Ron changed after Ginny's slug hex, not in a good way. Ginny figured the sensory memory of the taste alone was enough to drive a reasonable brother barmy. She should have remembered Ron never managed "reasonable" even on his best day.
"Reasonable" would have been hexing her back. "Reasonable" would have been filling her pillowcase with spiders or swapping out potion ingredients or turning her textbooks inside out and backwards so she'd have to read them in a mirror.
Ron opted for a more diabolical revenge, one that Ginny had not predicted.
He studied.
Stupid-arse brother studied almost as much as Ginny studied.
Bloody hell, when he wasn't studying, he was practicing. When he wasn't studying or practicing, he was staring at the flap separating her Ginny-space from the rest of the tent.
Calculating.
Oh, yes. Ginny had seen that look. That was the look of the reigning Weasley Chess Champion. Weasley Chess Champ might not have been as prestigious as Weasley Gobstone Guru, or Weasley Quidditch Conqueror, but Ginny had to grudgingly give him credit.
If there was one thing Ron knew how to do well, it was strategize. It was just lucky for everyone in normal circumstances he was too lazy to bother.
But now? It was like he was being haunted, driven by a single thought:
By Merlin's Sweaty Gym Socks, Ron Weasley would never vomit slugs again.
George, ever one for dramatic lessons, held a Gobstone up in the air. The rest of her brothers hung about the courtyard, participating in various, annoying ways. Her parents decided to have lunch down by the tombs, which was fine with Ginny because she and Ron had abandoned all pleasantries a couple days ago, and what had once been sibling rivalry was now sibling war. Profanity occasionally made an appearance, so it was just as well her Mum was out of earshot.
"Alright," George called out. "Gobstone history of magic, score tied. We have…"
Bill rolled his tongue and pantomimed a drum while Percy, in an official looking manner, whispered into Fred's ear.
A hot wind blew through the courtyard, shifting sand onto the patio. Ginny and Ron glared at each other, tempers finally at a boil. High noon in the desert, the only sound cutting the tension, a spurt of flame from the oasis Fire Crab's arse.
With a nod to Percy, Fred held up his fingers. "Five correct answers to Ronald Bilius Weasley,"
"Wanker," Ginny muttered.
"-and five correct answers to Ginevra-"
"Raving mad spoiled harpy," Ron muttered back.
They'd been at it all day, she was hot, tired, she had lost the charm-off contest this morning to Ron, and she just wanted to annihilate him quickly and get something to bloody eat.
"Get on with it and ask the question." Ginny snapped.
"Right." Fred sighed, exchanging a wary glance with George. George once again, held up the Gobstone. Ginny stared at the stone with the same intensity Ron saved for food. She only broke her glance for a quick peek at the set-up in the circle. She knew she could take that single Gobstone and clear the whole field, winning the game and leaving Ron humiliated with his eyes full of Gobstone goo. She just needed to answer one more question to win the damn shooter.
Ron cracked his neck.
Ginny rolled her shoulders and exhaled, game face on.
George flourished a small parchment in front of Fred, who cleared his throat as he began to read. "For one Gobstone shot, name the person who developed the cure for dragon pox."
With lightning-fast reflex, Ginny shoved her hand over Ron's mouth. Charlie and Bill groaned, Percy shook his head, Ginny ignored all three. "Gunhilda!" she shouted. "Gunhilda of Gorsemoor!"
"Not fair!" Ron yanked her hand down, with a 'did you all see what she did' appeal to the older brothers. His face was a study in indignation. "Against the rules! She kept me from answering!"
"Did you know the answer?" George asked.
"Well, we'll never know that now, will we?"
The twins exchanged glances and turned to Charlie. "Referee call?"
Charlie, sitting on his arse next to the flatulent Fire Crab, shook his head. "No winner, back up question."
Both Ron and Ginny glared at him, objecting strongly to the ruling.
Profanity made an appearance.
Charlie remained nonplussed. "You can appeal the ruling to Bill."
Percy lifted his quill in the air. "No, they can't. They used up all the appeals three questions ago."
Damn right they had used up all the appeals. And every time they used an appeal, the bloody stakes went up. So far, the winner was going to take tomorrow off all studies, get first turn in the loo, keep four Egyptian coins they had found in the desert that morning with the metal detecting charm and enjoy a sunset ride on Tuftertina.
Which was a fucking glorious name for a camel, no matter what her brothers said. That camel was as graceful as a ballerina. If, of course, ballerinas had four legs, two humps and a tendency to spit.
"Backup question?" Bill interjected, pointing to the twins.
With a nod, Fred and George whispered to each other for several moment, before George held up the Gobstone again. Clearing his throat, Fred shouted. "Backup question! Name the year Gunhilda invented the cure."
Both Ron and Ginny inhaled sharply, opened their mouths and…
… nothing.
Crap, she didn't know the answer. In the subsequent silence, Ginny was grateful that apparently, neither did Ron.
All the other brothers groaned. It was too darned close to lunchtime and patience was wearing thin.
Fred and George exchanged glances. "How about the century she invented the cure?"
In her mind's eye maybe Ginny saw a couple 00s? But the zero years were always confusing, was she supposed to add to the year to get the century, or subtract? She always mixed it up. Though, it didn't matter anyway because she couldn't remember the beginning numbers which was the more important part.
"This was right on the back of the Chocolate Frog Card!" Fred cried. George shook his head. "You're both rubbish. Tied for rubbish."
Even Percy was looking hungry, and he was usually the best at hiding it. Finally Fred threw up his hands. "How about, defining physical features?"
Ginny shoved her hand over Ron's mouth again. "One eye! Hunchback! Hunchback!"
"Ginny!' All six brothers objected in tandem.
Ron yanked her hand down a second time. "I knew that!"
Fred and George shook their heads at Ginny. "Really? Again?"
"I got excited," Ginny shrugged, wiping her hand on her shorts.
Charlie, the first-line referee, had pulled his hat over his eyes and was leaning against the palm tree. The Fire Crab, probably the most un-cuddly creature ever, was trying to cuddle him anyway. "Penalty shot awarded to Ronald Bilius."
"No!" Ginny wailed. Ron started to chuckle, and laughing, she hit him in the arms. "His voice carries further than mine does, that's the only reason I shut him up."
"You could appeal-"
"-except you're out of appeals," the rest of the brothers droned.
"Ronald, your ante?" George asked formally, as if this contest actually had real rules.
Without so much as a blink, Ron said, "Ginny's cave."
All the brothers stilled.
Ginny slowly twisted to stare at Ron. "You can't bet my cave. It's my cave."
"The thing is, I've been thinking. Charlie's right, you're the runt, but somehow you're the one with the cave."
