Ginny slows her step when someone calls out her name, looking back over her shoulder to see Astoria striding towards her down the hallway.
"Hey," Ginny says as she falls into step next to her.
Astoria merely nods back, clearly uncomfortable. It's been long months since they started talking again, but conversations between them are still far from easy. But Ginny isn't giving up.
"I'm going to bring Gemma down next week," Ginny says. "If you'd like to—"
"No," Astoria says, cutting across her. For all she helped Ginny get a clear view of who Gemma is, of whether or not she would benefit from being in the sisterhood, Astoria still wants nothing to do with The Parlor. "I actually wanted to talk to you about someone in the craft circle."
They've been back from winter break for almost two weeks now, but Ginny hasn't found any time to knit. If that means she no longer needs something to distract her from parchment and ink, she knows she should probably count that as a victory. The material point is that as the craft circle has grown, Astoria is the one central linchpin of the group, not Ginny.
"What's going on?" Ginny asks.
"There's someone who makes the most extraordinary embroidery I've ever seen. Pretty amazing stuff. I asked if I could buy some for an old set of robes I was hoping to update."
She pauses, her cheeks pinking, and Ginny knows this is embarrassment for letting on that she has a limited budget. Living austerely is not something she is used to. Ginny lets it pass without comment. She doubts commiseration from a chronically poor Weasley would do much to help, especially since money seems far less tight for them as her brothers start their own careers and her father's position increases at the Ministry. It's a strange swap of circumstances all around.
"I'd like to see it," Ginny says instead. "What you've done with them."
Astoria nods absently, as if she knows perfectly well that Ginny has no interest in such things. "My point is, we started talking more and more, and she confessed she has all these ideas for clothes and new designs, some of which are rather unorthodox. She thinks wizarding fashion is a little overdue for an update."
"Ambitious," Ginny murmurs.
"Yes," Astoria says, gesturing broadly. "Very. She's only a first year, you know. She has these ideas and the drive too, just maybe not the…" She fumbles.
"The space she needs?" Ginny surmises, understanding that this is really about The Parlor.
Astoria nods, looking away. "I would just…hate to see her passion fade or get stamped out. I'd hate for her to give up before she even has the chance to try."
Like Caroline.
But neither of them speak her name.
"Who is it?" Ginny asks, running through all the first years in her mind, trying to align this information with their faces. She's been trying to be much better at this, paying close attention to the dynamics of Slytherin House.
"Her name is Dale," Astoria says, something a little pointed in the way she says it.
"Dale," Ginny says, easily able to bring the first year's face to mind—only she thought he was one of the four boys sorted into Slytherin last September.
"Yes," Astoria says.
"But—" Ginny starts to say.
Astoria's expression hardens. "Her name is Dale. She told me herself."
Ginny is definitely confused, but slows her tongue, swallowing back questions before they can do damage she can't take back.
"When do you meet again?" she asks instead.
"Tonight."
Ginny nods. "I'll stop by after Quidditch."
"Okay," Astoria says and splits off, heading down a different hallway without so much as a goodbye.
Ginny watches her go, sliding into her seat in Transfiguration next to Neville only a few minutes late.
After classes, Ginny heads down the to the pitch to meet with Demelza and the other Chasers. She passes by her Beater Karl walking up with the Hufflepuff Beaters, clearly just having finished their own clinic. They murmur greetings as they pass.
Out on the snow-cleared field, the Gryffindor Beaters Ritchie Coote and Jimmy Peakes are still hanging about, talking.
"I hope Karl didn't maim anyone," she says as she approaches them.
Karl is the definition of erratic. Not a great characteristic in a Beater, but it's not like she had a lot of choices when she cobbled her team together. It makes her doubly resentful though; once that he isn't better, and again that he isn't Bassenthwaite or Graham. She tries her best not to take that out on him. Some days she's more successful than others.
Martin and Vaisey came back fortunately, and Reiko too, who is shaping up to be a shoo-in for Captain next year. That would have been it, if Ginny hadn't sought out Rosier specifically and told him that if he really wanted to make up for being a wanker last year he'd at least help her pull a decent team together. Her reserve team was nearly non-existent.
She's done the best she can.
Jimmy and Ritchie laugh appreciatively at her abuse of Karl.
"Believe it or not, he's starting to get a handle on it," Jimmy says.
"Well, I really appreciate you risking life and limb like this," she says.
