Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything else you recognize, including elements from Speak, and Lizzy is the only OC who belongs to me. Val, Li, and Lauren belong to themselves.
A/N: I'm sorry. It's been almost a year and a half since I posted chapter one, and I'm really sorry. In my defense, I did warn you guys. Here's an explanation, but it's kinda long so if you want you can just skip to the story.
The major reasons that I didn't update are as follows:
-I had school issues (like, I flat-out couldn't go to school), and so…
-I barely graduated.
-I spent second semester of senior year making up about five classes in addition to my actual schedule. Luckily, I did manage to graduate (with honors, even!). Anyway, that took up most of my time.
-Also, friend issues really made me lose focus… our 'group' never had any drama through the first three years of high school (and through middle school as well), and then it's like everything caught up with us in senior year. Now nobody's talking to anyone, or at least they weren't for a while and now we've split up into two enemy groups, pretty much. It sucks. So that dimmed my desire to write.
-I was on a long reading binge- most of the time, I either read a lot or I write a lot. I've been reading a lot lately (I pretty much keep Barnes and Noble afloat in this economy), and so I haven't been writing much.
-I've been too happy to write a story like this. It's a good thing overall, I guess… but happiness is not conducive to writing a fic like this.
-Oh yeah, and last summer I spent abroad, so I didn't have much time there either.
The main reason why I started writing again last night on this:
-My old violin teacher died a few nights ago from a sudden heart attack. By 'old', I don't mean age-wise… he was only 54. My dad is older than he was, which opens up a whole new can of worms that I don't want to go into. I took lessons from him for eight years, stopping only because of the aforementioned summer abroad. He was an amazing guy, and it was such a shock to everyone. So that knocked my happiness right back down to a level where I can write this again. The questions that Ginny asks herself about Chris' death are similar to the ones I've been wondering about my teacher. I've never experienced a death close to me before, so this is totally new.
So, all in all, forgive me. I'll try to do better. It's summer now, and though I have a job, I should be able to write a bit more.
"We might lose her."
"Do you think she was trying to fall off the cliff?"
"Ginny? Nah. She's a good kid."
"Then what about those marks on her arms?"
Ouch. My head hurts.
I groan and open my eyes. Damn, that's bright. After my eyes adjust, I can see… the ceiling. Oooh, so incredibly hot. Not.
I can hear voices, though. Using my astounding detective skills, I'm guessing that means that there are people in the room.
I struggle to sit up, and finally actually see the people. There's Madam Pomfrey, my mum and dad, and some person I've never seen before. I clear my throat and they turn towards me, startled. There are visible looks of relief on my parents' faces, and Madam Pomfrey bustles over to me.
"Miss Weasley, how are you feeling? Can you move your arms and legs?"
"Like shit, yes, and how long was I out for?"
"You were out for a week and a half. We were beginning to wonder if you would ever wake up."
I think about that. A week and a half? I was out for a week and a half?! What happened? My memory fails me. All I remember is falling.
"Ugh, what happened?" The adults look at each other in what are supposed to be surreptitious glances. Finally, Mum answers.
"We were hoping you could answer that for us," she says, a waver in her voice. God, I must've been in pretty bad shape if both my parents are here and Mum's voice is shaking. After six boys, she hardly ever gets this worried.
I rack my brain for some sign of what happened, and an image of myself running across the grounds and stopping at the cliff's edge comes to mind, almost like in a Pensieve. I remember sitting on the edge, and then I remember falling. What escapes me is why I fell. Surely I wouldn't just lose my balance, and if I did, how would I be in one piece? Magic can only do so much.
Ouch. All this thinking is making my brain hurt.
All the adults are looking at me, waiting for my answer. I shrug.
"I don't remember," I say, only half-lying; after all, I don't remember why I fell. And Merlin, my head is freaking killing me. Madam Pomfrey seems to realize this and hands me two goblets, one filled with a purple potion, and the other filled with what I recognize as Dreamless Sleep Potion.
"Take the purple one first – it's a pain relieving potion. Then take the sleep potion and sleep for now," she says kindly. I drink both potions, not bothering to tell her that I've become immune to Dreamless Sleep Potion after taking it every night for a month and a half since it happened. Closing my eyes, I quickly fall asleep even without the potion's aid.
