"Welcome back," Dumbledore said, smiling around the hall.
"You too, sir!" Fred called, and a smattering of applause broke out.
"Thank you, Mr Weasley," Dumbledore said, nodding at him. Ron nudged Harry.
"Where's Lockhart?" Ron asked, frowning up at the staff table. There was an empty chair between Snape's and Sinistra's, and the lack of brightly coloured robes between the two stood out, because both of them were wearing black. Harry didn't particularly mind, though Hagrid's chair was still empty and he didn't much like that. Surely he'd been released?
"Probably having trouble getting a crease out of his robes," Harry said, shrugging, and Ron snorted. Harry grinned, but missed the snigger that Draco would have made at his comment about Lockhart, and the way Hermione would have pursed her lips. The benches on either side of him suddenly felt very empty.
"First and foremost," Dumbledore said, "it is with great pleasure that I am able to inform you that the Chamber of Secrets has been closed, and Slytherin's monster dealt with. You may feel safe within the school again, and not need to worry about yourself, or your friends and family, just your studies, and, in a few weeks, your end of year examinations." A few nervous chuckles echoed through the hall, but mostly the chatter seemed relieved. "Those that were attacked by Slytherin's monster before last week's impromptu break remain in Madam Pomfrey's capable hands, and may be visited before curfew. Professor Sprout is hopeful the mandrake restorative will be ready sometime between the Easter break and the end of term." Harry looked at Ron and grimaced; Easter was still over a month away.
"Secondly," Dumbledore said, "it is with great regret that I announce Professor Lockhart's resignation." Harry had expected the staff – or at least Snape and McGonagall – to look pleased, but they all looked grim enough to unsettle him. "The Ministry is in the process of finding us a temporary replacement, and they are expected to arrive by the end of the week. Until they do, students from first to fourth year will have a free period in the place of their Defence lessons, while I will take the O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. Defence lessons myself." Eager murmurs raced around the hall in response to that, and Harry couldn't help but wish Dumbledore hadn't cancelled second year Defence; he'd have liked to learn from the Headmaster… Still, no lessons were probably better than lessons with Lockhart.
"And," Dumbledore continued, "on the topic of staff, I am pleased to announce Hagrid's return to the position of gamekeeper. He's due back at Hogwarts tomorrow." Harry grinned at Ron. "And with those announcements done, I think it's time to tuck in!"
"Ruddy awful place," Hagrid said, pouring Ron an enormous cup of tea. "Glad ter be rid of it, I tell yeh."
"We're glad to have you back," Harry said. Ron nodded.
"Sorry it took us so long to get down here for a visit, too," Ron added. "Thought it'd take them longer to find someone to teach Defence." The Ministry'd found a witch that had recognised Ron's name on the class list and said she'd been the year below Charlie, in Hufflepuff. Apparently she'd travelled for two years, then tried to get into the Auror program but failed the testing and had instead taken a position doing odd jobs in another part of the DMLE.
At first, she'd looked like she'd be just as bad as Lockhart; Daphne Greengrass had made her cry in their first lesson, and hadn't managed to call anyone but Harry or Ron by their first names; Ron because of his hair and Charlie, and Harry because- well, who didn't know Harry? Unfortunately, it meant she'd picked on them a lot for answers to her questions, but at least she didn't have them up there acting out scenes from Lockhart's books, like Lockhart had. And, in their second lesson, she'd recapped on the disarming charm they'd learned in Lockhart's duelling club, and then moved onto the Knockback jinx, which Ron had enjoyed a lot.
"Unlucky job, tha' one," Hagrid observed. Harry, who'd been patting Fang, looked up at that.
"Hagrid," he said curiously, "what exactly did happen to Lockhart? All the teachers'll say about it is that he was hurt during the evacuation and wasn't fit to come back-"
"Students aren' meant ter know," Hagrid said uneasily.
"Oh, go on, Hagrid," Ron said, equally curious; he and Harry had talked about it a lot the past week, and come up with all sorts of wild theories. "We won't tell anyone, promise."