Jimmy snickers. "You're the one who has to train with Demelza. Much riskier if you ask me."
Ginny gives him an arch look. "I'll be sure to tell her you said that."
"I take it back!" he says, lifting his hands up in surrender. He runs off then to scoop up the last of the bats and returning them to the equipment rack.
Ritchie rolls his eyes at his mate's antics. "I have to admit, when you first suggested cross-house clinics, I thought you were barmy."
"It is barmy," Ginny says.
"Yeah," he agrees with a grin. "But we also haven't had a single case of pre-game hallway sabotage or mysterious hexes. It's kind of restful."
Ginny nods. "You know, Hermione used to always say that Quidditch was bad for school unity."
"She never even played Quidditch!" he says, sounding horrified.
"I know! Used to hack me off. But as much as I hate to admit it, she did have a point."
"Maybe," he reluctantly concedes. "Fortunately she's not here to hear it. And I promise not to tell." He gives her a sly wink.
Ginny rolls her eyes.
Jimmy has finished picking up by now, shouting for Ritchie to move his arse. He gives her a sheepish grin and starts heading toward Jimmy only to come to a stop.
"Hey, Weasley," he calls out.
She turns back to look at him. "Yeah?"
"You and Burke," he says.
She frowns. "What about it?"
"Are you two, you know, seeing each other?"
Ginny tries not to let on that she's completely taken aback by the question. Not so much that people might assume things about her and Tobias, but that Ritchie would care enough to ask. It has her feeling strangely back footed.
"Why?" she asks, crossing her arms over her chest for lack of anything else to do with them.
Ritchie doesn't seem put off, lifting one shoulder in a casual shrug. "Just curious."
She considers him. "No," she admits. "We're just mates. Now get off my pitch, will you?"
He grins at her, and Ginny can't help but notice that he's cute. Somehow that just makes it worse. Giving her a little salute, he jogs off the pitch to catch up with his friend.
Jimmy gives him a jubilant shove, crowing something about true Gryffindor bravery. Ritchie just glances back at Ginny, looking a little embarrassed, but pleased.
She supposes there is something about that Gryffindor devil-may-care attitude that reminds her of her brothers. That familiarity should be comforting. For some reason it isn't particularly. Not that it matters. Ritchie's interest is more likely a dare kind of thing for him, flirting openly with Ginny Weasley, like it's some test of bravery.
Or so she tells herself as she watches the two boys wander out of sight, Ritchie giving her one last exuberant wave.
"Making my players lovesick and useless is a really low blow."
She turns to find Demelza scowling at her. "Like you're one to talk," she shoots back, feeling strangely exposed.
Ginny's seen the way her Keeper Martin trails around after Demelza. If their whatever-they-have didn't seem to be built on a hearty foundation of cutthroat competitiveness, Ginny might have worried he would let Demelza score just to get on her good side.
"Whatever it takes to win, right?" Demelza says with a breezy wave of her hand.
"Sure," Ginny says, stomping her feet in the cold. "But that's enough about boys, all right? It's time for far more important things, like Quidditch. And not freezing our arses off out here."
"Merlin, yes," Demelza agrees, hooking her arm through Ginny's and dragging her over to where the rest of the school Chasers have started warming up.
That evening after a long warm shower and dinner, Ginny digs her knitting supplies out of her trunk. Joining the group, she finds that she's missed it, the feel of needles and yarn in her hands. She's still feeling a little unsettled after her run in with Ritchie, and it helps calm her mind, focusing on the pattern while listening absently to the flow of conversation around her. Most of it is idle gossip or complaints about parents or homework or professors.
As her fingers remember the familiar movements, Ginny pays more attention to Dale, the small student with floppy brown hair falling about their-no, Ginny corrects herself-her ears and slender silver rings on her fingers.
"I hear you design robes," Ginny says.
"Oh," Dale says, looking up at her with wide eyes. "Not really. It's just something I think would be fun."
Clearly an attempt to downplay her interest.
Ginny nods. "What kind do you like to do best?"
"All of it, really," Dale says, eyes brightening, before ducking her head back down to the cloth.
Ginny looks at the intricate embroidery building up stitch by stitch. "That's pretty great," she says.
"Oh," Dale says. "My grandmother taught me. Just something to pass the time."
Ginny thinks there is a much deeper story there, but doesn't push. They continue working in silence for a while.