It may have been the rudest thing Ron had ever said to her. And they weren't particularly polite siblings, so there was a long list of rude interactions to weigh against his words. "Are you serious? You know there are reasons why I have that cave. I need that cave. You need me to have that cave. The whole family needs me to have that cave." Her voice rose with each statement, until she was yelling. "And, for the record, I'm small-boned! Not a runt!"
"It's nothing personal, Ginny. I just want a door," Ron said, in a perfectly reasonable clam tone that made Ginny want to shove his face in the sand and force him to eat dirt. "That flap to your 'cave' is the closest thing to a door in that tent."
"And I want to not accidentally sic a basilisk on any of you!" Ginny yelled at him. "You know that! The two seconds it takes me to get out of bed and through the flap and to my wand Dad pretends to hide but really doesn't, might be the two seconds that saves your life! I need the cave more than you."
"No, you don't." Ron said flatly.
"That cave is a-"
"Safety net," Bill coughed into his hand.
"Placebo," Percy muttered.
"Training broom," Charlie added, underneath his hat.
"You're all being deliberately obtuse!" Ginny said, through clenched teeth, her fingers flinching for want of a wand. "My cave is for your own good. That flap separates me from my potential victims. Which is you!"
"It's like you think you're still possessed! You're not possessed," Ron said, his lips tightening with the effort to control his own temper in the face of Ginny's. "You're just mental."
Oh, no he didn't. "I'm not mental!" Ginny yelled. "I'm careful!"
"You're mental!" Ron reaching his breaking point, yelled back. "Everyone here knows it! You've been mental since Harry saved you! You demanded an alarm on your room! You made Dad take your wand! You still make Dad take your wand even though he sneaks it back to you in the middle of the night! What's it going to take for you to believe? You. Are. Not. Possessed."
"Just because you want it to be true-" Ginny started, but Bill cleared his throat.
All siblings paused.
"Let's just finish up the game." Bill turned to Charlie, "ruling on the stakes?"
"Cave is in play," Charlie said, scratching the Fire Crab between the eyes. Ginny hadn't realized Fire Crabs could purr. Bloody stupid Charlie with his bloody stupid hierarchy dragon bull crap.
"Cave is in play," George repeated.
"Cave is in play," Fred said. Then, he referred back to his notes. "Where were we-"
"Gunhilda of Gorsemoor, hunchback, one-eye." Ginny snapped. She was done, she had had it, she just wanted this thing to be over with. "Cured dragon pox, no idea what year, or what century."
"Right," Fred said, with gravity. "Ronald, your penalty question-"
"-for all the stakes-" added George.
"- including but not limited to-"
"-a day off-"
"-Ginny's cave-"
"-and a bunch of other stuff we can barely remember-"
"-because we're so hungry-"
"-and it's hot-"
"-can you tell us how effective Gunhilda's dragon pox cure is, to the second percentage point?"
Oh, thank Merlin.
Ginny's shoulders relaxed as the tension fled, because Ron would never in a million years know that. Second percentage point? Two million years.
And she felt a wave a love for the twins, for choosing a question that would keep the game going and give her a shot at the win. A gentle, kind voice inside her reminded her that the twins had her back. They loved her.
All her brothers loved her. They wouldn't be out here in the desert studying with her if they didn't love her. And they wouldn't set her up to lose her cave.
"91.83% effective."
Oh, those fucking rat bastards.
Percy's brows rose. Charlie lifted his hat. Former Best Brother Bill stuck his tongue in his cheek.
Fred and George blinked at Ron. "Uh, yeah."
Ron crossed his arms. If someone snapped a photo of him, he could have illustrated the word 'smug' in any dictionary, in any language, anywhere.
"No!" Ginny sprang to her feet, indignant. "How? How in the bloody blazes, did you know that? That wasn't on any chocolate frog card!"
Ron shrugged. "Harry's grandparents died of dragon pox. Hermione didn't say anything to him about it, but she told me that it was just Harry's luck to have his grandparents die of something that has a 91.83 survival rate."
Ginny stared at him, horrified. "That's the most awful thing I ever heard."
"No one's luck is that bad," Charlie muttered.
"Harry's is," the twins countered. "Sorry, Ginny. Ron gets your cave."
"Bet's a bet," Bill shrugged, as if it didn't matter that Ginny might eviscerate, or fillet, or stone or turn them all into toads in their sleep.
"You're joking, right?" Incredulous at their casual tralalalalala attitudes, Ginny stood in the courtyard, completely aghast.
They weren't joking. Ginny could tell, staring at all their calm, easy-going faces. Charlie's shrug as he picked a bit of palm leaf off the Fire Crab. The sympathetic, win-some-lose-some expression on the twins. The cocky smirk on Ron, who seemed to forget she had petrified one of his best friends.
They were the faces of stupid-arse brothers who just didn't understand. Couldn't understand, or at least, wouldn't.
Why couldn't her brothers comprehend the fact she wanted to believe them? She didn't want to go to bloody Beauxbatons, she didn't want to be mental, she didn't want to feel like something horrible was about to happen, something her own hands or her own wand would do without her knowledge or permission.
But what if… whatifwhatifwhatif. Why couldn't they imagine the whatifs the way she could?
Ginny glared the glare of a small-boned, redheaded runt. "When I end up murdering half of you in your bunks, we'll all regret this."
The sun was high in the sky, the air was thick, and it was too damned hot to do anything else. With a shake of her head, Ginny spun around, shoving her way past cross-legged Ron to the tent where she could clear her head, or sweat out her temper.
"Ginny!" Ron, a fierce expression on his face, sprang to his feet.
Her former best playmate, her partner in crime. They used to fling themselves off the branch overhanging the pond to see who could make the biggest splash. Ron always won; he was bigger. But Ginny was faster. She never lost a race back to the house.
But he joined the other brothers facing her. A bloody united front, that wall of brothers. All stubborn and gingery, with the sun overhead multiplying their freckles.
She hated them and loved them so much, so fiercely, in equal measure.
As fast as Ron had sprung up, he sighed. He stared into her until finally, he dropped his shoulders. "Ginny, we trust you. Why can't you trust you?"
She didn't have an answer for him.
But before the silence could stretch, before it demanded a response, an apparition pop cracked through the courtyard. Oblivious to any tension in their offspring, Ginny's parents appeared on the path, laughing as they approached the tent.
Her Dad's cheerful, "How did this morning's class go?" was met with seven voices, in unison, assuring, "fine."
Code of Silence, and all that.
Ginny turned a tight smile to her parents. "We've decided to make some changes with the sleeping arrangements," Ginny said.
Then, unwilling to be around her siblings a moment longer, she made her way back into the tent.
She almost crashed into the blackboard, which was so close to the entrance it might have been eavesdropping. On a whim, she asked it, "Best Brother odds?"
