be on a losing team. And with Ginny as captain, how could they be anything but losers?

It's stupid and childish and most people well know Ginny's skill on the Quidditch pitch. That doesn't stop it from working its way under her skin.

She may be a good Chaser, but what does she really know about being captain?

Their first practice does not exactly go brilliantly. Which, fine. They're a new team after all.

But then the second and third and fourth aren't any better.

She snaps at Reiko. Calls Vaisey an idiot. They just are not gelling.

Thompson really looks like he wants to say something, and sure enough, he lingers after practice. "You're scaring Reiko," he accuses, like he can handle her being awful at being captain, but not upsetting Reiko.

"Reiko's fine," she says.

He shakes his head. "You really don't see it, do you?"

"See what?"

"How terrifying you are."

She starts to laugh, assuming he's taking the mickey, but then she sees his face and knows he's serious. "What in Merlin's name are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about Ginny Weasley," he says, tone endlessly patient. "Heir of Slytherin, Quidditch captain, cunning and ruthless Parlor Girl."

Ginny automatically shakes her head. No one remembers the Chamber of Secrets debacle, surely. Plenty of people have been Quidditch captain without being feared. And as for The Parlor… Theodora had been terrifying. Antonia too, in her own way. But Ginny is nothing like either of them. She's just a bumbling girl who rarely has any idea what she is doing. Can't Thompson see that?

He's still staring at her intently, as if waiting for her to work it all out for herself.

"You don't look scared of me," she says dismissively, trying to get him to realize just how wrong he is.

His lips purse with something that looks almost like disappointment. "Then you aren't looking carefully enough."

Before she can respond to that, he turns and walks off.

Ginny is left standing in the middle of the pitch, very aware of the agitated hum of her broom under her hand, like it's reacting to the rumble of feelings building up in side of her. Hopping up on it, she streaks up into the sky.

She flies hard and fast and recklessly until she can feel sweat on her neck, her fingers going numb from her grip on the handle.

Glancing down, she notices a lone figure standing in the middle of the pitch, watching her progress. With one last tight, fast ring around the stands, Ginny pulls up and lands on the grass.

She takes a deep breath, trying to rein in her still thundering thoughts before walking over to Harry. "I'm sorry," she says as she nears him, forcing an apologetic smile as she wipes the sweat off her face. "It must be your pitch time by now."

He waves away her concern. "I'm early."

She nods, knowing he's probably just being polite. Or possibly terrified, if Thompson is right. "I'll just get out of your way."

He's frowning at her, his hand reaching awkwardly out as if to stop her. "Are you okay?"

She intends to say yes, to just lie and move past him, but she's stopping and confessing before she's even aware of the intent. "I'm messing this all up."

Harry looks as surprised by the confession as she is to have said it, but doesn't give her a disdainful look or automatically dismiss her worry like she's being silly. Instead he gives her an intent, serious look and says, "You mean Quidditch?"

She nods. "Being captain. I'm just…I'm terrible. Someone's made a really big mistake."

Harry shakes his head. "You've always been brilliant at Quidditch."

She gives him a weak smile. "That doesn't mean I know anything about leading a team."

He nods as if conceding the point. "I doubt anyone does when they first start," he says. "I know I don't have a clue."

"Reduced any of your players to tears?" she asks.

She sees a flicker of surprise in his eyes. "No. But Ron was pretty close once."

She gives him a mirthless smile.

"What's going on?" he asks, like he actually cares and isn't just humoring her.

"They are all good players. It's just not…" She gestures helplessly.

"Coming together?"

She nods. "Yeah."

Harry gives her a bracing smile. "It's early, and you have almost an entirely new squad."

She nods, knowing these are the logical facts. It's just a matter of what she's supposed to do with them. She bites at one of her nails, running everything through her head for what feels like the millionth time. "I bet Flint never would have picked Bassenthwaite and Graham in the first place. And I know Bletchley probably would have-."

"Stop," Harry says, cutting her off.

She turns to him in surprise.

For once he doesn't seem sheepish or thrown, leaning towards her, his hands gesturing intently. "You can't do that. You can't spend all your time thinking what Flint or Bletchley would have done. You aren't them."

She sighs. Isn't that the problem?

"Look, I know it's hard. I find myself wondering that sometimes too. But I'm captain now, not them. And I'll never be able to be them as well as they were. But I can be me better than anyone." He frowns, as if thinking back over what he had said. "If that makes any sense at all."

Ginny wants to smile at his muddled explanation, but she can't because it makes too much sense. "I have to do what Ginny would do," she says, something beginning to work itself back into place in her stomach.

"Yes," he says with a brilliant smile, clearly glad to see that she's following. "You were picked to be Captain. So do it your way."

"And if I don't have a way?"

He pats her arm. "If anyone can figure it out, it's you, Ginny."

She's bizarrely touched by his confidence. "Are you sure you should be helping out the enemy like this?" she jokes. He probably would have been better off letting her crash and burn.

His smiles slips, his eyes intent on her for a moment. "You aren't my enemy."

They stare at each other, and Ginny has the bizarre thought that Harry doesn't seem terrified of her, no matter how closely she looks. She lightly punches him in the shoulder. "Maybe not, but I'm still going to crush you in the first match."

Harry blinks, recovering quickly with a big smile. "In your dreams."

"Oi," someone bellows behind them. They turn to see Ron walk onto the pitch. "No talking to the enemy."

Harry and Ginny look at each other and burst into laughter.

"What are you two berks laughing about?" Ron asks.

"Oh, just your face," Ginny says carelessly.

Ron makes a rude gesture.

Ginny shakes her head, turning back to Harry. "Thank you," she says.

He shrugs. "Anytime."

She hefts her broom and makes to leave the pitch, only to pause. "Ron?"

"Yeah?" he asks, looking back over his shoulder at her.

"Am I terrifying?"

He doesn't even blink. "Absolutely."

For some reason she can't explain, that makes her smile.

---

Determined to fix things, Ginny decides to start with Reiko. She still doesn't know how to be captain, but she can start by acknowledging that what she's been doing so far isn't working. Mainly, pretending she knows exactly what she's doing and not being willing to show any weakness.

She wonders if a little honesty might go a long way.

Spying the younger girl in the common room, Ginny walks over to her. "Rieko?"

Sure enough, when Reiko jerks around to look at her, there is definitely fear in her eyes. "Yes?" she asks, her whole body seeming to straighten in attention.

Ginny bites back any irritation, keeping her face neutral. "Do you have a little time?"

Reiko's eyes widen. "Right now?"

"Yeah," Ginny says. "If that's okay."

Reiko nods, jumping to her feet. "Of course. Do I need my broom?"

Ginny shakes her head. "I thought maybe we could walk down to the lake."

If anything, this just makes Reiko look even more discomforted. "Oh, okay."

They don't really say anything as Ginny leads her out of the castle. Ginny's just trying to work her mind around what to say.

Reiko is the first one to snap, breaking the heavy silence. "I know I'm not improving as fast as you'd like," she blurts, hands wringing in front of her. "But if I could just have one more chance—."

Ginny holds an arm out to stop her, frowning at the panic on her face. "Reiko. What are you talking about?"

"You're kicking me off the squad, aren't you?" she asks, looking miserable.

Ginny sighs, feeling stupid not to have considered how Reiko might take this sudden attempt at a heart to heart. "No, Reiko. I am not kicking you off the squad."

"Oh," she says, looking nonplussed. "Then what?"

Ginny shakes her head and starts down towards the lake again. "Apparently I'm screwing this up as much as I've screwed everything up."

Reiko jogs a little to catch up, looking at Ginny a little like she's just sprouted a second head. "What do you mean?"

"Look. I've never been captain before, and honestly, I have no idea what I'm doing. I think maybe I've been taking that out on you and it really isn't fair. I brought you out here to tell you that I'm sorry," Ginny says. "I hope you'll be able to forgive me."

Reiko looks horrified. "I'm the one who's been messing up!"

Ginny wants to grimace. "No, you haven't. You're learning. You've had a lot thrown at you really fast and you're doing a great job."

"Really?" Reiko says, looking so heartbreakingly hopeful.

"Really," Ginny says, thinking she should be sure to say so more often. She's just not used to considering the effect her words have on others. But maybe that's a big part of being a leader.

Down at the edge of the lake, Ginny turns to look at Reiko straight on. "I was hoping… Maybe we can learn together?"

Reiko stares back at her for a moment before nodding. "Yeah. I think we could do that."

It's a start.

---

The door to the Transfiguration classroom opens with a bang, sixth year students pouring out into the hall. Ginny moves into a slightly better position to watch, careful to still be mostly out of the way. She catches sight of her brother first, his red hair easy to spot in the crowd. He's currently arguing with Hermione about something, Harry trailing slightly behind.

He glances over, smiling slightly when he notices her. She holds his gaze and cants her head to the door behind her, an unspoken question. His eyes widen a bit as he glances around, but he nods in response. Ginny only lingers long enough to see him say something to Ron and Hermione before stepping into the empty classroom behind her.

"Ginny?" he says, stepping inside and glancing around the room.

"Here," she says.

"Is everything okay?" he asks.

She waves a hand. "Yeah. Everything's fine."

"Okay." He looks a little confused, and she can't really blame him for that. It's not like she seeks him out very often. If ever.

"Look," Ginny says. "I know I have no right to ask you this, and you should totally feel free to say no."

Harry raises an eyebrow at her. "Say no to what?"

She starts pacing across the front of the room. "The thing is, I'm a good Chaser. I've spent a lot of time studying the position. And I'm pretty comfortable with the role of Keeper too because of that. And Beaters too, more or less." She pulls a face. "But the thing is…I don't really know anything about the Seeker position." She stops, turning to look at him. "And I thought…Harry."

He still looks a bit confused, but far more relaxed, a smile playing at his lips. "You want my help with understanding the Seeker position."

"Yes," she says. "I thought maybe you could recommend a book or something, or maybe some famous games to study."

"A book?" he asks, like that is the craziest thing he's ever heard.

"Yeah, you know, pages with words bound together?" she asks, miming a book opening with her hands.

He ignores her sarcasm (a sure sign that he has been hanging out with the Weasley clan far too much). "I never really studied it like that," he says.

She frowns. "You didn't?"

Harry shakes his head like it had never occurred to him. "Wood just gave me some basic pointers. The rest is just…instinct, I guess."

"Oh," Ginny says, not sure what to do with that. "Then I guess I'm sorry I bothered you."

"Maybe there's some other way I can help."

"Like what?" she asks. Instinct isn't really something you can share.

He looks thoughtful for a moment. "Well, I could answer any questions you have. Or talk to Reiko."

He's being very helpful. Almost too helpful. "Why would you do that?" she asks, peering suspiciously at him.

Harry look amused. "Are you trying to talk me out of it?"

"No," she draws out. "It's just…"

"What?"

She blows out a breath. "It doesn't really serve your interests."

He stares back at her like this is something he hadn't even considered. "It doesn't?"

She rolls her eyes. "It's one thing not to be enemies, Harry. It's another to ignore the fact that we are going to play against each other in a few weeks."

Harry shrugs. "Ron says I have a helping people thing." He says that like it's something he's completely comfortable with. Helping other people even when it costs him something.

"Somedays," Ginny says, shaking her head, "you Gryffindor are completely unfathomable to me."

Harry laughs. "Believe me, the feeling is mutual."

She pokes her tongue out at him, but refuses to be derailed from the real topic at hand. "So what are we talking about here? A couple of pointers?"

"Sure," he says. "Why don't we all meet down at the pitch sometime?"

That is far beyond anything Ginny had expected. "Seriously?"

He shrugs. "Maybe Thursday before breakfast?"

That early there would be no one around to see, and this sign that Harry isn't completely unaware of the implications of what he's doing makes her feel slightly less uncomfortable.

"Okay," Ginny says.

"Great," he says, moving towards the door. "I've gotta go before Ron and Hermione wonder if I got lost."

"Sure," Ginny says.

She watches him walk away, but still can't quite shake the feeling that she's taking advantage of him somehow.

"Harry," she says, thinking fast.

He stops, turning back to look at her. "Yeah?"

"Tell Demelza she might find Sun Tzu's Art of War an interesting read. I have a copy if she'd like to borrow it." Katie Bell may be the Gryffindor Chaser with experience, but Demelza is the one with real potential. "And tell her to stop leading with her shoulder. It makes it way too obvious where she plans to shoot."

Harry's surprise morphs into something flinty and thoughtful that Ginny is frankly much more comfortable with. He nods. "I'll be sure to do that. See you Thursday?"

"Yeah," she says, watching him leave.

Now she just has to convince Reiko.

---

Getting Reiko out of bed and down to the pitch at the crack of dawn turns out to be the easy part. She's disgustingly eager to eat, breathe, and sleep Quidditch, which is just another thing Ginny likes about her. The challenge comes when she catches sight of just who is waiting for them, broom in hand.

"Why is Harry Potter here?" she asks, voice automatically hostile as if she assumes he is spying on them.

"I asked him to come," Ginny says.

Reiko's eyes widen like Ginny has just told her she is going to wrestle a troll. "Why in Merlin's name would you do that?"

Ginny wills herself to be patient and points out the obvious. "He's a really great Seeker."

Reiko crosses her arms over her chest. "Bully for him."

"Reiko," Ginny says, voice chastising. "If you want to be a great Seeker, this is your chance. I can't help you on my own."

Reiko is still frowning. "How do we know he won't just mess with me? You know, give me bad advice?"

Ginny smiles. "He's a Gryffindor," she reminds her. "It would probably never even occur to him to lie." Or at least he never would have said yes in the first place.

"True," Reiko admits, finally looking a little mollified.

"Come on. He's doing me a big favor. So listen well and be nice."

Reiko nods, but still looks a bit like she's being led to the gallows.

To be honest, Ginny still isn't sure herself why Harry agreed to do this. But watching him with Reiko, the way he looks so comfortable talking about something he clearly loves, it reminds her of the DA. She wonders if maybe Harry is missing it too.

He really is a great teacher. He's patient and never condescending, and even Reiko seems grudgingly willing to admit that she learned a lot in the short half hour they spend together.

"Thanks, Harry," Reiko says when they're done, shaking his hand.

"Sure," Harry says, smiling at her.

Reiko heads up towards the castle, pausing when Ginny doesn't immediately follow.

"I'll catch up with you," Ginny says, waving her on.

"Sure," Reiko says, looking between the two of them. "See you later."

Once Reiko is gone, Ginny turns and smiles at Harry. "That was…really great. Thanks so much for doing this."

Harry's staring down at his feet, suddenly looking awkward. "No problem," he says.

She touches his arm. "Seriously. It means a lot." On impulse, she leans in and gives him a quick kiss on the cheek. She pulls back, giving him an embarrassed smile. "See you later."

She moves as if to go back up the castle, but his hand on her arm stops her. "Ginny."

"Yeah?" she asks, turning back to look at him. There's an expression on his face that inexplicably makes her want to squirm. She forces herself to stand still and wait.

Then he swallows, his hand dropping from her arm, and it's like the expression had never been there at all. "Maybe I could run some ideas by you for helping Demelza sometime?"

She forces herself not to frown at him in confusion, instead conjuring up a neutral smile. "Of course. Anytime. "

Harry shoves his hands in his pocket. "Great."

"Bye," Ginny says, trying to shake the feeling that she's not so much walking up to the castle as fleeing.

---

By early October, Quidditch practices finally start coming together and Ginny isn't the only one to notice.

Thompson sidles up to her as they walk off the pitch, nudging her with his elbow. "I'm glad you finally figured it out."

She glances sideways at him. "Figured out what?"

"That you're brilliant at Quidditch and the perfect choice for captain."

Ginny still isn't so certain. But she's trying. Harry had been right after all, she's much better off trying to find her own way to do this than chasing the impossible aim of being like her predecessors. If she's going to crash and burn, she wants to do it as herself.

Thompson is still watching her face, shaking his head as if he can read her thoughts. "You just get too stuck in your head sometimes."

With that observation, he makes for the castle, leaving her staring after him.

In the evenings, Ginny makes a habit of catching Caroline and Astoria as they leave the Great Hall after dinner. With a little effort, Astoria is happy to talk about her music, but Caroline is quiet as always. It's enough to make Ginny wonder what happened to that eager first year girl who had looked at Ginny like she was a Quidditch hero.

Back in the common room, Ginny follows then down into The Parlor for the rest of the evening. When Ginny isn't talking to the other girls, she's almost obsessively reading up on strategy, studying books on all of the Quidditch positions, paying close attention to the Seeker position to build upon what she learned from Harry. Usually by the time she goes back upstairs, the common room is empty, her dorm room still and dark.

"You know," Antonia says one evening. "The Parlor means many things to many people, but most don't just use it as a place to hide."

Ginny looks up from her book. "I'm not-."

Antonia cuts her off with an eloquent look. Go ahead and fool yourself, it seems to say, but don't assume I'm that stupid.

Ginny sighs, sinking back into her chair. There is a reason she is down here all the time these days.

And it has nothing to do with Quidditch.

---

Charms is barely controlled chaos as always, the room surprisingly loud with the sounds of complaining crows considering they are supposed to be mastering silencing charms.

She looks out the window. The leaves are starting to turn, and Ginny sits there thinking that it's been four weeks and she still hasn't had a serious conversation with Smita. Ginny glances across the room where Smita is sitting with Tobias and Terry Boot.

"Have you ever just known you've screwed something up, but didn't know what to do about it?" Ginny asks.

Across from her, Luna twitches her wand, the crow in front of them going mute halfway through a caw. The crow stomps its foot, trying again, its mouth open and neck straining, but nothing coming out. Ginny can relate.

Luna remains concentrated on the task for so long, Ginny begins to assume she isn't going get an answer.

Then Luna sort of owlishly blinks over at Ginny. "If you already know what you did wrong, why don't you just fix it?"

With another jab of her wand, the spell lifts.

The crow screeches at Ginny in a way that feels accusatory.

"Oh, shut up," she mutters.

