Chapter Sixty-Four: Legacy of the AMOEBA VENDETTA!
Harry threw himself on Milner from behind at close range, too close to draw a wand in the time he had, one hand closing on the Professor's mouth and clawing at it, while the other wrenched Milner's wand arm down. With a furious roar and a speed and savagery that belied his unthreatening appearance, the Defence teacher drove his elbow into the boy's midriff and turned sharply, trying to shake him off, as they struggled. Harry released the hand on Milner's mouth and smacked it as hard as he could into the bridge of the older man's nose, at this awkward angle. His right hand clawed at Milner's wand-grip, struggling to disarm the Professor as Milner rained blows frantically on the invisible air and the invisible Harry Potter alike.
Aloysius Milner somehow wrenched himself free, turning and staring in mingled confusion and fury at an opponent he could not see. Harry stumbled back, still covered by the cloak, fighting to bring up his own wand and keep his balance at the same time. His foot caught at one of the iron rings along the edge of the jetty and it shifted with a clink.
"Stupefy!" Milner struck with a stunner in the direction of the noise, and Harry was forced to shield rather than disarming the Dark Arts teacher. "Revelo!" Professor Milner lashed the spell broadly across the boathouse- and Harry almost felt the dismissive shrug of the spellweave of his Invisibility Cloak as it easily absorbed- and blocked- the revelation charm - now, Milner was on the back foot- the younger man's instincts for combat, finely tuned by the last few years urged him on, moving to disarm the self-admittedly less powerful thaumaturgist- but behind him, the Thaumometer Core's fields shimmered and flowed in response to the activity of the powerful protection spells on the cloak, and Milner lunged even as he did.
"Reducto!"
The spell was weak- shockingly weak- with part of his mind Harry realised that simple summoning charms Milner had been casting earlier had been enough to tax him, but at such close range it still flung him back before he had time to renew his own shield charm.
"Expelliarmus!" the disarmament jinx struck home and as Harry saw Milner's wand wrenched out of his hand he braced himself to land and stun Milner quickly- then try to find out what had happened to Ginny- then his head struck hard against part of a steel winch, hanging from the boathouse ceiling, and the world erupted into stars and darkness.
"Ginny-!" he heard a voice call out desperately, and thought it his own, as the sudden sound of running feet echoed down into a spiral of confusion and numbing oblivion.
Ginny was drowning. The world was fading away in a mad rush of gnashing, tearing, clawing chaos as the frantic demands of her body for oxygen seemed to crush out every other thought she had, and the cold of the water and clammy grip of the weeds crushed in on her from without.
She tried on pure instinct to kick out for the surface- but which way was up- darkness was all around her, and the thick muddy water of the lakebed admitted no slither of moon or starlight.
Moonlight.
Even as her heart hammered furiously in her chest and her thoughts faded, she flung out her hand once, magic impelling the wand that had slipped from her fingers back into them. Even as her lungs filled with water once more she flung out that hand once again, and cast another summoning charm, and once again, a Hogwarts student had reason to be considerably grateful to Isaac Newton.
Accio SELENE!
The force of her spell wrenched her free of the tangled weeds, her outflung arm, fingers gripped tight around her wand, towing her faster and faster through the water in the direction she at last knew to be upward, the movement invigorating her through the last vestiges of oxygen in her brain.
With one last thought, she cancelled the summoning charm as she broke the surface and expelled the water from her lungs, coughing feebly and gasping desperately for breath as the burning luminescence of the spell faded from her wand.
Hermione stared for a moment at the space where Ginny had been, then her face went white. She looked at Ron.
"Bloody hell!" she exclaimed.
"But where'd it take her- Hermione, you don't think he sent her to Voldemort -" Ron was beginning to panic- but Hermione pushed quickly past him, going to Milner's study window and staring out across the dark Hogwarts grounds. Little could be seen in the night, next to nothing to their eyes, accustomed to the bright glow of torchlight inside the castle, but still, she turned her face in the direction of the inky shadows of the great black lake.
"Come on Ginny…" she whispered. Ron joined her at the window.
"Hang on- like the Amoeba Vendetta- you think she's at the bottom of the -" he started, his voice rising in panic, as realisation crept over him like a crawling wave of horror, but got no further, for all of a sudden, as they watched, far out in the middle of the lake, something like a twinkling red star kindled, burning brighter as it shot up out of the water and fell back. For a moment it was extinguished, and Ron heard Hermione's breath drawn in quickly, sharply. His stomach lurched in dismay and he grasped the window frame with both hands, crying out his sister's name - but then the light shone again, on the water's surface- slowly but unmistakably moving toward the shore.
His head seemed to be revolving around him- or perhaps the world was spinning round his head, and his ears were ringing. Harry twisted himself on to his knees, fighting a sudden urge to be sick, grasping at the gunwale of an upturned boat and trying to haul himself upright. He almost fell over again as he did so, putting his hand to the back of his head and reeling in half-stunned confusion. No blood- and at least his skull didn't seem to be coming away in his hands, however much it felt like it should. He was alone in the dark boathouse, now lit only by the nebulous and faint glow of the Core. Harry stumbled- Milner had left him- quite possibly had not even been able to find his opponent, under the cloak which still draped him. He pushed back the hood now, taking great steadying gulps of air, unwittingly sharing the same action with Ginny, as some few hundred yards away, she turned on her back, the better to fill her screaming lungs with air as she swam steadily toward the lakeshore.
Harry's mind was all confusion. Something about … Ginny? He remembered sudden terror for her- remembered Milner, face a mask of rage, his wand outstretched. But where… his mind seemed to be all lights and roaring sounds. He had to… he'd left them in Milner's office, that was it- but what was he doing down here, in the boathouse- and why had Milner, down here with him, seemed to him to be threatening her? He stooped for his wand, not trusting himself to catch it- no, that was someone else's wand, Milner's, perhaps- his own was still held deathly tight in his other hand.
Well, I don't need two, he thought, irrelevantly, Not at once, anyway. his mind skittering wildly the more he tried to force it to sense and reason when he needed it most. He remembered fighting Voldemort on the bluff.
Stereo, there's a Muggle concept for you… Ginny being kidnapped, taken to Voldemort- once before- and again? Had Milner– was Milner working for him after all? Where was she? A slither of cold fear crept through his heart and his resolve- his desperation, clamped down on the fog of pain and bewilderment in his mind and he began to move- still unsteady, but faster now, feet pounding on rock as he ran back up through the passage toward Hogwarts.