"Yeh're not ter go spreadin' this," Hagrid warned, and Ron nodded. Across the table from him, Harry did the same. "Dumbledore said he must've bumped inter Crouch. He was tortured – maybe fer information about you, Harry, maybe fer information about the Chamber." Hagrid shrugged his massive shoulders. Harry, who'd looked interested, now looked faintly ill; his skin was a funny grey colour, but Hagrid didn't seem to have noticed.
"He's not- dead?" Ron asked tentatively. "Is he?"
"No, no!" Hagrid waved a hand. "Looks like he tried ter defend himself, but his wand backfired. Professor Snape found him the next day, all shaky and battered, with no idea who he was! He's in St Mungo's now," Hagrid said. "Trying ter get his memory back, but memory charms are tricky things…" He took a long sip of tea, and then looked at Ron. "And how's yer sister doing?"
"She's… all right, I think," Ron said. His stomach churned angrily, the way it always did lately, when Ginny was mentioned "At least, she always says she is when I ask, and she hasn't said anything to anyone else, so…" Ron shrugged and took a sip of his tea, but it didn't help; he was still angry; angry with how Riddle had treated Ginny, for what he'd nearly done to her, anger at himself for not noticing – she was his little sister, how could he have not noticed she was being possessed by Voldemort's younger self? – anger at Fred, George and Percy for not noticing either, and anger at Ginny for not telling anyone sooner.
Then, there was more anger at himself for even being angry with her, because he'd seen enough of Riddle in the Chamber to know how awful her year must have been, and didn't know if she'd even been able to tell anyone. And angry with himself because he hadn't been able to notice she'd been possessed, so would he really be able to tell if she was all right or not now?
Since term resumed two weeks ago, Ginny found she had a new appreciation what it must be like to be Luna. Harry's performance on the train had had the desired effect, or at least had settled some of the darker rumours about Ginny that had spread through the school; rather than being outrightly hostile, people seemed to view her with a mix of sympathy for the little of her ordeal that they knew about, and wariness, that maybe there was some fact to the rumours and she might suddenly start petrifying them all, or summoning snakes. Or maybe they'd heard about her nightmares from Demelza and Georgina – her roommates – and just thought she was odd.
People weren't dodging her, or hiding their friends from her like on the train, but Luna and the two Andrews were the only ones who'd sit next to her in classes or talk to her between classes, and it was always her family and Harry she sat with at meals. When people saw her in the corridors, they'd stare at her, and walk just a bit further away than they might have if she was someone else.
Ginny had never been nobody – people had always known her because she was a girl, or because of her enormous family – and she'd never minded until now, when she was known for being a victim. She knew, on some level that she had been – but victim or not, and willing or not, she'd been involved in some awful things and wasn't- couldn't be blameless - but having everyone else acknowledge it seemed to make it more real. Now, Ginny wished she was nobody, that she was just another first year that no one knew, that no one noticed.
Often, to her complete shame she caught herself missing Tom – or the Tom she'd known to begin with, the Tom that she could always talk to about anything, the Tom that always had time for her, the Tom that had never, once, let her feel like she was alone. It wasn't something she'd dared confess to anyone, not to her parents in letters, or to her brothers, or Luna, or to McGonagall – who'd invited her to her office several times since term resumed, for a ginger newt and a chat.
How could they hope to understand? How could anyone? If she did say something, they'd all think she really was dangerous, or that Tom had unhinged her and she'd be carted off to the mind healers at St Mungo's.
Unhinged is a kind word for what I did, Ginny, Tom's voice said cruelly. And St Mungo's? Really? Tell them you miss me – and I'm flattered, by the way – and you'll be off to Azkaban.
Ginny's hand wobbled, and ink blobbed all over her parchment. Embarrassingly, it nearly made her cry; that she could still hear Tom, that she couldn't write, that she was in this situation in the first place because she'd trusted him and he'd used her all along and never cared. She threw her quill down, fuming.