---

It takes three more days for Ginny to gather her nerve. But on Sunday morning she marches straight up to Smita at breakfast and says, "Will you walk down to the lake with me?"

Smita looks surprised, fork stopping halfway to her mouth.

"Just the two of us," Ginny clarifies, sliding a look at Tobias when he opens his mouth. He snaps it back shut, not looking so much offended as wary.

Smita is still staring rather contemplatively at her half-eaten meal.

"Please," Ginny says, because having come this far, she doesn't really care how pathetic she looks.

"Okay," Smita says, carefully folding her napkin in even thirds. "Twenty minutes?"

Ginny nods. "I'll meet you by the main entrance."

Less than half an hour later, they are walking down to the lake together, and it's even more awkward than Ginny thought it would be. Gathering her nerve, she knows there is only one way to do this.

"What have you been up to?" Ginny asks in a rush.

Smita shrugs, and for a moment Ginny thinks she's just going to foist her off with some vague answer about homework. But instead she takes a deep breath and blurts, "I'm helping Madam Pomfrey," as if this is something she has been holding back for far too long.

This is not what Ginny expected to hear. "What?"

Smita nods, her cheeks burning slightly red. "I spent a lot of time at St. Mungo's over the summer."

Ginny is more than aware of that, the tight feeling in her chest again.

Smita pushes on, her words gaining in momentum. "I learned a lot, at first because I just wanted to know what was happening and later because I was bored. But I was surprised how interesting it all is." She shakes her head, as if she finds herself a little ridiculous. "I just feel like I finally found my thing, you know?"

Those are probably the most words Ginny has every heard Smita say at once, and that, more than anything, is telling.

Ginny hasn't been able to see past the marks of illness on Smita. How has she missed the obvious light in her eyes? How alive she looks? Or was she just being dumb, assuming this was all about Tobias?

Smita's never been a bad student, nor a particularly great student. Just rather indifferent except the few cases where it served her interests. But now Ginny sees it, that spark that marks a passion.

It explains a lot. Why she dropped Muggle Studies, where she spends all her free time, her sudden aptitude for potions. Ginny stops, turning to look at Smita straight on.

"I wanted to tell you," Smita says.

Ginny knows she never gave her the chance. "I am so sorry I never wrote."

Smita looks away. "Why didn't you?"

Ginny shakes her head. "I just didn't know what to say." She thinks at the very least, Smita deserves the whole truth. "I couldn't find a good enough way to say I was sorry."

Smita frowns. "For what?"

"For the curse!" Ginny says, feeling it all welling up in her, the helplessness, the anger, the never-ending gut-wrenching fear. "For not stopping it, for dragging you along in the first place. All of it!"

Smita seems to only become calmer in the face of Ginny's outbursts. "What happened at the Department of Mysteries wasn't your fault, Ginny."

"How can you say that?"

"Easily enough," she says, something in the set of her jaw telling Ginny that she's angry. "I don't do anything I don't want to, Ginevra Weasley. And I'm perfectly smart enough to know the risks of my choices and to learn to live with the consequences of them."

Ginny rocks back on her heels, feeling a bit like she's been slapped upside the head with a realization even uglier than the one she's been trying to avoid.

"Merlin," she breathes, "I somehow twisted this all around to be about me, didn't I?"

Not what Smita's been going through, not what all this means to her, but what it's meant to Ginny, how she's been unable to deal with it.

Smita regards her for a long moment. "I guess somehow you did."

Ginny paces a few steps away, again finding herself at a loss for how to apologize for being so blind. She stares out at the lake for a few minutes before crossing back over to Smita.

"Tell me everything," she says.

They end up sitting under a tree down by the lake, talking for almost an hour before they fall back into a comfortable silence. They cover everything. Smita's mediwitch training, Quidditch, their families, her illness, The Parlor. All of it.

Except one.

"And things with Tobias?" Ginny asks, knowing this is the dragon in the room both of them have been dancing around.

Smita flushes again. "Good."

"Yeah?" Ginny asks.

"Yeah," Smita says. "Really good."

Ginny watches Smita's face, finds every tiny sign that she is clearly happy. "I'm glad."

Smita eyes her. "Are you?"

Ginny grabs her hand. "Yes, I really am."

They look at each other for a moment, and Ginny knows they are both aware how much her relationship with Tobias has changed things, and how that is just going to have to be part of things from now on.

Ginny smiles. "Just don't let him sweet talk you into doing his homework."

"Ginny," Smita says reprovingly. "You should know better. I sweet talked him into doing mine."

They laugh, shoulders bumping as they lean back against the tree.

"Once a month," Ginny says, voice suddenly fierce. "At the very least, once a month we take the time to do this together. No matter how busy or crazy everything else gets."

"Once a month," Smita pledges, squeezing Ginny's fingers.

It will be enough.

---

Things don't automatically go back the way they used to be with Smita, but everything is at least easier with the air cleared between them. Of course, that just means that when Smita suggests turning the first Hogsmeade trip into a double date of sorts with one of Tobias' friends, Ginny can't find it in her to say no.

This is how Ginny ends up sitting next to Kieran Harper in Madam Puddifoot's.

As if being in a place that looked like pink lace threw up all over it weren't bad enough, Ginny's suspicions about her date are proving to be completely true.

Kieran Harper is an idiot.

Ginny can't honestly say why he even agreed to this date, considering he very obviously still has a lot of hard feelings over not getting the starting Seeker position. Ginny is only feeling more justified in her choice the more he talks. Or rather the more his hands stray towards her person while he says stupid things.

Across from them, Smita and Tobias are engaged in a quiet, easy conversation, leaving her to field Harper's growing attentions with little help.

The things she does in the name of friendship.

An hour into the painful debacle Ginny looks up to catch Tobias watching them with something bordering on glee.

A dawning sort of realization settles over Ginny.

Tobias chooses that moment to push back from the table. "Why don't we have a walk outside?"

Outside, Smita pulls Ginny aside. She's so happy and vibrant that when she checks in with Ginny with a "Having a good time?" Ginny just smiles and lies through her teeth. "Of course. This was a really great idea."

She's pretty sure she hears Tobias snort under the guise of sneezing into his sleeve.

Then Smita and Tobias ditch them. Ginny is left walking down the street with Harper, wishing herself anywhere else in the world. She tries to subtly and increasingly not-so-subtly shake him off, but he seems too stupid to take a hint.

She sees Thompson pass by with a Ravenclaw girl she doesn't know. When he gets close enough, she catches his eye and mouths, "HELP ME."

And Thompson, the boy she trusts implicitly to watch her back on the pitch, just smiles and abandons her to her fate.

Berk.

She only finally escapes Harper after a long slog back up to the Castle, and not without him trying to eat her face. (She isn't charitable enough to call that atrocity a kiss.)

She's not sure what Harper thought she owed him, because they went on a date or because she didn't pick him for Seeker, but now he has one more reason to have a problem with her—her powerful hexes and a total lack of fear of using them.

She steps over his prone body and heads towards the Great Hall for dinner.

The room is buzzing with a different sort of gossip when she gets there, something about Katie Bell getting cursed by some dark object on her way back up to the castle. Ginny glances over at the Gryffindor table to see a grim-looking Harry whispering animatedly to a stubborn-looking Hermione.

Harry attention isn't on Hermione though. He's staring hard at Draco.

Smita and Tobias finally appear, looking a little flushed. Ginny graciously ignores that and quickly fills them in on the latest buzz.

"Who would want to curse Katie?" Smita asks.

Despite herself, Ginny can't help but think of all the terrible pranks that had led up to last year's Quidditch match against Gryffindor. She dismisses the thought just as quickly. Her team is different. They may be devious, but they aren't ruthless.

No one would almost kill someone else over a Quidditch match. Something else is clearly afoot.

After pudding, Smita leaves them to go up to the infirmary. Tobias glances across the table at Ginny and makes an inane excuse about going to the library.

She smiles back at him as if she believes it. As if she isn't perfectly aware that he's running away from her.

After giving him a small head start, she follows him out into the hall. He is definitely not heading for the library. She follows him down a corridor, and deciding the area will serve as well as any other, Ginny hits him with a trip jinx from behind, watching him collapse into a graceless heap.

"You total berk," Ginny says, standing over him.

Some other students look at them with passing interest, but no one offers to help Tobias. They aren't that stupid.

Ginny jabs her wand at him. "I cannot believe you did that to me."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Tobias says, which would be more believable if he weren't doubled over more in laughter than pain.

"You're not even friends with that wanker, are you?" she accuses.

He shakes his head, holding his stomach as he pushes back to sit against the wall in helpless laughter. "Harper? Merlin, no. He's an idiot."

As pissed as Ginny thinks she should be, she can't really argue with that. "He really, really is," she agrees, lowering her wand.

That just makes Tobias laugh harder, and thinking about what it must have looked like from the other side, Ginny gives in and starts laughing too. She slides down the wall to sit next to him.

"Merlin," Ginny breathes out when she finally gets control of herself.

"For the record," Tobias says, wiping his eye, "you totally deserved that."

"Yeah," Ginny admits. "You're probably right."

He nods.

She nudges him with her elbow. "Doesn't mean you shouldn't watch your back for the next little while."

Tobias manages to look scared and pleased all at once.

Ginny sighs. "Next time, could you at least pick someone who knows how to keep their hands to themselves?"

Tobias's smile slips. "What did that little-."

"Nothing I couldn't handle," she says, waving away his misplaced indignation. He's not the one who got groped, after all. "I just hope you're more of a… Well, I would say gentleman, but I think I just mean decent human being."

His smile completely disappears, leaving him as serious as she's ever seen him. They stare at each other for a long moment, unspoken things passing between them.

Ginny looks away first. "I already told Smita, but I should have told you too. I'm happy for you two."

"Good," he says. "But even if you weren't..."

She nods. "It doesn't have anything to do with me."

"No. It doesn't."

They sit there shoulder to shoulder for a while, until Ginny finally shoos him off. "Go find Smita and have a snog or whatever it is kids these days do."

She doesn't know why she expected Tobias to be embarrassed by that. Instead he salutes her as if taking a direct order and sets off with a bounce in his step.

Wanker.

---

By the time Ginny has been to a handful of Slug Club events, she has to admit they aren't all that bad. She got to meet Gwenog Jones. She's made friends in other Houses she probably never would have met otherwise.

Don't get her wrong, she understands why Harry avoids the dinners like the plague. She isn't stupid enough not to see Slughorn's motivations, his manipulations and 'collections'. But at the same time, many of the best and the brightest students are in this room. If the DA taught her anything, it's that too many people let Houses and colors stop them from crossing the lines.

Despite that, she is surprised to see Hestia and Flora at the next meeting.

"Hi," Ginny says, crossing over to stand with them.

"Hi, Ginny," Flora says.

"What are you guys doing here?" Not that they don't belong here, but they have done a pretty stellar job of avoiding getting collected up to this point. Ginny has no doubt they wouldn't be here unless they wanted to be.

"We need a few specialized supplies for the last phase of our project," Hestia says. "Slughorn seems the most expedient way."

Ginny smiles, loving the idea that for all Slughorn is using them, many of the students are using him right back. "Sounds like a good plan."

"And you?" Flora asks, snagging an hors d'oeuvres off a tray.

Ginny frowns. "I'm sorry?"

She gives Ginny a patient look. "Why are you here?"

Ginny takes a deep breath. "Honestly? I haven't quite figured that out yet."

The twins nod as if this makes perfect sense.

Ginny sees Antonia enter the room, and she's embarrassed to say it's the first time she's really considered it. "Why do you think Antonia is here?" Up until now, Ginny just assumed that it was the spectacle of it all. Antonia loves being in the middle of spectacle.

The twins share a look. "We would have thought that was obvious."

Ginny sighs. "It's always the obvious that I seem to have the most difficultly with."

Flora smiles, patting Ginny on the arm. "We know."

---

Time seems to speed up as the first match nears. Ginny has to fight the impulse to start yelling again, to break down into panic at the thought of the first game and this team she's been hobbling together.

She really really doesn't want to fail them.

The morning of the match, she notices that Ron looks positively green. She can't really blame him. She doesn't linger at breakfast, instead going down to the changing rooms for a few moments to herself.

Thompson shows up first, and rather than break the silence or try to give her a bracing pep talk, he just sits down next to her and waits.

"Okay," she says after a few more minutes. "Let's do this."

Thompson punches her in the arm the way Bletchley and Flint used to, and she shoots him a glare that's probably completely ruined by the smile in her face.

The rest is a blur of getting into uniform and warming up and doling out last minute pieces of advice.

Out on the pitch, she walks forward and shakes Harry's hand. Neither of them smile, but she feels the way his hand squeezes hers.

"Good luck," he says.

She manages, somehow, to give him a bracing look. "You'll need it."

He looks startled only for a moment before he laughs.

She smiles back, and then they are walking away and jumping up on their brooms.

The whistle blows and they're off.

The Snitch turns out to be very fast, which is a benefit for Gryffindor. At the same time, the Slytherin Chasers are far superior. Losing Katie right before the match had been a tough blow to absorb, leaving Gryffindor with three inexperienced chasers. The score quickly reflects that, Slytherin pulling ahead as the match progresses. Ginny would take more comfort in that if she weren't perfectly aware that as good as Reiko may be someday, she's still a rookie and Harry is indisputably one of the best Seekers in recent years.

Luckily, the Snitch seems to be particularly stubborn in addition to being fast. No one even sees it for the first thirty minutes. When Harry does seem to catch sight of it, Reiko does an amazingly believable feint that makes Harry doubt himself just long enough for the Snitch to disappear.

Ginny shouts praise to her as she darts past on her way to the goals, seeing Vaisey perfectly in position up field. She doesn't even need to look around for Thompson. They've been playing together long enough that they have reached a comfortable sort of symbiosis.

Surprisingly though, Ron is doing very well blocking their attacks, especially considering how ill he'd looked at breakfast. He has some absolutely brilliant saves, but as the match stretches into one hour and then another, they start to poke holes in his defense, enough so that the next time Harry actually catches sight of the Snitch he's forced to let it go because of the score.

The crowd below quiets, not so much because of boredom, but exhaustion. Ginny can hear McLaggen's voice from time to time as he continues to criticize Harry and the Gryffindor team between reporting scores and the play-by-play. McGonagall seems to have given up trying to control him.

It's a long ruthless battle to keep the score in their favor, the Gryffindor team throwing everything they have at trying to close the gap just enough for grabbing the snitch to push them over. Every time they manage to pull the score within reach, Ginny feels a breathless rush to do everything she can to get more goals, one eye on Harry and Reiko for any telling movement.

Gryffindor manages to get a few goals in, just enough to make winning possible when Harry makes a sudden dive. The crowd, abruptly attentive again, gets to their feet, the roar nearly deafening.

"Dammit," Ginny says, dashing towards the goal parallel to Vaisey. He lobs the Quaffle to Ginny.

Right before Harry gets to the Snitch, Ginny lays out one last daring shot to take the lead that Ron somehow miraculously manages to block even as he nearly falls off his broom.

And just like that, the game is over.

Gryffindor wins.

Ginny really wants to throw her broom down and curse, but Reiko looks disappointed enough in herself that the last thing she probably needs is Ginny's regret on top of it. Taking a deep breath, she shoves her own feelings aside.

Looking at the glum, exhausted team milling on the pitch, she motions them closer.

"Tough loss, guys," she says. "I think we can probably all come up with more than a few things we could have done better. And, yes, we'll work on those. Believe me."

The Beaters grimace at the thought, Martin slapping a hand over his face.

"But for now," Ginny continues, "we just finished playing one of the longest matches in years against a really strong team. And we did a hell of a lot of things well."

Ginny takes the time to tell everyone at least one great thing they did. Reiko's fake out on Harry, an awesome goal stopped by Martin, well-placed Bludgers, a perfect formation.

"Okay, who's up for a hot shower, a warm meal, and sleeping for a week?"

Through the grit and mud and exhaustion, her team nods back at her.

As the team disperses into the crowd, Ginny glances up in time to see Harry approach Reiko. He says something to her that clearly startles her for a moment before she laughs. He mimics a dive with his hand, Reiko nodding along.

Ginny spies Ron, crossing over and giving him a petulant shove from behind before laughingly demanding to know just who he sold his soul to for that last save.

His face turns an alarming shade of red, but a crowd of Gryffindor fans catch up with them before she can ask, sweeping Ron into a celebrating mass as they loudly sing, "Weasley is our King".

Fred and George appear at her side, watching the mass of students surge up to the castle. "Now that was an exciting match," Fred says. It takes a moment for Ginny to realize that while Fred is decked from head to toe in gold and red, George is wearing all silver and green, including his hair.

She must be staring agape at them because Fred says, "Wouldn't do to show favorites."

George nods. "Besides, green looks good on me."

Ginny blinks back against what she refuses to acknowledge are tears. "You stupid berks."

George smiles. "Love you too, sis."

---

The week after a match is always a bit of a letdown, but Ginny has more than enough homework to keep her focused. OWLs are officially her least favorite things ever. When she's not in The Parlor, she's in the library. Saturday morning finds her in her secret little cloister, trying to wrest a few moments of peace to clear her head before her team's last practice before Christmas break. She plans on giving them a lot to think about.

She's been there for nearly an hour when she hears someone at the entrance. There's really only one person it could be, so she doesn't bother looking up from her book.

"Here to rub it in?" she scowls when Harry makes his way over to her.

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see him stiffen in surprise, and she can't help but smile.

He sees that she's teasing and relaxes. "You definitely made us earn it."

She sighs with long suffering. "Someone has to keep you honest."

He huffs with amusement.

She looks up at him, her expression shifting. "I'm sorry about Katie. Losing her must have been tough."

He shrugs, but the sudden hardness in his eyes belies any casualness on his part. "Certainly didn't help."

"Oh, well," Ginny says as if it wasn't a crushing loss she'll be nitpicking over for weeks. "I'll just have to squash you twice as hard next year to make up for it."

"I look forward to it," he says.

She laughs, seeing that he really means it. He really is the strangest boy. She rests her arms across her book. "So what's up?" she asks, knowing he must be here for a reason.