Ginny rolls out her ball of yarn to free up more slack. "My mum was after me for years to learn to knit. I used to do anything and everything I could to avoid it. I'd much rather be out on my broom. It scandalized my mother's family. My great aunt despairs of me ever learning any of the gentle arts. Apparently that's no way to catch a husband."
Ginny remembers finally figuring out what Muriel had done to infuriate her parents back at the beginning of her sixth year. She'd tried to arrange a betrothal for Ginny. Mental. Fortunately her parents clearly thought so as well.
That will be Ginny's choice and no one else's, Mum had very nearly raged when Muriel tried to push it again over the Christmas hols.
Dale is looking dubiously at the tangle of yarn in Ginny's fingers. "Yet you learned anyway."
Ginny shrugs. "After the war and everything…" She pauses, swallowing back the crowd of memories that threaten to roll over her. "It was nice to have a reason to spend time with my mum. And it's strangely restful, making things with your hands." She holds up the mitten disaster in progress. "I doubt this will catch me a husband either way."
"Probably not," Dale says dubiously, only to immediately look horrified, and Ginny can't help but laugh.
Dale smiles, clearly relieved she hasn't taken offense. "But you haven't given up Quidditch."
"No," she says. "I never will. I love it, and it doesn't matter if some people don't approve. I couldn't stop being a Chaser if I tried."
"Yeah," Dale says, looking back down at her hands.
By the time Ginny picks up her yarn and heads to bed, she is no less confused, but far more clear on what made Astoria speak up about Dale.
"I hear we broke up," Tobias says as Ginny drops into a seat across from him at breakfast. "Is that why you won't sit next to me?"
His ability to glean gossip will never cease to amaze her. "No. I won't sit next to you because you eat like a drunken troll."
He jabs his fork in her direction. "That is egregious slander, and if we weren't already broken up, I would do it again just for that."
She rolls her eyes, reaching for some toast. "Personally, I somehow missed the part where we got together in the first place."
"Well, at least that sadly misguided misconception explains why no one has tried to date you," Tobias says, something sly in his tone.
Ginny keeps her eyes on her plate. "And here I thought it was because everyone is terrified of me."
"Oh, that too," Tobias says.
"Morning, Ginny."
They both look up to see Ritchie passing by.
Ginny gives him a tight smile, really, really hoping her face is not as warm as it feels. "Hey," she says.
He moves off, and she can't feel anything but relief.
"Interesting," Tobias drawls into his porridge.
"Shut it," she says.
Tobias lifts his hands. "I was just observing that Gryffindors are probably in general far too stupid to be terrified."
"Don't make me break up with you again."
He snorts.
Ginny turns her attention to her food, keeping one eye on a clutch of second- and third-year Slytherin girls sitting at the next table. She ducks as owls arrive en masse with the morning post. There's nothing for her today, but no less than four swoop down by Tobias, so she helps him by pulling off his copy of Witch Weekly from the nearest owl. He's already getting his copy of The Daily Prophet and what looks like Which Wizard and something called Reader's Digest.
Ginny reads the Prophet from time to time, mostly just to keep up on what is going on, but Tobias absolutely devours it along with every other major periodical, including a few Muggle ones. He particularly loves the gossip rags. The more ridiculous the story, the more joy he takes out of them.
Seriously, give this one an O for Outstanding in terms of sheer lunacy. Like, the Quibbler wouldn't even touch this one.
She knows it's inevitable that she'll get a rundown of the most amusing stories by the end of the day, so she leaves him to his reading, turning her attention back to her breakfast, sneaking another glance at the younger girls, trying to pick out the topic of their conversation.
They all seem to be hunched over their own copy of the Prophet, whispering in scandalous glee. There must be something particularly salacious today. She turns back to Tobias to inquire, and he's already watching her. He quickly looks away, reaching for his Witch Weekly and flipping the glossy cover open.
"What is it?" Ginny asks.
"Nothing," he says, turning the page. "Same old boring stuff."
"Tobias," she says, because clearly it isn't. "Is it the Prophet?" The buzz of conversation in the hall is only growing.
He actually looks a little hesitant, not just being an arsehole and holding out to annoy her, but honestly concerned about her reaction. It just sets her even more on edge.
"What?" she bites out.
With a sigh, he shoves the paper over to her.