Immediately, the board spun and all the numbers beneath her brothers' names flipped to zero.
Ginny snorted, oddly satisfied with that, at least.
()()()
()()()
In the dark tent, Ginny could do nothing but stare, helpless, into the abyss that was the underside of the bunk above her. It was not the darkness that was horrifying tonight, but rather, the wheezing dissonance caused by drafts of dry air scraping through various Weasley nasal passages.
With an unheard groan, Ginny rolled over onto her stomach, yanking her pillow over her head. First night out of her cave, she understood why Ron had wanted to move. Her Dad must have put some sort of silencing something on that flap, which is why she hadn't noticed just how awful that sound was before. Merlin's bloody bollocks, there had to be something medically wrong with her brothers.
Ginny could practically hear the condescending drip of Auntie Muriel's critique. "Weasleys are boys, Ginevra," Ginny mimicked into the mattress. "Orangey hair. Pinky skin. Deviated septums."
The roar of the snore drowned out Ginny's posh imitation, which was too bad, because she would have enjoyed some feedback to make sure she was getting it just right.
Ginny flipped over again, dislodging the pillow just as the snoring roared to even greater heights. No wonder she had no issues sneaking out of the house half her life. If this was what they sounded like behind closed doors, she wasn't ever going to worry about that damned creaky step ever again. She could march down the stairs beating a damned drum and they still wouldn't wake.
When her Dad decided to do his deep sleep impression of a cave troll under a somnambulous charm, Ginny finally gave up. Without half the care she spent sneaking out under the tent from her old cave, Ginny dragged the light blanket off the bed and marched herself out the front flap.
The sky above was covered in visible constellations; dawn was a long way off.
She didn't really want to sleep anyway, Ginny thought. She wrapped the thin blanket around her shoulders and pulled one of the lounge chairs out from beneath the canopy so she could lay and stare at the sky. Just… stars and stars and stars, as far as she could see. The names of the constellations, drilled by Percy, flickered across her mind, but she tried to dismiss them. Knowing what she was looking at ruined the experience.
Even so, the sky felt so much further away than it used to.
It was just as well, Ginny supposed, that she couldn't sleep. She could always tell, these days, the nights when the nightmares would be bad. It was usually because she was in a temper about something or other.
But not all her restless dreams were nightmares. She had one a few days ago with monks and nuns and some sort of giggling tryst that happened every second Wednesday or Saturday or something or other. She woke up confused rather than shaking or screaming. Step up, but still made for a yawn-filled day.
Silly little Ginevra.
"Shut up, Tom," she muttered, absently. Reflex at this point.
Except it wasn't really Tom she was talking to, though, was it? It wasn't really Tom in her head. At least, if her brothers were to be believed.
Ginny didn't enjoy pondering on general principle. She knew she was more of a "go" type person than a "let's sit around and think about it" kind of person. But even a "go" person could stop and think about how messed up her brain was if she had a voice in her head that sounded like Tom Riddle. Especially if her family was right and Tom Riddle was gone.
The most insane things had been done by witches and wizards with voices inside their heads. Ginny knew them all now, because the craziest ones got put on the Chocolate Frog cards Fred and George were making her use as a study guide.
She heard her Best Self and her Less-Than-Best Self all the time. Those were voices in her head. But they didn't seem like the crazy chocolate card ones. Ginny knew very well they weren't actual voices; they were just parts of Ginny.
Which led to the very uncomfortable question, if the voice of Tom was just a part of Ginny… what was it? Not her Best Self or Less-Than-Best-Self, obviously. Did she have a So-Evil-a-Nice-Halloween-Includes-Trying-to-Off-a-Baby Self?
Is that what Tom Riddle left with her? Or left in her?
Ginny didn't get to ponder the question that had no answer for long, because a small light appeared over on the other side of the courtyard, from a lounge chair Ginny hadn't noticed.
"Little girl terrible sleeper."
Ginny almost fell off her lounge as she spun around, a bit embarrassed she missed the fact she wasn't alone. The grizzled old curse-breaker from the scary tomb also seemed to have trouble sleeping. He was sitting in another low lounge chair as far away from the sleeping camels as one could be without going onto the dunes. Once again, he was fiddling with his curse box.
"You don't seem to be interested in sleep either," Ginny grumbled. "Haven't you opened that thing yet? That Barkers box?"
The man snorted. "Barkius Box. Girl open imitation box yet?"
"No," Ginny replied, irrationally proud of her ineptitude. "It's pressing the wrinkles out of my-"
Without a sound, the man flicked his wand. The flap on the Weasley tent opened and Ginny's paperweight came flying out, the man catching it deftly in a hand covered in age spots.
"Oi!" Ginny snapped. "That's not yours."
The man ignored her. He weighed Ginny's box, the one Bill had given her for Christmas a lifetime ago. In the light of his wand, he studied it from one side, shut his eyes and hmmphed. He tapped it a couple times and it glowed. The wrinkles and crags in his face cast shadows and the glow of the box was reflected in the watery pools of his eyes.
Grumpily, Ginny noticed that tapping the box did not make his hair stand on end.
Finally, he grunted. "Not bad, imitation box. Brother make?"
"Yes, that's what I said." Ginny said, creeping a bit closer.
"What is name?"
"Bill."
The man sighed with impatience. "Not brother name. Little girl name."
"Well, how was I to know? Your English lacks modifiers," she grumbled.
The old man harrumphed. "I tell goblin liaison, I not speak Gobbledegook. I tell Egypt curse-breaker, not speak Arabic. I tell English curse-breaker, not speak English. I speak all little bit. But tell them no. Is quieter."
"Wait a moment," Ginny paused, suddenly finding herself a bit tickled, in spite of her general broodiness. "You mean, you're very famous and you've told my brother and all his colleagues you don't speak all these languages, just so they won't pester you?"
"Like quiet. Is vacation time."
"Are you so famous you have your own Chocolate Frog card?"
He glared at her.
"That's alright." Ginny found his irritation comforting. She had lost so much, but still retained her ability to be irritating. "Not every famous person gets a Chocolate Frog card."
"Have card."
"Oh. Well, that's nice. Are you as valuable as Jocunda Sykes?"
"No."
He looked put out by that statement. Ginny decided to stop taking the piss out of him. "My name is Ginny Weasley, since you asked."
"That is not name." He did not take his eyes off of Bill's box for the statement.
Ginny was yanked out of her momentary friendliness by the dismissive tone in his voice. "Excuse me. Of course it's my name. I may not know when I'm blowing through a secret go-away ward, but I certainly know my own name, thank you very much."
"Bah," the old man waved his hand in the air. "Ginny is small name. Little girl name. What is name?"
"Oh, you mean what is Ginny short for?" Ginny sighed. "It's really awful."
