"How did you like that third question, Ginny?" Padma asks as they finally escape their history exam. "I imagine you had a few things to say about the institutional reforms of 1107."

"Oh," Ginny says, "I had plenty to say about wand law and the disbanding of double monasteries."

Padma laughs. "I'm sure you did."

It's Hermione who looks scandalized. "That wasn't in the curriculum."

Ginny shrugs. A group of them—Tobias, Terry, Padma, and a few others—started their own independent study sessions this year, supplementing the endless drone of Binns with actually interesting history. History about wands and witches and reforms. Real history about the Ministry, not the perfect, pretty, sanitized version they've been getting for years.

"I still want to know where you got those texts," Terry presses, never one to give up.

People like to say Hufflepuffs are stubborn, but by Merlin, a Ravenclaw who thinks something is being kept from them is relentless.

Ginny gives him a cool look. "Maybe the millionth time you ask, I'll actually tell you."

Terry isn't put off. "I'm going to hold you to that."

Ginny just shakes her head, knowing she will never reveal the source of the texts, that they in fact came from Nymue's library. She wishes they lived in a world where those texts to could be out in the public, but she knows they are safest where they are. It's the same reason the Muggle and other non-wizarding texts they rescued from the Hogwarts library during Umbridge's reign are still there.

The world is always moments away from another purge.

"The real question," Tobias says, "is will they even understand your answers, let alone like them?"

"Strangely, I don't particularly care," Ginny says.

Hermione shakes her head as if Ginny is completely beyond her. "Then it's a wonder you even bothered taking it," she says, voice slightly chastising.

Padma looks at Ginny with wide eyes, clearly wondering if she's going to let Hermione away with speaking to her like that. Ginny bites back a sigh. It's not like she hexes everyone who even remotely annoys her, for Merlin's sake. Plus, it's Hermione.

Ginny winds her arm through Hermione's. "I'm sure you did great."

She lets out a breath. "Oh, I don't know. I didn't even think to talk about double monasteries!"

"Then I am sure the readers will like your answer much better," Ginny says, patting her arm.

By the time they reach the DA room, Hermione is happily dissecting all the essay questions and Tobias has predictably disappeared. Ginny waves at Terry and Padma as they split off to greet their friends.

Ron is lounging on a sofa with Jimmy and Ritchie.

"Hey," he says, smiling at Hermione and lifting his arm so she can drop into the seat next to him. "How'd it go?"

Hermione seems to melt into his side. "Fine."

He presses a kiss to her temple. "I bet you kicked that test's arse."

She shakes her head, but actually smiles.

Ginny settles into a nearby chair, smiling at Ritchie and Jimmy.

"Where's Harry?" Hermione asks.

Ron points past Ritchie's head. "Someone managed to get their hands on a boggart."

Sure enough, on the far side of the room, a collection of fifth-years are watching a wobbling crate with real fear.

"They were struggling a lot," Ron says, sounding disbelieving, like he can't accept that fifth-years would struggle with a boggart.

"Who exactly would have taught them?" Ginny asks, knowing he hasn't thought clearly about what sort of education this specific class of students have received.

Jimmy laughs. "Yeah. They basically had Umbridge—"

"Who taught no one anything," Ritchie says.

"And then Snape—" Jimmy counts off another finger.

"Who refused to have a boggart anywhere near him after that thing with Neville," Ritchie says with a grin.

"And last but not least, Carrow."

Ritchie nods. "And he was too busy torturing us to actually teach anyone anything."

Ron looks sobered by this litany of awful defense teachers. "Well, then I suppose it's a good thing Harry couldn't resist playing professor then. He's been giving them pointers."

"Of course he has," Ginny says.

"Took 'em a bit to stop just staring at him and giggling," Ritchie says, "but I think they're finally getting the gist of it."

Ginny watches as Harry has the students practice the wand movements, stepping between the students to fix technique here and there.

"Looks like they're finally ready to give it a go," Jimmy says as Harry lines the students up.

The boggart comes out in the skeletal form of a thestral.

"Christ," Jimmy mutters under his breath, though whether over the fact that a fifteen year old would fear the perfectly peaceful animal or just that the student can obviously see them. Most of the students can probably see thestrals now.

