She woke to a whispered ennervate. She opened her mouth to tell whoever it was to go away, but choked when someone took advantage of her open mouth, pouring a foul potion in it. She tried to spit it out, but the person forced her to swallow. She opened her eyes and glared at a man with a crooked nose and dark, greasy hair. Behind him, she could see the sloping ceiling of her grandmother's attic. "What was that?" Her voice was rough and painfully hoarse and she winced.

"You are recovering from poisoning," he said, and his voice was as beautiful as he was ugly. "Sit up, child. You must drink additional potions to heal the internal damage."

Her grandmother stepped around the stranger and helped her sit up, propping her up with pillows when it was clear that Ginny was too weak to sit up by herself. Ginny obediently drank the potions the stranger handed her. Whoever he was, her family seemed to trust him and he probably would not do her more harm. "What poison?" This time it hurt less to speak.

The stranger sighed. "Your mother, in her desire to "cure" you of your Dark magic, misunderstood the purpose of a recipe for tea she found in an old book. What she saw as a potential way to "purify" you was, in fact, a poison intended to detect and murder Dark wizards who had the poor judgment to attend a Prewitt dinner party."

"Was it really hypericum?" Ginny asked, remembering her suspicion. Her throat felt better now, and her voice was closer to normal. "But why would Mum put that in my tea? Grandmother wouldn't even let me touch it without gloves."

"It was," the stranger said, looking at her as if he were surprised she would recognize an herb. "Mixed with fennel, to prevent vomiting. Foolish child, why did you drink if you knew as much?"

Ginny shook her head. She would not tell this stranger how her mother had begged and cried. "But why didn't Mum know it was dangerous?" Surely she had not known. Surely.

There was an awkward silence while the stranger sang under his breath, weaving complicated patterns over her with his wand. Ginny felt some of the pain fade.

Finally her grandmother spoke, choosing her words carefully. "There are certain herbs which are dangerous for the two of us, but safe for your parents and brothers." What she carefully did not say, Ginny noticed, was what, exactly, Ginny and her grandmother shared that the other Weasleys did not. "Families who do not carry this vulnerability are rarely made aware of it."

Ginny sighed in relief. "So it really was an accident."

The stranger sang one last note and turned to her grandmother. "She will recover with no permanent effects other than an increased sensitivity to hypericum." His dark eyes focused on hers. "Miss Weasley, you must never drink hypericum again. Your grandmother will teach you how to assure that your food and drink is safe to consume. I suggest that you pay close attention."

"Yes, sir." Ginny said.

"You will be taking several potions for the next few weeks," he said. "You must not miss a dose."

"I won't, sir," she said.

His thin lips twitched at the edges in what might have been an aborted smile. "Good child. Rest, and I will speak to your grandmother."

He swept into the hallway, cloak billowing, and her grandmother closed the door behind them.

They must not have cast a privacy charm, because she heard their voices through the door. "You realize that I must report this," he said. "Accident or no, the child would have died if you had not provided emergency treatment."

"I understand," her grandmother replied evenly.

"I will, of course, endeavor to keep it out of the Prophet, but there can be no guarantee." He paused. "This is clearly not the first problem the child has had that she should not have," he said finally. "May I ask why she is wearing inhibitor cuffs like a convict?"

"Ginevra was assaulted by a Muggle," her grandmother replied. "She cast a wandless, wordless Avada when he was about to kill her. The DMLE insisted on the cuffs until she gains better control."

"If she were within proper wards," he said, "she would not need the cuffs."

"Perhaps," her grandmother said. "I would prefer to pursue other avenues first. I had hoped she would be able to return to her parents by September, when I leave to teach at the primary school, but I do not think Molly will be ready."

They walked downstairs then, but Ginny stayed awake and wondered about what she had heard. Who must the stranger report this to, and why? She hoped he was able to keep the story out of the papers, although she wasn't sure why anyone would care about her family. It would be so embarrassing to have everyone know what had happened. It was bad enough that she had to wear the cuffs. What had he meant that she would not need the cuffs with proper wards? Maybe the house her grandmother had grown up in had had such wards, but where could she actually go? This house did not seem to, and neither did the Burrow. Where would she go when her grandmother returned to teaching in September, if she could not go home? As much as it hurt, she knew it would be a bad idea for her to go home.