I wake again to the sound of a small stampede. The door flings open, and several people come running in. My sluggish brain takes a few seconds to register it, but then I break out in a huge smile. The flock of people stop by my bed, breathing like they had just come from a particularly hard Quidditch practice.
"We heard Ginny was awake," Li gasps, trying to catch her breath.
"GINNY!" Lizzy shouts and pounces, landing in my lap. I laugh, wince because it hurts my head, and ruffle her hair, and she grins up at me, nuzzling my shoulder like a cat.
I look up at my guests and discover that there are several of them. There's Li, Val, Lauren, Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Plus, of course, Lizzy. Nice.
"Hey," I say, smiling at them. They smile back, and Li comes to sit on my bed with Lizzy and me.
"Hey! How are you feeling?" Val asks. I smile raggedly.
"Like shit, and you?"
I clap my hands over Lizzy's ears as I say the swear word and she scowls at me.
"So what happened?" Harry asked. "Nobody would tell us anything." He sounded disgruntled that he couldn't find out. Hermione didn't look too happy either, since apparently her superior research skills came to naught.
I rack my brain for memories. "I don't remember. I think I fell off the cliff."
Everybody gasps, and I gasp with them, just for fun. Li smacks me and I smack her back.
"But how come you're not a pancake? Who saved you?" Lauren wants to know. I shrug.
"I honestly have no idea," I say, and it's true. Why can't I remember how I fell? Is there something wrong with me? Did I hit my head hard enough to cause amnesia?
That would suck.
After a few more minutes of catch-up chatter, Madam Pomfrey ushers them out of the Hospital Wing. After the doors close in their protesting faces, she turns to me.
"Are you feeling better, Miss Weasley?"
I consider that, running through a mental checklist. Head – a little sore, but okay. Throat – okay. Shoulders and arms – a little itchy on my forearms (healing's a bitch), but okay. Stomach, legs – okay. "Yeah, I'm a lot better," I say with a smile. Better to get out as soon as possible. I don't like hospitals, and besides, the gown is icky. "May I go?"
Madam Pomfrey swells up like a mother chicken, and I have a sudden image of her trying to lay an egg. Merlin, what exactly was in that potion anyway? "Of course you may not! You just woke up today after a ten-day coma! You'll have to stay another two or three days, at least!"
"But Madam Pomfrey," I begin, in a voice carefully designed to have just the right amount of whine and persuasiveness, perfected on my mum over the years, "I'm really feeling much better. I've been gone so long, I really need to go to class and make everything up. I'll get lots of rest and come and see you if I feel sick."
Madam Pomfrey looked stubborn, so I try once more.
"Madam Pomfrey, I'm really okay. I've had worse. I have a bar of Honeydukes chocolate in my dorm. I'll eat some with every meal, and I'm come see you if I start to feel ill. Besides, Lizzy and my other friends are very protective; they won't let anything happen. You know the only time Val ever came in here was when she caught that nasty case of dragonpox after the winter hols last year. And Li takes pleasure in dragging me here if I have so much as a headache."
I can see the nurse shaking her head already, so I bring out the pathos.
"Plus, Lizzy needs me, Madam Pomfrey. She was so clingy today; she only does that when she's really upset. I'm the only one who can calm her down. She's always been sensitive, but now that Chris and Nicole-" my lips press tightly together against my will, and I can't choke out the words, settling for a shake of my head. Easy, Gin. Don't feel. Regain control. "I'm all she has left, Madam Pomfrey."
She looks somewhat swayed, no doubt feeling sorry for Lizzy, who lost her whole family so suddenly and so young. The fact that the girl is about the cutest, most innocent-looking girl ever also probably helps, with her newly-acquired air of sadness. I add the clincher: "She's like the sister I always wanted and never had. I have to protect her."
Okay, so the last bit is a bit dramatic, but mentioning protecting a younger sister helps my case, I know. Fred and George once found a piece of paper that supposedly shows a map of Hogwarts if you know the password- which I don't- but I've found out that "Moony," "Wormtail," "Padfoot," and "Prongs" give a short history of each teacher that was at Hogwarts in their time, cobbled together from casual conversations. I found it before I was even at Hogwarts, and I spent hours discovering things during the summers. In my second year, the twins gave it to Harry, but I at least know enough about Pomfrey to be able to hit her weak spot. Her younger sister died when they were children, and Pomfrey always blamed herself. That was why she became a Mediwitch. It was also one of the only things about which the Marauders didn't make jokes.
