"The Trace isn't going to go off here—"
"That isn't the point," Mum said. Ginny could tell from her tone that she wouldn't be giving in, but Ron obviously hadn't realised the same, or at least was convinced he could talk her around. "The point is that you're not supposed to use magic in the holidays. You're lucky I've even let you keep your wands—"
"You've let us keep them so we can protect ourselves," Ron argued, "but what good is that if we don't know how?"
"Are you saying you don't?" Dora asked, raising her eyebrows, as she peeled away from them to head upstairs.
"I 'ave seen you fight," Fleur added, equally dubiously.
"If it's not going to do you any good, I'll just take it back, then, shall I?" Mum asked. Ginny elbowed Ron hard; she was on his side in all this, but if he didn't shut up, he was going to land them in a worse position than they were in already.
"No," Ron said, a little sulkily, and rubbed his ribs.
"Then stop complaining," Mum said firmly. She wiped her face on her sleeve; for the last hour, she, Fleur, and Dora had been running through duelling drills while Ginny, and Ron watched, and Hermione half-watched, half-read. Hermione probably could have joined in if she'd wanted to—Mum might disapprove, but it wasn't really her place to say no to Hermione—but she hadn't.
Ginny was grateful for the display of solidarity, though she wasn't sure she'd have done the same in Hermione's position. There was something to be said for watching and learning, but it was frustrating to not be allowed to join in. They'd be in this war just as much as the adults were… more, even, if previous years were anything to go by.
"Fine," Ron muttered, glowering as Mum followed Dora upstairs. Then he shoved his hands into his pockets and headed down to the kitchen, Ginny, Hermione, and Fleur in tow.
Kreacher was doing dinner tonight since Mum had been training, and he'd cooked early because Sirius and Remus needed to leave before the moon rose. As such, Ginny wasn't surprised to see Sirius already down there, with Stella in his lap and a half-finished plate of shepherd's pie in front of him.
Ginny was surprised to see Harry down there with him. He looked to be in a bad mood, but that wasn't anything new. Hermione offered him a small smile and got a grimace in return, but Ron went and sat right down beside him.
"Mum's being ridiculous," he said. He rested his arm on the table beside Harry's plate; Ginny hadn't missed that Harry's left arm—which had been bracing his plate—had dropped into his lap when they came downstairs, and apparently neither had Ron. "Thanks Kreacher."
"What are you lot going to do tonight?" Sirius asked, gently prising Stella's chubby hand off the dogtags around his neck. Ginny sat down beside them and tweaked Stella's arm, which earned her a one-toothed smile and a giggle.
"Pub," Fred said, bounding down the stairs. "Oliver's in London for a couple of days so a few of us are getting together."
"Want to come, Fleur?" George asked. "Cheers," he added, as Kreacher offered him a plate. "Ang and Alicia'll be there." Kreacher slid a plate down in front of Ginny and she smiled at him.
"Zat sounds lovely," Fleur said, beaming.
"Reckon Mum'd let us go?" Ron asked hopefully.
"What do you think?" Fred asked, and Ron scowled.
"Mmmm!" Stella announced, squirming in Sirius' arms; Remus and Dora had just appeared on the stairs. Remus was moving particularly gingerly, and though he didn't approach Stella or Sirius, he did smile tiredly. Dora smiled at the pair of them, then accepted a plate and sat down on Sirius' other side, pulling faces for Stella's amusement and winking at Ginny.
"You ready?" Sirius asked.
"No, take your time," Remus said, tone thick with sarcasm and a muted sort of discomfort. "There's no rush at all." Remus looked at Harry, who was picking at his dinner, and frowned. Ginny couldn't guess what he was thinking, but Harry's shoulders had bunched up.
"All right, then," Sirius said, standing. Stella, perhaps recognising that she'd need a new carer, reached for Harry. "Here, kiddo, want this?" He mimed throwing Stella over the table at Harry and while Harry put his hands— hand—up, his expression was panicked and he shook his head. Sirius' expression twitched, but not with amusement.
