Ginny woke when the sunlight fell across her face. She squinted sleepily at the window. It was small with white wooden trim, set in a pale green wall that connected a whitewashed floor with a sloping ceiling. The ceiling and wall were plastered, the floor and furniture wooden. Everything was worn and old, but tidy. The room was familiar, but it took her a moment to identify it as her Weasley grandparents' attic guestroom.
Then the memories of the previous day crashed into her and Ginny shuddered, rubbing the inhibitor bracelets. She could curl back up, pull the covers over her head, and refuse to leave the bed, as she did at home when she was upset. Her mother had always responded by bringing her hot cocoa and an offer to chat if she had not emerged by mid-morning, but her grandmother, however much she might care for Ginny, did not seem the sort to bring hot cocoa.
She sighed at strict older witches and slid out of bed, padding over to a familiar battered chest. Her mother must have brought her clothes while she slept, she thought. Once she had opened the lid, which tended to stick, it erupted with what seemed to be the complete contents of her room. Ginny was knocked to the floor as the chest overflowed with clothing, toys, and books.
She sat up and her oldest doll dropped into her lap. Ginny stared at the toy with amazed horror. The doll, Sally, had barely survived Ginny's toddler years. Stuffing was coming out of the gap where one of her arms had once been, most of her hair had burnt off, and her face and remaining hair was badly singed by an early bout of accidental magic. Ginny had thought the toy discarded years ago, had even held a funeral for her when her mother had been unable to mend Sally after the incident with the fire. Why would her mother pack everything, even Sally, who she must have kept in the attic all these years for some strange adult reason?
Mum's terrified of me, Ginny thought, blinking back tears. She never wants to see me again. If she had, she would have at least brought my things when I was awake. Merlin, she probably never even wants to think about me again. That's why she sent everything. She didn't want anything of mine left in the Burrow.
She ignored the empty ache in her chest and dressed, leaving her grandmother's nightgown neatly folded on the bed. She looked at the mound of her belongings and started sorting them. She folded and put away clothes that fit and found places in the room for her favorite books, stuffed animals, and dolls. Anything she didn't want, she put back in the chest.
Sally was just one of the many toys from her early childhood that she found, burnt and twisted and broken, in the mound of her belongings. The destroyed toys were all meant for young children and toddlers, she noted, picking up a wooden alphabet block that looked as if it had been squished in a toddler's hand like soft clay. She could almost see the swirls of her fingerprints. She tossed it into the chest and reached for the next object. Ginny had not realized how many toys she had damaged beyond her parents' ability to repair with magic and was mildly amazed that they had found the money to replace as many as they had. Again, she wondered why her mother had kept the toys at all.
The strangest things she found were several jars of ash, dust, and sludge, apparently charmed not to break, since they had flown out of the chest with everything else. Given the many broken toys, Ginny suspected that the jars held the remains of the toys destroyed once she was older and her anger was less likely to leave anything solid behind. She imagined her mother sweeping up the dust of disintegrated toys and the ash of burned ones, then pouring it into jars to keep and shivered at the sheer creepiness of the thought. Grown-ups were weird. Ginny threw the jars into the chest, half hoping they would break.
Finally, everything she did not want was in the chest, piled above its rim. Ginny sat on the lid to close the chest, then glared at it. It wasn't fair. She could remember so many bouts of accidental magic, and, in spite of the overflowing chest, most of them had not been destructive. Her magic had made her toys dance, limbs moving on their own as they swirled across her floor. It had made things fly and change color and trail sparks and so many other beautiful or funny things. Where were the reminders of that, of the happy childhood she remembered? Had her mother really only seen Ginny's rare anger, missing her usual happiness?
Mum hid all these things, Ginny thought, shoving the chest out into the main part of the attic, so they can just stay hidden. If her feet had not still been a little sore she would have stomped down the stairs.
Her grandmother was sitting at the kitchen table, an empty cereal bowl in front of her, sipping tea and reading The Daily Prophet. "Good morning, Ginevra," she said without looking up from the paper. "You'll find cereal and milk on the table."