Alastor Moody's teaching style, Neville reflected ruefully, had apparently been fairly well imitated by Barty Crouch the second, two years ago- although Moody seemed to lack the Death Eater's occasional moments of unexpected, if feigned, kindness. He found himself rather hoping that Harry would not be leaving the group for many more unsupervised sessions with the retired Auror, even as he executed a successful body bind on Hannah's arms and legs. His girlfriend, still conscious, gave him a slightly piqued look as she toppled slowly backwards, landing on the cushions that Harry had apparently insisted Moody arrange on the floor before the exercise began. Then he turned to face Luna, who had just managed to firmly secure Ernie Macmillan to the ceiling with both arms, unfortunately leaving his legs kicking free and wildly.
Neville ducked into a classic duelling stance. His normal approach to a fight, he knew, was fairly pedestrian- he was confident enough these days to handle himself fairly well, but those were skills he'd gathered through patient repetition and training- sometimes feeling as if he were crawling up a mountain a millimetre at a time, and consequently his fighting style was somewhat orthodox. Luna, he knew, was precisely the opposite, brilliant, but the very definition of erratic.
He lowered his wand tip slightly. What would she be expecting from him? If she understood the classic sort of combat gambits they'd learned- which Neville knew he could reproduce effectively- then she would be ready for them, with an unexpected and different move that he might find it difficult to counter- yet, in contrast, if he responded with an unexpected opening himself, would that throw him even more out of position?
Then Luna frowned suddenly, and put her hand to her throat. Neville paused, giving her a questioning look, as the blonde girl's eyes widened with fright for a moment, then concern.
Her mouth moved, as if speaking soundlessly, then she shook her head.
"Luna- what's wrong-"
"Professor Moody, would you excuse me please?" Luna asked hurriedly, and, without waiting for an answer, fled the room. Neville shook his head slightly and helped Hannah to her feet. "I'm not that scary, am I?" he wondered to her.
Hermione and Ron met Ginny just outside the entrance hall as, down in the boathouse, Harry was clawing his way back to consciousness. She was squelching up the path toward the great doors of Hogwarts, dripping and steaming and pausing every so often to angrily blast small shrubs and statues with her wand. Ron was, perhaps, too relieved to see his sister safe and well, to take great notice of the precise detail of her conversation, but a rough summary could be thusly described; that portkeys and their makers could, in fact, proceed to depart immediately and procreate with unspecified persons, or perhaps with themselves, and that if they failed to do so within a short space of time, she, Ginny Weasley, the aforementioned, would insist upon providing them with assistance to perform the remarkable magical feat of being able to observe their own lower digestive processes from the inside with their own eyes. As she made this last proclamation, she attempted to remove copious sheet-like fronds of virulent green waterweed from her hair, then interrupted her tirade of obscenity with another exclamation of annoyance, reaching inside her soaked shirt to remove a small crustacean from her front.
"No thank you," she snapped, and flung the tiny creature in the general direction of the lake, flicking out her wand to assist its flight with a levitation and guiding charm a second later.
Hermione hugged her younger friend in sheer relief, before drawing back slightly from the distinctly strong aroma of the lakebed which hung about Ginny like a miasma. Ron held back for a moment and then put his arms around both of them, with the unfortunate side effect of pressing his girlfriend against his sister, occasioning a decidedly undignified squelching sound.
"Where the…" Ron began.
"Bottom of the lake." Ginny's eyes flashed, though her teeth were beginning to chatter. "B-bloody buggering hell."
"Thank Merlin you're ok," Ron exclaimed, holding them both. "Come on, Hermione, let's get her somewhere dry and warm."
Hermione nodded, and, drawing back from Ginny, wrinkled her nose. "Ginny, you stink."
"Thanks, Hermione, you're a real f-f-friend," Ginny responded drily, in tone, if in no other characteristic. "For Circe's sake, let's g-get indoors quick and up to the Tower before F-Filch c-c-catches us," she added, noting the trail of mud she left as they climbed the steps into the Entrance Hall.
"Then we need to find Harry," Ron added, seriously, as the three climbed the staircase to the first floor. "He really needs to know about this."
"First, Ginny needs a hot bath," Hermione noted, "Getting soaked in the lake like that in February's no joke," and the other girl nodded vehemently in agreement. Then she pulled a face, shook one leg vigorously, and a small, very muddy flatfish slithered out of the bottom of one trouser leg and flapped feebly on the stair carpet, glistening in the lamp light.
"Not really sure if bribing Mrs. Norris is going to help with Filch catching us," Ron glanced at the fish, "But worth a try, Ginny. Come on."
They made their way to the Prefects Bathroom on the fifth floor, before Ron left them, hurrying back through the quiet castle to Milner's abandoned office. Of course, he realised, most of the other students would be in the Defence Association meeting by now, probably getting thoroughly hexed and bounced off various hard surfaces by Mad-Eye Moody. He briefly considered making a quick detour to the Room of Requirement to muster some reinforcements, but rejected the idea- finding Harry, and Milner, in that order, was probably more important, and, in their desperate scramble downstairs, they had left the Marauders Map spread out on the Dark Arts teacher's office table.
He ran quickly- but warily- through the castle, his relief at having found his sister safe, if half-frozen, drenched, foul-smelling and blisteringly furious, being slowly edged out by fear, knowing that Professor Milner was still at large- and his intentions, and what he might try next, were still very much a mystery. There- Milner's office, at the end of the corridor, the door still open- he hurried forward, and rebounded hard off something he could not see.
"Ow, watch it- oh- Ron!" a hand emerged from nowhere and caught at Ron, steadying them both as they swayed. "Look where you're going, why don't you?"
"You're invisible, you prat-"
"Oh, I forgot- sorry-" Harry pulled down the hood of the cloak and caught Ron's arm. "Where's Ginny- I think Milner… did something," he rubbed his head fiercely. "Sorry- caught me on the head with something- I- where is she, Ron?"
Ron, out of breath and rather pressed by Harry's intent stare, began to explain. "It was him- he translocated her into the lake- a portkey- but- Harry, WAIT! You don't even know where- oh for Merlin's sake…" he began to run after Harry Potter, endeavouring desperately to explain the situation as they went.
Ginny lay up to her neck in hot, soapy water, her eyes closed, and felt blissfully warm and content. Drowsing gently, she roused herself enough to reach for her wand on the marble edge of the huge sunken bath, and cast a delicate buoyancy charm on herself, just enough to keep her head above water in what she felt was the entirely likely event of her falling asleep, and then subsided back into the froth. In the outer lobby to the Prefects' bathroom, she could hear Hermione discussing the state of her uniform with Dobby.
After a few moments, she heard Dobby depart with the sharp, whistling crack of a House Elf's disapparation, and the older girl stuck her head around the corner into the bathroom, then laid a spare set of robes on a chair.
