A/N: Thanks to all readers, followers, and favoriters! 😊 As of November 2023, FFN hasn't updated stats in a while, so I have no way of knowing how many people are reading this…. But I appreciate every single one of you. Enjoy!

Chapter 4—The Long Holiday

Hogwarts was giving students a long Eostre holiday that year, over an entire week at home, and it was the only innovation that year that Ginny liked. She had to admit, little as she wanted to, that being away from school felt good. The expectations were so high at Hogwarts, the burden so great, and the penalty of failure loomed at every turn. It was a genuine pleasure and relief to be away from it all for a short while.

The family had a happy Eostre dinner of lamb and new peas and fresh spring vegetables and her mother's special featherlight rolls, a perfect coconut cake for dessert. It was marred only by the fact that both Ron and Percy were, of course, missing, that Bill was going through a rough patch with the aftereffects of the werewolf bite, so he'd stayed at home with Fleur and Teddy, and that Charlie couldn't get away from the frost dragons in northern Sweden. Ginny missed all her other brothers terribly, but she had a wonderful two days with Fred and George. They played pickup games of Quidditch, discussed all the new plans for WWW, and walked round the fields behind the house. As worried as they all were about Ron, and her mother seemed to talk about little else, Ginny had an odd feeling that she would somehow know if anything had really gone wrong with him. She didn't explain it in detail for fear of endless teasing from Fred about her grades in Divination, but the feeling that he was essentially safe was still there. The real problem was something else.

From the very start, something seemed off.

Ginny could not quite put her finger on it, except to say that some indefinable thing about the atmosphere at home was strange. Her mother and father seemed to be exchanging a lot of glances and carrying on whispered conversations when they didn't know she was nearby. As soon as she appeared, they'd change the subject. They clearly knew something that they did not want to tell her, or they were discussing something they did not want to share with her, or both. Ginny wondered if Fred and George might be aware of what was going on. She could not quite decide which one to tackle. Finally, she went with George, because she had a feeling that it was unlikely the twins actually knew the secret, whatever it might be. If they had, then it would have been easier to get the truth out of Fred, but he wasn't the best at figuring out the subtleties of human behavior. This, of course, was assuming that she wasn't just imagining it all, which she was almost able to convince herself that she was.

The day after Eostre, while Fred was fiddling with an experimental potion he'd left in the broom shed, Ginny walked by the Otter river with George. The bright sun of a Devon spring shone down, and the rushing water formed a constant background noise that would drown out what they were saying. Ginny wasn't quite sure why that thought had crossed her mind.

"George, do you think something strange is going on?" she asked abruptly, after a few minutes of aimless conversation.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"I don't know," she sighed. "But something around here just doesn't seem quite right." She gestured helplessly with one hand, aware of how silly she was making herself sound.

"It's safe to say that loads of things aren't right just now," said George dryly. "Death Eaters busy taking over Hogwarts, Voldemort gearing up for all-out war, Snape as headmaster…"

"I suppose it could be no more than that," said Ginny. "But Mum and Dad seem a bit… off. I'm not sure how to explain it, or if I can explain at all, but they do."

George gave her a long look. He was the thoughtful twin, the one who kept his brother grounded. Where Fred was all fire and light and motion, George was solid ground. If he agreed that something might be wrong, then it could very well be the case. And more than that, Ginny realized; there was a reason why she'd chosen the more earthbound twin for a serious conversation. She herself really was afraid that something was not quite right.

"How so, Gin?" he asked.

"Since I've been home, I've caught them talking in whispers to each other when they don't think I'm around. The second I show up, they change the subject. And just some odd looks—I don't know how to make it any more clear than that, and maybe it's all nothing," she said rather lamely.

"If there's anything to it, I don't know what it could be, and Fred doesn't either. I'd know if he did."

"He's an open book," Ginny agreed. "Well—never mind, George. Let's talk about other things."

"All right." They turned and began heading back towards the garden.

"How's the year going at school, Gin? Really?"

"It's difficult," she admitted.

"Not hard to believe," said George, "between the Carrows, Snape, and Merlin knows what else."

"Right," said Ginny, trying to keep her face immobile. Persecution from that quarter was not the only thing that made the year hard for her. In a way, those strange meetings with Draco Malfoy had been harder still, a strange, prickly, bittersweet difficulty. But I'm not saying a word to George about those, she vowed.