"Morning," Ginny mumbled, pouring herself a bowl of cereal and a glass of milk, since there was no juice on the table.
Several minutes later, her grandmother set down the paper. "I see you found the chest your mother brought last night."
"Yeah." Ginny played with her cereal. She did not want to talk about the chest.
Her grandmother raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
Maybe her grandmother would give up if she told her a little. "Why did she have to come when she knew I'd be asleep?" Ginny stabbed the bottom of her bowl with the spoon and watched the milk splatter. "I don't think she wants me to be her kid anymore." With all those toys she kept, Ginny thought, I'm not too sure Mum ever really wanted me.
"Ah." Her grandmother nodded. "I'm sorry this is so difficult for you."
"You're not going to say everything will be all right?"
"I cannot promise that, but perhaps it will be better than you fear once your parents have had time to adjust."
"They shouldn't need time to adjust," Ginny said, glaring at her bowl. "They knew this was likely to happen. Even if they hadn't, this wouldn't be fair. Parents are supposed to be there when everything goes wrong. Even if they can't fix it. I nearly died. When Ron nearly drowned in the pond Mum wouldn't let him out of her sight for a week, but she doesn't even want to see me."
"The world is rarely fair," her grandmother said. "However, I would not be so sure that your mother does not want to see you. She spent some time in your room last night while you were asleep and brought letters for you. You may have the letters after you finish eating." She looked pointedly at Ginny's bowl of cereal, which was still nearly full.
"I know it's not fair," Ginny mumbled, reluctantly eating more cereal, which was now soggy. "It's just yesterday morning I really thought it was. I was happy thinking that."
"Everyone must grow up eventually, dear," her grandmother said. "It hurts, but you cannot stay an innocent child forever. Sooner or later it becomes too obvious that the world is not the wonderful place you thought it was."
"Yeah," Ginny said. "When a bloody Muggle tries to kill you and your parents abandon you because you fought back instead of bloody dying. Not so wonderful, that."
Her grandmother nodded. "I have always found it strange that Light families value their children's innocence so much that they will try to protect them from reality long past the age where a complete lack of knowledge of dangers puts them at risk." She paused. "Do watch your language, child. Resorting to profanities to express yourself shows an inadequate vocabulary, which I will help you expand if necessary."
"So you're the reason we have to copy pages out of the dictionary when we swear," Ginny said. She remembered the exasperation in her mother's voice when Ginny had reached the M's, just weeks ago. Her mother, who definitely feared her and just might hate her. Ginny sighed. "It's just so sudden. I thought I could trust everyone. Now I can't even count on my parents."
"Your relationship with them may not be as hopeless as you seem to think," Ginny's grandmother said. She drew her wand and floated Ginny's now empty cereal bowl to the sink. "Accio letters."
Ginny caught the bundle as it flew from a drawer, fingering the thick parchment envelopes. The top one was addressed in Fred's handwriting and she opened it.
Our dearest sister,
Please hurry up and learn whatever Dark Arts Grandmother is teaching you. Mum and Dad keep locking themselves in a room with him to argue about things we're not supposed to hear. Mum cried last night for hours but won't say why. You'd think she'd been cursed.
If Grandmother is teaching you Dark Arts, is any of it good for pranking? We could use a promising apprentice. Ronnikins is too much a prat to see the genius of having a Dark Witch for a sister, but he makes a good test subject for the ideas we haven't worked out yet. Remember our loyalty when you come into your power, oh wicked one.
Your devoted brothers,
Fred and George
Ginny smiled. "At least I still have two brothers. Fred and George are crazy, but they're also loyal."
"I'm glad to hear that." Her grandmother smiled. "They seem like good boys to have on your side."
"Oh yes," Ginny said with feeling. She did not envy Ron right now, whatever he had said about her to anger the twins. "The twins think you might be teaching me Dark Arts."
Her grandmother gave the letter a disapproving look. "They should be more discreet. Even in these peaceful days, that is hardly a subject to be openly discussed in one's letters."
"I don't think they know what that means," Ginny said, turning to the next letter. She was not sure that she knew either, though it sounded as if it had something to do with not writing about Dark Arts.