"He actually tried to haggle with me," Hermione told her. She opened her eyes wide and attempted a passable impression of Dobby's manner. "Dobby does not think that Mistress Hermony understands how bad giant squid excrement is for school robes, oh no, my precious. Also, Dobby must remind Miss Homeopathy that Miss Weasley is not a school prefect so should not be using the Prefect's bathroom." She rolled her eyes. "I'm glad really. He's so much more assertive than he used to be - and this was a bit of an emergency."
Ginny giggled. "You should have told him it was to make me look nice and clean again for Harry," she noted, stretching comfortably. She considered that a moment. "Maybe not. I can just see Dobby getting the idea of Harry telling him "Bathe Miss Weasley and bring her to me." She made a regal gesture with a soapy arm and smirked to herself.
"Which, knowing Dobby, would probably result in him enchanting a bucket of water to chase you round the Quidditch pitch," Hermione noted, ducking back into the outer room and settling to her book. "Sorry to shatter your illusions." She paused. "I wonder if he likes me well enough to do it to Ron, if I asked him some time." She made a peculiar little laugh. "Don't ever tell him I said so, but all dripping wet and tousled after Quidditch really suits him."
"Oi, that's my brother you're talking about," Ginny pulled a face and protested, searching for a nail brush, having observed that her gracious gesture was somewhat marred by the black mud still ingrained under her fingernails.
"Oh, like you weren't enjoying your little daydream about your streetwise Hercules, in there," the older girl retorted through the doorway. "Anyway- don't be too long, Ginny, Dobby's right, you shouldn't really be in here at all, and we do need to get together with those two and talk about this mess with Milner."
"It's different, you're not actually Harry's sister, remember," Ginny rolled her eyes. "You're allowed to enjoy the thought of damp and sweaty Potter. Within reason," she added, with a slight giggle. "Mine."
"You're welcome to him," Hermione laughed, grimacing at Ginny's description. "Don't get me wrong, I love him to bits- but-" she made an equivocating sort of sound in her throat. "No- Harry's just too- well, 'nice' for me." Hermione gave a rather wicked little giggle that would have shocked both the boys in question, and went on. "Your brother's unpredictable, unreliable, you can never tell from one minute to the next if he's going to come out with something brilliantly sensitive or mind-bogglingly crass - and then there's the famous Weasley temper," she added, giving Ginny a sly grin."You probably don't see how much fun that is sometimes."
"Ohhh… so, basically," Ginny gave her a sleepy smirk over the top of her bubbles, "Our practically perfect Miss Prefect just wants a bad red haired boy? And I'm almost done," she confirmed, before Hermione could answer. "Much longer and I really will fall asleep. Ugh, that lake was vile though. You don't know how nice it is to feel warm again after that-"
Given the opportunity, Hermione might have gently reminded her friend that, in point of fact, after the second task of the Tri-wizard tournament, both she and Ron did, in fact, more or less know what Ginny felt like- but before she could reply, the outer door suddenly slammed open. Hermione turned to the door in surprise as Ginny made a high pitched sound and largely submerged.
Harry stood on the threshold, clearly out of breath, cheeks flushed and eyes wild, his clothes a mess and several fresh bruises and cuts on his face.
Behind him, in the hallway, she saw Ron, one hand half reached out to restrain their friend, his face half-resigned, half infuriated.
"Ginny- is she ok?" Harry gasped, holding on to the doorframe for support, chest heaving for breath and a dangerous light in his eyes. "Hermione, is she all right?" he asked her. "Ron told me about what happened- and Milner, in the boathouse - I…" Harry trailed off, looking over Hermione's shoulder through the archway, the flush of his cheeks gradually spreading over the rest of his face, and the wrath in his countenance suffusing and sinking into sudden embarrassment.
Hermione folded her arms and sighed faintly. Ginny, her face as red as Harry's, emitted an undeniable squeak and sank a little deeper into the mercifully foamy water.
"What part of 'in the bath' don't you understand…" Ron asked, shaking his head, politely turning his back and looking up at the ceiling in exasperation.
Harry attempted to speak. The attempt was not especially successful. With a rather impressive blush, he turned his back. "Er…." he tried again.
"Harry…" Ginny managed, in a sort of flame-faced croak. She had, she supposed, outdone him on coherency, but not particularly on content.
"Christ, I'm sorry, Jinx," he said, turning back to her with a mortified apologetic look … and then spun around again, perhaps realising that there are occasions when an apology is not necessarily improved by eye contact. "When Ron told me you'd got caught in a Portkey…" he shook his head. "Sorry. I lost my head a bit."
Just for a moment, Ginny, despite the situation, felt herself transported back almost two years, saw Harry stumbling, bleeding and battered, from the hedge maze of the final task in that same Tri-wizard tournament, dragging the lifeless body of Cedric Diggory with him.
Kill the spare. She shook her head violently to clear her thoughts, and the present situation came crashing back down around her, albeit as if in some manner the contrast brought a sense of distance, and not to mention absurdity, which slightly tempered her embarrassment.
"Lost your head a bit?" Ron's voice had risen higher than it had since his voice had broken during their second year at Hogwarts. "You melted a staircase! And then there was-"
"Ron, would you consider shutting the door," Hermione enquired, witheringly. "Preferably before the entire Quidditch team joins us in here…"
"I am not shutting Harry in the bath with my little sister!"
"I'm not in the bath with her!" Harry managed to protest, despite what appeared to be an ongoing transfiguration into something with the general qualities of a beetroot.
"I meant with Harry outside, for crying out loud," Hermione grated.
Ginny made a noise not entirely dissimilar to that of a kettle approaching the boil, and raised one arm vertically out of the water, her hand held up in the air as if asking a question. Her other arm wrapped tightly round herself as she huddled as low as possible without submerging entirely in the large bath. Hermione glanced at her in surprise. Harry tried not to do so, with a degree of success which, whilst arguably in line for a qualification of Exceeds Expectations, could certainly not be characterised as Outstanding.
"Gin, I really am sorry-" he attempted.
Ron, sensing no sign of the situation being immediately resolved, and hearing the sound of a small group of their fellow students approaching, stepped outside and closed the door with an outraged sniff which Ginny recognised as being copied from their mother.
"Yes, I'm all right," Ginny told Harry, as he hovered uncertainly in the lobby, and made a face at him. "Really. Bill and Ron taught me to swim in the river near our house when I was five. It was a bloody nasty shock and really cold, but I'm fine, honestly." She half-lowered her arm, before realising that she could not easily retract it into the water without rather catastrophically disturbing the foamy surface, and settled for resting it behind her head. "And believe me, I want to talk about what the hell Milner was doing with a whole box of Portkeys for the lake, not to mention the random death threats on my essays, just as much as you do- but… no offence, not here and now, Harry." She offered him a brave grin. "Give me ten minutes?" At least she was now feeling warm enough to be confident that even when she left the water, her teeth wouldn't start chattering again.