"Ginny short for Ginger?"
"No. For the record, I'm a redhead, not a ginger."
"Eugenia?"
"Ew."
"Gingivitis?"
"Now you're just being silly. It's Ginevra."
"Ginevra." He murmured it to himself, almost as if he were rolling it on his tongue, before he conjured a pair of spectacles and peered at her through them. Then with another swish of his wand, they disappeared and he announced, "Ginevra is good name, Ginny Weasley."
"You just said that 'Ginny' was 'name for little girl'," Ginny wrinkled her nose at him.
"Yes, is name for little girl. Ginny? Little girl. Ginevra? Grow into. Is good name."
Silly little girl.
She winced, because the voice had been silent for several minutes, up to now. Frustrated, her temper flared without real cause. "You're full of crap, you know. Ginevra's an awful name."
And maybe that was a bit of an overreaction, but who the fuck did this man think he was, frog card or not? "My Mum calls me Ginevra when I've done something wrong, a brother calls me Ginevra when he's being pompous, and an evil twat called me Ginevra constantly, Ginevra this, and Ginevra that, as he was eating my soul, and that's not a bloody metaphor."
She snapped the last bit out. Then, afraid she said too much, she slammed her jaw shut, her teeth practically clacking together.
The grizzled man, said nothing, but his whole body stilled. Though, even still, Ginny felt like she could feel his gaze pushing at her anyway.
Then his wand arm twitched and his spectacles popped onto his nose again as he stared at her. Prodding, looking for something.
"Soul eater?" he asked softly, an ominous rumble in his accented voice.
For some reason, Ginny's bones felt a phantom ache as she stilled, realizing what she had just done.
Talking with a stranger, spilling all her secrets on the chance of a sympathetic ear, is what got her into this whole mess in the first place.
She spun, darting back into the relative safety of her family's tent.
()()()
()()()
A "random" phoenix appeared outside their tent during breakfast buffet the next morning.
Her brothers weren't fooling anyone.
Fawkes flamed into being right above the tea service, just as Percy was buttering his toast. Ron's juice goblet went flying in the air. Subsequently, Ginny's Dad was covered in orange pulp, which was too bad because he was one of the few people she was related to that didn't deserve it.
"Oh for heaven's sake," her Mum bustled her Dad off to change his shirt when even her cleaning charm couldn't get rid of the citrusy smell. Her Mum was obviously too Prewett to tolerate excessive citrus.
As they left, Fawkes released a letter from Dumbledore before flaming out. It floated above Ginny. She had to stand on the bench to grab it before it could fall into her porridge.
"She's never going to be satisfied with a regular owl again," Fred smirked, as he crossed to the table and picked her up by the waist. He lifted her a few more inches so she could snag the floating, rotating letter out of the air.
Ginny was still too irritated at all of them, so instead of thanking Fred, she rolled her eyes. "Please, as if any of you send regular owls."
She let them stew in that a moment before opening her letter from Dumbledore, which was nice and all. It had four pages of parchment, listing all the evidence from various sources regarding historical possession. At the very end, there was a small scribble she had a hard time deciphering, T something-something D R… no idea. Ginny guessed the important part buried somewhere in the four pages was the conclusion assuring her she was no longer possessed.
Ginny lifted her chin to peer at six innocent looking brothers standing about. "Which one of you put Dumbledore up to this?"
Six voices chimed as one. "Code of Silence."
Seething, Ginny mentally counted to ten.
"The point is not who wrote Dumbledore." Percy offered. "The point is, you need to believe that you aren't going to hurt anyone. You're not possessed. Tom Riddle is gone, Ginny."
"Dumbledore knows stuff, Ginny," Ron said, biting into his toast. "If you don't believe us, believe him."
She didn't need Dumbledore. She had almost convinced herself last night that Tom was gone. Almost. Anyway, the whole flaming phoenix thing seemed a bit overkill, wasn't it?
She found herself being unreasonably contrary. She knew she was being unreasonable, but, pfft, honestly. It wasn't that she didn't think Dumbledore (despite his advanced age and disinterest in the actual lives of any students at Hogwarts save for the ones who did things like kill basilisks or knock out mountain trolls) didn't know anything.
He knew the twelve uses of dragon's blood. He knew stuff about alchemy. He enjoyed chamber music, ten-pin bowling and defeated Grindelwald. But did Grindelwald possess people? No. No he didn't.
So, there was absolutely nothing on Dumbledore's Chocolate Frog card that gave any indication he was an expert on possession. Waste of perfectly decent phoenix.
Ginny just didn't know who was an expert on possession, though. That's who she would appreciate a fucking phoenix from, thank you very much.
But she didn't want to get into it with her brothers… again… so she let it go, instead rolling her eyes at her Dad as he emerged back from the tent, in a fresh shirt. "So," Ginny said, with a sigh, just wanting to change the subject. "What's the class for this morning, then?"
The blackboard, with "Astronomy Facts" highlighted in chasing lights, shot out of the tent. George ran his hands through his hair, standing it on end. "I thought we figured out how to lock that thing down!"
"It was Fred's turn," Percy said, as he ducked a flying piece of chalk.
"I thought Ron was-" The board, hearing the name, spun around and barreled into Ron who had just finished refilling his goblet. "Oi!"
Ginny's Mum patted her on the shoulder in sympathy, as it was now Ginny's turn to stomp back into the tent for a fresh shirt, due to excess citrus. "Barmy. This whole family is barmy," she muttered, quite aware the language was insufficient, but unwilling to risk her Mum's scourgify again.
()()()
()()()
Whether it was due to the aforementioned citrus, or whether they felt sorry she had lost her cave, Ginny's parents finally decided maybe they shouldn't pretend they were on a second honeymoon while Ginny was being tortured by brothers armed with Chocolate Frog facts anymore.
Or maybe they just didn't want Ginny to return from Egypt without ever having seen anything other than a blackboard, a camel and a bunch of sand.
For whatever the reason, her parents decided Ginny should get away from camp. But not on a holiday, or anything. While they never said anything outright against the French the way her brothers did, Ginny had caught her Mum occasionally mumbling things about confit, and reduction sauces and "melting a slab of cheese over the top doesn't mean they get to claim the soup for France." Her parents were as borderline Francophobic as the rest of them, and that meant Ginny still had to study.
"But there's no reason," her Mum had said, "why you can't walk and study magic at the same time."
Ginny had never been so grateful to her Mum. Since Ron had claimed her cave and won the day off, Ginny realized Charlie was right. Not that she'd admit it. It was way more fun learning stuff she'd never need to know in the real world when there was a race involved.
And if there weren't a race? She might as well get to see some sights while Percy was torturing her with Astronomy facts.
