Egypt was not meant for redheads.

That was the first thing Bill said to Ginny upon their arrival. Charlie had arranged time off and he and Bill had met the whole family at Egypt's International Floo terminal.

Ginny didn't much feel like traveling. Unlike the trip Romania, Ginny didn't spare much thought about who all the other people were, and why they were traveling and where they were going or who they were meeting along the way. She just couldn't bring herself to care all that much.

Her parents wouldn't make a decision about her school. Her Mum just huffed whenever the subject of Beauxbatons came up. After Dad won the Daily Prophet sweepstakes, her parents made the unilateral decision to spend all the money on a family trip, despite Ron asking for Cannons season tickets and Fred and George wanting to invest in something called "an industrial pickle jar opener." Now, whenever the subject of Ginny's schooling came up, her Dad would just say "we'll decide when we get back. No rush."

So, here they all were. Ginny hadn't wanted to come to Egypt, even though it was a chance to see Bill. Yet, she didn't want to not come enough to row with her Mum about it.

Which, she supposed, was yet more proof that Tom had left her irreparably different.

If he left you at all.

Ginny tried to shake away the thought as she shifted her heavy satchel full of the textbooks her Mum had shamed her into bringing.

Ginny just didn't see the point. Either she was on vacation with her family before repeating her first year at Beauxbatons, in which case she didn't need to catch up, or she was going back to Hogwarts and why did she have to come to Egypt anyway, if she was just going to have to study the whole time? It wasn't like she was going to be able to catch up anyway. She was almost a half year behind in her classes, with only a month before term started.

Another tourist bumped into her with a mumbled apology as Ginny trailed after her family. She hefted the slipping satchel again, trying to console herself that she didn't have to lug all of Lockhart's books at least. Limping behind, she straggled along until the family spotted Bill and Charlie's red hair in the distance.

With a shout and a wave Ron rushed ahead, Scabbers clinging to his shoulder, as Ron yelled and pointed in their direction.

Ginny hung back a bit, watching the other travelers venture forward, the large boisterous redheaded family drawing curious glances here and there. Charlie weaved through the other Weasleys, giving out the perfunctory hugs with boisterous slaps on the back accompanied by laugher and hair ruffles.

Normal. But not for you. Not anymore.

She tore her eyes away from Charlie and instead focused on Bill. A distracted smile on his face, Bill strode past his brothers. To her surprise, he sidled through the throng to plant himself in front of her, like a giant immovable Bill Tree.

She didn't know how to feel about that, and it scarcely seemed to matter, because she realized she didn't feel much of anything about that, either. And she knew, somehow, that was wrong, because she was always, always so happy to see Bill.

But she couldn't quite bring herself to look at him.

She might see disappointment. She didn't think she could bear to see Bill disappointed in her.

But he stopped in front of her and didn't move, and she felt stupid just staring at the button on his shirt.

Her gaze moved up, up, up until she looked her big brother in the eye. She may have had to bite the inside of her lip to keep it from quivering, but she made a choice, and looked him straight in his blue Weasley eyes.

There he was. Best Brother.

There she was. Total Complete Fuck Up of a Sister.

Bill took her in from the top of her hair, which she hadn't bothered brushing the tangles out of, to the bony wrists sticking out of her sleeves. He took in the weight of her satchel on her shoulder, and focused on her face for a bit, as if searching for something.

Then, a half-smile formed on her big brother's face. Not sad, not happy. Just Bill. And he said, "Egypt is not meant for redheads."

She barely had time to catch a glimpse of the ugliest- truly the ugliest- largest brimmed hat she had ever seen, before Bill shoved it on her head.

Before she could sputter an objection, he lifted the satchel off her shoulder and grabbed her hand. "What did you pack in here? Half of Hogwarts library?" he teased.

He teased her. He teased her as if she hadn't petrified four students, a ghost, and a cat.

She managed to mumble something about being behind in her classes, embarrassed, because Bill had been Head Boy, a stellar student and never once was a ponce about it. Bill had never failed at anything.

But Bill didn't seem to notice her embarrassment. "Excellent," he said, as he swung around her satchel and then noogied the hat.

Why the fuck was he being so normal? Everyone else was awkward around her.

And what he said next made no sense. "Guess who's a world-class transfiguration tutor?"

"Albus Dumbledore?" She was so stunned that a hitherto unplumbed cache of snark decided to emerge from her mouth.

"Unavailable."

"Emeric Smith?"

"Dead."

"You?"

Bill grinned. "Yes. I'm a world-class transfiguration tutor. And defense. In fact, I'll bet by the time we're done with defense you'll be at least a year and half ahead of your peers. Lockhart," he scoffed. "What a hack."