"Um, yeah, quite.." Harry attempted to find an interesting pattern to study on the tiled wall. "I should… er…"
"Yes, you should," she rejoined, with one raised eyebrow.
"You really are ok?" His eyes flickered to her again with very little effort, and again, with rather more difficulty, he managed to carefully look away from the sea of foam, and the flushed head and shoulders of Ginny Weasley emerging from it.
"Harry Potter, if you ask me that again I'll have to assume you're looking for an invitation to climb in and check personally," Ginny noted, with a sparkle in her eyes despite the blush which was nearly as deep as her flaming hair. Harry found himself thinking that the freckles on her raised arm, and the way the skin delicately faded to the creamier, lighter tone on the underside of the arm, as it turned about her head, was particularly beautiful. He knew the freckles which lightly dusted her shoulders and collarbone as well, from seeing her in dress robes in times past, and speculated that under the water - he rather sharply called a halt to his thoughts, becoming aware that in the first place, his success at averting his eyes was now courting a score of Troll, and in the second, that Ginny's own eyes were on him, and that sparkle was one of definite mischief. He cleared his throat.
"So… would that more or less be 'get in, or get out'?" he enquired gallantly. Ginny propped herself up slightly in the tub to get a better look at him- the change to her modesty was minimal, but Harry found his heartbeat growing quite noticeable.
"Hey, we agreed to watch each other's backs," she shrugged, interestingly. "One might suggest that 'wash' sounds close enough to -"
"Hem-hem." Hermione cleared her throat pointedly. Ginny pulled a face at her and sank down rather sharply into the water, till her chin rested on its surface.
"All right, Delores Jane," Harry rolled his eyes, turning to his old friend. "I'm going, ok- I'll wait outside, Jinx." Still blushing, and feeling more than a little foolish, the Boy Who Lived hesitated a second, and raised a hand in a rather awkward wave.
"Off you go, Harry," Hermione bustled him back to the door. "Run along. Spit-spot." Harry grasped the handle, turning back to the room for a second to reply to her.
Ginny was not entirely sure whether it was Harry's blush, or his difficulties in controlling his gaze, which prompted her. It was not entirely the sort of decision, she explained to herself later, that anyone thought out in advance. Rather like her Transfiguration homework, 'please show your working' was a vain hope. The decision made, regardless of her reasons, she met his last look into the room before exiting, and rather deliberately rose from the foam to sit upright in the bathtub, stretching as she did so, and returning his wave with a rather cheerful one of her own. As her boyfriend's blush redoubled, if not quadrupled itself in saturation, and she felt her own cheeks grow suddenly hotter still, she plunged herself hurriedly back into the water, adding "Be seeing you, Harry Potter," in a voice which- she fervently hoped- did not squeak- as she went.
"Right. Yes." Harry murmured, his face once again flaming, and his eyes shining like the very most freshly pickled of toads, and opened the door smartly and stepped out, closing it behind her.
Even as Hermione's scandalised "Ginny Weasley!" followed sharply on the closing door, Ginny reflected to herself at the bottom of the bathtub, that she was slightly impressed by how well Harry had managed to operate the door handle, given how clearly his mind had been elsewhere, during the highly technical procedure.
"Didn't hurry, did you?" Ron remarked to Harry, as the two of them waited in the hall outside the bathroom. Harry's ears were rather pink, his friend noticed, and he seemed to only vaguely be concentrating on where he was. At first Ron thought that Harry hadn't even heard him, but, after a moment, Harry replied.
"Not really, no."
A friendly voice hailed them.
"There you are!" Luna Lovegood beamed, slowing from a run as she came along the hall. "It's all right, Uncle Aloysius, I've found Harry, anyway!"
Harry whirled, his hand already on his wand, as Milner half ran, half staggered up to them. His clothes were torn and his hair wild, ugly bruises blossoming on his face, mute evidence of their struggle in the boathouse, and he was labouring for breath.
"Potter-" he gasped, leaning heavily on a statue, "Ginny- Ginny Weasley, is she all right?" He looked, seemingly frantic, from Ron to Harry.
"How you've got the ruddy nerve-" Ron began angrily, but Milner cut him off, lunging forward to Harry.
"Something - or someone- just attacked me in the boathouse- invisible, not sure what- Harry, don't ask me how I know- but she's in terrible danger-"
Harry's face was a livid white, his eyes burning green. For the first time, Milner appeared to become aware of the wand levelled between his eyes, held in a hand trembling with fury.
"Harry?" he blinked, slowly, seemingly uncertain.
"Harry, why are you pointing a wand at my uncle?" Luna asked. Harry's head whipped round to face her, his lips working soundlessly.
I wanted to trust you - I liked you- Ginny was your friend- she looked out for you before any of the rest of us- when no one else would!
Milner was speaking again.
"Harry, listen to me-" he was making an effort to calm his voice, a placid, even tone which somehow seemed no more convincing than all the many accents and dialects he drifted through in his ordinary speech. "I don't know what you've seen, or what you've heard- I dare say the name 'Delores Umbridge' is involved in it somehow, but we need to find young Ginny. Now tell me- have you seen her-"
"Shut up!" Harry snarled. "Enough! I don't know if you think I'm a complete idiot or what, but I'm not letting you anywhere near her, not without me and Dumbledore- or McGonagall - both of us- with a wand at your head- and then we're going to hear the truth of it-"
Milner started to speak, and the young man cut him off.
"What was it you said last year? I couldn't force you, because you weren't scared to die, and you were pretty sure I wouldn't be able to bear to hurt you longer than you could stand it?" He drew slowly close to the Dark Arts teacher, and his voice dropped to a slow hiss. "You were right- then. It's been a hard year. I've grown - older, Professor Milner." He stepped back suddenly, jerking his wand out to one side, pointing along the corridor. Several students, frozen in shock, stumbled rapidly out of the line of fire. "Dumbledore's office," Harry bellowed at the teacher. "Now!"
"Harry," Luna stepped somewhat foolhardily in front of him. There was a direct look in her large eyes, and she attempted to lay a hand on his arm. "Uncle Aloysius was only ever acting for the very best. Perhaps you might believe that I wouldn't have helped him if he wasn't-"
Harry froze, his face twisting from its enraged snarl into a chill, impassive front. He drew in a sharp breath, striving for the sake of the memory of a friendship which really had rather mattered to him, to hold his composure.
Later- I'll… later, when I know what's happening- damn you, Milner, why did you have to drag her into this- I just can't face her right now, not after this…
"Luna…" he grated, "Get out of my sight."
As Luna fled, her face stricken, Milner's eyes screwed up in pain.
"Harry-"
"Just… move."
Professor Aloysius Milner sat in a comfortable Louis XV armchair in front of the Headmaster's desk, his hands resting on the arms where those watching could see them, and looked… thoughtful.