"Let him eat in peace, Sirius," Dora said, scooping her daughter out of Sirius' arms. "Or… relative just want to be close, eh?" she asked Stella, as she rounded the table and went to sit beside Harry; he shuffled rather gingerly over to make room for her, Ron adjusting his own position and moving their plates along. Stella immediately reached for Harry's glasses.
"Sirius."
"All right," Sirius said again, waving Remus towards the Floo. "Have a good night, everyone." Harry stared down at his plate, jaw set. There must have been something in his expression Ginny couldn't see, or in his scent; Sirius winced, then opened his mouth—
"Evening," Bill called as he and Percy came downstairs. Down the table, Fleur sat a little straighter and all the boys glanced in her direction—even Harry did. Sirius shut his mouth, shook his head, and retreated into the Floo.
Harry's head snapped up as it flared green and Ginny felt she could see his mood worsening. So, apparently, could Ron:
"We should have a game of Exploding Snap tonight," he said, nudging Harry with his elbow. Ginny heard Hermione suck in a breath, watched Percy cringe, saw Fred and George exchange glances, Fleur's eyes widen, and Dora's hair flash a worried green. Ginny kicked Ron under the table; Exploding Snap needed two hands. "I was thinking you and Hermione against me and Ginny… You'd play right?" he asked Hermione, who bobbed her head quickly, eyes still on Harry.
"Where's our invite?" George asked.
"You're going out," Ginny said.
"Are you?" Bill asked.
"Pub," Fred said, through a mouthful of his pie.
"You could come?" Fleur said hopefully, looking at Bill, who gave her a considering look. "And you, Percy?"
"I—er—" Ginny'd thought Ron could be hopeless around Fleur, but he had nothing on Percy. "—the pub isn't really—"
"Oliver's going to be there," George said.
"It will be fun," Fleur said.
"And it's a Friday, so no work tomorrow," Fred wheedled.
"All right," Percy said, as if he couldn't quite believe he was saying so.
"That's the spirit, Perce," George said. "Bill?"
"Probably not tonight," Bill said, reading over Hermione's shoulder. "Fidelius Charms, Hermione?" She made a non-committal sound and turned the page. Harry glanced over at her, expression almost curious, but he didn't say anything.
Percy sat down beside Ginny, pushing his bundle of paperwork and copy of the Evening Prophet into the middle of the table to make room for his dinner.
"Dad's going to be late home," Bill said, as he sat down next to Fred; Mum had just appeared on the stairs in fresh robes. "Saw him as Perce and I were leaving."
Mum's brow furrowed a little but she nodded and let Kreacher press a plate into her hands.
"This looks wonderful, Kreacher, thank you," she said, sitting down between Fleur and Ginny. "How was work, dears?"
There was a sudden clatter at the other end of the table; Dora had dropped her knife and fork. Beside her, Harry had pushed his plate away and was laying out Percy's copy of the Prophet.
"Sorry," Dora said, grimacing as she juggled Stella and her wand to Summon her cutlery off the floor; Ginny was sure she'd dropped them trying to beat Harry to the paper.
"Have they got the Cannons score in there?" Ron asked, leaning over Harry, to peel the paper open. Harry let him; he was still staring at where the front page — headlined DEMENTOR ATTACK IN ESSEX — had been. A moment later, he slid off the bench.
"Harry, dear, you've hardly touched your—"
"I've had enough," he said, and disappeared up the stairs.
There was a long moment of silence, broken only by a whine from Stella.
"I'm sorry," Percy said miserably. "I shouldn't have brought it—"
"S'not you, Perce," Ron said, folding the paper up now that Harry was gone, and tossing it back onto Percy's pile. He gave the stairs a helpless, troubled look. Hermione was staring after Harry too, lip between her teeth and very bright eyed.
Ginny was on her feet before she'd even really thought about it.
"Ginny?" Mum asked, a little distractedly.
"I've had enough, too," she said, stuffing a last, rather mountainous forkful of shepherd's pie into her mouth. "Thanks, Kreacher. Sorry."
She strode upstairs. Harry was well and truly gone, though he'd only had a few seconds' head start.