Bill and Charlie wrote brief notes that ignored the issue with Dark magic entirely, saying only that they were sorry she had been hurt and hoped she felt well enough to come home soon. Percy sent her a stiff reminder to work hard at her lessons with their grandmother and cooperate with the Aurors for her own good. He did not seem to know whether to be glad she had defended herself or appalled by the way she had done so. Ron had not written at all. After the twins' letter, and knowing her brother's temper, Ginny had not expected him to.
The last letter was from her parents and Ginny hesitated before opening it. It was in her father's handwriting.
Dear Ginny,
I am very sorry that it has been difficult for your mother and I to adjust to having a daughter with Dark magic. We should have been able to be with you at this time, and are sorry that this has not been wise. Please believe me that we still love you. You are our daughter, and nothing will ever change that. Listen to your grandmother and study hard. Remember what we have taught you.
We would love to have you and mother with us for Midsummer lunch. Please let us know if you will be able to come.
With love,
Dad and Mum
She handed it to her grandmother silently, not sure what to think. They had apologized, or, at least, Dad had apologized for both of them. But her mum hadn't written and might not agree with what her dad had. Too, apologizing didn't change what they hadn't done. The offer of a visit for the holiday was a nice gesture, but left Ginny feeling as if she had been pushed out of most of her family's life, allowed only to share as much as a cousin might. Still, it was something and showed that they didn't mean to cut her off completely. It could have been much worse. "May I use a quill and parchment to reply?"
"Of course, dear. Accio." Her grandmother summoned the necessary items and set them beside Ginny.
"Thanks." Ginny frowned at the parchment, then started writing.
After Ginny had sent replies and agreed to a visit on Midsummer afternoon, her grandmother sent the letters off with her owl. "Now that those are out of the way, are you ready for your morning lesson?"
"Sure," Ginny said.
Ginny's grandmother nodded in approval. "Your magic is closely tied to your feelings. There are many ways to control it, but the simplest are to learn to calm yourself when you are upset and to bring your magic under conscious control, in the same way that you can choose not to hit your brother even if you are very angry with him. Do you understand so far?"
"I think so." Ginny bit her lip. "So last night it was safe for you to turn off the inhibitors because I was calm?"
"Yes," her grandmother said. "That was also important because you must let your magic free for a little while every day or it will become much more difficult to control. Now, you use the same mental muscles to control your magic as you do to control your actions, and so today you will practice controlling the way you react to feelings. This is something that my sisters and I began learning with our letters." She drew her wand and cast a spell at Ginny, who suddenly found herself giggling. "That was a cheering charm. Your task for the morning is to not laugh."
It was harder than Ginny had expected. Before her grandmother had cast the charm, she had not had any desire to laugh. Now, everything seemed funny. She tried holding her hands over her mouth, but giggled through them. She tried holding the sides of her mouth down with her fingers, but found that so funny that she laughed louder. She tried thinking of something sad, but either nothing came to mind or, when she thought of something, it no longer seemed sad. She stared at the now infinitely amusing ceiling and forced a word through her laughter. "How?"
Her grandmother was smiling. "You will find a way. Wash the dishes, please."
Ginny chuckled as she washed dishes. She giggled as she put them away. When it was all done, she laughed because the clean kitchen was so funny. She twirled around the table, sweeping her dishcloth through the air and giggling.
Her grandmother took her arm, gently stopping her dance. "Come," her grandmother said, and led her to the sitting room. "Sit and focus on not laughing."
Ginny tried to climb onto a chair, but, because she was still a bit dizzy and shaky from her dance, she slipped and fell on her bum. This struck her as so funny that she started laughing hysterically, rolling on the floor with tears running down her cheeks. Through her tears she could see her grandmother calmly sitting, waiting for Ginny to compose herself.
"You have to mean it, child," her grandmother said after several minutes had passed.
By this point, Ginny genuinely did not want to laugh any more. At first it had been fun and silly, but now her belly ached and she was beginning to feel like an idiot as she rolled on the floor, helpless to stop laughing. I'm not helpless, Ginny thought. I won't ever be helpless again. No stupid charm is going to make me act like a baby. She focused on breathing normally, not laughing, and her laughs turned to giggles. She carefully climbed onto the chair and looked at her grandmother proudly.