She honestly has no idea what to expect, but she should have known it would be Harry. No one generates as much speculation and interest as him these days. Sure enough, there's a photo of him on the front page, which isn't all that unusual. It isn't even that unusual that it's a Muggle photo, frozen and still.
What is unusual is the young woman attached to his arm. Blonde. Very pretty. Her arm wound through his like it belongs there. Harry isn't looking towards her in the picture, but speaking to someone out of frame. It doesn't make it look any less…intimate.
LOVE DOWN UNDER, the paper declares.
She and Tobias would be laughing about that headline under different circumstances, she knows.
He is still watching her warily, but there's no reason for him to.
"Good for him," she says, pushing the paper away, but not before seeing another picture of them curled up together on a sofa somewhere. Harry is laughing in this one, looking relaxed and happy, the girl's head resting on his shoulder with a calculating look in her eye.
But it's possible she's just projecting.
Tobias doesn't look convinced.
"Really," she says. "It's none of my business."
Even if it were—which it is not—this is not a conversation she has any interest in having in the middle of the Great Hall.
She pushes to her feet. "I have a few more inches I need to finish on my Herbology essay. I'll see you in class?"
"Yeah," Tobias says. "Sure."
All day it feels like the entire school is buzzing with the news, speculation about whether Harry will be staying in Australia permanently now. Who the girl is. By the time classes are over, Ginny is heartily sick of Harry Potter, gossip, and the entire continent of Australia.
"Hey, Weasley," someone makes the mistake of calling down the table. "Your brother must write to you. Got any insight you'd like to share? Does he think Potter's ever coming back?"
Ginny feels a cold sort of calm fall over her, spearing the idiot with a glance sharpened into knives. "I think you've mistaken me for someone else, Karl. Like one of those gossipy biddies on either side of you."
Karl and his two mates look at each other as if they are trying to work out if they've been insulted.
One of them frowns. "Did she just call us old ladies?"
Across the table from them Martin shakes his head as if they're all lost causes. "So what if she did? What are you going to do about it?"
They seem to think on that. "Nothing," the one on Karl's left decides, as if the risk of pissing off Ginny has just finally occurred to him. "Absolutely nothing."
Martin snorts. "Good call, biddies."
"Merlin," Ginny says under her breath, pretty much hating everyone right now. She finishes her dinner quickly before she can get dragged into saying anything else stupid, and escapes down into the calm oasis of The Parlor.
She must not be quite projecting the calm she intends, because Hestia and Flora give her looks. They don't say anything though, leaving her to focus on her homework in peace.
Try as she may, she can't keep her attention on her reading. With a sigh, she pushes to her feet, pulling out the key hanging around her neck.
"Good evening, Mistress," Nymue greets her as she walks into the library.
Ginny glances up at the woman in the stained glass window. "Good evening," she echoes, wandering a circuit through the stacks, eventually circling back around to drop into the chair in front of Nymue.
Nymue looks down at her, hands calmly folded in front of her. "Is there something I can help you with, Mistress?"
"The sisterhood is for women only," Ginny says.
"Yes," Nymue confirms.
Ginny nods, fingers picking absently at the arm of the chair. "And what makes someone a woman?"
Nymue's eyes widen, something vaguely amused in her expression.
"I'm not here for an anatomy lesson," Ginny quickly says.
"I did not believe you were. It is just an unusual question, you must admit. One with an obvious answer, most would think."
Ginny might have said that a week ago. "If someone says they are a girl, even if their body isn't… If they feel they are…" She doesn't even know how to properly ask the question.
"Yes," Nymue says, apparently managing to read through her bumbling. "Sometimes souls end up in the wrong vessels."
"Do they?" Ginny asks, never having heard of anything like that before.
Nymue nods. "Fortunately bodies can change, even if souls can't. Or rather shouldn't. Not without the kind of damage that can't be fixed."
She looks down at her hands, smoothing her fingers down the brocade-covered arm of the chair. "Have there been people, I mean women, like that in the Sisterhood before?"
"Yes," Nymue says.
"Oh," Ginny says. "So there wouldn't be problems with the wards or the induction spells?"
"Mistress," Nymue says, voice slightly chiding. "She is either worthy of being a sister or not. Her body does not define that."
Ginny sits with that, letting this new information settle in, not without a few spots of confusion and discomfort. She files them away to properly investigate later. "Are there any histories that speak on this?"