"Fine," Ginny muttered to herself, swinging around the balustrade onto the main staircase. Up, up, up she went until she was on Grimmauld's top floor. It was not an unfamiliar space to her, though she could probably count on one hand the number of times she'd been up there this summer; the only rooms up there were Harry's, Sirius', Kreacher's cupboard, and a bathroom, and Harry's shut, locked door had been sending a pretty clear message.
"Alohomora," Ginny said, and stomped into the room.
Though he had to have heard her coming, Harry must have assumed she wouldn't barge in the way she had; he looked genuinely surprised, blinking rather stupidly at her from the end of his bed. After a few seconds it settled into something more normal—closed off and broody.
"I'm not really in the mood for company," he said. His voice was quiet, and not rude, but direct. It would have had Hermione upset and backing out, and Ron assuring him that it was fine and that they'd do something later, would have had Mum apologising and Sirius' shoulders slumping in that helpless way that had become all too familiar.
Ginny went from annoyed to furious.
"And I'm not really in the mood for this," she snapped, waving a hand at him. Harry frowned and Ginny held his gaze and kicked the door shut behind her. "Everyone's on eggshells around you and it doesn't seem to be making things any better, so I'm not going to bother anymore."
"And you think coming to have a go at me's going to help?" Harry asked irritably.
"No one's tried yet," Ginny said, "so I suppose we'll find out. And even if it doesn't, telling you you're being a prat and getting to be angry with you for it is going to make me feel better than keeping my mouth shut and pretending you're not." He didn't get angry at that like she'd expected, nor did he get defensive or even offer an apology. His mouth turned down, but that was it.
"Anything else you want?" he asked, getting to his feet.
"Yeah," she said, "I want you to get better."
That made his expression spasm.
"Noted," he said tightly, walking over; he reached around her for the doorknob.
"Collaportus," Ginny said, and sticky goo oozed out of the doorframe, sealing it in place. Harry's jaw set and he drew his own wand, but Ginny was quicker. "Duro." The goo turned to stone.
"I'll blow it open if I have to," he said.
"Go ahead," Ginny said. "We can have this conversation somewhere else, if you'd prefer."
"I don't want to have a conversation," Harry said.
"I don't care." Harry glowered at her, then, abruptly, retreated to the middle of the room. She thought he was actually angry now, could feel a sort of buzz in the air. After a few seconds, it faded.
"What happened to good and okay can come later?" he sneered.
"What happened to not being stupid and pushing your friends away?" she retorted. "We understand needing space, Harry, but that's not what this is anymore—"
"What is it then?"
"You tell me," she said.
There was a pause.
"I'm not going to get better," he said, almost defiantly.
"Hippogriff dung." The buzzing was back, and Harry backed up a few more steps until his back was against the far wall.
"Get out," he said. Ginny stayed where she was.
"Is that why you're not trying?" she asked.
"What?"
"You don't think you're going to get better," she said. "So is that why you're not trying?"
"Right," Harry said sarcastically. "Sorry." He scrunched his face up. "There, I'm trying, and—" His eyes opened, green and furious. "—look at that, I'm better. My arm's even tingling—my hand's about to grow back, I think, and all my scars are going to fade and I'll be as good as new." He smiled an awful, twisted smile. "Thanks, Ginny, you've saved me. Now get out."
"I know," Ginny said, in a voice shaking with anger. "—that—"
"You have no idea," he said.
"—that it's not that easy, and that getting over this sort of thing isn't going to be quick—"
"Yeah?" Harry asked. The air around him seemed to crackle. "How'd you get over losing your hand, Ginny? How'd you go having your first real conversation with your dead parents? What did you do when you helped bring Voldemort back?" It was the most she'd heard Harry say about the graveyard though none of it was new information; Sirius' account of the night of the fourth task had been fairly thorough.
"And how are you getting over it, Harry?" she asked. "Are you using all this time on your own to come to terms with it all? Are you letting your friends and family help you?" He was silent. "And, for your information, I can't write with my right hand anymore," she said, "because I look at my handwriting and see it on the page of Tom's diary. I had to teach myself to use my left. And I don't know what it's like to not have parents, but I know what it feels like to be used to bring Voldemort back. I gave him a body too, remember. If you hadn't been there, it would have been a permanent one."