Standing behind the witch, Harry puts a hand on her shoulder, reminding her of her incantation or her amusing memory no doubt.

Gathering herself up, the girl flicks her arm, the thestral turning a pearly light blue with a rainbow mane.

Ron lets out a laugh along with most of the other students, the boggart stumbling back. "What is that?"

"No idea," Ritchie says. "But I want one."

"It's a Muggle toy," Hermione says, back to looking worried. Thinking about her own boggart maybe—a load of tests with Ts on them, no doubt.

Ron tugs on a strand of Hermione's hair. "Come on then," he says. "Let's hear it."

Hermione looks up at him, but isn't able to hold herself back, launching immediately into a thorough analysis of the exam.

Ron even looks like he's actually listening.

Ginny, having already heard enough of Hermione's thoughts on the exam, instead chats aimlessly with Ritchie and Jimmy about their summer plans.

There's a loud gasp of alarm from across the room at one point, one of the students letting out a horrible shout. They all turn to look, and Ginny sees Amycus Carrow striding across the room towards a trembling student.

For a horrible moment, Ginny thinks it's real, thinks she's back there, fear and rage thick in her throat.

Then Harry shouts encouragement, and of course, it's just the stupid boggart. Considering how Ginny herself reacted it, it's no surprise that the students are too upset to do anything. The boy standing in front of Amycus just stares at him in horror, his body shaking.

Harry steps up to him, saying something. The student just shakes his head, his eyes never leaving the skulking, blunt form of Amycus.

Apparently accepting that the student isn't going to manage it, Harry steps in front, getting the boggart's attention, facing off with Amycus.

Ginny can't help but imagine it for a moment, what it would have been like, Harry here at the same time as Amycus. She shudders at the thought, unable to even conceive of the depth of punishment Harry would have no doubt garnered for himself that year.

By the time she refocuses on the boggart, Amycus' dark hair has started lightening and shifting red as the figure shoots upwards in height, and even from this distance, Ginny can tell that it's Ron, only Ron with his face twisted as he snarls something at Harry.

"I thought Harry's boggart was a Dementor," Ginny murmurs to Hermione. She's too busy watching Harry to turn and see Ron's reaction to being his best mate's greatest fear—not Ron's death, but something he said.

Even worse, Harry is clearly struggling, apparently no more prepared to see that than anyone else. Or hear it, to judge from the look on his face as boggart-Ron continues to berate him.

Harry half lifts his wand and the figure begins to shorten, red hair lengthening. He finally shouts out a spell, shoving the boggart back into the crate. To save for later practice more than likely, but Ginny wonders if he couldn't quite conjure the humor Riddikulus requires.

Pausing with his hands on the crate, Harry seems to take a few deep breaths before turning back to the students. He consults with the shaken student for a long time before they finally give it another go.

This time the student manages it, casting the spell at Amycus.

Soon the students are all laughing, Amycus Carrow stumbling back in his full Muggle attire, his wand turned into a floppy rubber chicken.

Harry grins at the student, no doubt heaping praise on him.

The students go through one more round each, like maybe all of their greatest fears had already been toppled. Or knowing that even Harry Potter has fears.

The boggart once again carefully crated for later practice, Harry finally works his way across the room to them.

He looks a bit wary as he approaches, eyes darting to Ron like he's trying to judge how much they saw. "Um, hi," he says, hand rubbing at the back of his head, leaving his hair standing up on end.

Ritchie and Jimmy share uncomfortable looks, both of them getting to their feet for a surprisingly tactful retreat. "We'll, uh, see you later, yeah?"

Ginny nods. "Only two days until the DADA exam."

They groan at the reminder and then walk off.

Harry drops into one of their empty seats.

Ron, Ginny notices, looks a little grim.

Harry blows out a breath. "It wasn't…" he glances at Hermione and then back to Ron. "It had nothing to do with…the tent."

Apparently this oblique comment means more to Ron than it does to Ginny because he nods, something seeming to soften in his posture. "Yeah. Okay."

Hermione reaches out, squeezing Ron's hand, and Ginny is certain now that she's missing something. She glances at Harry, but his attention is still on his best mate, his hand nervously picking at the edge of his sleeve.

"So what did I say?" Ron asks.

"It wasn't you," Harry is quick to say, tone brooking no argument.