"There are those who chose to speak of their own experiences," she says, a book floating down from a shelf and settling in Ginny's lap. "Which is often the best place to begin."
Ginny opens the book and starts to read.
She comes up from The Parlor very late, the common room empty and silent. As she crosses the room, her eye is caught by an abandoned copy of the Prophet on a table near the fireplace. She keeps walking, but doesn't make it all the way to the stairs before she stops with a sigh. Giving in, she turns back, crossing over to the newspaper.
She ignores the article, one she knows is likely filled with five lies for every half-truth. Even the pictures can't really be trusted. But she isn't interested in the words or even the witch.
Staring down at Harry's picture, she reaches out and traces the edges of his face and down over his shoulder. Considering how little time she's ever gotten to spend with him, how they went from a first kiss straight into a long separation, how a few late-night conversations and a string of letters is all she's ever had of him, she is unprepared for the surge of raw emotions triggered by just looking at his face.
His bloody stupid, ridiculous face.
She folds the paper so only Harry is visible, the one with him smiling and laughing.
He looks happy. Relaxed and joyful in a way she's rarely seen. She can't know if that is because of being in Australia, if he finally found a way to let the war be over, or if it's maybe the girl, if she did that.
The truth is, it doesn't really matter. He deserves it. Being happy. Being with someone who can make him look like that. Someone who doesn't shut down or fall apart.
But there is still this sharp tang of bitterness at the back of her throat, only it isn't for the nameless witch or even Harry, but for Ginny herself. This is for her own weaknesses, for still allowing herself to feel this way after so much time, for not being able to take the chance when it was offered. For refusing to even try.
She doesn't return the paper to the table, instead tucking it under her arm and heading downstairs for her room.
It's Wednesday.
On Wednesdays, Ginny writes to Harry. It's the basic schedule she's held to since November. Wednesdays and Sundays. Only she missed last Sunday's letter, not being able to get herself to write it. Harry didn't write either, though whether that was just because she hadn't or if he doesn't have anything to write about either, she doesn't know.
Or maybe he's busy with other things.
"Stop it," she mumbles to herself. Fortunately her dorm is empty, so there is no one here to comment on it.
Picking up her quill, she writes about Quidditch and how all their classes are even more focused on NEWTs these days and how little prepared she feels. She tells him about Seamus managing to set a plant on fire in Herbology.
What she doesn't write about are the articles, despite the fact that there have been no less than five more in the week since. She doesn't ask about the girl or say that she hopes he's happy. She doesn't ask why he didn't say anything, or what else he might be leaving out of his letters. She certainly doesn't write about the way Ritchie is still going out of his way to talk to her, how she isn't sure how to feel about that. How he sometimes reminds her of Harry.
The truth is she doesn't want to know. And maybe some small part of her hopes Harry doesn't want to know either. Or maybe she just can't stand to hear him write back with something like, Good for you. Glad you've moved on.
She's the one who made him promise to live his life, so sitting here feeling like this just makes her an arsehole. So she writes a letter full of careful facts and perfectly constructed anecdotes and giant invisible silences.
She feels drained by the time she finishes, and decides one letter a week is more than enough. Tapping the parchment, she sends it off, and sets about starting another day in the castle.
At Quidditch practice that afternoon, things are tense. Ginny herself is not in the best of moods, but the others seem even worse. Reiko is mercilessly picking on everyone, mostly snide remarks under her breath. Their loss to Gryffindor is still grating.
"How is it possible that you wankers are even worse now than last term?" Reiko rails after a particularly bad drill. "I thought these stupid clinics were supposed to make things better?"
"Look, you little-" Vaisey snaps back, looking ready to lay into her, and when the normally placid Vaisey starts to lose his cool, Ginny knows things have gone too far.
"Enough!" Ginny barks. "That's it. Everyone shut their mouths."
She gets various glares and mulish stares in response, but they all comply. She still kind of wants to shove all their faces into a snowbank.
She's beginning to empathize with Warrington's need to nail her with that snowball way back when. Her lips curve in nostalgia as the memories rise up—the crunch of snow, the wet slush of it creeping down the back of her robes, Bletchley trying to pretend he wasn't enjoying himself, her snowball catching Thompson square in the face.
"Okay," Ginny says. "Brooms down, feet on the ground."
They look wary, but do as they are told, standing in a loose half circle around her. "This way," she says, leading them off the magically clear pitch and into the deeper snow.