He swings his bag off his shoulder. "You don't mind if I study here for a while, do you?"

"Let me guess," Ginny says, giving him a knowing look. "Ron and Lavender?"

"God, yes," he says, dropping down on a low marble bench near her.

"It's truly revolting," she says, having seen the spectacle of Lavender perched on Ron's lap first hand this morning. "And not just because it's my disgusting brother."

Harry shifts, like he doesn't want to say anything disloyal but totally secretly agrees. He pulls out a book from his bag, a worn and ragged Potions manual.

Ginny looks down at her own book, picking at the edge of a page. "How is Hermione doing?"

Harry lets out a breath. "She's…" He trails off as if he isn't quite sure how to put it into words. "Pretty much what you'd expect."

Ginny nods. "Did she really set a flock of rabid ravens on him?" she asks, not sure how much to trust gossip, but also in no way willing to doubt Hermione's skills.

"More like a small group of songbirds," Harry says. "But with very sharp little beaks."

Ginny sighs. "Poor stupid, stupid Ron."

"You think he'll figure this one out eventually too?" Harry asks.

Ginny gives him small smile, remembering far too well the last time they had this conversation about her idiot brother. "Yes. Though whether or not that will be before he loses an eye is anyone's guess." She frowns, remembering Lavender. "Or suffocates."

Harry snorts in agreement, flipping absently through the pages of his book, all of which seem heavily marked with notes. Madam Pince would have a heart attack if she saw it.

"It's good that Hermione has you, Harry," she says, reaching over and giving his arm a quick squeeze.

He gives her a fleeting smile in return.

"Not that you don't have the right to hide every once and while."

"Thank goodness," he says.

They study in silence for a while, or rather Ginny does, as Harry seems to equally split his attention between his Potions book and sending Ginny glances that she dearly hopes he doesn't think are subtle. She's about to snap and ask when he finally opens his mouth.

"How are things with you?"

Ginny looks up. "Things?" she asks, noticing that his ears have gone a little pink.

"Yeah," he says with stubborn little nod. "Anything interesting happening down in Slytherin these days?"

She stares at him for a long moment, having no idea where this is coming from. Or, honestly, where to even begin. Slytherin House isn't exactly something they've ever talked about before. "You know how it is," she says. "Same old, same old."

"Yeah?" he asks, still sounding overly interested.

She shrugs. "People being idiots more often than not."

They fall back into silence, only now it's strangely awkward. She decides to throw him a conversational bone. "Did you hear about Smita and Tobias?"

His brow furrows, and she can tell this isn't what he'd been fishing for. "What about them?"

"They're…together," she says for lack of a better way to describe it.

He looks confused for a moment before his eyebrows lift. "Oh," he says. "I hadn't heard."

"Yeah, well, not everyone feels the need to spend every moment snogging in public."

Harry grimaces. "And you're…okay?"

"Me?" she asks, wondering if her tone had been that obvious. "Sure. I'm mean, I see Smita a lot less these days, which kind of sucks." It feels rather liberating to actually admit that out loud, and with Harry looking at her in that earnest way he has, it's surprisingly easy to open up. "It's hard to be resentful when they're clearly both so happy. Or at least I'm trying not to be resentful." She pulls a face. "I'm sorry. I sound peevish and stupid."

Harry shakes his head, gesturing at himself. "I think I know my way around peevish and stupid."

She laughs. "I forgot. You are best mates with my brother, aren't you?"

His forehead creases, like he's uncomfortable with the reminder. "Yeah. Yeah, I am."

"Meh. I just needed to realize that things change. There's nothing you can really do about that."

"You know," Harry says, fingers picking at the edge of his book, "some people always assumed you and Tobias…"

Ginny can't help it, she laughs out loud. "Me and Tobias? Ha! I'd kill him in under a week. If he didn't poison me first." She makes a mental note to tell Tobias about this. He'll get a kick out of it.

Harry frowns, like maybe he's imagining the fallout of a war between Ginny and Tobias. "You've been going to Slughorn's dinners, right?"

"Yeah," Ginny says. "They aren't even all that terrible, to be honest." She gives him a look. "If you actually showed up, Slughorn would probably faint with joy."

He grimaces.

"Harry, m'boy," she says in a very bad impersonation of Slughorn, punching him jubilantly in the arm.

He pulls a face. "That one needs work."

Ginny laughs. "Definitely." Glancing down at her lap, she catches sight of her watch.

"Merlin," she swears. "Is that really the time? I have to get ready for practice." She starts shoving books in her bag.

Harry pushes to his feet when she does. "Already?"

"I have a bunch of new drills to set up. Otherwise I risk those gits forgetting everything over break." She smiles at him, squeezing his arm. "Have fun hiding."

"Sure," he says, giving her a smile that seems a little forced.

She doesn't have time to think about it really, but she swears that as she leaves, she hears him muttering to himself.

---

Time is running out on the term, which is great other than the fact that Slughorn's Christmas party is also rapidly approaching. A party all Slug Club members are supposed to bring a date to. Ginny considers the options open to her. Antonia already snagged Lucas. She considers asking Neville, but he's never been very comfortable with Slughorn's parties in the first place. She could go alone, but wonders if that might just make her look a little too pathetic. Inviting Ron would be worse than not going at all. If it had been a year ago, she would have just made Tobias go with her.

It seems a hopeless task.

"Why are you staring at me?"

Ginny blinks, becoming aware that her fork is tapping against her plate as she stares unseeing at Thompson on the other side of the table. Now there's an idea.

Her mercenary thoughts must be a little too obvious though because he leans back away from the table as if contemplating strategic retreat.

She stabs her fork at him. "Would it be an abuse of position to demand that you go to Slughorn's Christmas Party with me?"

Both of Thompson's eyebrows lift. "Yes."

Ginny sighs. The last few times she let Smita talk her into doubling with one of Tobias' friends, she had to nearly hex her way out of the end of the night. A date's friendly indifference would have been a nice change.

Thompson crosses his arms. "But if you promise not to make me run extra drills or curse me if I say no, then I think you could at least ask me with no conflict of interest."

She looks up at him in surprise. "Really?"

He shrugs. "Only one way to find out."

She barely resists rolling her eyes, but dutifully asks, "Would you go to Slughorn's Christmas party with me?"

He seems to consider it. "Only if you call me Sean."

"Sean?"

He looks calmly back at her. "Yeah, you know, my name?"

Ginny shakes her head, finally losing the battle with rolling her eyes. "I'll do my best."

"Okay then," he says. "I guess it's a date."

Ginny smiles, glad to have one less thing to worry about. It's about time something in her life was simple.

---

Things get less simple when Ginny lets Antonia talk her into letting her do her hair and makeup. Once Mum sent a set of dress robes by owl, Ginny assumed this Christmas party would require ten minutes of prep tops.

Upon hearing that, Antonia just gives Ginny an indulgent smile and says, "It takes time to look this good."

Ginny has no doubt it does, but she's never aimed for being as beautiful as Antonia. When Ginny isn't sweating her way around the pitch or getting ink on her face doing homework, she pretty much settles for not being a total disgrace.

Antonia just tut-tuts under her breath and starts pulling out alarming-looking potions and utensils that seem better suited for torture than beautification.

What feels like hours later, but couldn't have been more than twenty minutes, Ginny stares back at her face in the mirror, barely recognizing herself. It's not that Antonia completely overwhelmed her face with makeup. It's just a little color on her lips and a smoky, kind of golden shade around her eyes. It makes her eyes look bigger, her normally dull brown eyes brighter. Antonia also manages to get her hair to lie the way Fleur always insisted was right, even if Ginny's never been able to duplicate it.

Downstairs, Thompson waits for them in the common room. He looks a little stunned when he catches sight of her, and Antonia doesn't even bother trying to pretend not to be smug.

Lucas is waiting for them in the hall, looking even more impossibly handsome in a dark, perfectly tailored set of robes. Thompson can't help but instantly look a little rumpled in comparison.

"Ladies," Lucas says, giving them a slightly absurd courtly bow. "You are looking exceptionally beautiful tonight."

Lucas and Thompson already seem to know each, not surprising since they are in the same year.

Antonia takes Lucas' arm, and Ginny has to admit that they make a dashing couple. Feeling a little foolish herself, she awkwardly takes Thompson's arm, smiling up at him.

They arrive at Slughorn's rooms to find the party already underway. Ginny shouldn't be surprised by the general splendor of the room after seeing what Slughorn referred to as his comforts during the dinners. Thick rich fabrics hang from the walls and ceiling, giving the space the feeling of being a luxurious tent. Lights hover overhead, filling the space with a warm glow.

Antonia and Lucas drift off to speak to some other friends, leaving Ginny and Thompson to look around the room. She isn't sure she's ever realized just how quiet Thompson can be until she relies on him for her conversation. On the pitch they mostly communicate through gesture and eye contact. This sort of event seems to require more than that.

She chats aimlessly for a while, a sort of running commentary on the special guests Slughorn has trotted out for the occasion. Thompson nods along, occasionally allowing a smile at one of her more clever comments, but rarely offering one of his own.

Across the crowd, Ginny notices Luna peering suspiciously up at a beribboned strand of mistletoe. She's never seen Luna at one of these things before, but if Slughorn actually thought to collect her, he's going to go up a lot in her estimation.

Ginny tugs on Thompson's arm. "I want to say hi to Luna."

"Loony Lovegood?" he says, looking around in interest.

Ginny stops, giving him a hard look. "Luna. My friend."

"Got it," he says, hands lifting. "No need to hex me."

She gives him another glare, just to make sure he'll behave himself.

He rolls his eyes. "Come on," he says, taking her hand and leading the way. "I'll play nice."

Luna looks up at them as they approach, eyes wide and probing as always. "Hi, Ginny."

"Hey, Luna. You look really nice."

Luna absently twists her hips, the hem of her robes floating around her knees. "I've never had so many people comment on my clothes before. It's curious."

Thompson gives Ginny a look, eyes wide.

"This is Thom-," Ginny starts to say, stumbling when Thompson clears his throat. "Sean."

He pats her on the shoulder. "I'm amazed you remembered."

"Why would she forget?" Luna asks, peering up suspiciously at the mistletoe again.

Thompson smiles at her. "She takes a lot of Bludgers to the head," he teases, clearly not realizing that things like that always go over Luna's head.

"That is a strange thing to find amusing." Luna gives Thompson a contemplative look before turning to Ginny. "He's a bit odd, isn't he?"

Thompson laughs, probably at the irony of Loony Lovegood calling him strange.

"You have no idea," Ginny says.

Harry appears at Luna's elbow then, drinks in hand. "Here you go, Luna."

"Harry asked me to come with him," Luna announces, taking the drink. "As a friend." She beams as if this is nicest thing to happen to her in a while.

Thompson lets out a cough that sounds suspiciously like a chortle.

Harry, for his part, glances at Luna, shaking his head slightly, not with exasperation, but rather real affection. So maybe Slughorn wasn't smart enough to collect Luna, but at least Harry is smart enough to know a good idea when he sees one.

"He couldn't have picked better," Ginny says, squeezing Luna's arm. She glances over at Harry. "I'm just surprised to discover he has good taste after all."

"Hello to you too, Ginny," Harry says, voice dry.

She smiles at him, giving an exaggerated curtsy. She's actually kind of relieved to see that he hasn't fallen prey to one of the many, many girls who are clearly obsessed with the idea of dating the Chosen One. As if being the Chosen One is some great mark of attraction. Thinking of Harry in the infirmary after the Department of Mysteries fiasco, his face drawn and troubled, Ginny can think of few things less romantic than the burden Harry is forced to carry.

He doesn't deserve a reputation-hunting girl on top of all of that.

"You look nice," Harry says, bringing Ginny out of her thoughts.

She lifts an eyebrow. "Nice?" she says, unable to resist teasing him.

He smiles. "Floaty?"

"Better," she says, smoothing a hand down the midnight blue velvet. They're the nicest robes she has ever owned. Mum must have wanted to make up for not buying her a new broom.

Thompson drops an arm over her shoulders, giving her a fond smile. "Yeah. I hardly recognized her off her broom. Who knew she'd clean up so well?"

Ginny digs him the ribs with her elbow.

He grimaces, holding the spot. "Okay, now you look familiar."

"Berk," Ginny laughs.

Harry's face is a little tight, like he's uncomfortable about something. He sticks a hand out to Thompson, and Ginny realizes she's failed to make introductions. "Harry," he says.

Thompson takes his hand. "Sean." There's a little beat of something there that Ginny can't quite read, and she wonders if Thompson is maybe surprised that Harry doesn't assume people just know who he is.

Luna peers back and forth between them. "Strange time of year for gnargles to be breeding," she observes.

"Indeed it is," Thompson says, dropping Harry's hand and smiling down at Ginny.

"Is Hermione here?" Ginny asks, glancing around.

"Yes," Harry says, his face contorting like he's not really pleased. "With Cormac."

"McLaggen?" Ginny says, no longer surprised by his expression. Why in the world would Hermione agree to come with him?

Harry gives her a look like she's missing something obvious.

It only takes a moment for Ginny to make the connection. Ron really is an idiot.

"So," Thompson says, looking down at Ginny. "Should we actually try to dance?"

She glances at the small crowd of people swaying precariously to the Weird Sisters. "Only if you're more graceful on the dance floor than you are on your broom."

"Ouch, Gin," he says, pulling her away. "Way to stab a guy where it hurts."

She laughs, waving goodbye to Harry and Luna.

They dance for a while, proving to be far less in sync on their feet than they are on the field.

"Okay," he says after he steps on her foot for the fourth time. "That's enough of that."

Ginny nods enthusiastically in agreement, gingerly stretching her toes inside her shoes to check for permanent damage.

"Want something to drink?" Thompson asks.

She smiles at him. "Yeah, thanks."

She hasn't been waiting more than a few minutes when there's a ruckus near the entrance. She can just make out Draco, and by his side a rather gleeful Filch. It looks a lot like Draco has been caught trying to sneak into the party.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

When Filch passes by, dragging Draco forward like a pathetic little interloper, Ginny inexplicably finds herself moving in tandem, stepping up next to him and sliding her hand into the crook of his arm just as they approach Professors Snape and Slughorn. She can't really say what makes her do it, other than the fact that Draco looks so pathetic and she knows it will kill him, the thought that he might in any small way be indebted to her. So it isn't all altruism or anything, but she's strangely fine with that.

"You're late, Draco," she says, smiling pleasantly at Snape and Slughorn as she squeezes Draco's arm.

"Ah," Slughorn says, looking pleased to have any unpleasantness so easily cleared up. "You've been asked to escort the daring Miss Weasley, have you?" His voice makes it clear that he thinks Draco has lucked out, being clearly out of his depth with Ginny. The Malfoys are in disgrace after all and thus of no use to Slug.

Draco flinches as if to pull away, practically radiating his fury at her interference. I don't need rescue, Weasley, she imagines him thinking.

She merely digs her nails into his arm with unapologetic ruthlessness and smiles wider, because it may have been an impulsive act, but once she picks her course, Ginny Weasley does not stray. The music behind them swells, and she pulls on his arm.

"I do so love this song," she sighs with fake reverence.

Slughorn smiles broadly. "Go, go!" he says. He leans in towards Snape. "We must not keep the young ones from their entertainments!"

Snape does not seem to harbor the same sentiment, but doesn't say anything as Ginny drags Draco away.

"What the hell do you think-," he starts to bluster once they are out of earshot.

"Shut up and dance, Malfoy."

To her surprise, he complies. She almost misses his bite, the days when he was a worthy adversary to set her sails against. These days he just looks haunted.

Looking over his shoulder, she catches Harry watching them, something hard in his expression. She ignores him, stepping slightly closer to Draco. She studies his face, and this close it is clear that he is not doing well.

"You look like death," she says.

He glares at her, but doesn't seem to have any ready comeback. Not even a single freckley git insult for her.

She frowns, leaning in closer. "Are you okay?"

He stares back at her in surprise, something terribly painful in his eyes for a moment before he shakes his head, pushing her out of his arms like she's something disgusting he's been forced to hold. "I don't know what game you're playing, Weasley," he hisses. "But keep me out of it."

He slips back out into the hall, Snape quick on his heels. She tries to pretend she doesn't see Harry follow out after them, the silver sheen of a robe in his hand.

That isn't her battle to fight. It never has been.

"That looked like fun," Thompson says, appearing at her elbow.

"One of these days I'm going to learn to ignore my more perverse urges," she says with a sigh, taking the drink from him.

He smiles. "And take away all our fun?"

They spend another hour mingling among the guests, listening to Slughorn's previous protégés compete for the prize of most stuck up. Or creepiest date, she thinks, watching the vampire out of the corner of her eye.

At some point near the end of the evening, Hermione passes by, her hair rumpled and expression wary like she's trying to escape something. Hestia sniffles quietly by the punch bowl, fingers tight in the grip of her sister's hand.

Whatever allure this party once held is long past.

"Ready to go?" Thompson asks.

Ginny nods. "Definitely."

They duck out into the halls, wandering slowly back to the common room, the dark halls nearly deserted.

"This was fun," she says.

"Do you have to sound so surprised?" he asks.

She smacks his arm. "The last few 'dates' I've been on have been rather…trying."

He raises an eyebrow in question.

"Boys are dumb," she says by way of explanation.

He doesn't bother denying it, probably because he knows it's true.

She smiles as they near the common room door. "Well, thanks for making the great sacrifice of coming with me to this."

Thompson gives her a look she can't quite interpret. Then he shakes his head, his hand reaching for her elbow. "Girls are dumb too."

Pulling her in, he leans down and kisses her.

Ginny is surprised, holding stiff for a moment, but then remembers who this is, someone who's always been on her side. Someone she trusts.

His lips are warm and pleasant on hers and she thinks, why not? and kisses him back.