"There wasn't anyone to help me," Harry said and the bitterness in his voice took Ginny by surprise. It had never really been his style to blame others.
"Well, we're trying to help now," she said carefully. "You just have to be willing to let us."
"I don't need help now," Harry said, and sounded frustrated. "I'm not the victim anymore—"
"Are you sure?" Ginny asked, frowning. "You're certainly acting like one, hiding away up here feeling sorry for yourself—"
"I'm not sorry for myself," Harry snapped. "I'm sorry for all of you! There's a war starting—" He flung a hand in the direction of the window and at the dark sky through it. "—and I've sentenced the whole wizarding world to living through it! Or worse, dying in it!"
"You have, have you?" Ginny asked, rolling her eyes. "And all by yourself, obviously. No one else could possibly have contributed—" Harry actually snarled at her:
"Voldemort's alive because I couldn't—"
"You were tied up and hurt and didn't have a wand!" Ginny said loudly. "What happened isn't your fault!" She wanted to shake him.
"Everyone's so quick to say so," Harry said. His voice was quiet now, and bitter.
"Maybe you should listen to everyone, then," Ginny said. Harry curled his lip. He said nothing, but pushed off the wall he'd been leaning against and strode over to her again.
"Bombarda," he said, and, with a boom that shook the whole house, the door exploded open behind her, tumbling back into the railing that overlooked the stairs. Harry passed with his left side to her, perhaps hoping it would be a deterrent, but it wasn't; Ginny grabbed his arm as he tried to pass, then yelped and let go; something sharp had zapped through her as soon as she'd touched him.
Downstairs she could hear people moving around, and urgent voices.
"Where are you going?" she demanded through gritted teeth, shaking her hand out to stop it stinging. She reached for him again, and this time she caught his sleeve, which pulled back as he tried to move away.
Ginny's breath caught and his sleeve slipped from her numb fingers.
Harry's face had gone ashen and he tugged down his sleeve with a horrible sort of panic in his eyes—
CRACK!
Ginny found herself shoved behind him and there was a startled, "Bloody hell!" from Dora, who'd appeared with Kreacher on the landing:
Everything happened so quickly that Ginny was sure everyone was acting on pure reflex; Dora managed to deflect Harry's spell—whatever it had been—into a wall, and used one of her own to knock him backward past Ginny, who made no attempt to help him. He had a Dark Mark—though it was a bleached white colour not actually dark—on his left forearm, and—
Kreacher let out a wail and scurried over to Harry.
"Oh, bugger," Dora said, over the sound of loud footsteps on the stairs. "Rennervate." Harry stirred as Kreacher's hands fluttered over him. Dora's eyes flicked over them, Ginny, the door, and the dust and rubble around it, then pursed her lips and turned away from them to lean over the balcony: "It's all right," she called. "Harry and Ginny are here and no one's hurt or in danger."
"He has—" Ginny began.
"Don't," Harry said. He was awake again but hadn't moved from the floor. His tone was equal parts desperate and firm. "Please."
"You're sure?" Bill called back, sounding about halfway up the stairs. Ginny could hear Mum arguing with Ron and Hermione downstairs, but not any actual words.
"I'm sure," Dora said, though the look she cast between them was anything but. She offered Harry a hand up and Ginny didn't think he was going to take it, but he did. "Thanks Kreacher. I've got it from here." Kreacher squinted at her, still hovering protectively beside Harry. "It was an accident," Dora said. Kreacher considered her, then Harry, then Ginny, then seemed to notice the ruined doorway of Harry's bedroom. "Sorry," Dora said, as he went to deal with that. "It really was an accident." Harry shook his head, eyes on Ginny. "Either of you want to explain—?"
"Not really," Harry said. Dora frowned at him and looked at Ginny. She raised an eyebrow at Harry but shook her head.