Leaning down, she scoops up a handful of snow, carefully packing it into ball. Without another word, she nails Reiko in the chest with it.
"Hey!" she says, jumping back. "What the hell, Ginny?"
With quick flicks of her fingers, Ginny indicates two teams of three. "Team one. Team two. Every snowball that hits a member of your team is a lap around the pitch tomorrow at dawn. So work together. Watch each other's backs. Build a strategy. Keep an eye on the other team. Wands allowed, but spells only on snow, not bodies."
The two groups look warily at each other.
"Are you on a team?" Rosier asks.
"I'm keeping score," she says, taking a step back. "But I run laps with all of you. So don't mess it up. And go!"
Reiko doesn't even hesitate, ducking down and grabbing for snow.
"Run!" Martin says to his team. "We need a fallback point!"
"Snow only!" Ginny reminds them as they all scatter off, snowballs already flying.
She can't help it, can't help but think of sodding Crabbe and Goyle and that ball of ice they nailed her with. She nearly misses the first point scored as thoughts of Crabbe threaten to swamp her.
She shoves it away. It's something that happened. Something that is over and done and can never be changed. Doesn't need to be.
She focuses on her team. "Two laps for team one!"
They groan, but redouble their efforts. Behind the protection of a tree, they put one person on watch as they whisper strategies.
By the time the sun starts to set, they are all soaked and out of breath and laughing hard, arms looped over each other's shoulders and good-naturedly arguing over who has to run the most laps.
"All right," Ginny says. "Go dry off, warm up, and get some dinner. I'll take care of this." She gestures at the equipment still strewn about.
No one argues, and she suspects their exhaustion and disinterest in clearing up is probably the only reason the entire team doesn't turn a barrage of snowballs on her.
They trudge back up together, calls of "Thanks, Ginny," and "See you later," trailing behind them.
It doesn't take long to get everything back into the changing rooms, storing brooms and bats and the equipment trunk. On her way back up to the castle, she pauses, gazing out over the Black Lake and the snow-covered lawns. Without conscious decision, she starts walking, wand melting a path in the deep snow in front of her as she goes.
The snow and deep twilight aren't enough to disguise the landscape, her feet taking the same path she walked on a dark, smoky night almost eight months ago. There is smoke in the air tonight too, only from the chimney of the nearby Gamekeeper's Hut and not a battle.
All the same, there is a moment where Ginny can't breathe, all of it pressing in—that day and the feelings and the thoughts—but for once she doesn't fight it, doesn't shove it into a tiny compartment. Just lets it come. It's just a moment, and then it kind of falls away, leaving her feeling more like she's watching it all from a distance.
The bodies and debris and craters are long gone, the grounds swept clear. Only the Forest remains, still looming threateningly in the distance. Ginny stops just outside the edge of it. She stares into the dark shadows that could be hiding anything. She thinks about walking out into them, what that would feel like. Never expecting to come back out.
"Ginny?" Hagrid asks.
She doesn't jump at the voice, having easily heard the crunch of his approaching footsteps, despite the tangle of memories.
He stops near her. "'T'ain't smart to be this close. 'Specially on yer own. Bad time of day for the Forest, dusk is."
She imagines so. Some things nodding off, but others just waking up, maybe with a hunger that demands a price. The nebulous transitional spaces between day and night. The time for blood and sacrifice. For disappearances.
"What're ye doin' out here, Ginny?" Hagrid asks when she still doesn't respond, voice so gentle for a man his size.
She turns away from the Forest, looking back up at the castle, now lit up in the darkness. Not looming or threatening, just there.
"Remembering," she realizes. "Just remembering."
Nothing more.
Because maybe she's finally ready to let it be over too.
Ginny sees Neville stand up at the Gryffindor table, and pushes away her dinner plate. Getting to her feet, she looks at Tobias.
"You coming?" she asks, even though she already knows the answer.
Tobias shakes his head, holding up the ratty paperback in his hand. "Gotta finish this."
Despite their best efforts, Tobias still resists the idea that he belongs in the DA, avoiding the space with the same focus he had the year before when he was playing double agent.
"Okay," she says, not pushing. Partly because pushing never gets her anywhere with Tobias, but also because she looks up to see that Hannah is walking towards him. Tobias may be great at blowing off Ginny, but he still seems to have no idea how to deal with the gentle patience known as Hannah.