I feel somewhat guilty about using Madam Pomfrey's loss against her, but the guilt doesn't last long after the nurse lets me change back into my clothes and piles my arms high with potion bottles, pouring a few down my throat while my hands are full.
"You have to stop here in the mornings and directly after classes every day for a week, and tell me if you have any pain, dizziness, or other discomfort. If you don't come, I'll force you to stay in the Hospital Wing for two weeks if I have to tie you down to do it! Make sure you rest a lot, drink plenty of fluids, and eat chocolate with every meal. And make sure you follow the medication schedule I gave you."
"Yes, Madam Pomfrey," I promise, trying to sound sincere. "I'll take it easy, I swear."
"All right dear, you may go. Send Miss Andersson down if she needs anything."
And she bustles back into her office with a barely-audible sniff, leaving me with an armful of potions and candy bars to carry up four flights of stairs to the Gryffindor Common Room. Great, thanks.
As I begin the trek, I start to make a mental list of the potions in my arms that I should keep and which ones can be disposed of. However I fell, I deserved it, I'm sure. I'll heal the long way. But the pain potions, for instance, might come in handy in the future.
My thoughts are soon pushed aside by other thoughts, dark and nagging. What did Chris think and feel in his last moments? Did he know they would all die? Was he scared? Did he beg for his life, or those of his parents and sister? Did he think of Lizzy, blissfully ignorant at a friend's house? Did he want to die, from the pain? Was he envious of Lizzy, still alive, or was he glad that he would most likely die, since then he wouldn't have to live without his family?
I've never allowed myself to think of questions like that, always nipping them in the bud with a silver glint of steel. And now, with my arms full of cumbersome glass, without a blade, I'm vulnerable, and the thoughts attack without mercy like the Death Eaters massacred the Anderssons.
My hands begin to shake, nearly causing me to drop a flask on the hard stone floor. I need the flash of blain, the trickle of blood, the flow of blessèd numbness. Without a second thought, I run to the nearest girls' bathroom, lock myself in a stall, and break a vial of the most useless potion, a thick green concoction made to soothe the pain of the scrapes along my body. I'll never use it, and now it will serve an ironically better purpose. As the viscous potion drips out, I Vanish it, leaving me with clean glass shards. There isn't one with a sharp enough edge, so I break one further until it is perfect: a wickedly sharp corner with a flat side that's angled like a razor. Although my breath is coming in rapid bursts and imagined visions of Chris and Nicole screaming along with an almost vampiric need for blood dominate my mind, I work with a businesslike, almost painfully sharp clarity, snapping carefully until the shard is perfect. Then I put it to my arm and slowly slide it, relishing the pain and closing my eyes as serenity settles over me.
After the laceration stops bleeding, I Shrink the potions and put them all in a pouch I made by pulling the front of my robes out. Only four floors to climb, Gin, and then you can rest.
Until the nightmares come, of course.
A/N 2: Okay, sorry, Draco wasn't in this chapter. He'll be in the next one, probably. And sorry this is short; I just thought that it was good place to stop. And I'm not in practice anymore! Um, about the Marauders' Map thing… I figured that if it could insult Snape, it could probably give information on the teachers. Sirius and James are always portrayed as being charismatic, so I think they could gather information from their teachers about their lives and histories. And if Ginny needed a wand, well, then she could have borrowed Mrs. Weasley's. We see in the… fourth? book that she leaves her wand around sometimes, as shown by her picking up one of Gred and Forge's fake wands.
Reviews and concrit are always good. Please don't flame... but it's obviously your choice. I did try to cut down on the use of "I," as suggested. Thank you, snowfire81, by the way. :) And berryfreezepop, I'll try not to let it meld into one of those cliche fics that are so common. At least mine has good grammar, though! (I think... I'm not used to writing in present-tense, so my verb tenses may be sketchy sometimes.)
Au revoir, my duckies!