Harry had moved to the chair opposite and sat down, not relaxing his grip on his wand the whole time, as he trained it between Milner's eyes, his lips white, his eyes flat. There was about him a sense of tension, of barely suppressed rage, which was as cold as a glacier, and as unforgiving. Professor McGonagall had been the first of the teachers to follow them to the office- perhaps alerted by some student, alarmed or amused at Harry's actions. She had arched her eyes incredulously, to see Harry seated where he was. At any other time, the young man would have sensed McGonagall's displeasure and rather hurriedly moved- but on this occasion she realised that not only had he barely noticed her reaction, he had not even considered the inappropriateness of his choice of seat.
Snape had been the next to arrive, following Ron, Hermione, and Ginny- the latter now wrapped in a voluminous and somewhat garishly patterned dressing gown over the top of her DA uniform. Snape's dark eyes fixed unsettlingly upon Milner, curious, uncertain.
"Harry- I wasnae tryin' t' hurt her-"
"If you're trying to apologise, I suggest you do that to Ginny-" Harry snapped- "Where is Dumbledore?" he added, looking sharply up at McGonagall.
"He has not yet responded," the Deputy Headmistress explained, with just a slight touch of her irritation clearly audible in her voice. "Mr Potter-"
"Yes- I'm sorry, but this is urgent. To start with- he set the Amoeba Vendetta on us last year."
"Is this true, Aloysius?" she rounded on the Dark Arts teacher, her eyes growing cold. More than one student had been hurt in that battle, and it was only by pure good fortune that some of those injuries had not been considerably more severe. On the other side of the room, Snape straightened, and, without precisely changing his expression, his air of scorn and annoyance at the eccentric Dark Arts professor seemed to drop several degrees in temperature.
Milner raised his eyebrows. "No, and yes."
"This isn't the time for riddles, Milner," Harry spoke in a deceptively soft voice. "I've been chasing round after you for months, playing your games because I thought you meant well, I thought you were trying to help, in your own way- but you've been working for that cow Umbridge all the time, haven't you–"
"No, and no, on that one."
"I said–"
"Will ye listen for a moment then, ye daft 'apennyworth?" the Professor retorted sharply, suddenly heated himself. "Ginny girl- first, I'm right glad to see you safe- if a wee bit smelly even now- and I'm sorry about the portkey- and about knocking you about in the boathouse, Mr Potter- honestly, when Miss Weasley there suddenly got flicked into yon lake and you came at me from behind all invisible-like, I thought as how someone were after your head, Ginny, and after mine for trying to keep you safe."
"Keep her safe?" Ron exploded. "Funny way of doing that- what about all that on her essays?"
"I'll get to that, laddie," Milner threw his head back. "Listen, all o'ye- it's very sure I am, that ye've no good reason for to be after trusting a word I say- and I've been spending months trying to teach you that, so I've only meself to blem there, I rightly know it- but will you at least bear in mind that you're accusing me of rather a lot of things." He gave a curious, one-sided little smirk. "Can't confess to them all at once, even if I was guilty. It'd end up total gibberish, wouldn't it, Miss Granger?"
"Very well then, Aloysius," Professor McGonagall spoke, regarding him carefully, and now with her own wand in her hand. "But bear in mind that if what Mr Potter alleges is true, and you did summon that … beast to assault students in this school, then I- and Professor Dumbledore, will view the matter extremely seriously."
"Look-," Milner held out a hand. "About seven or eight years ago- a very good friend of mine died. You taught her- Florence Allerton she was then."
"I remember her," McGonagall said coldly. "I have not forgotten what happened between you."
"Well, I hope you remember how that ended as well," Milner shot back, and this time there was a real anger in his voice, an old and sudden flare of bitter resentment.
Professor McGonagall gave the faintest of nods.
"It was my fault. I didn't kill her-" Milner added, his voice still angry and devoid of its usual affectations- "But- by negligence, I might as well have. She was my chief research assistant- I've told Harry this story, I know- and it's the truth."
"What about Reaver?" Ron asked, bluntly.
"Reaver?" McGonagall looked perplexed.
"Zachary Reaver was arrested, and convicted of her murder," Milner said. His lip twisted as he said the name. "He was released on appeal. All sorts of reasons. Unsound mind-" he gave a sudden, mirthless laugh. "Circumstantial evidence, no clear motive… I don't know. That's the truth, Mr Potter," he looked across the table. "Did Zach kill Florence? Did he try to? I don't know. I know he's as guilty as I am, that, at least… and mebbe I hate him as much for that, as for what I thought he did- but - you'll oblige me by letting me come to that in time. First you'll have to decide if what I say is worth even a breath's attention- because if young Ginny there takes heed of me now-" he looked at her. "I'm sorry, lass," he repeated.
Ginny looked back at him. He seemed- vulnerable- the masks and faces he wore fractured and broken, slipping in and out of them unsuccessfully as he spoke- and with a tiredness in his eyes that she had not seen before, though Harry had spoken of it, that night after he and Milner had talked of Florence, so long ago.
"After the fact- I had words with the Ministry of Magic. When I talk about guilt by negligence, I don't just mean that morally, Ginny- the enquiry wasn't too kind to me, nor should it have been. The upshot was- projects like ours were to have more Ministry oversight- a great deal more. One particularly mean-spirited baggage was put in charge of that- roped a lot of us in as Unspeakables- Official Magical Secrets Act and all that. Ye can probably hazard a guess to her name, and all of you who just pulled a face like you got a bogie flavoured bean out of Bertie Bott's bag ten points to your respective houses," he added, with a faint, sad smile.
"Still, aside from the old toad, the work wasnae too bad- oversight, mostly, checkin' up on each other's projects- and t'was a penance I richly deserved, I don't deny it."
Harry, sitting behind the desk, not letting his wand shift a fraction, glanced to Ginny where she sat. Her face was a little wan, a little- perhaps not scared, but apprehensive as to where all this might be leading them, as well as angry. He knew his own icy fury with Milner reverberated around that one point- that terrible moment in the boathouse when he had seemed to attack her, then his confusion, his desperate uncertainty about her fate, until he had met Ron in the school- and then- his eyes met hers and he saw her own widen, startled, and her pale cheeks colour with a sudden blush. Harry felt his own anger suddenly rather piqued with distinct embarrassment and other rather different emotions which coursed rapidly across his face- prompting a lift of the eyebrows and a quizzical tilt of the head from her in response. He wrinkled his nose at her and hurriedly shifted his gaze back to his prisoner, feeling his cheeks grow hot. There were certain reminiscences which seemed somehow incompatible with being the distant and intimidating Hero of Diagon Alley.
Milner sighed.