Ron's jaw tightens. "What did boggart-me say?" he amends.

Harry shifts in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. "It's all your fault."

Ginny doesn't think that's a lie exactly, but it clearly isn't entirely the truth either.

Ron doesn't press though, instead giving Harry an easy smile that doesn't erase the shadow in his eyes. "So you tried to turn me into a girl?"

"What?" Harry says, looking lost for a moment before he recovers. "Oh, yeah." He lets out a laugh that is clearly forced. Wouldn't even make a boggart tremble.

"Next time, make me a bit more"—Ron gestures with his hands as if mapping out a particularly curvy woman's form—"will you? I have my standards after all."

Harry laughs, this time sounding genuine and full of relief.

"And really, really big—" Ron starts to say, gesturing at his chest.

Hermione smacks his arm, giving him a disapproving look.

"Hey," he says in protest. "It's not my fault I would make a gorgeous woman!"

"You barely make a passable bloke," Ginny says.

This has the effect of reminding Harry that she's here, and he finally turns to look at her.

He gives her a small smile, but it's clearly forced.

Deciding maybe he wants some time alone with Ron and Hermione to work through whatever this might be, she shifts to her feet. "I'll see you lot later. I'm going to take a quick nap."

Harry looks a little alarmed, but she gives him a warm smile when her back is to Ron and Hermione, letting him know that she doesn't mind.

He nods. "See you later."

Ginny actually manages to get an hour or so to lie down. It's nice to have a little breathing room for a few days before her next exam. She still spends a few hours before dinner revising for DADA.

She sits with Nicola at dinner.

"You okay?" she asks, giving the younger girl a gentle nudge.

She'd been in the crowd of fifth-years in the DA room this afternoon.

Nicola nods. "I just…didn't expect that. Him. Which is stupid."

"Yeah," Ginny agrees. Upon reflection the greater surprise was actually that more people's boggarts weren't Amycus.

"It was nice of Harry to help us though."

"He was always a good teacher back when he ran the DA," Ginny says. "So have you come up with any plans for the summer?"

"Tilly wrote and said I can come stay with her for a week in July."

Ginny smiles. "That will be nice. I'm sure she'll appreciate the company." She plans on making her own visits as often as possible.

"Now I just need to get my aunt to agree," Nicola says. She glances down the table towards her brother. He's fallen in with some of the rougher boys, and Ginny knows it worries Nicola.

Losing both his parents and a sister at such a young age has to be hard to deal with.

"Well," Ginny says, "you know you are welcome at the Burrow any time. Even if you just need to escape for a day."

Nicola blushes. "Thank you. That means a lot."

Despite her words, Ginny still doubts Nicola will take her up on it. Considering how much awe she held Antonia in at her age, Ginny can't really blame her for that. She'll just do her best to check in with her from time to time.

After dinner, she pulls out the map, locating Ron and Harry sitting together in the Gryffindor common room. She'd really like a chance to check in with him, to see how he's doing, but she doesn't want to get in the way of that. She's rarely seen anything bother Harry or Ron more than being estranged from the other.

Besides, she has her own important task to focus on. One it's finally time to follow through on. She's carefully timed her approach, waiting until the last possible moment, but as the days bleed away, knows she can't wait any longer.

So that evening she joins the crafting circle with her knitting for what is probably the last time. She listens to the students' chatter, finding it hard not to think that in less than a week she will no longer call this place home.

It's the weirdest feeling of wanting time to slow down and wanting it to speed up so she can start focusing on what comes next. It feels like the world will infinitely open up once she leaves here, but she'll also be leaving so many things behind.

The contradiction lends the evening a bittersweet feeling.

She lingers long after the majority of the crafting circle drifts away to their studies or their beds.

"Astoria," Ginny says once it is just the two of them.

"Hmm?" she says, not looking up from her project.

"It's time."

"What?" she asks, finally tearing her attention away from the careful threads in her fingers.

Ginny pulls the gold dagger from inside her robes, laying it across her lap.

Astoria frowns, looking down at it and then up at Ginny's face in dawning horror.

"No," she says, recoiling.

"Yes," Ginny counters.

Astoria glances around the room, leaning in towards her. "I haven't been there even once this year!"