Before she realized he was doing it, he tugged her outside. A wave of summer heat washed over her, and she was instantaneously drenched in sweat. The sun beat down on her arms, which she could almost see freckling before her very eyes.

Oh. Hence the very, very ugly hat.

She squeezed Bill's hand, suddenly grateful for… alright, she didn't know why she was grateful at the moment.

Her life was a disaster. Her amends letters went unanswered. She had nightmares. She couldn't fly on a broom without vomiting all over herself. She was going to have to go to school in a country where she didn't speak the language.

But for just a moment, as she squeezed Bill's hand, she felt a fleeting, but no less overwhelming rush of gratitude. He squeezed it back and her eyes began to water.

"Also, Beauxbatons? Who in their right mind would choose a steady diet of Boeuf Bourguignon over the nightly adventure of Hogwarts haggis? We'll get this sorted."

She ducked her head so he couldn't see, but squeezed his hand a little harder, because suddenly it didn't matter that everything was awful.

She might not feel like Ginny anymore, but he was still Bill, the best brother.

()()()

()()()

As the sun beat down on nine freckled bodies, the Weasley brood tumbled into the camp (or as Bill liked to call it, the "glamp") in a crowded cluster. Voices overlapped with questions at an ever-increasing volume, until the twins started shouting nonsense into the oppressively hot air. Her Mum looked pained, her Dad looked patient, and Bill looked amused.

Ginny, sweating from every pore in her body, just wanted to find some shade.

She almost groaned in relief at her first sight of the glamp itself, a rather glamourous set of shady tents set outside the greater tomb area. Bill explained they were specifically for visiting curse-breakers and their families, as well as important Gringotts officials for their onsite visits.

As they entered the spacious tent with yet more boisterous Weasley din, Bill set Ginny's satchel aside, tapped his wand to his throat and performed a sonorous charm. "Weasley brothers! Three on three Quidditch, brooms are set up a couple dunes over. Mum, Dad, you and Ginny get settled. I've arranged dinner later at the site, we'll be back before then."

Wait. What?

Before Ginny could get a word in edgewise, all six of her brothers roared. The huge cheer filled the tent as they shoved their way back outside and darted off over the dunes.

Ginny and her parents were left in silence, surrounded by a clutter of smelly trunks.

Fact: Ginny did not have a Best Brother anymore.

Why?

Fact: All. Brothers. Suck. Even Bill.

Fact: Because he was a Brother and All Brothers Suck.

Ginny whirled around, staring at the now unoccupied threshold. "Why did they- what was that?"

"Honestly, those boys," her Mum huffed. "Well, I suppose it's easier to unpack without everyone underfoot. Ginny, you take this half, and I'll-"

Stunned, Ginny deliberately tuned out her Mum. Instead, she turned to her Dad in disbelief. "Did that seriously just happen?"

"Did what just happen?"

"That!" Ginny pointed to the exit flap. "On our family's fancy prize trip to Egypt, 'oh-it-will-be-a-lovely-bonding-experience, Molly'-"

Her Mum stilled, wand limp in her hand. For some odd reason her Mum got teary-eyed. "Arthur," she choked.

Ginny ignored her and swapped into Mum's voice. "'-wonder-if-they-have-extra-strength-sunscreen-charms-or-better-yet-potions-"

"Molly," her Dad breathed.

Ginny was on a roll, though, so she ignored him, too. "'Did we really get ditched immediately for Quidditch?"

"Sounded just like you," Molly whispered.

"And to add insult to injury, I now have to unpack everyone's trunks?" Ginny ranted, furious.

And instead of answering her, her parents proved beyond a shadow of a doubt they were certifiably bonkers.

"Stop looking all mushy like that!" Honestly, her parents were being all teary-eyed when there was a clear injustice occurring. Ginny threw her hands up in the air. "They dumped us here!"

Then she stared at them expectantly.

Because injustice.

Waiting. Waiting for a reaction. Waiting.

"Nothing?" Ginny sighed in absolute disbelief. She spun around the tent, trying to catch her bearings. "And for Merlin's sake there are bunk beds," she muttered, incredulous. "Where is the door to lock me in at night so I don't choke everyone in their sleep and why do you all insist there's no need to worry about that?"

"Because," her Dad said, softly. "You-Know-Who is gone. The diary was destroyed. He's not coming back."

"You don't know that for sure," Ginny snapped.

"Dumbledore does."

"Dumbledore," Ginny said, her hands on her hips, "is two thousand years old. And let's review some facts. Ron's first year, Dumbledore neglected to notice that the DADA professor he hired had Voldemort stuck to the back of his head."

"Ginny," her Mum chided. But she chided with a quirking lip that showed just how much she did not understand the seriousness of the issue.