"All right," Dora said, sounding somewhere between troubled and, thankfully—now that everything had settled—amused. "Keep your secrets." Then her expression shifted into something worried. "Are you both all right, though? You're looking a bit pale, Ginny. Maybe we should get you—"
"We're not done talking," Ginny said, with a pointed look at Harry. It was all over Harry's face that he couldn't think of anything he wanted less, but he didn't disagree; he probably didn't trust Ginny not to tell Dora about his Mark if he left them alone.
Dora's eyebrows raised… and then kept raising until they'd actually vanished into her hair. Ginny laughed a little shakily and Dora looked between them again, smiling but clearly thrown.
"All right," she said slowly. "I'm going to go back downstairs, then. But if neither of you are down in the next ten minutes, I'm coming back to check on you." She eyed them, and then the door, now repaired thanks to Kreacher. "Do I need to confiscate wands?"
"I don't know," Ginny said. "Does she, Harry?"
He curled his lip and stalked back into his room. Ginny offered Dora a brittle smile and followed, kicking the door shut behind her again.
Harry had already retreated back to the far side of the room, and was tugging on his sleeve as if to make sure it was properly down.
He'd been wearing long sleeves all summer. Ginny hadn't questioned it—none of them had—assuming that he was self-conscious about his missing hand.
"Still think I'm going to get better?" he asked, expression pinched.
"Why haven't you removed it?" she asked. She would have. And if she couldn't, she'd have removed the arm itself... which was bad taste to think, given Harry's situation, but it was still true. Harry said nothing. "Is that what you've been doing these last few weeks?" she tried. "Trying to—"
"No," he said.
"What have you been doing, then?" she asked, a little frustrated. "Other than sulking up here, I mean." It was a deliberate jab, and sure enough, Harry's face contorted.
Good.
"I haven't been sulking," he said.
"Hiding, then?" she asked. His mouth turned down. "Thought so. Now tell me: is it for our own safety, or because we can't possibly understand, or because you're angry with us, or because you're brooding—"
"I'm glad you find this funny," he said.
"I don't find it funny," she snapped. "I find it stupid. Hermione cries herself to sleep worrying over you most nights, you know. And Ron's trying so hard to be whatever you need and you're treating him like he's not even there."
"They don't need to do anything for me," Harry said, tone somewhere between mulish and guilty. He didn't look at her as he spoke.
Ginny jabbed her wand forward and one of the pillows on Harry's bed leapt up to smack him over the head. It got one good hit in—likely because Harry was too startled to react—but then his own wand twitched and the pillow dropped out of the air, lifeless.
"Want to try that again?" Ginny asked, tucking her wand away again. Harry straightened his glasses. "If Ron or Hermione or Draco were acting the way you are now, do you really expect me to believe you'd just leave them alone—"
"Yes," he snapped. "I let you have space, didn't I? I don't remember charging in and shouting at you, or attacking you—" He waved a hand at the pillow. "—after the Chamber. I know you haven't told everyone everything about what happened while you had the diary—"
"No," Ginny said. "Because everyone doesn't need to know."
"Exactly," Harry said. "So—"
"But I told you," Ginny said. And she had, though she hadn't needed to; he'd been there to see enough of it. "And Ron. And I've told the rest enough. Maybe they don't know exactly what it was like to be possessed, or to be responsible for attacking the school, or almost bringing back Voldemort, but they understand what happened—"
"I've told people what happened," Harry said.
"Why've you got a Mark, then?" Ginny asked. Harry blinked, then his expression became hard to read.
"Voldemort put it there," he said tightly, "when he healed where Wormtail cut me during the ritual."
"Why?" Ginny asked, eyebrows lifting.
"Mind games, I imagine," Harry said, not looking at her.
"Makes sense," Ginny said, and Harry seemed to relax, until: "The Mark, that is. Healing you doesn't. Why would he, when he was about to kill you?"
"Maybe the cut was in the way and he wanted a clean canvas," Harry snapped. "Does it matter?"
"I just think it's strange."
"Maybe he didn't want me to bleed out before he could kill me himself, then," Harry snapped.
"Maybe," Ginny said.
"Maybe," Harry said, almost mockingly. "Go on, then, why do you think he did it?"