"It doesn't matter," Ginny says.

"It does to me," she says, chest heaving.

Ginny places her hand on the arm of Astoria's seat, voice low, but firm. "You know better than anyone the importance of this place."

She shakes her head. "I can't—"

"You can. We both know you can."

The Parlor needs Astoria as much as she needs it, and only faced with this decision has Ginny finally realized that's what being Mistress has always been about.

"Is this where you tell me this is what she would have wanted?" she spits.

"Astoria," Ginny says.

"You don't know what she'd want."

"No," Ginny admits. "But what I do know is that there are others like her. Like you and me. Who need this place. You know that better than anyone. And I know you'll do everything to protect it, precisely because you know the cost."

Astoria's eyes sparkle with something that could just as easily be rage as sorrow. "It didn't do anything for her, did it?"

Ginny feels that deep, but doesn't let it show. Can't afford to let it show. "That's not true and we both know it."

They regard each other, the space between them small, but feeling like an enormous gulf.

"It's you, Astoria," Ginny says, voice soft. "Nothing has ever been clearer to me."

"No," she says, shoving to her feet. "I won't."

She storms off, Ginny leaning back in her seat. The few people still in the room are watching on in interest, and she carefully tucks the dagger back under her robes.

Harry spends the evening in the common room, letting Ron trounce him at chess. Well, not that he lets him so much. It's pretty much a foregone conclusion that Harry will lose no matter what. Not to mention that Harry's mind is even less focused on the game than usual.

"You know I'm not going to do that again," Ron says, nudging his bishop.

"What?" Harry asks, refocusing on his best mate.

Ron's ears are red. "I'm not going to take off on you again. On either of you." He gives him a look that unexpectedly reminds him of Ginny, something fierce and determined.

Harry supposes it was too much to hope they wouldn't have to have this conversation.

"I know you won't," Harry says.

"Do you?" Ron presses, Harry's boggart clearly still on his mind.

Harry knows Ron would never choose to take off on them, never do that of his own free will. Knows it took the Horcrux to get him to do that last time.

But that doesn't mean something else won't drive him off.

How could you? his voice echoes in Harry's ears.

"Hermione knows it too," Harry says.

Ron looks over to where Hermione is curled up in a chair, her frizzy hair twisted up with her wand jammed in it. There's a look on his face Harry hasn't seen for months.

"I'm sorry," Harry says, deeply regretting dragging this all back up again.

Ron shakes his head. "Bloody boggarts. I'm just glad they won't be on our exam."

Harry nods in whole-hearted agreement.

They spend the rest of the evening talking about much more enjoyable things like the upcoming beach trip with the Grangers and Ron's plans for working enough hours with George to save up for tickets to a Cannons match.

"Couldn't we go see a different team?" Harry teases.

Ron scowls. "Just for that, I'm going to beat you in half as many moves."

Harry laughs.

After the next game, Harry begs off, going up to bed to give Ron and Hermione a little time together.

He's digging his pajamas out of his trunk when he hears the distinctive hum of his parchment.

Are you up?

Yeah, he writes.

Can you meet?

It's well after curfew, but he can easily get around with the cloak and she knows that. He thinks even without the map, she has ways to get around the castle undetected. Besides, he doubts she would suggest it if she weren't certain she could get away with it. Isn't that what she said all those months ago? Wanting to know what's at the bottom, even if it means never taking the leap.

Harry really, really prefers not knowing at all.

As much as he wants to see her, always wants to see her, he doesn't particularly want to rehash everything. Because the truth is despite what Ron thinks he saw, Harry never actually got a spell off. He was too busy reeling at the words Ron was spitting at him. And then the boggart had started to change, and he knew who it was going to be, knew that figure… Heard her words even as he shut it away in the crate. You're the kind of trouble I have no interest in.

He's not really interested in having to explain to his girlfriend why she's also his greatest fear.

Harry? Ginny asks.

Clearly he's let far too much time pass. Cloister?

Yeah. But if you'd rather not, I understand. It's late.

Harry sighs, her understanding somehow making it all worse. I'm heading over right now.

It's probably just a chance to snog, he tells himself as he heads out into the halls under the cloak. Ginny's never been one to interrogate him after all. Though he does have the unfortunate habit of spilling his guts around her without the need for interrogation.