"Good," her grandmother said. "Now stop giggling."
Ginny nodded and thought intently about not giggling. I'm not going to giggle. I'm not. No more giggling. Not giggling. Not giggling. Not giggling.
"Well done," her grandmother said.
Ginny noticed that she had actually stopped giggling, lost her concentration, and started again. She tried to scowl.
Her grandmother smiled. "It takes practice to keep it up. So, practice." She pulled an ancient book from the shelves and began reading.
Ginny sat on her chair, thinking over and over that she would not laugh as if it was the most important thing in the world. Right now it is, she thought. Don't laugh. If I can do this I'll be safer with magic-don't laugh-and then maybe I can go home-don't laugh-and Mum and Dad will want me back and it will be ok again-don't laugh.
After half an hour of not laughing while sitting, with only a few lapses, Ginny followed her grandmother to the front garden to practice not laughing while de-gnoming a garden. By lunch she had progressed to not laughing or saying "don't laugh" while carrying on a conversation and was rather proud of herself.
As they were finishing lunch, Ginny heard a gong. Her grandmother quickly drew her wand and cancelled the cheering charm. "Someone just passed the outer wards," she told Ginny, answering her questioning look. "A stranger, not family or friend. Stay with me. Do not look our visitor in the eyes. Do not speak unless you are asked a direct question. If you must answer a question, say as little as you can." She stood, and suddenly her head was held high and her face was impassive. She looked as if she could stare down a dragon. "Come"
Ginny gulped, then followed her grandmother to the front door. Someone rapped on the outside, and her grandmother opened the door. Auror Moody stood on the doorstep, scowling at them.
"Auror Moody," Ginny's grandmother said coolly. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"
"I'm here about the Weasley girl," Moody said. "Went to check her record this morning and saw you'd disabled her bracelets last night. Have you lost your mind, woman?"
"No damage was done," her grandmother said. "I had not realized that the DMLE was sufficiently overstaffed to assign experienced agents to monitor wandless children."
Moody glared at her. "We always monitor your kind."
Ginny, standing behind her grandmother, flinched at his tone.
"And what kind might that be?" Her grandmother's voice had cooled even further. "Young children attacked by Muggles, perhaps? We should all shake in our beds in fear of such dangerous criminals."
"You know what I mean," Moody growled. "It's too late for you, though you've put on a good front all these years with Weasley, but mind my words. You keep your bloody spells and traditions and rituals away from that girl and just teach her enough control to survive. Nothing can change her nature, but her family might be able to keep her from the worst of its corruption."
"Language, Auror, honestly," Ginny's grandmother said, as if the Auror were a particularly stupid child. "Have you forgotten that I am part of Ginevra's family? Whatever you may think of my birth family, my own life gives you no basis for such accusations. I raised Arthur and his brothers, and you have no basis to claim I corrupted any of them. Ginevra is my only granddaughter, and I assure you that I care far more for her future than any Auror."
Ginny looked admiringly at her grandmother's straight back. She wondered whether she might ever grow that confident.
"Girl," Moody said, and Ginny resisted her instinct to meet his eyes, forcing herself to look at his chest. "Listen to me. There is hope for you. You inherited tainted magic through no fault of your own. You can still choose to join your family in serving the Light. We could use someone like you in the DMLE. What do you think of that?"
Ginny glanced up at her grandmother hesitantly and saw her shrug slightly. Taking this as her cue, she said, "I don't know, Auror Moody."
"Think about it," Moody said. "My boss assigned me to monitor your progress, so I'll be keeping an eye on you."
He turned and hobbled down the walkway. As soon as he was outside the garden gate, he turned and apparated. Ginny's grandmother shut the door and hugged Ginny tightly. "He wants to use you," she said furiously. "Thank Morgana he's as subtle as a bludgeoning curse. I will not allow it, do you understand? My granddaughter will not be a tool for the Aurors to use and discard."