Though, Ginny thought, as she and Percy straggled behind the rest of the family, she wondered whether her Mum had been saving this particular outing. It wasn't dangerous like a tomb. They had taken the Egyptian version of the Knight bus to what Bill referred to as a "muggle flea market."
In the marketplace, crowded with stalls and barking vendors, Ron had (at full vocal volume) wanted to know where the Muggles actually kept the fleas and why they wanted to buy and sell them in the first place. Ginny wasn't close enough to thwap him on the head, but she kept a lookout for the Statute of Secrecy guard, and wondered how much it would cost in galleons to bail him out of Egyptian jail. Maybe it would be too expensive and they'd have to leave him there. It was what he deserved, because contrary to what professors said, there was such a thing as a stupid question.
But, apparently Egypt didn't give a damn about secrecy and Ron, sadly, continued to walk free as she and Percy were straggling behind the rest of the family.
Percy hurried her along, unsympathetic to her desire to pause and gaze at stuff. She wanted to see stuff. She never got to see stuff, and she was on vacation and the purpose of vacation was to see stuff. It was like Percy had completely forfeited the aspiration of Best Brother and decided to race toward the bottom, he was so relentless. "How many major stars in Ursa Major?" Percy asked, ducking beneath an arch hanging across the market alley.
His taskmaster voice cut through the sounds of hawkers and shoppers. Bill, his red head tall and visible in the crowd, led them through the bustle dominating the narrow alleys as they picked their way to the wizarding portion of the market, which Bill said could be accessed through some hanging silks in front of an azure tent.
"Twenty," Ginny muttered absently, trying to see over the shoulders of Fred and George, who were blocking the view in front of her. "Seven of which compromise the Plough, and those jars over there, they don't actually have livers in them, do they?"
"Focus, Ginny," Percy sighed. "Focus."
"Bill said part of the fun of being a tourist is doing touristy things." Ginny would have wholeheartedly agreed with him, if Percy would just let her pause a moment and touch the fabrics (synthetic, her mother sniffed) or genuine antiques (which Bill said were made in China) and maybe ask a few questions about what life was like in the area. "I can't answer your questions and do the touristy things."
"You are not a tourist. You are a scholar." Percy sniffed. "Now, name the stars in the Plough."
"What am I ever going to need to know that for?"
"Tests."
Fred and George, eavesdropping, joined Team Ginny. "Where is she ever going to use this information?"
"Tests." Percy repeated, and glared at the twins until they backed down. Percy was obviously higher in the hierarchy. "Stop stalling, Ginny. Stars in the Plough, please."
"Are you serious?" So many things to see in the muggle section, and Percy was ruining it.
"No, Sirius is not one of the stars in the Plough," Percy replied, rather pompously. "But for extra credit-"
"-oh, I'm getting credit for this?"
"For the opportunity to show off your knowledge to a prefect," Percy sniffed. "Sirius is colloquially known as?"
Ginny huffed, angry that Ron had been able to skip Percy's "Walk and Tourist Astronomy Revision" session, because it was next to unbearable. "The dog star."
"Why?"
"Because it smells like wet dog," Ginny snapped, her eyes on a muggle carpet she bet her dad could make fly.
Now it was Percy's turn to huff. "Ginevra…"
"Part of Canis major, Canis being Latin for smelly wet dog." Ginny droned. For bonus annoying sister points, she made a point of rolling her eyes as she tried to catch sight of all the things that were just passing her by as Percy took her elbow and urged her forward to narrow the distance between the two of them and the rest of the rather conspicuous redheaded family.
"I don't think you're taking this seriously." He snorted, as he stepped over some fruit that had fallen out of a basket as the owner of the stall scurried over to retrieve it before the tourists could smash his merchandise. "Oh. Ha. Get it? Seriously… Dog star."
Ginny groaned, because Percy shouldn't try to make jokes. It was unnatural. "Merlin's saggy drawers, just kill me now."
"And you didn't answer the question. Seven stars which compromise the Plough."
"AM-AM-PM-D." They had caught up to the rest of the family, who had paused in front of some sort of area that had a crowd of people standing and clapping in front of a large, curtained box. What was that box? She wanted to get closer, but Percy was staring at her expectantly.
"Knowing the first letter of each of them doesn't count. Names."
"Alkaid, Miziar, Alioth, Megrez, Phecda, Merak, Dubhe where the sun don't shine!" Several heads turned her way as Ginny sang the names of the stars to the tune of a little ditty, which was the only way she could remember them.
A muggle tourist threw a coin at her. She caught it, but before she could ask why, Percy grabbed her elbow and nudged her forward again.
Ducking under Percy's arm, Ginny wound her way through the crowd, keeping her eye on her Dad's "dressed to blend in" muggle shirt, which was a blinding lime color with large yellow flowers. Around his neck he had transfigured one of their empty water canteens into something that sort of resembled a muggle camera.
On his feet, he wore socks and sandals. Ginny thought he looked quite muggle, as she moved to his side so she could take his free hand. His other rested gently on her Mum's back as she leaned forward and asked Bill a bunch of questions.
Her Dad though, wasn't listening to Bill. Instead, he was watching with wide-eyed happiness some sort of dramatic theatre that was happening in that curtained box in front of them.
Intrigued, Ginny reached up onto her tiptoes, craning her neck until she could see that the box wasn't quite as large as she thought. The "play" that had so enchanted her Dad was not actually performed by people, but with some sort of dolls. "Why are they on strings?" Ginny whispered to her Dad, after tugging on his sleeve so he would lean down.
The crowd whooped as one doll, puppet really, kicked the other one around the small stage, chasing it on its strings and battering it over the head with the wooden stick stuck on to its carved hand. The other doll began to dance around the first one until it got so dizzy its strings began to tangle. "I think," her Dad replied, "they need the strings because they can't do a tarantallegra charm."
All the Muggles around her, young and old, were laughing. The puppets jerked, the expression on their faces static, as disembodied voices came from above, while the jaws of puppet flapped.
There was something grotesque about the movement, almost, Ginny thought.
However, instead of recoiling Ginny inched forward bit by bit until she was standing with the smaller children in the front. When she was so close she could have reached out and touched the puppet box, she ducked down and tried to look up under the frame to see where the strings led. Whose were the hands? Surely there were hands holding the strings, manipulating the carved characters into intricate dances of choreographed movement.
She accidentally trod upon the toes of one of the children, and her gaze was torn away as she muttered her apology. Before she could return to figuring out how the things worked, the puppets were bowing. Then, two heads popped up behind the box and a hat was passed around.
Oddly disquieted, Ginny followed the lead of the Muggles around her. Into the hat, she absently dropped the coin she had caught earlier, her eyes still glued to the curtained box.
The empty opening of the box with its small curtain seemed awful.
