A/N: Thank you to all three of my lovely reviewers, out of my 1139 readers. You make me feel not entirely unloved.

On with the show.

6th Movement

It was night again. Hermione was making her rounds.

She had thus far apprehended a couple fifth year Hufflepuffs going at it in a closet and a trio of Slytherin second years sneaking back from a run to the kitchens.

That had been over an hour ago and now Hermione was thinking longingly of her bathtub.

She heard the squeak of a sneaker on the flagstone floor and went to investigate. The sounds of shuffling and a giggle floated out from under a classroom door, followed by a low "Shhh!"

Sighing, Hermione retrieved her wand from her sleeve and opened the door softly, calling out, "Lumos."

A girl shrieked and a boy cursed loudly. Hermione squinted, her eyes adjusting slowly to the dim light. She froze for several moments, gaping at the scene before her.

A bumbling Ravenclaw sixth year stood hunched over, trying to fix his belt, though his fly was still undone. His name was Conaire Mor, something Hermione well knew, as he was a prefect: the one who was supposed to be patrolling the corridors with her.

No wonder they hadn't crossed paths in over an hour.

And behind him, a shapely girl was nervously buttoning her shirt while trying to hide behind her companion.

But there was no hiding that hair.

"Ginny Weasley!"

Hermione stared at the young girl she had known for over six years.

Conaire, relieved at not being the main object of the head girl's ire, immediately stepped aside to facilitate conversation between the girls.

"Bastard," Ginny spat at him. Hermione was shaken abruptly from her shocked stupor.

"Fifty points from Ravenclaw, Mr. Mor. Rest assured Terry and I will be speaking with Professor Flitwick about your reprehensible conduct. Now finish your patrol and hope it won't be your last." As Hermione spoke, her eyes never left Ginny, who squirmed under examination.

"Don't look at me like that, 'Mione," Ginny whispered.

Cocking an eyebrow, Hermione asked, "How else am I supposed to look at you, Gin? I caught you having sex, which you should not be doing at all, let alone in a classroom after curfew. What were you doing out, anyway? Did you plan this little liaison beforehand, or was it spur of the moment?"

Ginny recoiled at the verbal onslaught, then spat with narrowed eyes, "How dare you! You are not my mother, Hermione Granger. She's dead, remember? And as such it is none of your damn business who, where, how, or when I fuck! Just because you couldn't get laid if you paid for it doesn't mean the rest of us have to live like eunuchs!"

Hermione gaped at the younger woman whose flaming red hair was forming a fiery halo around her head, before crossing her arms under her breasts and fixing Ginny with her best glare.

"No, I'm not your mother, Ginny. But your mother would be appalled at your behavior. And so would Harry."

At the mention of Harry's name, something seemed to break inside of Ginny. Her shoulders slumped abruptly and began shaking as tears began to leak from the corners of her eyes. Hermione was suddenly ashamed of herself.

Ginny sank down to the floor, her back coming to rest against the desk on which she had been sprawled just minutes before. Hermione came and sat by her, tentatively placing a hand on the red-head's shoulder, afraid that Ginny would pull away, knowing that she had every right to after what she had just said. But she didn't pull away; she laid her head against Hermione's shoulder, her tears dampening her brother's best-friend's robes. Hermione pulled her in tighter, and Ginny went willingly, needing to be touched, to be comforted.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

Hermione shook her head, "No, I'm sorry, Ginny. I shouldn't have said those things. It was entirely uncalled-for."

"I miss him so much," Ginny sniffled, "I just want him back. I want them all back. I want things like they were before the war. It wouldn't be so bad if he were dead, like my mum. But having him alive, but unreachable is just so much more painful."

Hermione's fingers absently stroked through red strands of hair, slightly curled near the ends. "Have you tried to see him, Gin?"

Ginny shook her head against Hermione's arm. "I can't. I can't stand to see him like that. Ron went once. He said it was horrible. He's like an empty shell; doesn't recognize anything or anyone, just sits there, staring at nothing." She looked up. "But you would know that. You visit every week, don't you? Isn't that where you go on Sunday afternoons when I can't find you anywhere?"

Hermione sighed. She should have known someone would figure it out. "Does Ron know I visit him?"

Ginny shook her head again. "No. Or, at least, he doesn't want to know. Just like everyone else. They want to pretend that Harry Potter, savior of the wizarding world, is sitting in a padded room in St. Mungo's." Ginny snorted derisively. "It's ironic, isn't it? He always had what you called a 'saving-people-thing'. Turns out the only person he couldn't save was himself."