---

The Burrow is buried in white, Christmas morning dawning quiet and cozy with the softest whisper of snow against the windowsill. Ginny pushes back her blankets, crawling over to the pile of gifts at the foot of her bed. Pulling out a large soft package, she rips the paper off, pulling the thick emerald green jumper up over her head and snuggling into its warmth. She makes quick work of the rest, including some new products from Fred and George, a new broom kit, some sparkly barrettes she's not sure she'll ever find a use for, and a slightly used Muggle paperback called A Wrinkle in Time.

She can hear the sounds of people moving around the house now. Shoving her feet into a thick pair of socks and pulling her hair back into a quick ponytail, she thunders up the stairs, barging in on Ron's room. "Happy Christmas!"

Ron and Harry are both sitting on their beds, Weasley jumpers already pulled on. Ron squeaks in alarm at her sudden appearance, moving as if to hide something. He isn't quick enough though, Ginny's mouth popping open.

"What," Ginny says, staring at the golden monstrosity hanging from Ron's fingers, "is that?"

Ron stares gob smacked at her while Harry seems very intent on not laughing, even if he isn't quite loyal enough not to say, "Lavender," under his breath.

It's then that Ginny realizes it says My Sweetheart in giant sweeping letters.

Ginny takes a breath and bellows, "Fred, George, get in here immediately!"

The unholy glee in her voice must be clear, because the twins appear with a crack, quick enough that Ron doesn't even have time to stow the necklace.

"Ronnikins!" George crows as Fred pounces, grabbing the necklace out his hand. They dance around him, offering to stick the necklace in various places for all time with a well-aimed sticking charm.

Ron's ears are violently red. "Yeah, well," he shouts, "Kreacher sent Harry a bunch of maggots!"

Ginny glances over at Harry, and he shrugs.

"So," Ginny laughs, "all in all a season of abundance."

"What is going on up there?" Mum hollers up the stairs.

"Nothing!" they all chorus together.

Ron rather rudely shoves them all out his room a few minutes later, muttering that all he wanted for Christmas was to get a different family.

Ginny makes kissy faces at him. "I'm sure Lavender would be happy to adopt you."

Ron slams the door in her face.

"Rude," George declares before both twins disappear with a crack, a startled shriek sounding from downstairs a moment later.

Ginny makes her own way down the stairs to find Mum happily reaming the twins for almost ruining breakfast, and Dad calmly reading the paper at the table. Fleur is standing to one side looking a little overwhelmed by the sheer chaos around her.

"Happy Christmas," Ginny says.

Fleur turns to look at her, and it's only then that she realizes she has a huge tome hugged it to her chest as if she's scared to let go of it. It says The Complete Illustrated Birds of England.

"Your idea, I take it?" Fleur asks, hand splayed across the book.

Ginny glances at all the other presents spread on the chair next to her, every one of them light and airy and elegant. She shrugs. "It felt right at the time."

Fleur beams, leaning in to kiss her cheek. "Merci, ma cheri," she whispers.

Ginny playfully tugs at the pale lavender Weasley jumper she wears with a white flower carefully stitched on the front. "Don't you mean ma soeur?"

Fleur's tinkling laugh fills the space. "Soon enough!"

"Breakfast!" Mum shouts, and there's a general scramble to the table.

Bill catches Ginny's elbow. "Thanks, Gin," he says, folding her up in a hug.

"Hey," she says with a shrug. "You're the one with the good taste. Though how you convinced her to marry you, I'll never know."

Bill laughs, tripping her into a headlock and playfully digging his knuckles into her scalp.

"Mum!" she yelps, swatting ineffectually at him.

"Tattler," she hears Ron and the twins call.

Bill eventually lets go of her, patting her head with a smile. Ginny sticks her tongue out at him and takes a seat at the table.

Harry is already sitting on the other side of the table, watching her with obvious amusement.

She pats at her hair, now standing up in a million directions. "A madhouse," she complains.

"Yeah," Harry agrees, only instead of being disturbed, he looks as happy as she's ever seen him.

Clearly proof that he's just as mental as the rest of them.

---

Things settle down as much as they ever do by the time dinner rolls around, mostly out of sheer exhaustion.

Remus Lupin, looking even more careworn than usual, comes to dinner, disappearing into the parlor with Harry and her father for an intense looking discussion that seems to please no one by the end of it, Harry least of all.

Halfway through dinner there's a knock at the door, revealing that Rufus Scimgeour, Minister of Magic, has more gall than the average wizard. He brings Percy with him for the thinnest veneer of respectability.

Mum doesn't seem to register that Percy is clearly only here as a beard for Scimgeour, too ecstatic to see her erstwhile son on Christmas. It occurs to everyone else though, particularly the twins, if their expression is anything to judge by. They are already nudging each other under the table, clearly working on something.

Ginny clears her throat, giving them an arch look when they acknowledge her. She wants in.

She waits expectantly until George gives her a signal.

Pushing to her feet, Ginny heads towards her brother. "Percy!" she shouts. "I've missed you so much!"

He's clearly thrown by the unexpectedly warm greeting, but doesn't seem suspicious. He hasn't been around her enough the last few years to know how afraid he should be.

Percy leaves the Burrow ten minutes later with parsnip stuck in places he probably never thought possible.

---

The post-Christmas doldrums settle over the Burrow in the week that follows. The twins are back at their shop for the post-holiday sales, such as they are, and Bill and Fleur leave to visit Aunt Muriel for a few days. Most of the time Ron and Harry are off somewhere talking about whatever boys like them find interesting. Even they don't like to be in each other's pockets every moment though, so sometimes Harry wanders in to sit with Ginny. Mostly he doesn't say anything, just sits reading obsessively in his worn Potions book, his mood noticeably dark and brooding since Remus' visit.

Ginny is diligently writing Smita a letter one evening when Harry sits down at the other end of the couch after giving her an awkward smile. Sometimes it's like this, him seeking her out to say absolutely nothing. They aren't friends really. Only sometimes…it's almost something like it.

It's almost as confusing as it sounds.

"Ginny," he says.

She glances up at him. "Yeah?"

He looks like he wants to ask her something, rubbing at his forehead. Of their own accord, her eyes find his scar.

He shakes his head, turning back to his book. He gives her a fleeting smile, looking sheepish, but right underneath, almost angry. It frightens her, this tense energy he's carrying around these days. Like he's one step from doing something completely reckless.

Could you kill, if you had to?

"Harry?" she presses, touching his arm.

He snaps his books shut. "Never mind."

Picking up his book, he leaves her sitting alone on the couch.

She hates the feeling that she's done something wrong without even knowing it.

---

In the end, it's a bit of a relief to board the train back to Hogwarts. She's had just about her fill of Celestina Warbeck and moody, indecipherable boys. Even having to watch Smita and Tobias' reunion after an entire two weeks apart is preferable.

"Thanks for your letters," Smita says once she's able to wrench her attention away from Tobias. "Though six did seem a little excessive."

Ginny shrugs. "I have an exciting life, what can I say."

Smita smiles. "I really would like to see that necklace of Ron's though."

Tobias perks up. "Necklace?"

They spend the next ten minutes abusing Ron, until the compartment door slides open, Thompson sticking his head in.

"Hey, Ginny," he says.

Ginny is almost certain her cheeks flush. "Thompson," she says deliberately, just to see his reaction.

He lifts an eyebrow. "Back to that, are we?"

She shrugs, her lip twitching despite her best efforts. "I'm forgetful, remember?"

He stares at her for a long moment, his eyes intent on her face as if he's searching for something. She feels her skin flush further. Eventually he smiles, clearly pleased with whatever he sees. "I'm looking forward to reminding you."

She bites her lip, feeling unaccountably discomforted by something in his expression.

Somewhere nearby, someone clears their throat.

Thompson blinks, whatever expression had been there suddenly disappearing. He glances past Ginny to Tobias and Smita. "Hi."

"Hi," Smita says.

Ginny looks over in their direction to find Tobias staring with his mouth hanging open. Smita, as always, looks completely composed, her hands folded quietly in her lap. Only her eyes seem to promise the intense amusement she plans on getting out of this later.

Ginny winces.

"Well," Thompson says, hand tapping against the doorjamb, "I'll see you later?"

Getting a hold of herself, Ginny turns her attention back to Thompson, a little relieved to find him back to looking at her just like he always has. She smiles. "Yeah."

With one last lingering look, Thompson disappears out the door.

"Okay," Tobias says the moment the door closes, something like unholy glee in his voice. "Just what the hell was that?"

"I think," Ginny says wonderingly, "that may have been my boyfriend."

Tobias stares at her for a long beat before falling back against his seat in hopeless laughter.

---

Despite Tobias' teasing and Smita's much more subtle and kindly intended mocking, Ginny quickly finds that she rather likes being part of a pair.

It's not that having a boyfriend really changes anything really. She just eats some of her meals sitting next to Thompson. Sometimes he's there waiting for her after her last lesson of the day so they can wander about the castle together for a while. Of course, the snows keep them inside more often than not, and it begins to feel like an elaborate game, trying to find some abandoned corridor where he can pull her into an alcove and kiss her, keeping one step ahead of the eerily omniscient Mrs. Norris, who can apparently sense a snog from two corridors over and three floors down. Those are the times that leave her breathless and laughing, and maybe a teensy bit more understanding of her brother. Maybe. Slightly.

Mostly though, it's just someone to sit next to, someone to talk to, and it only occurs to Ginny as she sits on a couch in the common room with Thompson and rattles on about her day that she's maybe been more lonely this year than she's realized. Being captain puts her above her teammates, separates her a bit. She is getting on more and more with the other girls from The Parlor, but sometimes that still feels like something that only happens in that space. Smita and Tobias are…well, they have their own thing. This is something that is hers and hers alone.

She doesn't treat him any different on the pitch, and he doesn't seem to expect it, which had been Ginny's one fear. They work just as seamlessly together in the air as always.

It's nice.

---

DADA has quickly become one of Ginny's favorite subjects of the year. It's not just that the topics are interesting and important, which they certainly are, but also because of Snape, surprisingly enough. She's drawn in by the way he talks about the skills they study, like the magics are living, breathing things that are complex and illusive and forever challenging.

They spend the first part of the new term studying dark arts aimed at influencing people's minds in various ways, many of which there is no direct protection against other than awareness.

"Today," Snape says, pacing down the length of the classroom, "we will discuss the most dangerous and invasive form of dark magic: Legilimens. It is a highly focused skill that is regulated quite closely by the Ministry, much like the use of Veritaserum."

He goes on to explain the legal restrictions on Legilimens, emphasizing that the mere rarity and illegality of the practice does not preclude the chance of having it used on them someday.

"It's best to be prepared. The only defense against Legilimens is Occlumency, a skill even more complex and difficult than Legilimens."

He walks down the length of the room.

"Questions?"

Ginny raises her hand. "Why would Occlumency be so much more difficult? If it's just a matter of putting up a mental wall to block the intrusion, that seems like it would be much more straight forward than trying to dig into someone's mind."

Snape shakes his head. "Keeping the truth from an invading mind is one thing, Miss Weasley. Seamlessly supplanting the truth with believable lies is another all together."

She considers that, gnawing on the inside of her lip. "Because the very lack of access is proof enough that you are keeping something from them."

His eyebrow lifts, clearly surprised by her answer. "Exactly." He paces back to the front of the classroom. "As I said, few if any of you will ever be able to achieve that level of skill. Nonetheless, it is an important defensive spell that all witches and wizards should at least have a basic background in."

He tells them that he will spend the next few weeks wordlessly casting Legilimens on various students as they fill out a series of practice OWL exams and review earlier concepts.

It is important, he explains to them, that they be able to recognize when someone uses the spell on them, because if you don't even know it's happening, how can you ever hope to counteract it? They are supposed to raise their hands when they think they detect the spell being used on them. For the first few days the students jump at every wayward sensation, but eventually they settle down and begin to forget that Snape is trying to break into their minds.

Almost two weeks after the first lecture on the topic, Ginny is filling out a comparative chart on various dark creatures when she registers the faintest sensation, nothing more than the slightest breeze on the back of her neck. Innocuous, really, if not for the instantaneous feeling of disquiet that fills her brain with a sort of soft buzz, the accompanying rush of adrenaline in her system that has her back in the Department of Mysteries scrambling for her life in an instant. She's on her feet, wand in hand and spell on her tongue before she even gives it conscious thought.

The nearby chairs and tables rattle with the force of the protective spell she barks into life. She barely registers the squeaks of alarm of her fellow students, too caught up in the pounding of her heart in her ears, the taste of bile on her tongue.

"Miss Weasley."

It takes her a moment to register Professor Snape standing in front of her. She has her wand raised, pointed at him.

He doesn't seem overly concerned by that. "Congratulations, Miss Weasley," he says once he seems sure he has her attention. "You are the first student to detect the use of Legilimens."

She lets out an unsteady breath, seeing Smita and Tobias cautiously approaching from one side. "I am?"

Snape nods, something almost like a smile on his lips. "I'd say five points to Slytherin are in order."

Lowering her wand arm, she feels the shield charm dissipate, her knees weakening as the adrenaline leaves her system. She lowers herself back to her seat, Smita sliding into the one next to her, a quiet form of support.

The rest of the class warily turns back to their work.

"Miss Weasley?" Snape says, and it's only then she realizes he is still standing next to her table.

"Yes, sir?" she asks, pleased to find her voice is back to almost sounding normal.

"Perhaps next time you could just raise your hand."

She lets out a shaky laugh.

Once the fear wears off, Ginny is mostly left with embarrassment. Smita and Tobias understand of course, and the rest of the students seem more wary than amused, but Ginny is still humiliated to have lost her composure so completely.

"What did it feel like?" Smita asks.

Ginny shakes her head, not really sure how to put it into words. "I don't know. It didn't exactly feel like anything. I just suddenly knew something wasn't right."

"At least you just went for a protective spell," Tobias points out as they settle in the great hall for lunch. "You could have pulled out your Reductor curse. Would have blown half the classroom apart."

Smita sends him a glare when Ginny simply pales another shade at the thought.

"What?" he says. "I'm just trying to find the bright side."

Thompson drops down into the empty seat next to Ginny. "What's this I hear about you almost taking Snape down with a wicked defensive spell?"

Ginny groans, dropping her face into her hands.

"What I'd say?" Thompson asks.

Ginny just shakes her head, having the feeling this is going to become just one more thing she'll never live down.

---

As January quickly bleeds into February, Ginny finds she has a lot more sympathy for Smita.

It's hard to balance it all—schoolwork, Quidditch, Parlor, friends, Slug Club, and boyfriend. Sometimes it feels like she doesn't even have time to breathe, and she's always a little scared that she's ignoring any one part of her life for any other part.

She's happy though, despite the challenges.

Quidditch practices are going well, and she splits her evenings between studying with Thompson in the common room and The Parlor. The Carrow twins, it seems, are very close to their goal now, lending a palpable excitement to the air.

In classes, Ginny sits with Smita and Tobias and catches up with them as much as she can under the distraction of spells and tests and lectures.

One day in DADA she's laughing with Tobias about a prank someone pulled on Kiernan Harper.

Ginny wipes a tear from her eye. "I would have liked to have-." She stops talking mid-sentence.

Smita frowns. "Ginny?"

Ginny takes a breath and puts her hand in the air.

"Excellent, Miss Weasley," Snape says from the front of the classroom.

She feels the unsettling sensation dissipate and relaxes back into her seat.

Quite a few students have managed to pass Snape's Legilimens detection test by now, but Ginny still seems to be a favorite target of his.

Tobias pats her arm. "Good job not blowing everyone up."

Rubbing at the back of her neck, she takes a shaky breath and tells Tobias where he can stuff his wand.

---

As their match against Ravenclaw approaches in mid-February, the pressure begins to ramp up. She starts to feel everything but Quidditch slipping, but doesn't care, too focused on proving that her team can win.

The rash, scared part of her wants to double up practices, but her more rational side knows that exhausting her team before the match is stupid. She's analyzed Ravenclaw's game, their strengths and weaknesses, and spent the last month adjusting their own strategies accordingly. They have all the tools they need to win, to be successful. At this point, it's all down to execution. So instead of pushing, Ginny puts on a face of utter confidence, knowing that her team is always looking to her. They just need to believe.

Saturday of the match dawns cold and cloudy. There's still snow thick on the ground, and the threat of more in the air. Not ideal, but sometimes these conditions make it easier to see the Snitch. She has a brief conversation with Reiko about the implications of the weather, the younger girl nodding along.

At breakfast, Ginny forces herself to eat with a casualness she doesn't particularly feel, laughing at Bassenthwaite and Graham's antics as they burn off their nervousness.

As she's leaving the hall, Ron catches up with her, giving her a scowl. "For the record," he says, "I'm not sure I'll ever be able to forgive you for this."

"What?" she asks, wondering what she could possibly have done to piss him off considering she's barely seen him the last month.

"You're making me root for Slytherin," he says, face twisted up in disgust. It's only then that she notices he's holding the tiniest green flag she's ever seen.

Ginny rolls her eyes. "Don't hurt yourself on my account."

He dismisses that with a wave of his hand. "You're my sister. Besides, those Ravenclaws are a shifty lot."

Ginny stares back at him for a moment, torn, as always, between punching him and hugging him. "Prat," she says, voice thick.

Ron grins. "Kick their arses, Gin."

She gives him a little salute. "With pleasure."

---

As Ginny predicts, the pace of the game is much faster with Ravenclaw. It's a blur of brooms and bodies and Bludgers. The scores climb on both sides, with Ravenclaw pulling a slight advantage. Martin has been struggling with confidence in the goal, but there's nothing Ginny can do about that in the middle of a match, so instead she focuses on scoring herself.

Between runs on the goal, Ginny keeps an eye on Reiko. Cho has been shadowing Reiko, the two of them taking slow leisurely loops of the field.

About twenty minutes into the match, Reiko takes a spectacular and sudden dive. Ginny sees the start of it out of the corner of her eye, wondering if Reiko's finally grown tired of having a shadow. Even Cho seems to assume the move is a feint, choosing not to follow. Everyone saw how Reiko duped Harry in the last match after all.

Except at second glance Ginny notices something different about the way Reiko moves, her hand stretching out in front of her.