Where had the puppets gone, now that they were behind that curtain? Were they just lying there on the ground, now that their part was over? Tangled in their own strings, unable to move on their own?
Without someone moving their arms and legs, and giving them high-pitched voices, what were they? Just bits of wood and string with a painted expression and no voices of their own?
"Ginny!"
Percy had caught up with her.
He caught her elbow, pulling it forward.
Ginny frowned at her arm, dangling from Percy's grip, but didn't understand quite why the sight made her shiver.
"Sorry, I lost you there," Percy huffed. "Where were we?"
"The Plough," Ginny muttered, imagining the shape of the tool. Pushed across the sky.
He sighed. "Right. What is distinctive about the last two stars in the Plough?"
Ginny muttered the answer, somehow feeling… off. Her mood had taken a wrong turn, somewhere, as her feet followed behind the rest of the family. Bill, with a pointed nod, ducked into a small alley that had silks hanging from various draping lines. After pushing their way past the third one, he tapped the alley wall in a manner not unlike Diagon Alley, and another section of the marketplace opened up.
Her Mum oohed at the bright and bustling wizard market that differed from the muggle one by virtue of the items being sold. At the sight of wizards running back and forth, and the laughter, and the haggling, Ginny pulled away from Percy, accidentally bumping into a peddler selling with dozens and dozens of amulets hanging, like the muggle puppets, from the covered cart. "Sorry!" she mumbled, disoriented.
The hawker leered down at her and gestured at the amulets, spitting angry words at her she didn't know.
She leaped back at his irritation and bumped into yet another hawker in the narrow alley. Muttering another apology, she raced forward to catch up with Bill in the lead…
…only to pause when she heard a sibilant voice speak to her.
…. Stay… … …. Stay…. ….. Stay….
Ginny spun. Where? All around her wizards and witches spoke, but that voice? Where was that voice coming from?
Abandoning her family, Ginny pushed her way through the crowd, trying to pinpoint the sound.
Hawkers yelled about her, but the sibilant voice continued to hiss beneath distant music: a reedy, whining pipe far more sly and coaxing than the mournful drone of the Highland pipes she was more accustomed to.
Ginny swerved around a corner as Bill and her parents yelled after her. Her rough sandals skidded to a stop at the rear of another crowd. It was smaller than the muggle one in front of the puppets, but if the awed murmurs and fixed expressions on their faces were to be believed, they were no less entertained.
…. Stay…. … … Stay…
A command. Agitated. Embedded beneath the sounds of hissing.
Horrified, Ginny discarded everything resembling manners and shoved her way through the crowd. She had to see it. Pushing people out of the way with elbow jabs, Ginny had to see what she feared she was hearing.
Ducking low, she squeezed her small frame between the hips of a couple whose eyes were riveted upon the colorful display before them. Beneath a stall selling flying carpets sat a small, wrinkled wizard on a straw mat.
He was swaying slightly, blowing hot air into his reed pipe in front of a basket. Inside the basket, the head of a snake rose, swaying in opposite motion to the wizened coaxer.
It rose and fell, up, down, side, side, its tongue flicking out into the air, as if tasting it.
…. Stay…. Stay…
The sibilant words were coming from the snake.
"Oh no," Ginny gasped. Floundering, she tried to back away, but the crowd was packed too tight, and the snake swayed again with its deadly taunt.
…. Stay….
It was one of her nightmares, she knew what it was saying. It hadn't been just a simple nightmare, that last one back at the Burrow, with its taunting, hissing….
No, no, Ginny's heart started pounding and she was afraid she was talking. Was she talking? Or was that wheezing sound just air? Was she hissing? Was she trying to talk back because it hadn't just been a memory of the chamber, or playing with hissing sounds, or strange accidental magic?
Just as suddenly, she realized she wasn't hissing, but she was gasping for air, whimpering over and over, "it's the snake, it's the-"
"Ginny?"
Bill had caught up to her, shoving past the crowd. His hands curved gently around her shoulders as he turned her, and Ginny gaped up at him, her mouth babbling words she couldn't control. "Bill, oh Merlin, it's the snake. I hear the snake."
"Ginny-"
"Bill," she wailed, her eyes darting about as she realized she was beginning to make a scene, the witches and wizards in this foreign land staring at her oddly. "Bill! I understand the snake."
Bill's concerned eyes darted to the snake and then back to Ginny as he leaned down to hold her panicked face in his palms. "Bill," she cried. "You're wrong! Everyone's wrong! I wanted you to be right, I want-wanted it so badly but you're not. He's still here. He's still in my head. Bill!"
Her eldest brother yelled something at Charlie, and as Ginny succumbed to a full-blown panic attack, he picked her up and apparated her out of the marketplace.
()()()
()()()
Disoriented, Ginny tumbled out of Bill's hold onto a pile of hot sand, gulping the dry air as it scorched her throat.
A few moments later, she was picked up and set down on a small chair in front of a tent that wasn't part of the glamp, Bill handed her a bottle of water. She reached out for it, only to realize at some point she had drawn her wand.
"Oh Merlin," she gasped, shocked to see it in her hand. Thrusting it at Bill, she cried out. "Take it, I can't have a wand. I can't-"
"Ginny, you're fine with a wand," Bill said softly, reasonably. "You've been fine with a wand."
He didn't understand. He was Bill and he couldn't possibly understand. In a panic, Ginny tried again. "You keep saying that, but now we know! I don't know what I might do-"
"You," Bill said firmly, his jaw tensing. "You are not going to hurt me or anyone else. Now, I can go brew a calming draught, but I guarantee, you'll feel better if you calm yourself. Breathe, Ginny. Slow."
Her hair was stuck to the back of her sweaty neck, and she tried- she truly did- to listen to Bill, but her arm started to shake and she tossed her grandmother's wand into the sand so she couldn't cast anything.
A pop sounded and Charlie appeared a few feet away. He almost stepped on her wand, instead picking it up and handing it to her, as if she hadn't just ditched it. "Got Mum and Dad caught up with the tour guide. Said Ginny was overheated. They think you took her back for a nap."
On reflex, Ginny's head snapped up at the word "nap."
Charlie had the gall, the unmitigated gall, to wink at her. "The Twins, however, picked up something was wrong. They started diversionary tactics. There's an angry fishmonger and two dozen eels wearing Cannons jerseys you may need to sort out."
She ignored that part. "Nap?" Her breathy tone was nonetheless incredulous.
"Alright," Bill sighed. "We'll go into damage control mode and set Mum and Dad up with a Sunset Nile River cruise that should keep them occupied this evening, while we sort this out with Ginny."
Charlie crossed his arms, glancing at Ginny. "Ginny's fine. Doesn't need sorting."