"I kept a few things back, of course, a purpose. Poor old Florence's prototype Resonance Extraction Core. She was so proud of that- about the only thing apart from her Luna that she could bring herself to feel genuinely proud of after- after what happened, what she did. I didn't want the Ministry pawing all over it, pulling it to bits and spoiling it all just to make something mass-produced and corporate. So I… didnae mention that in my reports. Aye," he mused, "I worked for the Ministry must be…five or six years- and ye need nay cast that look my way, Ron Weasley, unless it's after flinging your own poor father into Azkaban you're hankering after, isn't it?" he added sharply. "Then, this summer last, Delores Umbridge managed to make a right royal pigs ear out of running things up here, and Cornelius Fudge pulled her out before she could embarrass the Ministry any more than she already had- so, they asked around, for an academic Unspeakable- which is a very different think to an unspeakable Academic of course, there's more than a muckle of them in Oxbridge as I'm sure Miss Granger knows well enough," he smiled in a conspiratorial manner at a stony-faced Hermione - "To apply for the Dark Arts post here and keep a weather eye on things. See if there was any truth at all in the rubbish Delores had been peddling, for one thing, I think. Find out how much of a hideous laughing stock she and the government had made of themselves for another." Aloysius Milner shrugged. "I'll be rightly honest with you, the idea struck me as amusing, to meet a lot of kids who'd made that repellant old hag look like a complete idiot in public- and I'd heard enough about goings on at Hogwarts here from little Luna to be curious- and I wanted to meet you, Harry," he added.
"Me?"
"Nothing sinister," Milner assured him blandly. "There's a lot of weight riding on your shoulders, Harry, and both I- and as it turned out, the Ministry, were rather interested to know if you could bear it."
"Then it was a test-" Hermione interjected eagerly.
"Did I not tell you so in this very room, Miss Granger?" Milner looked calmly at her. "I did my best to set you on the right tack there without incriminating myself too blatantly, I thought- yes, it was a test-"
"It was criminal irresponsibility!" McGonagall bristled furiously. "At the very least–"
"Yes, I do know," Milner responded, with no artifice in his words now. "It's also a bloody useless uncontrolled mess of an experiment- but I suppose on reflection conspiracy to recklessly endanger minors is probably more damning than gross scientific incompetence-"
"They didn't do what you expected, did they?" Harry's quiet voice cut across them both.
"No," Milner shook his head. "I was told to prepare a series of portkeys for an out of the way location- under the lake- to allow for government thaumaturgists to come and go secretly- a few measurements over a few weeks, a careful assessment of just what your magical potential might have been. Invasion of privacy I grant you, Mr Potter, but, certain extenuating circumstances given how much that prophecy suggested we were depending on you- but you never should even have known about it. Not," he stressed, "Not for that dratted two-faced hag to imperius a ruddy sea monster and set it on you all to see what you could manage to do about it!"
"I notice you didn't actually do anything about it, though- like tell Dumbledore or anything- we could have stopped Umbridge there and then-"
And I wouldn't have had to cast the Dark Mark on her, go down to Voldemort's level to stop her in her tracks.
"I told her where she could stick her job," Milner said, obdurately. "Spent a week or so seething about it, I admit, going back and forth on whether to march down there and call Fudge out in person over it- or go to Dumbledore - or you, aye, I considered that- about it first- but in the end, after I'd chatted to a few people- friends, colleagues, here and in London- I made up my mind, picked up the phone down in the village and called Umbridge one night, told her in pretty certain terms just where she could shove that job and the Ministry of Magic, in fact- then slammed the phone down on her. I was after coming back up here and making a clean breast of things to Albus- only next morning-"
"You found the Death Eaters had attacked the Ministry, Fudge was dead, and before we knew it, Umbridge was well on the way to becoming the next Minister for Magic," Harry completed the sentence grimly.
"Exactly- well, it wouldnae have looked so good, would it, for an Unspeakable to speak up- if you'll pardon the phrase- letting everyone know he'd walked out with a massive grudge and bad feeling on all sides right before everyone got blown to kingdom come."
"So you were just being a coward?" Ron challenged him.
"Never said I wasn't," Milner snapped at him, "But nae, not just that was the whole of it. There were other things to think of. By that time I was pretty sure that here I had to stay, you see- that I couldnae afford for Dumbledore to get rid of me," and, as he spoke, his eyes came to rest, inevitably and heavily, upon Ginny Weasley.
"I think we are going to have to have some explanation of that now, Mr Milner," McGonagall told him, icily. Ginny returned Milner's gaze.
"I agree," she added. "I've got rather tired of being poked and prodded like a lab experiment for a start- even before we start on the unexpected bath-"
"That wasn't my intention-"
"Then why did you draw your wand on me out in the lake- Harry saw-"
"I was after trying a summoning charm to haul you out, Ginny girl," Milner protested. "Only young Harry there jumped me from behind before I had the chance-"
"You were also bloody furious-" Harry rejoined.
"I wasnae to know it was my own leftovers that had pitched you in there, lass," Milner sighed. "I thought- well- it's to you to guess what it was I thought- but let's just say I thought it was history it was after repeating itself-"
"The Cult of Omega trying to kill another spellweaver?"
"You think that's why Reaver killed poor Florence?" Milner looked incredulously at Ron. "You don't understand- really you don't-"
"No, I don't, yet," Ginny was on her feet, "But I've had just about enough of this-" she slammed one small fist down on the headmaster's desk.
"Gin-"
"No- sorry Harry, not right now- and sorry, Professor," she added, her face very red, as McGonagall started to speak, "You're right, I don't know what this is about, but I know this is all tied up with it- spell weaver, sorceress, call it what you like, but I want to know right now why you're treating me like some sort of weapon, and more importantly why you made one of my oldest friends- and someone you told us you loved like she was your own family- stab us in the back and dig herself in so deep now poor Luna probably thinks she's lost all her friends forever- and I don't know what to say to her right now either, and I need to know- so- speak. Now."
Professor Aloysius Milner slowly folded his arms, and looked down, quietly reflecting for a moment. When he spoke next, it was slowly, a little hesitantly, but calmly.
"That talent of yours- it's not some wonderful mythic thing. It's a quality we all have- just some more than others. Your boyfriend over there, Harry there, he's a little of it. A little more than the average when it comes to being able to feel how to bend a spell just that little bit more than you should be able to, to make it do what you happen to want it to do. So have I- couple of others in your year too, come to that- Luna as well- more than average, but nowhere near the level that you can, that Florence could, that a few lucky- or unlucky people can- but the thing is, something like that, it's not without its price."
"Go on." Ginny had resumed her seat, but the fierceness in her eyes had not abated.