She's really caught sight of the Snitch.

Cho finally sees it too, darting after her.

Ginny comes to a complete stop, hovering on her broom, her heart in her throat as Reiko lays flat out mere yards above the snow. With a jerk, her broom pulls back up, climbing rapidly in altitude.

For a moment Ginny thinks the Snitch has escaped, only then Reiko levels out, her face beaming as a small golden ball flutters in her outstretched hand.

Below them, the crowd erupts.

Slytherin wins.

Ginny nearly slams her broom into Reiko's in her excitement. Reiko laughs, the beaming smile on her face almost better than the win.

Maybe, Ginny thinks, this captain gig might be for me after all.

---

For at least a week, Ginny feels like she's floating around on a cloud. Tobias declares her completely unlivable, and instead of cursing him, she just smiles at him and moves as if to hug him.

"Ugh," he complains, slapping her away.

Ginny and Smita share a look, laughing as Tobias runs away in disgust.

Luckily for Tobias' sanity, it only takes a week or so for the weight of ignored homework and looming OWLs to get Ginny back to normal—meaning more likely to hex than hug. Added to that, a few nasty rumors start trickling through the castle about her. Happening so soon after their decisive victory over Ravenclaw, Ginny can only suspect Crabbe and Goyle, considering the things they were happy to say about her earlier in the year.

This tells her two things. One, she must being doing a really good job as captain to be annoying them so much. Two, Crabbe is still too scared of her to do anything other than talk behind her back. She has a much easier time with one of these truths than the other.

Ginny comes up from The Parlor late one evening to find Thompson still sitting in the common room. She feels a little warmed by the idea that he may be waiting for her.

She sits down on the couch next to him. "Apparently I am sleeping with the entire team," she informs him.

"Are you really," Thompson says, eyebrow lifting. "Reserve squad too?"

Ginny sighs. "Probably." According to the rumor, there is no other way she would have gotten the captain position.

His other eyebrow lifts. "Even little Reiko?"

Ginny rolls her eyes.

"Sounds exhausting," he says, returning his attention to his book.

She gives him an arch look. "Shouldn't you be, I don't know, offended on my behalf or something?"

He shrugs. "Mostly hurt to discover you're holding out on me."

She stiffens, her face flushing.

He looks over at her, putting his book down when he sees her face. "I was teasing, Ginny."

"I know," she lies, embarrassed to have reacted that way. She just suddenly really, really doesn't want to talk about this with him.

He shakes his head. "Sometimes I forget."

"Forget what?" she asks, even though she's not certain she wants to hear the answer.

"How young you are." It's more matter of fact than patronizing, but it still stings. Like being seventeen makes him so much more worldly.

She forces herself to smile, to shrug it all off. "Not much I can do about that," she says, voice deliberately light.

"Gin," he says. She's probably just imagining the way his tone seems to say, Stop being such a little girl.

"It's fine." She gives him a quick peck on the lips. "See you tomorrow."

She shifts up off the couch. He doesn't stop her.

---

Things remain a bit strained between Ginny and Thompson. It's not like they are fighting or not speaking to each other, nothing so dramatic. Not that she would ever expect anything different. Thompson has always, as ever, been one of the steadiest parts of her life. He's the one who taught her to keep her cool, on the pitch and off.

Still, as they sit next to each other at breakfast, Ginny doesn't talk as much as she usually might have, and Thompson sends her looks every once and a while that she can't quite interpret. They were supposed to go to Hogsmeade together today, and if she's honest, she can admit that she's a little relieved to hear that the trip has been cancelled.

Katie Bell still hasn't returned to the castle after all, so no one has forgotten she almost died on the last Hogsmeade trip.

Of everyone, she imagines it's Ron who will be the most upset. She cranes her neck, trying to catch sight of her brother at the Gryffindor table.

"Looking for someone?" Thompson asks.

Ginny turns back to her breakfast. "My brother. It's his birthday."

"Must be hard to keep track, what with six of them."

She nods. "Yeah. Sometimes it feels like we are always celebrating something."

They eat in silence for a while longer, Ginny frowning down at her toast. "What about you?" she eventually asks.

"What about me?"

"Do you have any brothers?" It seems a strange thing for her not to know.

He shakes his head. "Just two older sisters."

They finish the rest of the meal in more comfortable conversation, swapping stories about siblings. She can't help but consider though, how little she really knows about him. She knows he hates eggs (weirdo). She knows he likes Quidditch. And her, apparently. But that's about it. She's not sure how it happens. Either they are silent, she's talking (usually about Quidditch), or they are snogging. It was kind of restive at first. Coming from a chaotic family, she isn't really used to getting anyone's undivided attention.

But after a while, she finds herself watching him, wondering what he's really thinking. Then he'll turn and look at her, give her a smile and hold her hand, and she'll decide it doesn't really matter.

But none of that changes the fact that she's never seen him angry. Or sad. Or flustered. He's as steady as the earth. She stares at his face and wonders what he may really be feeling under there. She knows she isn't anything like an open book herself, but still… This feels ever as they have always been, teammates. Only now with the occasional snog.

She shrugs. Maybe that's what it's supposed to be like.

They've just finished breakfast when Harry enters the hall, hesitating only slightly before bee lining straight for the Slytherin table as if approaching a blast-ended skrewt.

He stops next to Ginny, his face a bit flushed, his eyes worried enough to make her stomach clench.

"What's happened?" she asks, already halfway out of her seat. Misfortune, after all, seems to follow Harry Potter around like a loyal pet.

"It's Ron," he says.

Merlin, no. Not stupid, wonderful Ron. She can barely hear Harry's explanation that he's been poisoned over the buzzing in her ears.

"But," she hears herself saying, "it's his birthday."

And Harry, who has every right to laugh at her or shake her for saying such a stupid thing, just nods solemnly. "Yeah."

She takes a breath. "Can I see him?"

He shakes his head. "Promfrey won't let anyone visit yet. But Hermione and I are going to wait anyway."

Harry's eyes dart past her, and she belatedly remembers Thompson. She glances helplessly over at him, but he's already shooing her. "Go," he says. "I hope he's okay."

Harry fills her in as she follows him up to the infirmary. The love potion (she'll laugh about that later, she will), Slughorn's antidote, a birthday toast with tainted mead.

"Why is it always Ron?" she says without thinking.

Harry looks away, but she knows too well that he must be blaming himself. All part of being the best mate of the Chosen One.

Hermione is sitting impatiently outside the infirmary door when they get there. "Ginny," she says, popping up.

Ginny pulls her into a hug, partially to comfort her, but mostly to have something to hold on to.

Sitting in the hallway, Ginny holds Hermione's hand while Harry alternately paces and sits in brooding silence. He's clearly trying to work out who the poison was really intended for, and how it made its way to Slughorn only to almost kill Ron.

They've been there for about an hour when Smita shows up.

"I just heard," Smita says. "Is he going to all right?"

Ginny feels it all bubbling up, tears pressing at her eyes. "Pomfrey won't let us in."

"Right," Smita says, peering at the closed door for a moment before nodding her head with brisk efficiency. "I'll see what I can find out."

Harry and Hermione share a look as Smita disappears inside.

"She's been assisting Promfrey all year," Ginny says, something like fierce pride building in her chest.

Another half hour passes before Smita reappears.

"The bezoar neutralized the majority of the poison. There are some small traces left that are being counteracted with specific potions, but for now it's really a matter of waiting and watching for any unexpected adverse reactions." She glances at Harry and Hermione. "It's the first six to eight hours that are the most crucial."

"The metabolizing rate for the most common noxious amalgamates," Hermione says, her voice rushed and trembling.

Smita smiles, sitting down next to Hermione. "Yes, exactly."

They talk for a while, their heads close together as they discuss the foundational theories of poisons and treatment. Hermione is clearly desperate to be distracted, and now Ginny has another reason to be thankful to Smita. Ginny stops listening to the words, just letting the sound of their voices lull her.

In the afternoon, Thompson shows up, bringing a heaping plate of sandwiches and a flask of pumpkin juice. "I thought you might all be hungry."

It's a welcome distraction, though Ginny notices that most of them do little more than nibble a little bit. Hermione just tears hers into little pieces.

Thompson sits next to Ginny, putting an arm around her shoulders.

She leans into him. "Thank you."

"Of course," he says, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

Both Smita and Thompson leave a while later. It's not until nearly eight that Pomfrey finally lets them in to see Ron.

"God," Hermione says, when they get their first glimpse. "He looks terrible."

Pomfrey clicks her tongue. "He'd look a lot worse if it weren't for that well timed bezoar, Mr. Potter."

The doors open again, Fred and George spilling into the infirmary. Ginny almost finally loses her control a little in the face of her brothers' comfort, but Fred just holds her tight and doesn't take the mickey, his own expression open and troubled.

"We were down in Hogsmeade for a birthday visit," Fred explains. "What happened?"

Harry fills them in, still staring down at Ron lying unconscious on the bed.

"Not his best birthday, all told," George says.

Mum and Dad come in after talking to Dumbledore. Ginny gratefully accepts hugs from both of them.

There's far too many people in the infirmary now though, Pomfrey shooting them all stern looks, so Harry and Hermione get up to leave. Ginny follows them to the door.

She gives Hermione a quick hug. "Get some sleep, yeah?"

Hermione gives her a shaky smile.

She turns to Harry next, putting her arms around him too, hugging him tight. "Thank you," she says. "Thank you for saving my stupid idiot brother. Thank Merlin you were there."

After a beat of hesitation, she feels his arms around her, hugging her back. "You're welcome."

Pulling back, she smiles at him. "That's three of us Weasleys you've saved now. You seem to be making a career of it."

He huffs, clearly exhausted on his feet and beginning to feel a little punchy. "I'd prefer it if you Weasleys would just get better at avoiding trouble all together."

Ginny smirks. "Unlikely. I guess we'll just have to keep you around instead."

His expression seems to run the gamut from appreciation for being a defacto member of the family to endless, painful guilt like it's his fault they are in danger in the first place. It's almost dizzying to watch. "Deal," he says.

"Now go to sleep," she says, giving him a little push. "You look like death."

He rolls his eyes at her. "Night, Gin."

She watches him go.

---

Thompson is still waiting up for her when she finally makes her way back to the common room. She walks up to him and lets him fold her into a hug.

"All right?" he asks against her hair.

She isn't. She isn't all right at all.

She wants to confess how afraid she was, wants to lean into his shoulder and cry big ugly tears, wants to just stop holding everything together and just be for once.

She wants all of these things, but all she can think of is how carefully Thompson always keeps things in control, the way she can never tell what he is feeling, the way he looks at her when she says something wrong.

Stop being such a little girl.

She sucks in a steadying breath and nods against his shoulder. "I'm all right."

---

Ginny visits Ron in the infirmary a lot the next few days, even if it becomes a bit of a challenge trying to avoid any time that Lavender may be there.

She gets there once to find Ron asleep, but before she can turn around and leave, he pops one eye open. "Oh, it's you," he says, suddenly wide awake.

She narrows her eyes at him. "Who did you think I was?"

"What?" he asks, playing stupid, and really, that's not much of a stretch.

She shakes her head. "You really are an idiot, you know that?"

"Yeah, yeah," he says, waving the insult away. "What did you bring me?"

"Homework," she lies, waiting for his face to fall into petulance before she tosses a chocolate frog on his lap. "Wizard chess?"

"Yes, please," he says.

He never makes it through a complete match, lingering evidence that there is a reason he is still in the infirmary. Not that he isn't above faking being sleepy just to get out of losing to her. ("As if," he says when she calls him on it. "You're crap at chess." Only she isn't, because what is chess but a Quidditch match played out on a board?)

When he conveniently falls asleep, she always ruffles his hair and drops a kiss on his head as she leaves, and only partly to see him grimace and give away his subterfuge.

---

Near the end of the week, they're in the greenhouses with Ravenclaw for a Herbology lesson. The plants have been getting more and more dangerous, requiring various forms of protection and thorough concentration.

"How's your brother doing?" Tobias asks.

Ginny glances up from the plant in front of her. "Okay. There's been some lingering side effects, but he's slowly getting better."

Tobias shakes his head. "It's still so hard to believe that someone would poison him."

"You've never had to live with him," Ginny quips.

Tobias snorts. "I suppose I've wanted to poison you from time to time."

Ginny sticks her tongue out at him.

"Remember," Professor Sprout calls out, "you need to persuade the plant. You can't force it!"

Ginny sighs, glancing down at the plant in front of her.

Smita has already successfully harvested two sprouts, clearly being more persuasive than Ginny and Tobias. "And how are things with Sean?" she asks.

Ginny has really begun to dread that particular question. It's as if dating someone suddenly gives everyone the right to pry, no matter how little they know her. It's even worse when it's Smita asking. Mostly because she knows she won't be able to get away with a mysterious smile and a simple, "Good."

So instead she settles for something like the truth. "It's…nice."

Smita looks up from her work, forehead creasing. "Did you just say 'nice'?"

Ginny lifts her chin. "What's wrong with that?"

Smita shares a glance with Tobias, something unspoken there, just enough of a spark to make Ginny think they would never call what they have nice. Probably aggravating and exciting and certainly never dull.

"I like him, I really do," Ginny feels the need to say. She isn't sure why it sounds like she's trying to defend herself.

"But?" Smita prompts.

Ginny shrugs. "It's just…easy, I suppose."

She gets a double eyebrow raise for that one.

She sighs, shoving away the Chinese Chomping Cabbage she's trying to convince to let her harvest a sprout. It snaps at her, a tiny splat of puss barely missing her hand. "It's totally ridiculous to think it's too easy, right?"

Tobias looks over at her. "I dunno. You've never really struck me as a girl who likes easy."

Ginny drops her head down on the table. "Maybe that's the problem."

Smita pats her consolingly on the back.

---

That weekend, Gryffindor loses bad to Hufflepuff. And by bad, Ginny doesn't just mean by score. With Ron still in hospital, Cormac McLaggen plays Keeper and proves that he's an even worse teammate than he is a Christmas party date. His crowning moment is when he manages to knock his own teammate unconscious. Knock Harry unconscious, to be precise.

It's a horrible moment, Harry taking a bat directly to the head. It's like that terrible day with the Dementors all over again, Harry plummeting from the sky. This time it's the Gryffindor Beaters who manage to grab him before he hits the ground, but only just.

Ginny doesn't even know she's on her feet until she feels Thompson's hand on her arm as they cart Harry off to the infirmary. "They've got him," he says.

She nods, sitting back down. She forces herself to smile and look back over her shoulder at Martin. "You ever so much as look at a Beater's bat, and I'll make you wish for a concussion."

Bassenthwaite and Graham snicker.

Martin lifts his hands in front of him. "Wouldn't dream of it."

"What an utter disaster," Reiko says, half-horrified, half-gleeful.

Ginny shoots her a look, but she just shrugs. Reiko may like Harry all right, but this inevitable loss opens up a lot of doors for their team. Most importantly, a chance at the Quidditch Cup.

The rest of the match is a blur, the heavily one-sided game not particularly interesting despite Luna's commentary. It's almost a relief when Smith finally grabs the Snitch.

---

Later that evening, Ginny sits in The Parlor and watches Flora and Hestia successfully transform into a crow and a beaver with a quiet pop.

Everyone erupts into applause. Four long years of effort and study finally paying off. It's wonderful to see.

Most people might assume identical twins would turn into identical animals, but anyone who actually knows Hestia and Flora would know better. Hestia is slightly more independent, the one to drive many of their explorations. Flora is the one with a calmer head and a slightly softer heart.

"Which is more trustworthy, the head or the heart?" Ginny asks a while later.

Antonia looks up from her book. "Neither particularly in my experience."

Ginny purses her lips. "Well, that's incredibly unhelpful."

Antonia laughs. "It is, isn't it?"

Ginny supposes it's nice to know Antonia doesn't have all the answers.

"I guess I put more trust in instinct." She has a look on her face like this is something she has spent a lot of time thinking about.

"Instinct," Ginny muses.

Antonia shrugs. "What is instinct if not something that tells you when your heart or head is being stupid?"

Ginny laughs. "So you can know which one to ignore?"

"Sure," she says. "Or which one to listen to."

Ginny chews on that for a while, watching Astoria and Caroline talking with the twins.

"We haven't seen you much recently," Antonia observes, voice mild.

Ginny nods, acknowledging the truth of it, but not bothering to try to excuse it. "You know what Lucas would say. Sometimes experiments can take up all your time."

Antonia gives her a long, assessing look. "I suppose he would."

He'd also say that all experiments eventually have to come to an end.

---

On Sunday, Ginny asks Thompson to brave the last of the snow and go for a walk with her. As they near a tree, he pulls her off the path, backing her up against the trunk.

"Sean," she says before he can kiss her.

Her tone must be telling, because he stiffens, pulling back, his expression wiping clean almost in an instant. If she'd wanted any more evidence that this is the right decision, there it is.

He's always been the one to say sometimes she gets too caught in her own head. She knows what her heart thinks.

Who she is on the Quidditch pitch is just one persona. It's not all of her. She wonders sometimes if that version of her is the only one he's really interested in. Not the messy, confused girl she is most of the time. And it's not just what he expects of her. She keeps wanting him to react differently, to be different, and that isn't fair at all. Not to either of them.

"Does this really…feel right to you?" she asks, vaguely waving a hand back and forth between them.

He stares at her for a moment, and she couldn't define what he might be feeling if her life depended on it. Thinking back to the lesson on Legilimens, she considers what it would be like, if she could just look in his head and read everything in there. It's far more tempting than it should be.

"No," he eventually says, voice perfectly even as he lets go of her. "I guess not."

She relaxes, pushing out a breath. "I just… You're great. You've always been such a great friend. And I don't want to ruin that. But I'm not sure being more than that is…working." She tries not to wince, knowing she sounds like an idiot, exactly like the lost little girl he accused her of being.

Thompson stands there for a moment. "So," he eventually says. "Friends."

She's so blindingly relieved to hear him seemingly so easily agree, that she stupidly playfully touches his arm.