"I do need sorting!" Ginny cried. While the momentary distraction of being classified as someone who "naps" yanked Ginny's head out of an out-of-control panicky spin, the fact was, she so absolutely needed sorting. With a quick flip of her wand, she yelled "Confundo" at Charlie, to prove it. "Now," she growled at Charlie. "Tell me again what I should do with my overheated self."
Charlie blinked at her, disoriented. "What were we talking about?"
"See?" She whipped back around to Bill, holding out her wand in a helpless plea. "I need sorting! Ron's right, I'm mental! I know spells I shouldn't! Along with feelings I shouldn't! Do you know how hard it's been to just yell answers over Ron and not confundo his thoughts into a pile of spaghetti? But I shouldn't know confundo!"
"Huh," Bill glanced at her wand, and tilted his head to peer at her. "That's a NEWT level spell, Ginny, well done."
"It's not well done!" Ginny cried, because Bill just wasn't concerned enough. "I keep trying to tell you, and none of you believe me! I know things I shouldn't know! It's not just me in my brain! I need, I need, I need to be separated from peaceful non-dangerous wizards! France isn't even far enough, or secure enough! Azkaban! I need to be thrown in Azkaban."
He raised a brow at her, seemingly unconcerned. "Do you? Unforgivable curses send you to Azkaban. What's the wand movement for the Cruciatus curse?"
Ginny, horrified he even asked, opened her mouth to yell at him. Then she shut it, just as quickly.
Ginny realized she didn't know the wand movement. She couldn't picture the movement, or even the incantation. She didn't know how to cast the Cruciatus curse.
"You don't know, do you?" Bill said, pushing. "Tom Riddle would have known. But I don't think Tom Riddle cast it when he possessed you. So you don't know it. How did you learn colovaria, Ginny?"
"I watched Mum do it about a thousand times in the hospital," Ginny snapped. "But-"
"But nothing, Ginny. You learned colovaria by watching. You learned alohamora by watching. You've been watching people do spells around you since the day you were born, and you learn by watching. Some part of you was watching Tom Riddle do those spells."
Rather, though, than comforting her, the statement just made Ginny panic more. "But I don't remember! I don't know! I need-"
"We'll figure out what you need, Ginny. But first, take a deep breath." Bill sat next to her, and it was only when he dipped down to look her in the eye that Ginny realized she was close to hyperventilating again. "Walk me through step-by-step what happened at the market. Don't think about the confundo, or what is - or isn't- in your brain. Just, step-by-step today."
Ginny's stomach started to flutter again. "I heard the snake-"
"Go back. Step-by-step."
Ginny shut her eyes, picturing it. "I was in the marketplace. Percy was quizzing me. Astronomy. I kept getting distracted. Sometimes puns make Percy's lips purse and his face goes all red."
"Yeah," Bill said, with an encouraging half-smile.
"I stopped and watched those awful puppets. Then we moved to the wizard section and I-I heard something speaking in Parseltongue."
"A snake," Bill said flatly.
Charlie whistled, having recovered from the confusion spell. "Have you always heard snakes? Because there's a rumor that dragons and snakes-"
"No!" Ginny yelled at him. "I haven't 'always!' And I swear to all things Merlin, Charlie, if you are making light of this, because dragons-"
"Just think of the potential conversations-"
"Charlie!"
The git started to laugh. "That's better," he wiped a fake tear from his eye.
The playful gesture managed to be so condescending it stoked her temper past boiling. "What's better? What could possibly be better than-"
"You're not pasty white anymore. You're yelling, but you're breathing is regulated. Angry is better than spooked."
That… that just… well, that just defused the whole temper-bomb outright. Bloody hell, Ginny felt like one of the twin's slime balls, bouncing from one mood to the other. She hated being emotionally manipulated by her brothers.
Pfft. Especially when it was effective.
"Now," Charlie took off his hat and settled it on Ginny's head. "So you don't burn. When did you start understanding snakes?"
"Last year," she snapped. "You know. Well, he-" she trailed off.
Bill and Charlie exchanged cryptic glances that made Ginny feel like she was a freak of nature.
After a moment, Bill nodded briskly. "You understand Parseltongue, because You-Know-Who-"
"-was a Parseltongue, and that's how I told the basilisk-"
"He," Bill said firmly, a look of frustration crossing his face. "He told the basilisk, Ginny. It was never your choice. Not your choice, not your words, not your intent. Why can't you see that?"
"Because it was my voice, Bill." Ginny whispered, trying to get him to understand. "It was my voice and my wand and I would- I would wake up smeared in blood. And I didn't know…"
She didn't know what to say to them, to make them understand the terror. "I tried to fight. Fight back. But he showed me, over and over that he was the one in control."
"Ginny," Bill shook his head, and pressed the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "He's gone."
"That's what everyone keeps saying, but how do you know that?" Her voice started to rise again. She felt mad, because she'd been asking this question over and over and over again, and her brothers and her parents and her teachers just shrugged and said Tom was gone.
But how would they know, how could they be SO sure, when they didn't know he was there in the first place?
Ginny appealed to Bill. "Why don't you understand that Dumbledore can send a thousand phoenixes and send stacks of parchment, but he's not an expert on possession, is he?"
But Ginny couldn't spin around that anymore, so she tried a different tact. "And if a part of me isn't him, why can I understand snakes? Why can I still speak Parseltongue? How-"
"What did the snake say, Ginny?" Charlie interrupted.
Ginny had to shake the fog out of her brain for a moment to follow Charlie's abrupt change of subject. "What?"
Charlie held up a hand to Bill to keep from interrupting but kept his steady gaze on Ginny. He knelt down a few yards away from her, his hands held out gently, as if soothing some… well, some baby dragon or other wild creature. "We're just walking through this step-by-step, remember?"
Ginny shut her eyes and nodded.
"So, Ginny, tell me what he said. The snake?"
"Um… well… there was a lot of hissing, and the word "stay" in between. Over and over again."
Charlie moved closer, kneeling right in front of her. "And what was the snake doing?"
"Is this really necessary?" Ginny groaned.
Charlie smiled his patient dragon-tamer smile and told the truth. "I don't know. Let's hear it and decide. What was the snake doing?"
"It was in a basket, with its head up weaving back and forth in front of a bloody snake charmer," Ginny said.
"Was the snake charmer also swaying?"
"I don't know! What? Did you think I stopped to take a picture? And what does that have to-"
"Ginny," Charlie's easy smile was long gone, but a small, sad quirk of his lip happened. "Snake charmers are charlatans. They make it sound like they are charming the snake with their music, but the snake is actually trying to get a line of sight on a potential prey."
Ginny frowned. "What does that even mean?"
"It means, the snake was telling the charmer to stay still."