"Perhaps that's the wrong way of putting it. Perhaps it's fairer to say the talent surfaces more strongly in an atypical mind," Milner mused. "All through history, all the really great sorcerers- the ones legends get written about, from Merlin to our own Dumbledore- well, they've been a bit mad, haven't they?" he gave her a sidelong infectious smile that seemed more youthful than his habitual mien. "And you couldn't exactly call Harry over there normal, now could you- no offence, Harry, mindful of the wand and the homicidal glare," he added.
After a moment, the Professor continued. "Maybe that's why among all the things the Wizarding World gets wrong, how we deal with illness of the mind is one of the worst. We've got it bred into us deep that having bats in your belfry means you're powerful, you're talented, you're gifted- well, Florence and I were certainly gifted, Ginny. We never learned how to talk to people properly- not really talk to them. I put on faces- masks- personae all the time, happen ye may have noticed it?" he added, before continuing. "Truth is- that's how I get through the day. If I can't cope with grappling with humanity, act out the role of someone who can… and Florence found it as hard as I did and more so. She was a genius- but people- making sense of them, saying one thing, meaning another, and all those expressions, all those feelings at once, all that- noise- it was just chaos to her. She'd panic and run away. Back in those days, growing up here- she and I were about the only friends each other had got."
Harry flicked a glance to Hermione, who returned it with a short, thoughtful nod of her head.
"The trouble is- bloody teenagers complicate everything," Milner grimaced ruefully. "And when I say we didn't really understand people at all, I meant each other as well. I made a really stupid mistake. I'd rather not dwell on the details -"
"I recall the incident well enough, Aloysius," McGonagall remarked crisply. "You pressed certain… advances upon Miss Allerton, as she was then. She objected. Quite violently."
"I misunderstood- we'd been friends for five years and I felt- I thought she wanted me to kiss her- it never went a moment more than that- if you think I would-" he stopped, choking back the bitterness in his voice. "We'd just made something work. Some spell. I don't even recall what. Some trick we'd played on Gryffindor or Slytherin most likely. We were celebrating- dancing round and holding hands. You see- Florence hated to be touched- but- she sometimes made that exception for me- she hugged me, and I thought-" he sighed. "Anyway… there was quite some fuss. I might have been in rather serious trouble if Dumbledore hadn't taken the time to sit down and calmly talk through with Florence just what actually had and hadn't happened… it was still a stupid mistake and I never stop running through in my mind just what it led to," he added, savagely.
"But in the light of Miss Allerton's later criminal career most of us had, I think, quite forgotten that incident," McGonagall observed.
"She might not have had that particular career if it wasn't for me," Milner said bitterly, his eyes downcast. "She forgave me- she understood, she even found it quite funny when things had settled down- and we stayed on good terms- but-" he looked slowly across to the far side of the room, where Severus Snape stood by the mantel. "We were more distant, and Florence started to fall in with worse company."
"Then you knew- about Florence and the Death Eaters?" Harry looked at McGonagall, surprised.
"I knew that Professor Milner had had a very close friend named Florence Allerton, who subsequently joined You Know Who during the last years of his campaign," the Deputy Headmistress concurred. "I did not know that she was–"
"No, you wouldn't have done. Florence Allerton left the Death Eaters- Dumbledore got her out, somehow, before the end. Sent some sort of special group, part of your Order of the Phoenix. Dumbledore gave her a new name- nothing grand or sinister, just a Smith I think, let her take on a new life in return for turning over her work with Voldemort to him-" he looked up, finally, "You've got to understand- Florence was no Muggle hater. She didn't hate anyone- she just-"
"She chafed against all restriction," Snape spoke for the first time, his tone haughty and contemptuous as he regarded Milner. "She wanted the freedom to pursue the implications of her work, free from constraints of law or morality- the study and understanding of pure magic. She came to believe that that was to be found with the Dark Lord. When she in due time came to understand what that unfettered freedom truly meant- for her and for others- she sought the means to broker her thaumaturgical talents in search of a position in a… less volatile service as soon as she was able."
Milner sighed, running his hands through his hair, a strangely pathetic figure.
"Yes…" he sighed, acquiescing. "I introduced her to Xeno- to Sidney Lovegood, just after she came back." He smiled fondly. "Sorry, Harry, I lied to you there, I think. Let you think that Florence Lovegood was a part of that family unit since I'd known them- to protect her. She still published her thesis, and other academic stuff as Allerton, of course. Well, had to, the way her mind worked, if Florence Allerton had just disappeared and Florence Lovegood picked the same trail of thoughts any fool could have seen… but you'll notice the initials on that thaumometer? F.L. yes? Florence Lovegood was a far happier young lady than Florence Allerton had ever been. Love at first sight," he added, a sad, lost smile on his face- "And yes, Ginny, I was happy for them. Florence has been dead for years, and absence changes things. Feelings strengthen in memory of an old ideal. If Florence were here, alive, now- she'd be a good friend, who I might harbour a few old feelings and fantasies for, I dare say- but no more than that I don't think. But she's dead, and that rather makes a difference, doesn't it, Severus?"
Harry looked sharply at Snape, the boy wise enough to be not entirely uncomprehending of the direction, of the thrust of Milner's last remark. Snape drew back, his face blanched a moment, his eyes more than usually angry- and then he seemed to sense Harry's gaze upon him, and his face froze like stone.
"But what was Florence doing?" Ginny asked. "I mean- for Voldemort- then for our side-"
"And how does any of that explain the Cult of Omega," Harry interrupted, "And why you wrote what you did on Ginny's work. "... must be destroyed"- When the last sorceress you met died and one of your Cult- one of your friends- got at least arrested for it."
"I was trying to protect her. I failed completely to protect Florence- and that's why I had to stay at Hogwarts, Harry," Milner leaned forward, holding out his hands. "To try and protect Ginny from what happened to her."
"You mean Reaver's still out there somewhere?" Ron demanded. "Trying to kill another spellweaver or something?"
"Zach Reaver's been incarcerated since before you started school, Mr Weasley-"
"You told us he was let off-"
"-For his own protection. I said the wizarding world tends to let a bit of eccentricity slide, but Reaver wasn't even barely functional any more. His mind is…" Milner shook his head. "But he's not the only person who feels the way we felt- and even so, it wasn't so much the Cult I was worried about. It was a risk, and it's what I thought down in the boathouse, aye, but in the main.. As Miss Weasley pointed out, it's very easy to treat a spellweaver like a weapon- and that's why Florence died- and if the need is great enough, and the day dark enough- who else might cross that line?"
"Well, who, then? Voldemort? You're saying he wants Ginny for that, not just to get to me?"
Milner shook his head at Harry.
"From what I got out of Florence over the years- no, Voldemort has enough talents of his own in that particular area, lad."
"Then who- Umbridge?"