He can't help but drag his feet a bit, so it isn't a surprise that she gets there first.

She looks up at him as he pulls off the cloak and her expression isn't calculating or mischievous, but rather something a little bleak, and he feels his adrenaline spike.

"What is it?" he asks immediately. "Has something happened?"

"No," she says, seeming a little unnerved by his reaction. "I mean, yes, but everything's fine. I'm fine."

Only she's still got that look on her face and he's not sure he believes that.

She blows out a breath, scrubbing her hands over her face. "I guess I just…needed you." She looks embarrassed to admit it.

"To do what?" he asks, stepping closer. "What do you need me to do?"

She steps into him, wrapping her arms around him, pressing her face into his chest. His arms lift around her.

"Just this," she mumbles. "Exactly this."

His arms tighten around her. "I'm not doing anything."

"You're here, Harry," she says. "Don't you think that's enough?"

He doesn't answer, feeling a horrid thickness in his throat.

She leans back to look at him, but he finds he can't quite hold her gaze.

"Do you, um, want to talk about it?" he offers, wanting to wince at how stupid that sounds.

She shakes her head, her hands coming to rest on his chest. "Do you? About what happened today?"

Her gaze is just a little too knowing. He pulls her back into his chest, pressing his face into the top of her head, taking comfort from her being here. Wanting to be here.

"No," he says.

Maybe this is all he needs too.

Ginny doesn't sleep particularly well that night. She tells herself it's just the stress of the exams, reminding herself that there are only two more to go. DADA on Monday and then Charms on Wednesday.

Of course, there's also the fact that Harry is acting a little strange, clearly spooked by whatever happened with the boggart. And Astoria is also carefully avoiding her.

So all in all, not a fabulous last Sunday in the castle.

Early in the evening she retreats to Nymue's library and the fact that it is the one place in the castle she can be guaranteed solitude is not a coincidence. She sits on a chair, flipping through a book, not really taking in any of the words.

"Have you chosen us a new Mistress?" Nymue asks.

"I have," Ginny says, not looking up from her book.

Despite the setback with Astoria, she still isn't ready to admit defeat.

Many of the girls would make fine mistresses. Hestia and Flora could do it. Either of them. But putting one over the other wouldn't be right. And they know who they are. They know what they are capable of. Neither of them need it.

Nicola isn't ready, everything still far too unsettled under her feet to add this without crushing her. For the rest of them, it's not their time.

It feels like it was always meant to be Astoria. Always will be.

And so she will hold her course.

"There is still time," Nymue says. "And where there is time, there is hope."

"Yes," Ginny says. "There is."

Climbing up off the chair, she returns to The Parlor. Dale and Dorinda are squeezed in a chair together, heads lowered over a glossy magazine and for a painful moment it could be two other girls, a different time.

Forcing her eyes away, Ginny notices that Gemma and Hestia are in front of the blackboard back where Millicent used to have her paints and canvases. Some sort of complicated charm work swirls across the surface.

Ginny sits down across from where Flora is helping Nicola for her DADA exam tomorrow. She juts her chin towards the blackboard. "Should I be concerned?"

Flora looks back over her shoulder, taking a long moment to take in the work. She turns back around. "Not quite yet. Though it might be a blessing that those two will be apart this summer."

Ginny laughs.

Nicola lets out a sigh. "I can't believe the year is almost done. And that you won't be here when we get back."

"You can always write me," Ginny says. "I will still exist after I graduate."

Nicola nods. "It won't be the same."

Ginny reaches over to squeeze her knee. "Nothing ever is."

She spends the next couple hours talking to each of the girls, listening to their summer plans, promising to keep in touch, to still be available to them. Reminding them that they will still have each other. The sisterhood has always been about more than one person.

She's just about to go up to bed early so she won't be a complete disaster in her DADA exam when Nicola looks past Ginny, her eyes widening.

"Astoria," Flora says.

Ginny turns to see her standing at the bottom of the stairs, chin lifted defiantly as if daring anyone to mention that this is the first time she's set foot down here since Caroline's death.

"Good evening," Ginny says, like it's just any other day.

Astoria nods at her, hesitating only slightly before crossing over to sit down on the couch, carefully avoiding even looking at the chair she and Caroline used to spend long hours sharing, laughing together.