He jerks back away. "Just...give me some time, okay?" There's the slightest tic near his eye.

She feels her stomach clench, but knows well enough that she owes him that. "Yeah," she says, stepping back away from him. "Of course."

He walks away.

---

Ginny does her part to respect Thompson's request by staying away from the common room and not lingering on the Quidditch pitch. Instead she's in The Parlor, but most often in the library or in her hidden cloister, because they hadn't been kidding when they said OWLs are serious business. There's so much to know and so much homework on top of revision that she feels like she might drown in it all.

She's spending a Saturday cramming in the cloister when Harry finds her. It's been a few weeks since the ill-fated Quidditch match, but this is the first time she's seen him.

"Harry," she says. "How are you?"

He rubs sheepishly at his head. "No lasting damage other than my pride."

She winces. "I'm sorry about Cormac. That's bad luck."

Harry scowls. "No, just bad skill."

"Bit of a berk, isn't he?" she says, thinking of Hermione at the Christmas party.

"Among other things," Harry says darkly.

Ginny nods, looking back down at her book. When Harry just keeps standing there, she asks, "Did you…need something?" knowing he probably wouldn't come all this way for nothing. She immediately feels stupid though when Harry gives her a startled glance. "I mean, if you just came here to study or something-."

"No," he says. "I came to see you."

"Oh. Okay," she says, embarrassment quickly morphing into inexplicable apprehension.

He sits down next to her, putting his backpack down, fiddling with the straps for a moment as if stalling. Or building up his nerve. Neither does much to make Ginny feel less anxious.

Eventually he straightens, looking at her. "Can I ask…?"

She leans forward as he trails off. "Yeah?"

"Malfoy," he blurts.

Despite herself, Ginny is momentarily taken aback, physically straightening up. Which is stupid, because this is exactly what this has always been about, isn't it? How are things in Slytherin? he asked her once. And at the time she'd been enough of an idiot to think maybe that had something to with her, not just Draco Malfoy.

This is Harry bloody Potter offering to walk her back to her train compartment all over again.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

"What about him?" she asks, her voice hardening.

He definitely notices it, his lips pressing together. "Have you ever…?"

She frowns, honestly having no idea where Harry is going with this, but no longer feeling inclined to help him along.

"What is he doing?" he demands, like a rubber band finally snapping after being stretched too far.

Ginny blinks, not particularly caring for the hostility in his tone. "What do you mean?"

Harry pushes to his feet with a sound of frustration, pacing around the small space. "You're in the same house. You were dancing with him. You must have some idea."

"Some idea of what?" she snaps, beginning to feel her own temper fray.

He stops, turning to look at her. "He's a Death Eater." A statement of fact. No hesitation, just utter conviction.

For the tiniest moment, she's forced to remember seeing Draco on the train, his hand on his forearm, but a pulse of pure anger quickly overrides the memory. "Why, because he's in Slytherin?"

Harry huffs with impatience. "This isn't about-."

She doesn't let him finish, pushing to her feet. Feeling reckless in a way she rarely indulges any more, she steps up to him, lifting her arm. Pulling back her sleeve, she bares the green snake inked on her skin. "Because he has a tattoo?"

Things like that aren't always about choice. Hers hadn't been. Maybe Draco's wasn't either. He's just a kid, after all. They all are. Has Harry forgotten that so quickly?

He's staring down at her tattoo like it's a personal insult. She sees it, the moment it takes him to shake it off, to remember who she is and not what.

He pushes her arm down, his expression hardening. "He's up to something, I know it."

Ginny recognizes that look, has seen it on Draco's face over the years: a completely irrational hatred that has wandered far off whatever real foundations it may have once had. She hates that it hurts to find it here, on Harry. What does she care what he thinks?

Feeling that old anger from the summer rising up in her throat, she knows she's terribly close to completely losing her temper. It's time to end this conversation before she says something she'll regret. Snatching up her bag, she makes to leave.

"Ginny," Harry says, blowing out a breath. He grabs her arm when she doesn't stop. "Wait."

She swings back around to look at him, nearly stumbling into him, her heart pounding, heat flooding her skin. "What?"

He's clearly surprised by her tone, by the visceral anger she is no longer able to control, but doesn't back away. His eyes travel over her face, his hand firm on her arm. He just stands there staring at her, and she has the unsettling sensation of standing on the edge of a really tall cliff.

"Harry?" she asks.

He jerks, dropping her arm and taking a deliberate step back from her, and for some reason that hurts more than everything else. She folds her arms across her chest.

He drags his hand through his hair in frustration. "I just…I need to know what he's doing. It's important."

He doesn't sound angry any more, just desperate, maybe even a little sad, but it doesn't change anything. Doesn't change anything at all.

They stare at each other a long moment, a gulf of misunderstanding between them. She has to wonder if she told him she didn't know anything about Draco if he'd even believe her.

"Do you remember when we were little, Harry?" she asks, even as every bit of self-preservation is screaming at her to just shut up. She blazes on. "When I couldn't even speak when you were in the room because I was so in awe of you?"

He shifts, looking pained. "Yes."

She wonders if as a Gryffindor she would have always seen him that way, as some amazing hero who could do no wrong. She doesn't mourn that the way she should.

She shakes her head in disgust, at him, at herself. "Just… Go back to your bloody house, Harry."

She turns and walks away.

---

Ginny is brooding.

There's no other way to describe sitting in Antonia's room nursing a cup of the latest miraculous concoction from Tilly's still with a scowl on her face that already scared away the less steady of Antonia's roommates.

What it really boils down to is that Ginny's angry she got so angry. It's become so rare these days for her to ever really let it get out of control like that. But she's also angry with Harry. For the way he pushed her. For the way he's letting his hate make him so bloody stupid. But mostly…mostly she's pissed at him for the way he looked at her when he saw her tattoo…like…

Ginny knocks back a gulp of her drink, enjoying the way it burns on the way down. It's unusual enough for Ginny to drink, even if she weren't doing it in the dorms, but Antonia doesn't say anything about it—ever willing to let people make their own mistakes.

Ginny stares down at the remaining liquid in her glass. With a sigh, she forces herself to admit that what she's really angry about is the fact that she'd thought Harry had actually seen her as a person after all this time, and not just a tool to be used. Another avenue to help feed his prejudices.

She sighs. The disappointment is almost worse than the anger.

Merlin, she is sick of herself right now.

She forces herself to tune back in to what Antonia is saying about a letter she just received from her parents. Apparently some wizards came by their bookshop to get her family to pay a "protection fee" in these unsettled times. Common enough in Diagon and Knockturn Alleys these days apparently.

Antonia scoffs. "They didn't count on my Auntie Victoria."

Ginny huffs. "Probably were just hoping your family would be too scared to do anything," she says scathingly.

"Fear is the weakling's power," Antonia says, sash drawn dramatically across her chest.

"More like power is the weakling's ambition," she counters.

Antonia looks at her in surprise, delicately penciled eyebrow crawling up under her fringe.

"What?" Ginny demands, shifting uncomfortably under her gaze.

Antonia smiles then, a dazzling spread of red lips over perfectly white teeth. "So you're learning at last."

Ginny scowls at her, not liking to be spoken to as if an unruly child, even as she knows Antonia has a valid point. Ginny hadn't understood when she first met Antonia, mistaking ambition for maliciousness, unconventional thought for something as simple as evil. There is no easy corollary to be found between ordinary –normal?—and good. An entire world of nuance and subtlety and extraordinary exists in the spaces between.

She can see that. She just wishes other people could too.

"Don't pout," Antonia admonishes, her thumb pressing into Ginny's chin before she sweeps down and presses her mouth to Ginny's. Ginny stiffens in surprise, catching only the barest hint of lips that are dry and warm on hers, before Antonia spins away with a laugh, eyes back on her own reflection in the mirror.

It isn't Ginny's first kiss, not by any means, but somehow it feels like the most important.

She imagines vanilla and smoke burned into her skin like a form of approval.

"Come on," Antonia says, moment already forgotten. "We mustn't keep my adoring fans waiting."

Ginny abandons her glass and follows Antonia down into The Parlor.

---

Ginny isn't actively trying to avoid Harry. Not that she would have to. Their paths rarely cross, and if she maybe doesn't linger after Quidditch practices and doesn't spend any time in the cloister, that is more because she is far too busy with other things. Besides, Harry has that bloody map and will be able to do a much better job of avoiding her than she can.

After all, she isn't really even angry anymore. Just…tired. Tired of all of it.

Of course, she doesn't count on him actually showing up at the next Slug Club dinner.

She does a pretty good job avoiding him in the milling crowd, until he finally marches straight for her, touching her elbow and pulling her off to the side. She considers resisting, but doesn't particularly want to make a scene.

It's also possible that a tiny part is curious what he might say.

A very tiny part.

"Ginny," he says, enough stubborn bravado on his face that she suspects he is honestly going to try to question her about Draco again. She feels something in her chest go very cold.

"Yes?" she asks, voice clipped.

His expression falters. "Look, Ginny," he starts to say, but then a delicate chime is ringing to let them know it's time to sit down for dinner. Ginny watches Harry for a beat longer, but when he still doesn't manage to come up with anything to say, she walks away.

She takes a seat between Lucas and Flora. It's easy to avoid talking to Harry, looking at him even, because there are plenty of interesting people here who aren't him.

Between the first and second courses, Lucas leans into her ear and whispers something perfectly cutting about Blaise Zabini. She tilts her head back and laughs.

Harry doesn't try approaching her again.

She tells herself she's relieved.

---

One thing Ginny definitely isn't doing is watching Draco.

She has no interest in Harry's suspicions. Sure, Draco happens to look even more terrible than he did when he crashed Slughorn's party, but what is that to her?

Still, one afternoon when she sees him slink down a deserted corridor, she follows him without giving it much thought. She glances around the corner just in time to see him go into a bathroom.

A girl's bathroom.

What in the world is he up to?

Not that she cares.

She still inexplicably lingers in the hall. After fifteen minutes pass with Draco still not coming out, Ginny decides there's really only one way she's going to find out.

She's just a girl trying to use a bathroom.

Inside, she discovers probably the last thing she expects.

Draco is sitting on a small ledge by the sinks. He's crying, a heartbreakingly desolate kind of crying that shakes his entire frame. Myrtle looks up at Ginny from where she floats near Draco, frowning at her before disappearing back into her stall.

Ginny lets the door close behind her with a thump, and Draco looks up at her in panic. "What the hell do you want, Weasley?" he demands, getting to his feet and swiping at his face.

He always calls her Weasley, never Weasel like he reserves for her brothers. She wonders if even Draco feels a small sliver of loyalty towards other Slytherin or if his maliciousness is simply all saved up for Ron. And Harry.

She's spent the year watching what she can only acknowledge now as Draco and Harry letting their obsessive hatred drive them into the ground, but seeing him here, she can only think of joking about Draco out in the backyard with Ron that summer so long ago. He's pretty much exactly the git he seems. She decides they'd gotten it wrong. Even Draco isn't quite what you see at first glance.

She steps forward, and he lifts his wand.

She stops. "Are you going to curse me, Draco?"

His back stiffens, arm straightening, his robe falling back from his wrist.

Her eyes dart to the shadow of ink barely visible on his forearm. "Or maybe something worse?"

His entire body jerks, and he tugs his robe back into place, wand dropping. "Kill or be killed," he says, voice hard and deadpan and completely free of irony.

She swallows against the burning in her throat. "Is that what you think?"

"It's what I know."

There's always a choice, she thinks.

He sneers at her like the thought is apparent on her face. "Let me guess, Weasley. You're going to lecture me on good and evil?"

She used to think it must be easy to live that way, everything split neatly in two, black and white, just like it is for Harry. But she's beginning to see the inescapability of it, when you don't have any grey.

"Get out of here, Weasley," he says, but the edge is gone from his voice.

"It's the girl's bathroom," she reminds him.

He drops down to his seat again, apparently resigned to her presence. He swipes angrily at his face. "If you tell anyone-," he starts to bluster.

"Shut up," she says, sitting down next to him. He's a bit beautiful in his desolation, and even though she can't fix this, doesn't even really understand what is happening, she figures she can at least sit with him for a bit.

The tears continue for a while, and she just stares straight ahead, listening to the drip of Myrtle's broken toilet.

He'll hate her for this, she knows. Will always fear that she is simply waiting to use this against him.

She won't though.

Because there's a difference between not having power, and choosing not to use it.

---

In the middle of April, Antonia starts spending a lot of time in the common room. Ginny notices her sitting there on her way back to her room after Quidditch practice. It's odd to see her there, and it only occurs to Ginny then how little time Antonia actually spends in their common room. She's either in the library, The Parlor, or chumming it up at Slug Club events. Definitely not just sitting reading a book.

Ginny watches her for a couple nights, carefully remembering how often Antonia had always seemed to be there whenever Ginny turned around. Or at least she had been for a while, when it mattered. It takes her a bit to finally connect the dots.

The next evening, Ginny sits down next to Antonia without a word and reads a book. Or at least pretends to be reading a book. Just like Antonia is clearly only pretending to read a book. Her eyes are more often on the students surrounding them. Ginny tries to see what it is Antonia is looking for, because it's abundantly clear now that Antonia is here by no accident.

She never had been. Theodora either.

Ginny looks around the room herself with fresh eyes. What would Antonia be interested in? Or who more likely. Ginny quickly dismisses all of the boys. Antonia never lacked for dates whenever she actually seems inclined to want one. And unlike many other girls at Hogwarts, Antonia never flirted or flaunted or giggled the way Lavender used to with her brother all over the castle. (Gag.)

So Ginny is left to focus on the girls. Smita is conspicuously absent. Possibly in the infirmary or greenhouses, if not for the rather conspicuous absence of Tobias as well. Ginny drops that train of thought as quickly as possible.

A few first year girls are lumped together in one corner swapping sweets or secrets, and Ginny tries not to think of her own complete lack of easy camaraderie her first year. A few other girls are studying in small groups. Some older girls are hanging on Zabini and the senior boys, laughing unnaturally loud and flipping their hair like a gnargle has gotten caught up in it. Ginny snorts in derision.

Honestly, nothing looks remotely interesting or out of place.

Ginny decides the best thing to do is simply tackle this head on. "I've always wondered exactly what it is you look for," Ginny says.

Antonia glances over at her, a look of supreme boredom on her face. "I'm sorry?"

"In the people you pick."

Antonia continues giving her a blank look, but Ginny has finally tied it all together in her head. Looking back, it's so clear that Antonia, possibly even Theodora before her, had been watching Ginny long before she even knew what The Parlor was.

Ginny sits back in her chair. "What makes one person worthy of an invitation and another not?"

Instead of dissembling again, Antonia eventually nods her chin in Pansy Parkinson's direction—prefect, center of everything, from the outside appearing to be at the front of her house, and definitively not a member of The Parlor. "What do you think her ambitions are?"

"Her ambitions?" Ginny echoes.

"Yes. What do you think she is trying to get? What does she want more than anything?"

Ginny doesn't have the slightest idea, not having ever given Pansy much thought. Glancing back over at the girl, she watches as she touches Blaise's arm, looking up at him through lowered lashes. When his attention wanders to someone else in the group, she glares daggers at the other person.

"She wants to be liked," Ginny says. "Wants to be important and in the center of things." Pansy seems to be deliberately ignoring Blaise now. "And apparently really really wants Blaise to think she's good looking."

Antonia nods. "Pretty much what every girl is raised to believe is important. Popularity. Attractiveness. Attention."

Ginny frowns, wanting to argue but not sure she actually can. "Not the…ambitions you are looking for."

Because if ambition is all Antonia's looking for, there is more than enough to be found here. Slytherin is a house of ambition—dreams both big and small, with the tenacity, skills, and, some might say, arrogance to achieve them.

"And Nicola?" Antonia asks.

Ginny glances around, not actually sure who Nicola is.

Antonia juts her chin at a blond second year studying with a small group of other girls.

Ginny watches her for a while, the girl far more mysterious than Pansy. "I'm not sure."

Antonia nods, patting Ginny on the shoulder. "Well, let me know when you figure it out."

She walks off without another word, but Ginny is still perfectly aware that she's just been given an assignment.

---

The first week in May they play their last match against Hufflepuff.

It many ways, the match feels like everything finally clicking together, a quiet coming together of everything they've been working on. Hufflepuff is by no means an easy team to play against, but it just seems like from the first moment of the game they can't gain any traction against Slytherin.

It's almost effortless.

The Snitch is slightly trickier, and Reiko isn't the first to catch sight of it. Summerby starts the chase, but flubs a grab, giving the much lighter and quicker (and much more determined) Reiko a chance to catch up with him. They spin and spiral around the pitch, in and out of the stands executing tight cuts up and down with the movements of the frenzied Snitch. This time Ginny is disciplined enough to not stop and watch, trusting Reiko to do what needs to be done.

Ginny tucks the Quaffle into her chest and executes a daring last second drop right under one of the Hufflepuff Chasers. He may have been braced for a full on collision with Ginny, but what he gets instead is the Bludger that was on her tail.

There's a grunt and a reaction from the crowd when he gets hit, but Ginny keeps moving towards the goal, winging the Quaffle to Thompson. He forwards it to Vaisey, who drops it into Ginny's hands far below as she sweeps underneath and flings the Quaffle into the unattended lower left ring.

Cheers sound again. They've no more than regrouped for a defensive effort when the crowd roars to its feet, and Ginny whips around to see Reiko triumphantly clutching the Snitch.

Next to Ginny, Vaisey whoops and then dives after Reiko.

Ginny hangs there a moment, eyes on the field and the crowd with her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Her team did this, the one she created and groomed.

By now they are hugging and celebrating down on the field and she drops down to join them.

As a group, they jump around and smack each other on the back and punch arms. It's utter chaos. Ginny gives Martin a giant hug and dances a little jig with Reiko. Then she turns around and there is Thompson. She hesitates, holding back, but he steps forward and pulls in her into a hug. "You did it," he says, and she knows he means the victory, but also the team, being captain.