"He called me a 'bloodless murder waiting to happen' yesterday," Ginny said. "Why does he act like he cares?"
"Did he say that to your face?" Ginny's grandmother asked. Her lips tightened.
"No, I was pretending to still be asleep."
"Clever girl," her grandmother said. "As for why, I suspect that an Auror might see you as a useful weapon, especially if you were barely able to control your magic, which, by the way, would be the result of his foolish ban on any Dark traditions, spells, or rituals. If you were better trained, he might use you as a spy. Both are typical for the DMLE."
"You won't listen to him, will you?" Ginny thought the Auror just might have another reason to try to keep her closer to the Light - he obviously thought everything Dark was evil - but she certainly did not want to be anyone's weapon or tool.
"Of course I will not," her grandmother said. "He may threaten and bluster, but I will not leave you helpless."
"Good," Ginny said, and relaxed. She did not trust many people at the moment, but her grandmother had taken her in after yesterday's nightmare and had since done nothing but help her.
They returned to the sitting room, where Ginny's grandmother allowed her to browse the bookshelves and choose a book to read. Ginny flipped through Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, relieved not to be struggling against the cheering charm. She was halfway through the book when an older woman's voice called from the fire, "Rella, dear! It's Hestia." Ginny set the book down. Today was certainly a day for visitors, letters, and flue calls.
Ginny's grandmother smiled and went to crouch in front of the fire, which an elderly woman with a round, friendly face was peering out of curiously. "Cousin! It has been too long."
"I hear you have some wonderful news for the family," Hestia said, looking around the room. "You are planning to bring her to our Midsummer eve celebration, are you not?"
"Trust you to have heard already," Ginny's grandmother said, sounding amused. "Ginevra, would you please join me so that my cousin will stop attempting to twist her eyes out of their sockets looking for you?"
"Sure," Ginny said, and went to sit beside her grandmother.
The woman examined her from head to toe, then nodded, apparently satisfied. "My name is Hestia Yaxley, dear. I am your grandmother's first cousin by marriage, through her mother."
"Pleased to meet you," Ginny said.
"Such a polite child," Hestia said to Ginny's grandmother. The woman was practically beaming. "Powerful too, I heard. I am sure she will be a credit to you at the celebration."
Ginny's grandmother's mouth quirked. "Very well, Hestia, I had hoped to bring her, but you will need to send someone to deal with a small problem first." She took Ginny's hand and held it up so that Hestia could see the bracelet on her wrist.
"Of course," Hestia said. "I heard that as well. Expect one of the cousins to meet you at your home half an hour before sundown on Midsummer Eve. I am so glad to have met you, Ginevra, and I hope you will feel at home with us." She waved and disappeared, leaving Ginny and her grandmother sitting in front of ordinary orange flames.
"Welcome to the family," Ginny's grandmother said, smiling. "Now that they've heard of you there will be no keeping them away."
"Why was she so excited?" Ginny asked. Her grandmother's cousins and their children were distant relatives, so many generations removed that Ginny had never even met them. Why would she matter to them?
"There are so few of us who are Dark," her grandmother said. "Children are our future, and we treasure them. I married outside the group, and for most of my life Mother's family has accepted that my children and grandchildren were all Light, unable to share our heritage. You are the child we all thought would never be, and they are glad as much for that as for the addition to our numbers."
"You're really glad I have Dark magic?" Ginny asked. The Auror's words still echoed in her mind: tainted, filthy, 'your kind', 'murder waiting to happen.'
Her grandmother hugged her and kissed the top of her head. "Oh, dear child, I am so very glad. Your Yaxley kin will feel the same way, and, to some extent, so will every Dark witch or wizard in Britain. I know that it is hard for you, but believe me, you have family who will love and treasure you for the wonderful young witch you are."
Ginny rested her head against her grandmother's shoulder, relishing the feeling of the older woman's arm around her own shoulders. Maybe, just maybe, everything would be all right after all.
A/N: I'm not sure about this chapter. Several things needed to happen to get to the next one, but it seems a bit awkward to me. The next chapter will not likely be out until several days after my last final, which is on the 17th. Reviews and constructive criticism would be much appreciated.