"Dumbledore also, being six million years old, never noticed the enormous snake of a basilisk that I let roam the halls." Ginny started to pace, nervously. "I saw it after Harry stabbity-stabbed it. It was twice the length of the pond at the Burrow. How could anyone miss that?"

Ginny muttered digging her hands into her hair, knocking off her ugly hat in the process. "How did the portraits not see? Did I disillusion it somehow? What did I-"

Once, twice, three times.

More secrets are hidden.

Hide the girl there, until it was time.

Ginny winced, shoving the words out of her head. "And- and now I have to unpack for six brothers while they la-la-la-left to play Quidditch?"

Her Mum, in a most-disrespectful way Ginny noted, had started tutting about during Ginny's rant.

Sweet Merlin, the woman was dusting the tent. Given the tent was set up in the middle of a desert, that seemed to Ginny to be an exercise in futility.

"Nonsense, dear," her Mum said. Then, that bloody woman's eyes started doing a weird twinkling thing, and she added "It's only four brothers: Bill and Charlie are bunking in Bill's permanent tent inside the tomb area."

Ginny huffed and sought out her Dad for support.

Her Dad's eyes were doing a twinkling thing, too.

Nutter parents.

"Ginny?" Her Mum tutted over to the corner. " If it makes you feel safer, Bill must have meant for you to be in this area behind the flap over here, with the single bed. And look, there's the desk. For your books. For you to study."

Her Mum put her hands on her hips and looked Mum-ish.

"Unpacking for only four brothers?" Ginny stomped to her own trunk. "Oh that's just fine then."

Her Dad, though, had peeked into the Ginny-Study-Nook. "Oh, Ginny, it fastens right up so you can have some privacy during your studies-"

"I don't want privacy during my studies. I want a door that you can charm lock so I don't-"

"I know you think that's necessary, but-"

"Dad! I need a door, not a flap, and I don't want to be rifling about in my brother's trunks-"

"It does seem rather unfair, doesn't it?" her Dad said, offhand. "How about I teach you the unpacking charm so you don't have to do it by hand?"

"For several reasons!" Ginny's voice began to rise in panic. "One, I shouldn't have to do their work! Two, I'm underage and shouldn't be using a wand! Three, I'm drenched in sweat." Ginny snapped. "And I don't particularly want another school lesson while those gits-"

"-language, Ginevra-"

"-those rubbish-eating, sister-ignoring, head-up-their-"

"Ginevra!"

"Fine!" After weeks of feeling next-to-nothing at all, Ginny's temper flared back with a vengeance. "They're all out there having fun and why am I never invited to play Quidditch?"

"Because you broke every bone in your body the last time you were on a broom," her mother snapped back.

"Half my bones," Ginny growled. "And none of them remember that because they weren't there. They're never there."

They don't remember you when you're right in front of them.

"I'm just a silly little girl to them." Suddenly, it was as if every bad feeling she had ever had in her entire life came crashing out of her mouth, like a sudden tidal wave smashing sandcastles off an unsuspecting beach. "Why am I here at all? They never include me in anything, and why did I have to come all the way to Egypt with a sack full of books if I was just going to have to study for something I'll end up having to retake?"

In French, of all things.

As a burning rage began to light in her belly, Ginny kept blazing on. "I could have studied at home, and then I wouldn't be left out of Quidditch!"

Again. Not that she could participate without puking, but it was the ruddy principle of the thing.

"Or maybe it doesn't matter. Do they even have Quidditch in France? Where you're planning to ship me to? Out of sight out of mind?"

Some part of Ginny knew she had been the one who insisted on leaving… but fuck logic. Logic was not invited to this stupid tent. "If I live in France you can pretend you don't even have a daughter, and won't that be more comfortable for all of you?"

Her Dad just stared at her, with a sort of helpless look on his face. But his eyes? His eyes were still bloody twinkling.

Her Mum had the decency to not twinkle. Now her Mum understood how serious Ginny was and her Mum put on her Furious-Mum-Is-About-To-Lecture Face.

"Ginevra Weasley! That's quite enough of your temper!"

Yes. Much better. Fury was less patronizing.

However, her Mum's use of Ginny's name induced a whole new level of rage in Ginny. When Bill was in trouble, he was William Arthur Weasley. When Fred and George were in trouble, they were Fred Gideon and George Fabian Weasley. When Ron was in trouble?

Ronald Bilius Weasley. The most awful of all awful middle names ringing through the house in her Mum's furious voice.

But Ginny? When Ginny was in trouble was she Ginevra Molly Weasley?

No. No.

No. Because if she were Ginevra Molly Weasley, her Mum might have to acknowledge that she was related.

Which she could avoid doing in perpetuity if Ginny were shipped all the way off to France.