She leans into him, because as much as she knows she made the right decision, she still misses him, misses her friend. "I never could have done this without you, Sean."

"I'm pretty sure you could have," he says. "But I appreciate being given the chance all the same."

Like always, he's making this easy for her. She thinks she probably didn't appreciate that the way she should have.

Behind her, someone loudly clears their throat. She pulls back from Thompson to see George, Fred, and Ron all watching, their eyes narrowed.

Ginny curses under her breath.

Fred glares at Thompson. "Well, hello, little sister."

Unsurprisingly, Thompson seems supremely unaffected by this pointed comment from her brother. He keeps his arm wrapped around her waist as he turns to regard them.

"Is this the boyfriend?" George asks Ron, fingers playing with his wand.

"Ex-boyfriend," Thompson says carelessly, giving Ginny a quick squeeze before abandoning her to her relations. "See you later, Gin."

The twins manage to instantly change from looking like they are trying to scare him off to deliberating if they need to defend her honor or something. She considers telling them that she's the one who broke it off, but frankly, it's none of their business.

Ron opens his mouth to say something, but Ginny cuts across him. "Don't you even dare. Not when you spent the majority of the year with Lavender attached to your face."

Ron scowls at her, the twins effectively distracted by making kissy faces at him.

She doesn't even notice Harry standing with her brothers until he steps up behind her and says, "You were brilliant, Ginny."

By the time she turns around to look, he's melted back into the crowd.

---

With the Quidditch season pretty much finished, Ginny starts following Nicola around in her spare time. It's hard to do without seeming creepy. Antonia had always just appeared strangely omniscient.

The picture of who Nicola is slowly gets clearer and clearer though, as Ginny notes the electives she's taking, the books she checks out from the library. The doodles in the margins of her school notes. (What? Ginny needs this information and happens to possess of a bevy of sneaky skills learned from six older brothers.)

Once, Ginny notices her tuck away an elaborate diagram of what looks like a clock or some sort of gadget, each component carefully rendered.

Ginny even talks to her once or twice under the pretense of needing a spare bit of parchment or knocking the younger girl's book bag to the ground. Nicola is generally polite if not slightly frosty. Ginny can't be sure that's not just discomfort, remembering her own early years here.

Mostly Ginny just sits in the common room as if this is something she does a lot. Sits and pretends to read while she is really eavesdropping on Nicola and her friends. She watches the way Nicola is mostly only pretending to be interested in the things her friends are talking about. The way her mind seems to be on something else entirely. The way she never speaks of the things that Ginny has learned are actually of interest to her, except once. One time she mentions the mechanics of a vanishing cabinet, her face lighting up with passion in a way that reminds Ginny so much of Smita, how she's been since she finally discovered something that is just for her. Nicola's friends just look bored though, one of them saying something cutting and stupid like, "I don't care how it works! No wonder no one wants to date you!"

As the girls giggle at their friend, Ginny has to remind herself to just watch. But she's finally beginning to realize just what Antonia saw, what made her start watching Nicola.

The next afternoon, Ginny tracks down Antonia in the library. "Want to go for a walk?'

Antonia raises an eyebrow, but doesn't comment, grabbing her robe and following her outside. It's finally firmly spring, even as a cool wind still sweeps up the mountain with the last lingering ghost of snow on its breath.

"You've finally decided about Nicola," Antonia surmises, chin tucked down into her scarf.

Ginny glances down at soft new flowers pressing up through the dirt. Another week and the hill will be a riot of color. "Yes."

"And?"

Ginny stops, not meaning to be reticent, just still trying to wrap her mind around something lingering just out of reach. "I think you should invite her."

Antonia pauses a few steps ahead of her, looking back. "Why?"

This is the hard part, trying to put into words what she's been weaving together the last few weeks. "Because…" Ginny lifts her chin. "She deserves to know she isn't alone."

"Alone?" Antonia asks, one eyebrow lifting.

Ginny swallows. "In wanting more."

Antonia's face doesn't betray anything, and for a painful moment Ginny thinks she's gotten this completely wrong. Only then Antonia smiles, looping her arm through Ginny's and pulling her up along the path.

Antonia leans her head towards Ginny's. "Theodora used to say, 'The world isn't kind to girls with strange ambitions.'"

Ginny processes that for almost half a loop around the lake, all of the girls in her life cycling though her head. She considers what might be defined as strange and what isn't. She thinks particularly on Pansy and her eternal search for attention, Hermione and her hatred of Fleur.

"It isn't particularly kind to girls with expected ambitions either," she observes.

"No," Antonia agrees. "But for some people The Parlor wouldn't mean anything other than status. For others…"

Ginny nods. "It could mean everything." Give them the chance to blossom into something totally unexpected.

Antonia's hand tightens on her arm. "Yes."

Ginny looks at Antonia, wondering if The Parlor had somehow saved even her. Antonia stares right back, and Ginny finds she can't quite imagine her as anything less than completely comfortable in her own skin. But, Ginny can never quite forget that they were all once bewildered little eleven-year-old girls.

"Next Wednesday," Antonia says as they finish their loop around the lake. "Tilly is going to unveil her latest creation."

Ginny nods. "How will you do it?"

She laughs, letting go of Ginny's arm and heading for the castle. "I won't. You will."

Of course she will. This whole thing, after all, has always had the feeling of a test. A test for what, Ginny still isn't sure.

But it's one she desperately wants to pass.

---

Ginny passes Nicola in the halls the next day, stopping long enough to give her a nod of acknowledgement. "Nicola."

The girl's eyes are a bit wide to be given obvious attention from an older student, and an older student who is associated with The Parlor to boot. Nicola manages to nod back in response, her chin lifting just the slightest bit as her friends blatantly stare.

Ginny smiles to herself as she continues on down the hall.

When she rounds the next corner, she nearly smacks straight into Hermione. Ginny ruefully shakes her head. The universe always seems to be waiting to knock you down a peg the moment you start feeling too important.

"Ginny!" Hermione says, grabbing her arm for more than just settling herself.

"What's wrong?" Ginny asks, not liking the sheen of desperation in Hermione's eyes.

"Have you seen Harry?" she asks.

"No," Ginny says.

She wrings her hands. "I can't find him anywhere," she says, beginning to sound panicked.

Ginny frowns, not so much at Harry's disappearance as Hermione's panic. "What's going on?"

"I don't know. Something with Malfoy and Snape."

Ginny feels a beat of foreboding, remembering the last time she'd seen Draco, worn thin and on edge, and Harry, brittle and at the end of his temper. Add Snape to the mix and it sounds a lot like worst-case scenario.

Hermione isn't finished. "Malfoy's in hospital."

Merlin. "But you can't find Harry?"

"We've looked everywhere."

Not everywhere, Ginny thinks. "Sorry," she says, shrugging.

Hermione crumples a little, as if Ginny had been her last hope. Ginny waits for Hermione to walk away before turning and heading straight for the cloister.

She reminds herself the entire way there that she doesn't care. She's still annoyed with him after all.

She still keeps walking.

He's right where she knew he would be. She isn't sure what she expected—maybe angry pacing, broken things on the floor, Harry's face flushed with indignation—but not this, Harry sitting staring vaguely at his hands. There's a Potions book sitting open on the ground near his foot, only this one is clean and new.

"Harry?"

He doesn't respond, his shoulders lifting heavily as if he's having a hard time catching his breath.

"Everyone is looking for you," she says.

When there is still no reaction from him, she crosses over to him. It's only then that she notices a smudge of something on his hands that looks disturbingly like blood. She crouches down in front of him, her eyes sweeping his body for injury. He looks unharmed, if not completely panicked. Without a second thought, she whispers a spell, wiping his hands clean.

He stares down at them as if they are still stained.

She frowns, unease settling like a heavy stone in her stomach. "What's happened?"

He just shakes his head.

Shifting her weight, she reaches out, tentatively taking both of his shaking hands in hers.

His fingers squeeze around hers, almost painful. "Ginny," he breathes.

She leans in closer, thankful to hear him speak. "Yeah?"

He looks up, his eyes meeting hers and holding, almost as inescapable as his grip on her hands. "Tell me again that you don't think I could ever kill anyone."

She feels everything inside of her go cold and hollow at his words, the way they are almost a plea.

"Tell me," he insists.

She finds, in that moment, that she doesn't have any reassurances to give him. So instead, she shifts forward and wraps her arms around him. He's still for only a moment before he grabs her back, pulling her tight against him.

She feels his face turn into her neck, feels him breathe in deep. "I'm sorry," he says, and she doesn't know what he's apologizing for. For the blood, for their fight. "I'm sorry."

She should still be angry with him, but she's never been able to do what she should around him. So instead she squeezes her eyes shut and holds on with everything she has.

---

Word makes it around the castle that Harry almost killed Draco in an illegal dual, rumor made only more rife when Draco emerges from the infirmary looking paler and more worn even than usual.

When Ginny passes him in the common room, he looks at her with hatred in his eyes, like this is somehow all her fault.

She wonders if somehow it is. She feels strangely besieged from all sides and it's a great comfort to know that she has The Parlor to go to. Somewhere she isn't judged or whispered about, but just allowed to be. She wonders how selfish it makes her that she never considered how much other girls could benefit from that as well.

On Wednesday evening, Antonia waits by The Parlor entrance as Ginny approaches Nicola in the common room. She touches her shoulder.

Nicola looks up, her eyes darting momentarily past Ginny to Antonia.

"Are you ready?" Ginny asks.

Nicola looks down at her hands for a moment, seeming to take a deep breath. When she looks up at Ginny again, her eyes are bright. "Yes," she says, voice steady even as her hands are twisting in her lap.

Ginny smiles. "Then come with me."

They walk together to The Parlor door, and Ginny has the strangest moment of deja vu, everything wrapping back around to the first time Antonia let her through this door. Of course, Ginny had no idea what she was getting into at the time. Nicola, to judge from the look on her face, knows something incredibly special is about to happen. Ginny almost envies that.

Antonia taps the door with her wand, the door opening onto the dim staircase twining downstairs. Ginny gestures for Nicola to go first.

Down at the bottom of the stairs, the girls all turn to look, taking in the newest member to their group. Nicola pauses like her nerve may be failing her, and Ginny puts a gentle hand on her back and guides her towards the complicated contraption at the rear of the room.

Tilly stands in front of her still, explaining her latest concoction and the alchemic theories behind it. She passes around a tray of small glasses.

They all sip in wonder at the airy drink. It's almost more gas than liquid, a sparkle on Ginny's tongue before it slides down her throat like silk.

"Outdone yourself as usual, Tilly," Ginny says, feeling the light press of giddiness.

Tilly gives Ginny a distracted smile as she bites contemplatively at her thumbnail. "It still isn't quite right."

"Oh?" Ginny asks.

Tilly frowns at the still. "Something with the vapor inlet." She shakes her head. "Equipment construction has always been my weak point."

Next to her, Nicola looks surprised, like she's not used to anyone openly admitting their weaknesses. She glances at Ginny as if looking for direction, and Ginny just looks back at her as if to say, Well, what are you going to do about it? She doesn't remember Antonia ever making anything easy for her. It's one of the kindest things she ever did for her.

Nicola bites her lip. "I don't know much of anything about alchemy, but I'm pretty comfortable with machines."

Tilly looks up at her in surprise. "Yeah?"

Nicola nods, her cheeks flushing. "Can I take a closer look?"

Ginny watches them walk off to the still, Nicola pointing to things and Tilly explaining.

It's clear that there's something bright and brilliant trying to get out of Nicola. Ginny sees how easy it might be for all of that to fade if it's ignored and suppressed for too long.

"It feels good, doesn't it?" Antonia asks, stepping up next to Ginny.

Ginny nods. "She seems a natural fit."

Antonia gives her a sharp look, but doesn't press. They walk over and find seats on a settee.

"I've been thinking about Smita," Ginny admits.

"Your friend," Antonia says. "The quiet one who wants to be a mediwitch."

Ginny doesn't bother to be surprised that Antonia knows about that. She feels like there is very little that happens in this castle that Antonia doesn't know about.

"I was thinking about her being part of The Parlor," Ginny says in a rush, feeling at once presumptuous and guilty for not having said anything earlier.

Antonia doesn't seem offended, instead giving Ginny a long look. "Do you think she needs it?"

Ginny blinks, her brain tripping a bit over what seems an obvious question. She thinks about Smita's passion, the people she has bending over backwards to help her make it a reality—Pomfrey, Hagrid, Snape, Slughorn, Sprout. A mediwitch is a noble and difficult profession, but there's nothing strange about a girl wanting to be one. An ambition, yes, but not an unusual one.

"No," Ginny admits, slumping back in her seat. The only reason to bring Smita here is to make Ginny's own life easier, not hers. She sighs.

Antonia touches her arm. "Sometimes you just can't hold on to people, no matter how hard you try."

Ginny nods. "I think I'm finally beginning to get that," she says. "Even if it's more tempting to just keep being petulant."

Antonia laughs. "I know exactly what you mean."

Ginny peers over at her, something in her quickening. It suddenly feels like time to ask the one question she's always held back. "Did you need it?"

Antonia's eyes widen. "The Parlor?"

Ginny nods.

Antonia stares over at the other girls for a while. "Desperately," she admits, and for the first time, Ginny sees the shadow of it in her eyes, the doubt Antonia has lived with, has worked to conquer. Still works on.

Ginny wraps her hand around Antonia's.

"You know what's strange?" Ginny says. "I'm only now realizing that you never would have invited me to The Parlor if Quidditch was my only ambition."

"No," Antonia says, that mysterious smile playing about her lips again. "I wouldn't have."

Ginny glances around the room. "Caroline," she says, her eyes coming to a rest on the younger girl where she sits with her hands pale and aimless in her lap, as always sitting in the shadow of Astoria and her parents' expectations.

Antonia nods, a worry line appearing between her brows. "Sometimes it can only mean so much."

---

In the middle of May, Gryffindor faces off against Ravenclaw in the final match of the season.

They play without Harry, who is still serving detentions with Snape for almost killing Draco. As far as Ginny has heard, he hadn't tried to fight it, and she doesn't know if that is all guilt over what he did, or just another sign how wrong things are with him, that Quidditch just doesn't mean that much to him anymore.

She hasn't had a chance to talk to him again, so she just doesn't know.

Without Harry, Gryffindor soundly loses. Ron's new confidence in the goal doesn't mean anything in the face of a last minute replacement Seeker. The much more experienced Cho easily gets to the Snitch first.

The only blessing is that the match is short.

In the stands next to Ginny, Reiko is slowly squeezing the life out of her arm. "We did it, we did it, we did it," she says, almost chanting under her breath.

"Yes," Ginny says, staring down at the Ravenclaw team celebrating down on the pitch. "We did."

The Quidditch Cup is theirs.

Vaisey picks Reiko up with a whoop. Thompson puts an arm over Graham's shoulders, ruffling the kid's hair.

It's not exactly the way Ginny wanted to win it, but she's careful not to let that show. Soon enough her teammates' enthusiasm is enough to let herself get swept up in the celebration. Literally so when Bassenthwaite tosses her over his shoulder and carries her up to the castle.

Ginny curses at him and threatens him with a dire end, but he just laughs and starts singing Weasley is our Queen under his breath as they lead the charge up to the castle, the rest of their triumphant house trailing behind.

Destined for Mungo's special wards, her team, each and every one of them. Mental.

Down in the common room, Bassenthwaite finally puts Ginny down on a large winged chair in front of the fire. Someone must have raided the kitchens because food is starting to appear.

As head of house, Snape puts in a quick appearance. The celebration has barely begun, still quite tame all things considered. Snape brings with him the cup that usually sits in his office, the one that will remain there for yet another year. He places it carefully on the table in front of Ginny's throne.

"Well done, Miss Weasley," he says, smug in his delight almost to the point of smiling. "Clearly you were the right choice."

She's taken aback, feeling her cheeks warm, but recovers quickly. "Does this mean no more homework for the rest of the term?" Ginny asks, arching an eyebrow at him.

He gives her an indulgent smile. "No, it just means I expect nothing less than an Outstanding on your OWL."

"Ugh," Ginny complains, slouching back in her chair as she imagines even more homework than before.

Snape's eyes linger on her for a moment. "I have every faith in you, Miss Weasley."

She's strangely touched. "Thank you, sir."

He really has been a great DADA professor. She's about to tell him so when something seems to catch his eye, his face falling serious and hard once more, so quickly and completely that she wonders if she imagined his openness before.

"Just…mind the curfew, Miss Weasley," he says, voice once again brisk and cold.

She watches him walk off. "Yes, sir."

Snape has barely left the room when mysterious flasks start appearing. Ginny smiles. Tilly's bound to make a small fortune tonight.

She's just going to make sure no one ends up with any unwanted tattoos.

---

The rest of the term flies by in a flurry of revision and cramming and even more homework. The only blessing is that there are no more Quidditch practices, which means more free time, but that just makes Ginny even more tense, lacking any escape on her broom.

She's already counting down the days to the start of the next season, scribbling ideas down in a notebook when she should be studying. She won't ever really feel completely accomplished until she beats Harry fair and square. Next season will be her last chance.

She's in the common room studying with Smita and Tobias one evening when she feels inexplicable heat in her back pocket. The burning sensation is so unfamiliar that for a moment she wonders if some rogue spell has caught her. Only as she pops to her feet in surprise does she finally remember.

Pulling the galleon out, she holds it out flat on her palm. The DA hasn't met in over a year now. She can't explain why she's still carrying it around like it means something.

She doesn't miss Tobias' hand straying towards his pocket as if maybe he's felt a little heat as well.

Peering down at it, Ginny can see that the serial numbers around the edge have changed, asking the DA to meet now.

Ginny automatically starts stowing her books back in her bag. "Ready?"

"No." Tobias is still sitting, arms now crossed over his chest.

Ginny frowns in confusion. "What?"

"I'm not going," he says.

Ginny doesn't have time to argue with him, turning instead to Smita. She starts to shift up and off the couch, Tobias' hand stopping her.