Hestia joins her sister, Gemma sitting near the feet of Dorinda and Dale. The three youngest girls share looks, as if they know something important is happening, even if they aren't entirely sure what. Their missing sister has only ever been spoken of in passing whispers despite the central role she played in selecting both Gemma and Dale for sisterhood.

"Would you play for us?" Nicola asks as the silence stretches uncomfortably long.

"Oh," Astoria says, looking over to the corner where all her instruments still wait for her, right where she left them the year before.

"I've missed hearing you play," Flora says, voice gentle.

"We all have," Ginny says, knowing what it took for Astoria to come down here, but also that she must not stop halfway. This will be all or nothing.

After another long moment, Astoria firmly nods, face set. She bypasses her harp, instead selecting the cello. She inspects it carefully, casting a few charms, checking the bow methodically. Only once she is content with their condition does she finally sit, cradling the cello against her body.

Her eyes close as the first note hums to life, filling the space. After a few quick scales and adjustments of the strings, she begins a song, something mournful and haunting, everyone in the space completely enthralled.

Ginny keeps her eyes on Astoria's face, cataloguing each wince, for a missed note none of them notice, or perhaps just the pain of doing this again, for doing something she once loved but for some reason no longer believed she deserved.

The song thrums through the space, like a physical vibration in her chest, and Ginny knows she is not the only one with tears in her eyes by the time the last note fades into the stones.

"Thank you," Ginny says. "That was…beautiful." She knows the word is far from adequate. Always has been. But it's the word she has.

Astoria sits with the instrument for a while longer, her fingers running over the wood before she pushes to her feet, carefully returning the instrument to its case.

"It was nice being with all of you again," Astoria says. Rather than sitting with the rest of them, she heads towards the stairs, clearly having had enough for one night.

At the bottom, she turns back to look at Ginny. "Do you think we could speak for a moment?"

"Of course," Ginny says, getting up and following her.

They don't speak as the stairs twist in their familiar pattern, eventually dumping them out into the dark alcove protecting the door.

Astoria folds her arms across her chest, chin lowered. "I don't want to fail them."

Ginny shakes her head, guessing what this is really about. "You never failed her, Astoria."

She looks up, eyes bright with unshed tears. "But what if I—"

Ginny reaches out and touches her shoulders. "No. No more what ifs. Just what is."

Astoria closes her eyes. "And what will be."

"Yes," Ginny says, voice soft.

This is the moment, she knows, the moment Astoria will have to decide who she will be. If she will truly turn her back on this place.

With a deep breath, Astoria steps back out of Ginny's grasp, but rather than walking away, she holds her hand out, her fingers trembling slightly.

Her decision has been made.

Ginny pulls the dagger from her robes, cupping Astoria's hand in hers. "Are you ready?"

"Yes," Astoria says.

The blade draws smoothly across her palm, Astoria breathing heavily out through her nose at the pain. The blood wells in a perfect line, Ginny lifting both of their hands to the door, pressing against the wood. She speaks the sacred words, magic swelling in her skin and breath and bones. Building and passing from one to the other.

The runes on the door fade as the transference of power is complete, leaving them once more in the darkness of the alcove.

Ginny expects to feel empty, for there to be a tangible loss now that she has passed on her position to Astoria. To feel maybe at last like she is done with this place.

Neither are true, of course.

She will never be done with this place. She will carry it with her.

Releasing Astoria's hand, Ginny turns once more to face her. "I leave them in your capable hands."

Astoria's chin lifts, her wound cradled protectively. "I won't fail," she declares.

Ginny smiles. She still doesn't understand. Not completely. But that's okay.

She'll have The Parlor. And there's time.

Down in the library, Ginny writes her final entry in the tome. Below the entry for Dorinda, Dale, and Gemma. Below the note of the loss of Caroline.

20th of June, 1999, Astoria Greengrass chosen as Mistress. May she find a way to live for the future without forswearing the past.

She looks up at Nymue. "It's done."

"Mistress," she says. One last acknowledgement. "You are now part of me and will always be here."

Ginny nods, feeling the press of tears but not letting them fall. This is not a loss. It is a continuation.

The sisterhood goes far beyond this place.

And so will she.