"That's just rich," Ginny spat. "Enough of my temper? As if I didn't inherit the temper from you! And Dad? Dad's barely better, because if he hadn't gotten into a fist fight with Lucius Malfoy I wouldn't have gotten stuck with that damned diary!"

Every breath, every speck of dust, even the air itself stilled.

Ginny's words hung stuck in the stuffy tent, as if they had been stabbed to some invisible surface. They dripped with foul bile from unseen wounds.

Her trembling hand rose to her mouth as if she could stop the words from coming out, even though it was much, much too late.

Her parents' eyes no longer twinkled.

In the silent, oppressive heat, her Mum seemed to wilt.

But "wilt" wasn't a strong enough word to describe her Dad.

Ginny's hand pressed harder, as if the poison words hadn't already spilled, as if the weight of her palm could keep them bottled, never, ever to escape.

"I-I didn't mean it," she whispered, horrified. Her eyes began to burn with shame. "Not a single word, I didn't mean it, Dad. P-p-please don't look like that."

Never before had she seen his face so lost. His kind, sweet, I-wear-stupid-caps-because-my-wife-knits-them-special face.

In the space of a dozen words, his face aged, sagged with guilty anguish. His anguish was no less a bludgeon to Ginny than her words had been to him. She had put that anguish there, destroyed his twinkling humor, and she kept breaking everything over and over again, hurting the people she loved and she didn't know how to fix any of it.

The silence held, all three occupants of the tent unable to look at each other. "I didn't mean it, Dad," she gasped, trying to make him, her, anyone, understand. "I didn't, I really didn't, I wasn't telling the truth. I just… I'm- I'm angry."

"I know," her Dad breathed, his chin trembling. If Ginny hadn't been looking so closely, she might have missed that tremble; that tiny aftershock was the most awful thing she had ever seen in her life. She had pummeled him with careless angry words that weren't even true, and she couldn't ever take them back and now… now….

"No, you don't understand," Ginny began to sob, unable to contain her shame any longer. "What I said was vile, I'm vile, but I didn't mean it. I was wrong, I didn't mean it and it's not your fault, none of it, it's all m-my fault. I'm the one who wrote in the diary, and I'm s-sorry-"

"Shhh, Ginny."

But Ginny couldn't stop. "I'm sorry!" Her voice hitched on her words as they tumbled out. "I'm s-sorry I-I couldn't see it's brain, Daddy, and I'm so, so s-"

Her Dad cleared his throat, crossing to her. "Ginny. Stop, it's-"

Ginny began to cry harder, blurring her father's face, painted in guilt. "I'm sorry, Dad. I didn't mean what I said. S-sometimes, it's as if I have no control over-"

"I know," he said, opening his arms and hugging her close. "Shhhh. I know."

"No, you don't. I'm awful. I'm so awful and I cry all the time. Do you know a spell to make the tears stop?" Ginny sobbed, one of the buttons on his shirt digging into her cheek. "Just when I think I'm all finished with crying, I find a worse," she gasped through her sobs, "a worse worse reason to cry. I hate crying and all I seem to do is cry and cry and cry."

"I don't think so," her Dad shushed her. "You have every reason to cry. Just let it out."

"It's so much worse than the lovebug tears," Ginny sobbed, helplessly. "I wish I could go back; I want to go back."

"Only forward, Ginny," her Mum said, her voice wobbling. Ginny twisted to see her Mum had tears, too.

But her Mum's tears weren't outright sobs and somehow her Mum's eyes, same color as Ginny's, helped Ginny settle. Ginny sniffed and hugged her Dad tighter.

Her Dad hugged her back and kissed her on the top of her head. "You know, it does get better. The muggles say that tears and big feelings and such at your age are caused by things called hormoninnies. They only attack young people and go away when you're older."

"Hormononees," Ginny repeated fiercely as she wiped her eyes, trying to steady her breath as she absorbed her Dad's impressive muggle knowledge. "Okay. How do you kill them?"

"Muggles don't say. I think you have to wait it out."

"Wait it out?" Without warning Ginny's fury, momentarily dampened by shame and love and confusion, flared in a white-hot blaze. "That's-that's just rubbish! If the muggles know about hormoninnies, and wizards know about muggle hormoninnnies then why? Why is there not a ruddy bloody potion I can take to get rid of the fucking things?"

"GINEVRA WEASLEY!"

As it turned out, Ginny did not have to unpack for her brothers after all.

Ginny spent the next few hours lying on her bunk, zipped up in the tiny canvas alcove that was her space for the duration of the trip.

Trying to get the taste of her Mum's scourgify out of her mouth.

()()()

()()()

A/N – once again, thanks to Curse-04 and ginnyweasley777 for beta-reading this chapter.