She fell asleep wondering what they were considering.

It was a week before Ginny was well enough to leave her bed. As her grandmother helped her down the stairs, her muscles still burned and shook with every step. Her grandmother led her to the same upholstered chair she had sat on her first night at the cottage, then sat facing her.

"Now," she said in a coldly furious voice, "you will tell me precisely what you were thinking when you chose to drink a tea which you had reason to believe contained poison."

Ginny bit her lip and tasted something wild and earthy, left over from her morning's potion. There was no good answer to her grandmother's question, and the older woman did not look patient. Ginny felt weary, as if someone had melted her bones and drained them out her feet. Maybe if she admitted that she had been thoughtless her grandmother might go a little easier on the scolding. "I wasn't. Thinking, that is."

"That," her grandmother said, "is abundantly clear. I trust you know never to do such a thing again. However, you would not have acted without some reason. You will explain what prompted this behavior. In detail, and until I am satisfied that you realize the depths of your recent idiocy." She leaned back in the chair and fixed her eyes on Ginny. "You may begin."

Merlin! Why had she ever thought her mother's lectures were hard to listen to? At least then she had only had to nod every so often and, later, beg a headache potion from her father. Grandmother seemed intent on making her scold herself. Ginny swallowed and began. "Mum pulled me into the kitchen to give me this tea. She begged me to drink it if I'd ever loved her. She told me to trust her. She was so hopeful and desperate and I really didn't want to do it but I couldn't say no."

"Ah," her grandmother said. "If she bids you walk off a cliff, will you do so?"

"No." Ginny looked at the floor. It had been stupid. She knew this. Still, she ought to have been able to trust her own mother.

"What if she weeps and begs? If she acts as if you will be dead to her unless you choose to be dead in truth?"

"I won't do it again," Ginny said, but her voice shook as she remembered her mother's tearful face and the desperation in her voice. "If you ever loved me..."

Her grandmother stared at her as if she could see through to some answer. "You must be certain. It is not easy to resist such manipulation."

Ginny lifted her chin defiantly. "I won't! I don't care who tells me to or what they say or how desperate they are, I'll never ever drink poison again and I won't jump off a cliff or do anything else stupid and dangerous just because someone begs me to either!"

Her grandmother's mouth flicked up at the edges so quickly that Ginny wondered if she'd imagined it. "Why will you not?"

Ginny chewed on her lip. "Because I want to live?"

"Is that a question or an answer?" Her grandmother asked. "I thought it was a question I did not need to ask - you did, after all, save yourself from that abominable Muggle - and yet you allowed your mother to feed you poison."

"It's an answer," Ginny said, remembering how desperate to live she had been when she thought the Muggle was about to kill her, and how very much the tea had hurt. "I want to live and I don't ever want to hurt like that again." She shuddered. "It felt like I was burning from the inside out."

"You were," her grandmother said grimly. "Do you believe those who love you would wish you to suffer such pain? To perhaps die?"

Ginny wanted to say that no, of course they would not, but she hesitated. "I think Mum might, if it could make me not have Dark magic. Not die, I don't think, but she might think it was worth it to hurt. Even to hurt more than the tea did."

Her grandmother met her eyes unflinchingly. "Molly very well might, although I hope that Septimus and Arthur are beginning to persuade her otherwise. Your mother is an extremely confused woman at the moment - she loves you with all her heart, yet she fears your magic. With time, we may hope she realizes that she cannot separate the two. Even if you were a Squib, Dark magic would still sing to you." She paused. "Do you think that it would be worth such pain to rid yourself of Dark magic?"

"Oh no, grandmother!" Ginny said, surprised at the question. "I don't want to be rid of it at all! The music is so beautiful and I loved jumping over the fires with my cousins and I really only drank the tea because Mum begged and cried. I know it scares people but I...I'm glad to be a Dark witch!"

Her grandmother smiled. "I am relieved, child. Very well. You may write me an essay at least one foot long explaining your thoughts on these matters. I will expect it by dinner."

"Thank you, grandmother," Ginny said.

Moody visited the next day. Again, her grandmother kept him standing at the door. "Constant vigilance!" He said in greeting. "Never trust anything someone gives you to drink! I hope you've learned that lesson, girl!"