Ginny smiles at Hannah behind Tobias' back, thinking it probably won't be much longer until he starts showing up to the meetings.
She falls into step with Neville, the two of them chatting easily. As they pass by Dale on the way out of the hall, Ginny pauses by her seat. "Hi, Dale."
"Hi, Ginny," she says, smiling tentatively up at her. "Neville."
Neville smiles at her.
"I'll see you later tonight?" Ginny confirms, making sure Dale will be at the crafting circle.
"Yeah. I have some new sketches," she says, ducking her head.
"I look forward to seeing them."
She can hear the DA long before she can see them, the loud hum of voices and laughter and the occasional crack of a hex echoing out into the hall.
Ginny and Neville walk in, silence following them like a wave as they cross the room. The four former leaders of the DA promised McGonagall to always have at least one of them present for the meetings—the Headmistress's only stipulation. Though Ginny always wondered if her easy acquiescence was more born of the knowledge that they would have done it with or without her permission.
"Let's start with disarming and protection spells," Neville says. "Ginny and I will come around and check your progress."
The students start pairing off, older students with younger. She only has to shoot Seamus and Martin one stern look to get them to focus.
Ritchie gives Ginny a broad smile as she passes by. Little Melinda takes advantage of his distraction, hitting him with a disarming spell. His wand flies through the air, clattering on the floor.
"More attention on your opponent, Ritchie, and a little less on your…wand," Ginny says.
"Oooh," Jimmy says, other nearby students crowing with amusement at the rather off-color repartee. To his credit, Ritchie just laughs along with them, scrambling to recover his wand.
Ginny gives Melinda a pat on her shoulder. "Great work."
She just shakes her head, an expression on her face that reminds Ginny of Hermione. "Boys are dumb," the first-year declares.
Ginny bites back a smile. "Sometimes," she agrees. "But they aren't the only ones."
Melinda snorts as if she definitely knows that's true too.
Ginny makes a circle of the room, but at this point, the club is rather self-sufficient. Everyone knows what to do, and when there are new students who show up, they are automatically introduced around.
After twenty minutes, Terry Boot heads to the front to teach the older students a more advanced protective spell, while the younger ones continue to work on their basic skills.
Ginny steps back into the crowd, watching carefully as Terry explains the spell and the wand movement, throwing in a little history and basic theory behind the move.
The Gryffindors in the crowd grow restless quickly, wanting to try the spell. They drift off in pairs. Ritchie moves towards Ginny, but she pretends to be really interested in what Terry is saying. She tells herself it's because she doesn't particularly enjoy feeling like someone's feat of bravery. And if that isn't quite fair to Ritchie, she ignores it.
She ends up paired with Michael Corner, which is a relief. His face still bears the scars of the beating he took at the Carrows' hands. It's a sort of shared history that makes her feel more relaxed around him. Besides, he's quiet and thoughtful, if not a bit of a know-it-all from time to time.
He corrects the way she's holding her wand, and she tells herself that any chance to improve is worth the slight sting to ego, and fixes her grip. Besides, she manages to sneak her spell around his protections by the end of the session, so that seems to even things out.
"Okay," Ginny says. "That's it for tonight! See you all next week."
Some students immediately stream out, but most just sit down in small groups, pulling out homework or just hanging out.
She's picking up the last of the equipment, getting the room back in order when she feels someone walk up to her. She tenses, only to relax when she realizes it's Michael. "Need any help?"
"Oh," she says. "Sure."
They work quietly, and Ginny pays attention to the way Michael doesn't make her uncomfortable the way Ritchie does, the fact that he's pretty cute and perfectly okay. An ideal choice, really.
"Hey, Michael?" she says.
"Yeah?" he says, looking up at her.
"If you don't already have anything planned, do you want to go down to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?" she asks.
His eyes widen, not saying anything immediately, and Ginny just stands and waits for his answer, not particularly anxious one way or the other.
"Yeah," he decides, giving her a tentative smile. "Okay."
She smiles back. "Great."
Things with Michael last almost three weeks, ending seven hours after the Slytherin-Ravenclaw match when he proves himself to be not only a very poor loser, but a pretty mediocre Quidditch player too.
As far as relationships go, it was easy and sometimes annoying and quite possibly boring. But it was, and she did.
She can.
Which is exactly what she needed to know.