"You all right?" a voice asked, and Ginny looked up, closing the book she'd been reading as she did so. Harry's eyes followed the movement, and she wished it had been anyone but him; if it had been a random student, she could have snapped at them to leave her alone, and if – better yet – it had been Ron or the twins she could have really had a go at them. Not because they'd done something, but because Ginny needed to shout or get angry or hex something. She'd been quiet for so long, and maybe, if she shouted loud enough, she wouldn't be able to hear Tom anymore.
You wish, he murmured.
Yes, she said, relenting – which she rarely did – to talk back to the voice. She knew it wasn't Tom, after all, that it was just her imagination, and that therefore she was talking to herself. I do.
"I'm fine," she said stiffly. She could feel her face turning red, and that just made her angrier. Harry put his hands up – one of them had a heavy book in it – and took a step back, looking bewildered.
"Sorry, I-"
"What are you apologising for?" she asked, rolling her eyes. Harry opened his mouth and closed it again, still looking confused.
"You looked- er- I didn't mean to bother-"
"You're not bothering me," Ginny said. "Did you want something?"
I just… came for a book?" he said, waving the book in his hand at her. It sounded like a question, and he hadn't made any further move to approach the table. "Then I heard you, so I thought I'd say hello…" He seemed uncertain now, about whether that had been a good idea.
"Hello," Ginny said dully, and Harry grinned. Ginny smiled back, just a bit. "What's the book for?"
"Potions essay."
"Sounds fun," she said. He pulled a face, and his eyes flicked to her book.
"What are you doing?" he asked, and took a step closer. Ginny felt her smile fade, and moved her arm over the parchment she'd been writing on, as much to hide the embarrassingly shaky scrawl that was her attempt at writing left-handed as to hide the words themselves. She didn't like the look of her normal handwriting, not after she'd last seen it on the page of Tom's diary. She was thankful the book's title – Advanced Charms - didn't give anything away. She felt the ink start to soak through her sleeve though, and scowled. Scowled at the ink, and at Harry for choosing now to want to take an interest in what she was doing, instead of any of the other times in the past two weeks that she'd been doing homework or just writing letters.
"None of your business."
"Just asking," he said, putting his hands up again, but she could tell he was curious.
"Just asking if I'm trying to resurrect Tom or something, you mean?" And then she watched him, daring him with her eyes to snap or flinch, or just leave. He didn't.
Instead, looking hesitant, he said, "Still… erm… alive, then." It seemed like an odd thing to say – maybe even rude – until she remembered back to the conversation they'd had on the train.
"Obviously," she said, with a little less heat than before.
"I'll go," Harry said, after a few seconds of silence, and turned to leave.
"Wait," Ginny said, without thinking, and Harry turned to look at her, confused. Ginny wasn't sure what she looked like, but Harry did wait. "I didn't mean- You don't have to-"
"I'm not offended," Harry said. "You're allowed to want to be alone for a bit-"
"But I don't," Ginny said in a small voice. I want Tom. My friend Tom, not the stupid, awful Tom he turned into. Or always was, but pretended not to be. She also really, really didn't want Tom.
"Come back to the common room with me, then," Harry said, looking uncertain.
"I can't." Ginny gestured at Advanced Charms. "If I borrow it, Madam Pince might tell someone, or Fred or George or Ron might see it and tell Mum and Dad, or-" She'd said a bit much, and so she looked away from Harry. "Thanks for the offer," she said, genuinely, "but I can't. I'll see you later." Harry stood there for another few seconds, and then nodded.
"Hopefully you find what you're looking for," he said, nodding at her book. She didn't apologise or thank him, just nodded. Harry left, and Ginny, for all that she didn't want to be alone, was relieved; the alternative was that he would stay with her, but then she wouldn't be able to read her book, and that would defeat the point of her visit to the library anyway. She thought he'd known that, and stared hard at his retreating figure for a few seconds.
Then, she heaved Advanced Charms open again, and flicked through the contents for Sound-Proofing Charms. She couldn't just magically fix everyone's opinion of her, but she thought she'd be able to at least improve what Demelza and Georgina thought of her if she stopped keeping them up at night with her hissing and talking and laughing. That was if – Ginny thought, looking down at the spell's page in dismay – she could manage the charm.