"I'd say he was claiming you - the uniform all over again, but more… permanent." Her mouth turned down.
"There you go, then," he said. Harry looked sullen and uncomfortable.
"But that still doesn't explain why he healed you."
"Drop it," he said.
She let out a gusty breath.
"I thought we decided in the Shack last year that you weren't going to be stupid and push away your friends, and sit around feeling sorry for yourself because you don't think anyone can understand—"
"You can't!" Harry all but roared, startling her. "You've never sentenced people to die—"
"I let Tom attack a whole school to keep Percy alive," Ginny snapped back, hugging herself. "The fact that no one actually died that night was a bloody miracle—"
"You didn't have a choice," Harry said.
"Neither did you!" Ginny cried.
"Yes, I did," he said, no longer shouting. The room had gone so quiet that despite not having Harry's hearing, Ginny thought she could hear her heartbeat. They stared at each other for a moment, Harry defiant and Ginny uncertain. "I had three."
"Three?"
Harry held up his remaining hand, fist closed but thumb extended:
"Join him and stop the war before it starts—"
"That's…" Ginny's voice was embarrassingly shaky. "That wasn't really a choice, though—"
"Voldemort thought it was," Harry said. His voice was soft now, but it was sure and a little mean rather than subdued.
"He would," Ginny said, aiming for flippancy but not sure she managed it. "What were the other two?"
Harry raised a second finger:
"Walk away from the fight. Not join him, but promise not to get in his way, or get involved." Ginny was silent as he put up another finger. "The third was to die. Or that was what he said it was. Didn't quite turn out that way." Harry gave a ghost of a smile, but it wasn't a nice smile. Ginny swallowed. "You want to understand? How can you—Voldemort used you, he didn't ever give you a choice. But I had one and I made it, and when I did, he told me that I'll keep fighting but never win because I'm not a killer, and he was right." Chills raced down Ginny's arms and back at the certainty in his voice. This wasn't Harry doubting himself, this was something he knew. "And now we're going into a war that we're not ready to win, and—and I don't know when or if we ever will be—but in the meantime people are getting hurt and dying and Kissed." He laughed once, bleak, and Ginny suddenly felt warm; angry. "And that's on me."
"You're right," she said. "I don't understand at all." Harry gave another mirthless laugh, as if that was exactly what he'd expected. "I can't imagine," she continued, voice shaking, "giving up—"
"I haven't given up," Harry said, but didn't meet her eyes.
"—or being so self-absorbed that I could try to take credit for people choosing to fight in a war that started before I was even born—" Anger flashed across Harry's face.
"The prophecy—"
"Wasn't made when Dumbledore started the Order!" Ginny shouted. Her wand sparked in her hand. "And it didn't exist when my uncles joined, or when Sirius and Remus and Marlene and your parents joined." Harry was silent. "If you'd died in the graveyard, do you really think we'd have just let him come back uncontested? That we'd have just accepted it? And—Merlin, if you'd decided to join him, or step back from the fight, are you actually arrogant enough to believe that we'd all do the same, just because you did?"
"If Voldemort had promised not to hurt anyone, though—"
"Oh, right," Ginny said. "When you put it like that… of course we'd all have been happy to sit by and let him do what he liked." Ginny stabbed her wand towards the pillow, intending to hit Harry with it again, but it exploded in a puff of feathers when her spell hit it. "How dare you think that you get to decide that the rest of us can't fight for something we believe in, or fight to oppose something we don't—"
"I'm not saying you can't fight," Harry said. "I'm trying to protect—"
"You are not!" Ginny snapped. "We're downstairs training and learning and you're hiding. You want to protect us? Then come and join the fight you think you've started rather than leaving us to fight it on our own!"
Harry set nothing, but he'd set his jaw in a stubborn sort of way that made Ginny think he was going to keep arguing. Ginny curled her lip and spun, yanking the door open.
Dora was just reaching the top of the stairs, expression decidedly wary as her eyes flicked between Ginny and Harry, who was still in his room:
"Er… everything all right?"
"No," Ginny said, and stomped past her.