Ginny thought about that for a moment. "So… the snake was…"
"But you didn't understand the word 'still.' Or maybe it was a fairly verbose snake with an attitude and a foul mouth who was saying 'bloody damned reed blower, stay the fuck still.' You? You only picked up 'stay.'"
Bill stared at Charlie. "You're really going to talk like that in front of her?"
"She's worse than I am."
"Because everyone talks like that in front of her." Bill sighed. "I think what Charlie is trying to say, is if you heard hissing, you did hear hissing, right?"
Ginny nodded, confused.
"You heard a word you knew. Then hissing sounds you didn't. Then the word you knew again. You don't speak Parseltongue, Ginny. You're more like… like someone who only knows a few words of a different language, and you can recognize those words and read those words, but all the words around it don't give it context."
"So," Ginny shook her head. "Are you saying that I'm… I'm, what?"
"I think you were right about one thing. It was your voice and it was your hand and your wand. Somewhere in your mind, you remember, Ginny," Bill said gently. "You were there. You may not know what happened while you were possessed, but somewhere in your brain it's there."
"But-"
"But that means," Bill said briskly, "you're not possessed. And that's what you're really worried about, right? That's why you make Mum and Dad charm your door at the Burrow, and why you look at your wand as if it were going to do magic on its own."
"But what if-"
Bill began to chuckle. "Ginny, I'm a curse-breaker, working in Egyptian tombs. Do you know how often curse-breakers get possessed by some remnant of a memory in an object?"
No, she really didn't. "Sometimes?"
"All the time." Bill rolled his eyes. "We're trained not to touch anything we haven't done a dozen spells on, but we have one bloke on our team, Willoughby. Willoughby gets possessed at least once a week. It's usually benign, but he goes off half-cocked and says a bunch of barmy things. One time he tried to wake a mummy with true love's kiss. We spent half a day breaking the possession, the other half sterilizing his lips before his fiancée found out."
Ginny didn't think it was the same thing, at all. "That's not-"
"What I'm trying to say, Ginny," Bill said softly. "You're not possessed. You don't think Dumbledore's an expert, because his Chocolate Frog card doesn't say so? Fine. Gringotts has experts we can talk to," he huffed. "Professor Barkius is here, for Merlin's sake. Expert. Doesn't speak English, but we could find a translator."
"Wait a moment," Ginny said. "That-" total faker who speaks English but pretends he doesn't, probably due to six brothers he doesn't want to talk to "-famous curse-breaker staying at the glamp. He's a Professor named Barkius? Er, he's named after a box?"
"Box is named after him, it's a training concept he invented for curse-breakers. He's the best in the world, Ginny, and the fact he's here at all is extraordinary because he's a bloody hermit," Bill said, emphatically. "But if getting the opinion of the foremost world expert is what it takes, Charlie and I will go kidnap a translator-"
"I speak Romanian." Charlie offered.
"He's not from Romania," Bill said.
"It would be so ironic if he were French," Ginny added, deadpan.
"Look," Bill shook his head, distracted. "I'll arrange a meeting with every single curse-breaker in Egypt and perform a bunch of diagnostic spells on you if that's what you need to sleep at night. You, and only you, are in your brain. What will it take to convince you?"
"I don't know." It was a nice offer, she knew. And while it would, perhaps, be funny to watch Bill and Charlie plot to kidnap an unnecessary translator, she knew she couldn't let them.
Her big brothers were staring at her, so patient. They were all so patient and had gone so much farther for her than she would have ever predicted they could or would.
And yet none of them seemed to understand.
She just didn't know how to explain what she was feeling. Yes, she was afraid she was possessed. But she was also afraid she wasn't possessed. That this… new Ginny, this awful Ginny… was just what she was now.
"I'm not the same," she whispered, trying to make them understand. "I'm not just scared. I know it seems like it, but it's not as simple… or as nice… as I don't want to hurt anyone. I'm angry. Sometimes it feels like the fear is just hiding the anger. And then sometimes it's the other way around and it's so confusing."
It was Charlie's turn to sigh. "Ginny, none of that is because you understand a couple words in Parseltongue. Or were formerly, not now, overtaken by a dickhead in a diary. You're an adolescent dragon."
Bill groaned. "Twelve-year-old girl, not a dragon."
"I'm with Bill on this one," Ginny muttered.
Charlie smirked. "Bear with me, here. When a female dragon hits adolescence, they change. And yes, part of that is they get moody, they get angry, they kick a lot of things. Especially other members of the flight."
"Other members of their flight," Ginny said, flat. "Their brothers? They kick their brothers?"
"Not effectively." Charlie shrugged. "Mostly when the female stomps around she ends up breaking toes and claws, and scratching up her wings, and huffing and puffing and being a right pain to be around."
Ginny blinked. Then she blinked again. "I don't like this story. Bill doesn't like this story either."
"Reserving judgment for the end," Bill said.
"See? Bill hates it."
"Then," Charlie sat up, ignoring the side comments. He stared at her straight in the eye and said softly, "one day, she huffs and puffs and breathes fire, Ginny."
Something inside Ginny stilled as she tried to wrap her mind around what he was telling her.
He leaned in closer, staring her down, utterly serious. "Once the adolescent female breathes fire, everything falls in line. She eats when she wants, she flies where she wants, she sleeps where she wants and no one, not her brothers, not other clutches, not wizard nor witch nor beast messes with her. You understand?"
Her words were unsteady as she searched Charlie for any artifice but found none. "I'm not the same. But… you're saying all this frustration and anger … just huffing and puffing?"
"Right. Just part of the process. You're learning how to breathe fire, Ginny. "
"Oh." Ginny pondered that idea for a moment. "Well, how long does it take the female dragons to learn to breathe fire?"
"Adolescent dragons? Maybe about twenty years. Sisters? No idea."
"Oh," Ginny sighed. "Well, fuck."
"Careful," Charlie said, trying to hide a smirk but not doing a particularly good job of it. "We've clocked Mum with a hearing radius of two point four miles."
"Why do all the best words have to be the naughty ones?" Ginny sighed, adjusting her hat, as the sun beat down on the three siblings. "You know, I think we better add the Weasley Anti-Scourgify potion to the curriculum."
Bill patted her on the shoulder. "Good plan."
"Also," Ginny said, shooting Charlie the side-eye. "You honestly think snakes say things like 'bloody damned reed blower, stay the fuck still?' Really?"
Charlie threw back his head and laughed. "Better learn how to make that potion in bulk, Ginny Bean."
Sun freckling their skin, the three siblings sat in front of Bill's tent, passing the water bottle between them as the last of Ginny's panic drifted away. "I'm going to need a bigger cauldron," she muttered.
()()()
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A\N: Once again, I'd like to say thanks to Curse-04 and ginnyweasley777 - I promise it's not their fault I wrote this many words in Egypt. Cheers :)