"Took an interest in us back before you so firmly stopped Voldemort's last rising, but ever since then it was nothing more than another little hold she could have over me from time to time," the Professor dismissed the idea.
"Then who- you're holding up this mysterious bogeyman threatening Ginny as some excuse for all you've been doing- who do you think-"
"Oh, Harry," Milner looked sadly at him. "Have ye nay figured it out yet, lad? I was protecting her from you."
The great clock on the Astronomy tower struck ten o'clock, breaking an uncomfortable silence.
"I think I can defend my own virtue, thank you, Professor Milner," Ginny remarked, a flicker of levity in her voice as much to shake off the darker speculations in her thoughts as anything else. She became aware of both Ron, and Professor McGonagall, regarding her with rather similarly warning stares.
"I know you've only known us a few months, Professor," Hermione stepped forward, "But surely, you can't really believe that- that Harry would… use Ginny like a weapon, sacrifice her to stop Voldemort?"
"As you say, it's taken some time to get to know you all. I've spent a great deal of that time testing you, seeing how you think about certain things- trying to warn you against trusting anyone too blindly without thinking about it, without second-guessing just why someone might be trying to make you make a move on the board," the prisoner nodded, readily enough. "And you're right- not that I knew it for some time, but you're right. Harry there would never use you like that without your consent, Ginny girl," he turned to her, "But are you so sure you wouldnae give it?"
"If I give it- then it's no concern of yours or anyone else's if I decide to put my life in danger- not yours- not yours," Ginny looked quickly at the Deputy Headmistress, "Or anyone else's. This isn't just Harry's fight- that isn't fair on him, just because some drunk old trout made some idiotic prophecy."
"There's also a prophecy about a spellweaver playing a part in the unmaking of the darkness-"
"I- I don't care." Ginny's eyes hardened. "Prophecy can say anything you think it might mean or anything you want it to mean. That prophecy about Harry might have meant Neville- or anyone else born on the 31st July pretty much, who wasn't actually on Little Tommy's side at the time- I mean, whose parents weren't- oh, you know what I mean- or it might mean what your Ministry thought and that Harry finished off the prophecy that Hallowe'en night when Voldemort's spell backfired on him. Your spellweaver might have been Florence, or maybe it just means I'm destined to turn on an eccentric light switch. I'll make my own choices, thanks- and neither you or any potted seer gets to make them for me."
"Oh, absolutely- if you know what you're doing- and what you might have done-"
"Then why don't you just come out and tell me- that's what it is, is it? That you think that… Harry will try to make me do… what Florence was trying to do? Is that it?" she looked into his eyes, a tremor of uncertainty and fright in her voice despite herself.
"I can't tell you," Milner shook his head. "Not this. It's too much. All I've said is built on this- and it might as well be built on sand." He laughed weakly. "You've no reason to believe me. Trust no one, remember. Certainly not shifty types like Dark Arts teachers. No, I won't tell you."
Harry rose up from behind the desk. Hermione looked sharply to him, but the boy's face had that same calm decision on it that she had seen a few times in the past- in Grimmauld Place, the night he had led them to Diagon Alley, and atop Gryffindor Tower, the night he had decided to trust Luna Lovegood.
"No, you won't, of course," he said, turning and unlocking the cabinet behind Professor Dumbledore's desk, and lifting out a large, silver dish. Milner looked at him and nodded, licking his lips nervously.
"Ten points to Gryffindor, Potter," he said, in a voice which was calm, and yet at the same time regretful. To Hermione came the queer and sudden realisation that Milner had, in all probability, known the conversation was leading to this point for some time- and had been delaying the inevitable.
"You'll show me." Harry Potter placed the large pensieve on the Headmaster's desk, and moved around it toward Aloysius Milner.
The old heavy door of the Owlery swung open with a heavy creak, and a small, pale blonde figure in an oversized blue cloak slipped through it, slamming it closed behind her.
Luna Xenophilidae Lovegood walked into the centre of the room, looking up and round at all the owls on their perches- then away very suddenly, as a great ghostly white shape took flight and spiralled down toward her. She turned her face to the wall, as heavy talons lightly gripped her shoulder and Hedwig perched there, the snowy owl clicking her beak curiously, waiting for a treat from the familiar human.
"I'm sorry I haven't brought you anything Hedwig…" Luna reached up a hand and gently petted the owl's magnificent soft feathers. "I'm sorry…" she repeated.
Logic. Reason.
This had been the outcome she had expected. Her uncle meant well, but that didn't mean that what he was doing was right. Friendship. It meant not just having friends, not just sharing things with them, but doing the right thing for them. She had understood that she had betrayed them. She had hoped that because she had tried hard to tell them so, that would make it better- but it had not. Uncle Aloysius, she reflected, had made more or less the same error of morality. She had reached a different decision, that was all. That it was better to trust her friends to do the right thing, rather than to watch them. It might put them in danger. She knew that. She also knew they would not let her help them again.
Harry and Ginny, and Ron and Hermione were generous with their trust- they were good people, kind people- that was more than a part of why it had become clear to her that she had to be honest with them- but the price of that generosity was that they had learned to recoil, when their trust was burned. She had seen the anger in Harry's eyes. She had betrayed him. She had led them into a situation where Ginny's life had been in danger.
She had enjoyed having friends.
"I'm sorry, Hedwig…" Luna stroked the bird softly once more, fresh tears following the tracks of others down her cheeks. "I'm sorry about everything…" she crumpled in one corner of the room, amid the bird droppings and the down of fallen feathers, a bitter, broken cry coming from her lips as she sank to the floor, her arms wrapped around herself, sobbing quietly to herself.
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Well, I'm back again. Sadly, as before, I can make not promises about the regularity of updates. It is still certainly my intention to finish the story. Indeed I've already written most of the endings. It's getting back here to do the writing of the getting to those endings that tends to be the problem, amid all the fuss of tiresome reality to deal with. Nevertheless, I'm glad a couple of people at least have been pleased to see this fic back with a fresh chapter or two. I'll see how much further I can get this time- hopefully at least until that bit where _ and _ have their little chat in the _ and _ _ really hits the _.
Incidentally, random musing. Harry and Ginny. The above incident is almost certainly roughly as detailed as I'm ever inclined to be, in describing the more ... Advanced Holding Hands for Experts aspects of their developing relationship. Not to say that that relationship won't go on developing, because, well, rather obviously it will, but my instinct, given both their age as characters, and the thematic style of the source material, is that this, and their earlier nocturnal recreations in the Leaky Cauldron, is probably about as coy as actual detail on what's afoot between those two should remain. I'd be vaguely interested to know what people's views are there. Of course, this is an M-rated work, so this is purely self-censorship rather than imposed.
Now, on another note, please, somebody hug Luna for me while the other characters are busy?
Till next time!