"What do you think is going on with Harry and the others, really?" she asked.

He gave her an odd look. 'You mean you don't know?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "How could I know when it's not safe for any of them to write to me, or call me, or anything? I've barely been able to find out anything all year. I heard that Hermione had the idea to send emmy mail to an electric address—or wait, is that right? Well, whatever it's called—and I could go to a Muggle town to read it. But then she decided even that was too dangerous. Dad found out somehow, so Mum naturally got to hear about it, and…"

"And that was that." George's sherry-brown eyes filled with sympathy, and she thought that she would likely have accepted that sentiment from nobody else but him. "That's tough, Gin."

"You're not joking," she said.

He squeezed her hand. "I'm sorry. I wish that you could at least get a letter from Harry."

"I suppose so." Ginny lowered her eyes. A sudden image had flashed across her mind. A large, graceful, eagle owl swooping down to her bedroom window, holding a parchment in its claw, unrolling to reveal the elegant, slanted, backhand writing she had seen several times over the past six years. A letter from Draco Malfoy. It was an impossible idea, absolutely mad, and she vowed that she would not allow it to enter her head again.

"But I have the strangest feeling that Ron is basically all right, at least," she said.

"I'm glad," said George. "I can't say that I have any feeling about it at all. And you have to admit, Gin, that you've never exactly been a seer."

"Don't remind me of how bad my grades were in Divination." Ginny rolled her eyes.

"Didn't Hermione say once it was a very woolly subject?"

"Yes," said Ginny, beginning to wish she'd never said anything about it at all.

"I don't think that's what this is, though," mused George. "I'm not sure I believe in Divination particularly in the first place, but I think that if this feeling of yours means anything, that's not what it is."

"Then what do you think it is?"

"I think it's intuition. It's not something magical; it's just an ability that humans have, and it only applies to family or people one is close to."

Ginny shivered, and did not know why. "Maybe you're right. I don't know. Anyway, it must be time for lunch, George; let's go back."

As they walked back towards the house, George suddenly snapped his fingers. "Oh, Gin, I almost forgot! I heard just a scrap of news about Hermione from one of our goblin suppliers. He said he'd heard that she was looking for a specific book, about prophecies, or potions, or… I'm really not sure."

She stared at him. "How on earth would a goblin have heard about this?"

"You know how they are. They've got ways of finding out everything. Anyway, this goblin asked if I knew which book it was, and said that he might be able to find it for the right price. I had to say that I'd no idea. But I wonder if it might be important."

"I wonder too," said Ginny. "Neville said he'd heard something about that, right before we left."

"I suppose there's no way to know. But at least we know they're all right, or at least they were a short while ago."

Ginny shivered, even though the day was warm.

Fred and George returned to their London flat later that night, explaining that they couldn't be away from WWW for long. Ginny watched them Apparate with a pang of loss. She trudged back to the house, her steps feeling heavy and weighted. Most of the fun seemed to have gone with her laughing, irrepressible brothers, and she knew that she wouldn't mind getting back to school at the end of the week. At least there, she felt that she was doing something, trying to accomplish something, making her best attempt. Even if she failed at protecting her friends or stealing a Horcrux, at least she knew that she had done all she could. The Burrow, on the other hand, felt cut off from the outside world. But I'll be back in a week, she thought, and the idea was comforting. Her parents were sitting in the living room and talking in low voices, and if she hadn't been so tired, she might have wondered what was going on. I'll worry about it in the morning, she decided, and she went to bed.

Draco Malfoy stood in front of the huge double doors of an enormous building. She herself stood at the end of a long, winding drive that led up to the house. Even without ever having seen it, Ginny knew that she was looking at Malfoy Manor. It was a massive block of stone, but she could see few details; it seemed to be the middle of the night. A half moon peeped out from behind a cloud bank, briefly illuminating Malfoy's face, pale and set. He reached out a long, white hand to her. "Come to me, Ginny," he said, using the first name he had never spoken in life.

"I can't." She shrank back.

"You can, and you must. I need your help. We're the only ones who can do what must be done."

She shook her head, backing away, but a fierce wind suddenly began to blow. She was buffeted from behind; even Malfoy had trouble keeping his feet, and tree branches from the tremendous cedars surrounding the house scratched against its banks of mullioned windows, tapping, tapping, tapping out a rhythm that seemed to mean something, a sound with a purpose, if she could only figure out what it was—

Tap. Tap. Taptaptap!