Tobias shoots Smita a sharp glance. "The last time you helped them you nearly died."

Ginny wants to ask when the DA became them and not us, but it's a naive question. They had never really been a part of the DA, or at least not completely accepted. A year of walking past each other in the halls like strangers hasn't done much to repair that.

"You don't owe them anything," he says.

Them? Ginny can't help but think, Or me?

Smita's eyes are wide, darting back and forth between Tobias and Ginny as if this were an exam she hadn't been allowed to study for. It's painful to see the normally steady Smita so uncertain.

Ginny lifts a hand, plastering a smile on her face. "It's fine, Smita. You stay."

"Ginny-," Smita protests.

"Really," Ginny says, reaching out and squeezing her hand. "I'll be back in a few hours."

She turns and walks away.

---

Ginny's late by the time she makes it to the meeting point.

Hermione looks incredibly relieved to see her, her hair a frenzied halo around her head. "Ginny, thank goodness."

Ginny frowns, reaching out to touch Hermione's arm. "What's going on?"

Hermione's hands flap with agitation. "Harry's left the castle with Dumbledore, but he's absolutely convinced that Malfoy is going to try something tonight."

Ginny feels her jaw clench, but holds her tongue. She's made way too much of a fuss about wanting to help the DA to slouch back to the common room now just because she doesn't want anything to do with Harry's mad Draco paranoia. She'll just see this out and give Harry a piece of her mind when he gets back.

Because he will be back.

"Take this," Hermione says, shoving a flask with no more than a single drop of potion into her hand. "If something happens, take it."

Ginny lifts the glistening liquid to the light. "Is that-?"

"Liquid luck," Hermione confirms. "Let's pray we don't need it."

Two hours in, it seems incredibly unlikely that she'll ever need the potion. Doing watch duty on an empty stretch of hallway seems to require little to no luck. Just something to keep Ginny awake. She paces down the hallway, smiling at Neville as she passes.

The total blackness that swallows everything seems to come from nowhere.

"Ginny?" she hears Neville say.

She reaches for him, but before she can make contact she hears a thud and a crash, feels the shift of air from bodies moving swiftly nearby.

At the first echoing scream, Ginny gropes for the flask in her pocket and downs the potion without a second thought.

In her attempt to be free from the stifling darkness, she gets separated from Neville.

She turns a corner to see what takes her several moments to identify as members of the Order facing off with what can only be Death Eaters. Here. In Hogwarts.

There are a million questions swirling in her mind, but they seem to float away, leaving behind the protective curses that she thinks of just the moment she needs to.

One of the Death Eaters doesn't look right, the way he holds his body, the sounds he makes. He stops in the midst of the fighting, eyes latching on to Ginny down the long hall. She understands in that moment that he isn't fully human, his face twisted and feral. A slow predatory smile spreads across his face as he looks at her.

Ginny takes a step back.

The beast is unnaturally fast though, Ginny's hand fumbling for her wand. Her brother Bill appears almost from nowhere, stepping in front of Ginny, bellowing at her to get back. Ginny barely gets a chance to glance at Bill and the impressive swish of his wand before she turns and runs.

She finds Luna, stands side by side with her against a Death Eater, nothing but a wisp of luck keeping them on their feet. Eventually the luck runs out though, a curse catching Ginny and half-burying her in rubble. Or more likely the luck is still holding, because she's pretty sure that curse should have killed her. She ends up with some bruises and a pretty solid blow to the head, but is still breathing. That's lucky enough.

Before she can completely extricate herself from the rubble, she sees Draco dart by, his face terrified. For a second she doesn't understand what's happening. Snape is only a few steps behind. She stumbles up to him, one hand still pressed to her bleeding head.

"Professor?" she asks, thankful to see someone she can trust in all this chaos.

He slows only long enough to look her over, his jaw tightening. People are yelling in the distance. She turns slightly at what sounds like Harry bellowing, but she can't quite make out the words. When had he returned to the castle?

Her eyes widen as Snape points his wand at her, his curse hitting her in the chest and pushing her back out of the way. Her luck still must be holding a little, because she lands with inexplicable care, not slamming into the debris behind her, but clearly out of Snape's way.

Still, her head is woozy enough that she must black out, because when she next opens her eyes, the dust has settled, the castle ominously quiet around her. She staggers out into the main hall to find students streaming out the front doors, barely a whisper between them.

Everything seems to slow as Ginny exits the front doors, following the flow of bodies. People melt out of her way, and soon enough she has an unobstructed view of the sick tableau.

It's wrong, so wrong on every level her tired brain can function on. Albus Dumbledore was never meant to look so…broken.

Harry sits at Dumbledore's side, the two of them frozen like statues. Her feet carry her across the distance even as everything in her revolts at the idea of being anywhere near the wizard who is now just a body.

Up close Dumbledore looks almost strangely peaceful, if not for the grotesque twist of his leg up under his body.

There's whimpering in the crowd around them, faces lifted away from the body towards something she hadn't noticed in the face of Dumbledore's gory death. In a haze, Ginny follows their gazes up to the sky.

The Dark Mark hovers over the Astronomy Tower like a green stain.

Ginny feels her knees weaken, the jagged, painful pieces staring to come together. Death Eaters in the castle. Werewolf. Dumbledore dead. Snape. Draco.

Dumbledore dead.

Draco.

Kill or be killed.

Ginny clutches her stomach, feeling the acrid burn of bile in her throat.

Harry is still just sitting next to Dumbledore's broken body like he may never move again. She kneels down next to him, tentatively touching his shoulder. "Harry?"

He doesn't respond, but she can see his face now, completely desolate as if his entire world has been ripped away.

The whispers around them are getting louder, people pressing closer, and Ginny is filled with the urge to get Harry away from all of this. "Come on, Harry," she says gently, wrapping an arm around him.

He doesn't protest, letting her urge him to his feet like his body is just going through the motions. She carefully guides him through the crowd and up to the entryway. They don't talk on their way up through the castle, just hold on to each other as they climb around debris, step over spots of what looks suspiciously like blood. She thinks Harry's body next to hers may be the only thing that keeps her moving.

"You're bleeding," Harry says as they near the entrance to the hospital wing, the first sign that he even knows she is here.

The circumstances are horrific and surreal enough that it takes Ginny a moment to understand what he's talking about. She swipes at the blood now mixing with tears down her cheek—when had she started crying? "I'm okay," she says, voice hoarse.

He regards her for a long moment, as if his brain is taking a bit of time to process something. Frankly, she's relieved to see him beginning to come back into focus. She drops her arm from his back, assuming he doesn't need her help any more. He surprises her by catching her hand as she tries to step away.

"Harry?" she asks.

He touches her face, a ghost of sensation just below her injury. "You're sure you're okay?"

She nods, her throat feeling thick. "I was lucky."

He looks like he wants to say something more, but instead closes his eyes for a moment, taking a breath like he's gathering himself up to do something.

With one last squeeze of her hand, he lets go of her and walks into the infirmary.

She follows him inside.

Everyone is crowded around a bank of beds, Neville and someone else Ginny doesn't recognize lying injured.

Mum sweeps her up into a crushing hug before she's fully in the room. "Ginny! No one knew where you were!"

"I'm fine, Mum," she mumbles, her arms nonetheless hugging her back. "Is everyone…" She looks around, and it's only then in the awkward silence that she recognizes him, Bill lying in that bed, his face a mess of rips and tears. Remembers the sound of a werewolf's cry as he stepped in front of her.

She makes a rough sound of protest, crossing over to the bed and grabbing onto Fleur as she nears.

Harry is still standing in the doorway, waiting to deliver the devastating last blow. "Dumbledore is dead."

The words cut across the room like a sword.

"No," someone protests.

"It's true," Ginny says, voice thick with tears.

Professor Sprout sits down with a heavy thump, Hagrid bursting into noisy tears.

But Harry isn't done. "Snape killed him."

Ginny's head lifts with a jerk. Harry steadily meets her gaze like this is something important he needs her to understand.

"Malfoy let the Death Eaters in," he says, "but he couldn't… Snape did it."

The room dissolves into a mix of denials and cries of distress and adults looking more lost and confused than they have the right to look.

And Bill…her big brother, her protector, sitting in that bed looking like…

Ginny feels herself sway on her feet.

Pomfrey touches Ginny's shoulder. "Let me look at you, dear," she says, cheeks wet with tears.

Ginny, filled with an unnatural listlessness, lets herself be pulled away.

---

Dawn creeps over the sill of the infirmary window. Nearly everyone from the Order has left, out in the world scrambling to figure out what to do next.

Pomfrey easily knit the gashes and erased the bruises from Ginny's body, but the ache is still there. Ginny's glad. It feels like it's the only thing keeping everything sharp and focused.

Dumbledore is dead and it's hard not to think this means Voldemort has all but won.

If not for Harry. The one last person standing in his way.

She thinks that is more weight than anyone has the right to ask a sixteen-year-old to shoulder.

Ginny wishes she could say she's surprised with the way everything has turned out, that Dumbledore's crumpled body at the base of the tower is something completely beyond the realm of her imagination or understanding of the things swirling all about them. Instead she feels a sort of settling as if she's just been waiting, as if they all have been.

Like it's finally all beginning.

Gingerly climbing out of bed, she crosses over to sit next to Bill. Fleur sleeps in the next bed, lying still enough for Ginny to wonder if Mum had been forced to slip her a sleeping draft.

Bill stirs in his sleep, sounds caught in his throat. Taking his hand in both of hers, Ginny leans in close to his ravaged face and whispers, "Weasley," an affectionate accusation.

He stills, his hand tightening around hers.

Sometimes it really is that simple.

---

The Parlor is subdued.

Ginny found Antonia waiting for her in the common room once she was released from the infirmary. She followed Antonia downstairs, looked at the faces of the girls waiting down there, and felt something inside her ease in a way she would be hard pressed to explain.

No one pushes her for details. They are just here, each of them somberly taking a glass from Tilly.

Antonia stands, fine crystal goblet raised in her hand. "To the fallen."

There's no talk of who or what's happening, simply an acknowledgement of lives lost, of the lives that will be lost.

They lift their glasses.

Ginny takes a small sip, trying not to choke against the tightness in her throat that feels like it will never go away.

Soon after, The Parlor empties out, no one having the stomach for late night projects or frivolous conversation.

Ginny gives Nicola a tight smile when she stops by to say goodnight.

She lingers, glass twisting in her fingers, thoughts twining and building and struggling. She gazes at the light caught in the crystal, the patterns it casts.

Staring unseeing, it takes a while for her to focus on the green faded stain of ink of her tattoo under the play of light. She'd long since stopped bothering to cover it up. She doesn't even remember when anymore. Somehow it has just become part of her. Not a mistake, not even a reminder. Almost as if it's always been there.

Staring at the tattoo, she finds herself thinking about Draco. She isn't sure how she should be feeling. Embarrassed to have defended him, horrified that he let those killers in. But mostly she just remembers him crying in the bathrooms and the grim beat of something like satisfaction she'd felt when Harry revealed that Draco hadn't been able to kill Dumbledore, hadn't been able to strike that final blow, no matter how much depended on it. Kill or be killed. It was very un-Slytherin of him to put something ahead of his own survival.

Or, more likely, their definitions have been the weak things.

Pushing to her feet, Ginny walks over to Millicent where she works at an easel, seemingly the only one able to settle to any activity. Millicent shoots her a withering glare as she approaches, and Ginny ignores it, letting her eyes roam over the painting taking shape. It fills her with something vivid and aching, as if the painting understands exactly the things swirling around inside her head.

"I was wondering if you could help me with something," Ginny says.

Millicent ignores her, continuing to add painful, tense lines to the growing composition.

There was a time Ginny probably would have been put off by that. Now, she's content to let Millicent be Millicent. She lifts her arm into Millicent's eye line.

Millicent frowns down at the sloppy green lines on her arm. Ginny wonders if she is most offended by the artlessness of it. "You want me to get rid of it?" she asks, voice incredulous.

"No," Ginny says. "I want a new one."

Millicent is clearly surprised, brush lowering. "And you want me to, what, design it?"

Ginny looks at the canvas, strange, powerful feelings filling her as she does. "Yes. If you'd be willing to."

Millicent stares back at Ginny.

Ginny lifts one shoulder, not wanting to pressure her. "Maybe just consider it over the summer."

After another long moment, Millicent nods.

Ginny gives her a weak smile in thanks and walks back across the room, very aware that Antonia is watching her over the rim of her goblet. It feels as if Antonia has always been watching. "I'm going to bed."

Antonia gets to her feet. "Me too."

She follows her closely up the stairs. At the top, she puts a hand on Ginny's arm to stop her. "Give me your hand."

Ginny gives her a dubious look. "What?"

Antonia smiles, the one that means things are about to get really interesting. "Don't you trust me?"

Despite the smile, Ginny does trust Antonia. Probably more than anyone else here at Hogwarts. Reluctantly, she holds out her hand.

The knife appears in a flash, the blade drawing across Ginny's palm before she can even pull back.

"What the hell, Antonia?" Ginny says, blinking against the vicious sting of pain.

Antonia has a firm grip on her hand, staring down at the blood welling on Ginny's palm. Her lips are moving, the words inaudible. Ginny stills completely, finally realizing the importance of what is happening, the kind of spell that requires a blood price.

Antonia slaps her bleeding palm up against the door, blood smearing the surface. She murmurs the incantation Ginny has heard her say only twice before, only this time, with Ginny's palm against the surface, a line of runes light up in the wood.

Sisterhood.

And Ginny understands. She's just been given membership to this sacred space. She feels humbled by it, but also incredibly thankful.

Like everyone else down there, Ginny has been saved by The Parlor time and again.

"I don't envy you these next couple of years," Antonia says, her face more grave than Ginny has ever seen it. "But if anyone can handle it, it's you."

Antonia takes Ginny's face in her hands, pressing her lips to her forehead like a benediction. "Take good care of them."

---

The next morning, Ginny wakes to the sharp pang of pain in her hand. She can heal the wound easily enough, but she doesn't want this to be easy. Easy was never the point of anything that happened in The Parlor. Instead, she wraps her hand in clean gauze and waits for it to heal on its own.

She catches some of the other girls eyeing her, maybe as if wondering if she's somehow forgotten how to use magic, but other people's judgments don't really seem to matter anymore. The whispers and glances that follow her just flow off.

In the wake of Dumbledore's death, all examinations are cancelled. There is briefly talk of sending all of the students home immediately, and many students do disappear in the days following, but most have been allowed to stay for the funeral.

Ginny spends her free time visiting Bill.

One day as she sits next to a sleeping Bill, Smita appears with a tray of sandwiches. "He'll be asleep for a while," she says. "Let's have some food."

Ginny lets her lead her out into the hall. They sit nibbling sandwiches for a while when Smita blurts out, "I can't tell you how sorry I am."

Ginny frowns at her. "What do you mean? You've been great, helping with Bill."

"No," Smita says, dropping her sandwich back down on the plate. "Not about Bill." She looks determinedly up at Ginny. "About not going with you that night."

Ginny's mouth pops open in surprise.

"I should have been there," Smita says.

"No," Ginny says. "You shouldn't."

Smita looks back at Ginny with more open confusion and sadness than she can ever remembering seeing before. "Why not?"

"As much as it pains me to ever say this, Tobias was right."

Ginny remembers Smita lying unconscious on the floor of the Department of Mysteries far too well. Tobias doesn't even really know, doesn't comprehend how close it actually had been. And that night in the castle, it had been worse. Ginny knows with absolutely certainty that the only reason she's still alive is thanks to her brother and a tiny drop of brewed luck.

"Just don't tell him I said that."

Smita gives her a watery smile. "Wouldn't want to make him even more difficult to live with."

"No," Ginny agrees. "We wouldn't want that."

Ginny grabs her hand, squeezing it tight. She feels the twinge of pain in her palm. A reminder.

Take good care of them.

Even if that means letting go.

Ginny has tried to pretend a few Sundays at the lake would be enough to keep things as they were between them, but the truth of it is sitting right here in front of her. It has been all along. Ginny misses Smita, and their lives have taken off in different directions, but Smita is clearly happy. And so is Ginny.

There's nothing to be sorry about.

"Thank you," Ginny says.

Smita shakes her head. "For what?"

"For being here now."

Together, they sit and finish their sandwiches.

---

Dumbledore's funeral is held on a day that is otherwise perfect. Blue skies, slight breeze, the tiniest hint of summer in the air. Ginny sits near the back with her family, Bill reclining stiffly in a chair with a cane in one hand, Fleur sitting tall and beautiful and immovable next to him—his rock.

Ginny is certain she has never seen so many dignitaries and important-looking people in all her life. They seem to take forever to solemnly file in, and Fred and George take the time to recount every brilliantly mental thing they've ever seen Dumbledore do.

Neither Mum or Dad try to quiet them, and Ginny's glad. Hagrid's noisy crying and the twins' carrying voices feel real, and Ginny thinks that Dumbledore would approve of that a thousand times over in comparison to the stuffy fake solemnity of some of the people filing by. Ginny meets each of their scandalized looks with a steady stare.

She sees Harry sneak in from the side with Ron and Hermione, as if refusing to become part of any spectacle that might detract from why they are all here. He looks composed and calm, but when he scans the crowd, catching her eye, she somehow knows exactly how much he is struggling to appear that way. She holds his gaze for a long moment.

She has no idea what he may see in her face, but he gives her a tight smile and takes a seat, disappearing into the crowd.

The program begins a few minutes later, various people talking about Dumbledore, what a hero he was, and none of it sounds much like the wizard who caught Ginny eavesdropping in Grimmauld Place or who liked to talk nonsense during the Great Feasts.

She wonders if it's always like this at funerals, rewriting people after the fact.

In the lull afterwards, she turns to her dad and asks, "What happens now?"

Dad looks straight ahead, his face pinched. She wonders if he is thinking of the last war. Of how many funerals he's already attended. Of how many more there might be.

He turns and looks at her, holding her gaze. "Now we go home."

And see what move Tom makes next.