"Yes, sir," she said. Wasn't one scolding enough? "Grandmother made me write an essay about it."

"Good," he nodded approvingly, and she hoped he wasn't going to demand to read it. Instead, he turned to her grandmother. "Wanted to let you know I'm not the only one concerned about this situation. You'll be hearing from me, and others." He rolled his good eye. "May have to bring in MFS."

Ginny's grandmother nodded. "Thank you, Auror."

Moody turned back to Ginny. "Study hard, girl, and for Merlin's sake stop being so trusting."

"Yes, sir," Ginny said. She didn't trust him - that was surely a start.

After he left, she turned to her grandmother. "Who's concerned about what?"

"Never you mind, dear," her grandmother said. "Come, you may help me harvest Ballistic Basil."

The next month passed in a blur. Ginny spent the rest of June and July learning control and helping her grandmother with her herbology business. She felt as if Moody's warning was hanging over her head like a bucket of worms that might spill on her any moment. Every few days, she saw her grandmother talking on the floo under a privacy shield. Ginny was never able to hear so much as a word, or see the faces of her grandmother's callers, and it worried her. If she couldn't trust her mother not to accidentally poison her, could she really trust her grandmother to handle whatever this was?

Near the end of July, she finally had a chance to see her cousins. The Aurors were still watching her grandmother's home, but she had arranged for the cousins to meet in the Broads, claiming the need to collect various plants native to the area. So it was that Ginny found herself lying on the deck of a sailboat one night with Daphne to her right and Addie to her left. The moon was hidden behind dark clouds and the boat gently rocked on the water. The adults had long since gone below deck to sleep.

"I'm sorry we couldn't visit sooner," Daphne said. Her voice was barely louder than the crickets and the waves lapping at the sides of the boat. "Aunt Cedrella said her floo was monitored, and the Aurors would not have been happy to see either of us visit."

"Why would they care?" Ginny asked. "They want me to learn control - wouldn't it be good for me to be around you?"

Addie laughed bitterly. "You'd think so, but no. They would fear that we might corrupt you. My father and Daphne's mother were Death Eaters."

Ginny shivered, remembering bedtime stories of heroes who fought the Death Eaters. "You said they were - aren't they still?"

"They're in Azkaban," Addie said.

"Oh." Ginny wasn't sure whether to say "I'm sorry" or not.

"It's all right," Addie said, though clearly it wasn't. "It's not as if we've ever known them. We're both too young to visit, you know, because of the dementors. Father sends letters sometimes, but the guards read them and mark out anything they don't like." She swallowed. "What's left is usually gibberish."

"They are likely both half mad," Daphne said. "All the prisoners go mad in the end, if they do not die first. But I have father, and Addie has grandmother and grandfather, and you needn't look so sad because we do well enough."

"What happened to Addie's mum?" Ginny asked. "Was she a Death Eater too?"

"The Aurors killed her," Addie said. "She was a healer, and pregnant, and not a Death Eater like my father. And they cast the Cruciatus on her, and kept casting it until she died."

Merlin, Ginny thought, and gripped Addie's hand as the boat gently rocked on the river. "Why?" She asked finally.

"The Aurors came to our house looking for father and Aunt Iris," Addie said. "Mother refused to tell them anything, so they cursed her. They were allowed to use the Unforgivables by then. Thais took me to the woods to hide, but we could still hear the screaming."

"I'm sorry," Ginny whispered.

"We were on the wrong side, you see," Daphne said gently. "That's what father says. We weren't people to them, just enemies."

"But... torture?" The Aurors were supposed to have been good. Torture was something she'd thought only the Death Eaters had done.

"She was only an enemy to them," Daphne said. "The wife of a suspected Death Eater. And the Death Eaters did terrible things. Uncle Augustus was a researcher, but my mother was a fighter. Father says that the people she killed were not people to her either, that just like the Aurors she saw them only as enemies. He says that she fought for what she believed in, that she wanted a better world for Astoria and I. I understand, but sometimes I wish she had chosen a safer way. It might have been nice to have a mother."

"Am...am I their enemy too?"

Daphne stroked the inhibitor bracelets. "I do not think they have decided entirely, but I do not think they see you as part of the public they are sworn to protect."

The three girls lay in silence, listening to the lap of the water until they fell asleep.