Still half caught in the dream, Ginny sat up, blinking, pushing back the covers. The noise seemed to be coming from the window by her bed. It probably really was just a tree branch, she thought. Dad needs to prune that willow. The curtains had drawn back somehow too, showing a sliver of moon. And… and a huge eagle owl was perched on the windowsill, tapping against the glass.

Ginny gaped. She knew that owl. She'd seen it fly down to a very familiar place at the Slytherin table dozens of times over the past six years. It was Invictus, one of the official Malfoy owls. And it was holding out a parchment in its claw. It was all so much like her brief fantasy from that afternoon that at first, she was sure she had to still be dreaming.

The owl tapped at the window more impatiently, more loudly. Ginny's bedroom was directly above her parents'. Molly Weasley always slept next to the window, and she was an extremely light sleeper. If her mother woke up to find the Malfoy owl sitting on her daughter's windowsill, well… it was safe to say that the night would not end well.

Ginny opened the window swiftly, half expecting to get her fingers bitten off. But the owl only stepped into the room and sat on the small table next to her bed, looking at her expectantly. With trembling fingers, she took the parchment scroll.

Weasley,

I'm looking out my window at a field of flowers by moonlight. Wiltshire is so much further south than Hogwarts that they are mostly in bloom. I can't leave the grounds, so I walk in the rose gardens and think about everything I am missing at school. Are the flowers blooming in Devon? Let me know.

Something has happened here. I should not even tell you this much, and I know it even as I write these words, but I must tell someone. I can say no more.

D.M.

What the hell was this? Some strange sort of code? She turned the parchment over and over in her hands., unable to shake the feeling that whatever she was trying to find out, Malfoy knew what it was. Or at least he knew something, and perhaps he was trying to learn more as well Before she could think better of it, she took the small pen from the owl's claw and quickly wrote a reply on the other side of the parchment.

Malfoy,

I know what you mean. I can't leave either. I'm stuck here, and I think I'll go mad. What's happened?

G.W.

She regretted answering that letter the second the owl left. She'd probably revealed far too much information, and he was going to use it for all the wrong purposes, passing it on to the other Death Eaters. Stupid, stupid. And yet she couldn't regret it at all. He obviously already knows where I am, she argued with herself. The Death Eaters burned the Burrow down last year, and he heard about it from them. And I'd clearly be here for the Eostre holiday. I haven't told him anything he didn't know already. Who knows—maybe I can actually learn something this way! It doesn't seem like anybody else is going to tell me anything.

It took Ginny a long time to fall back to sleep. When she woke up, she was more than half convinced that the owl, the letter, and her reply had all been part of a dream.

Something was definitely not quite right at breakfast that morning, and Ginny knew it. She could tell that easily by her father's tightened lips, and the way her mother was clutching at a glass of orange juice as if expecting it to give her strength for what lay ahead. She put down her glass harder than she'd meant to; it thumped against the table and sounded very loud in the silence. "Mum, Dad—won't you please just tell me what's going on? I can tell that something's wrong."

"Ginny dear, you really need a good, solid breakfast first—" Molly began.

"No," Arthur from the head of the table. "Molly, she needs to know now. We can't keep it a secret."

Her mother shot him a glare that Ginny had seen too many times before. She put down the uneaten piece of toast she was holding. "There's something that we need to tell you, dear."

Her parents then exchanged glances yet again, putting Ginny on instant alert. This was how her parents had always delivered bad news. Her mother took the active role and did most of the talking, and her father remained in the background and contributed from time to time. But sometimes, the two were very much at odds when it came to the question of just how much they were going to tell their daughter. She suspected that this was one of those times.

"Molly…" her father said quietly.

"I suppose you're right," said her mother. She put down the uneaten piece of toast. "There are some things that you need to know, Ginny, and it's time to tell you what they are."

Suddenly, Ginny almost wished that she'd eaten more of her breakfast before this particular talk. But it was too late to go back now. Oh please, let me at least find out something useful about what's really going on! She prayed.

"Mum, whatever it is, just tell me."

"Very well." Molly gave a long, long sigh. "We received some news through the Floo Network first thing this morning. While that wasn't really quite safe, it was an emergency. You see, it was about Harry, Hermione, and—and Ron."

"You mean—no, oh no!" exclaimed Ginny. "Is he- are they…?" But Ron's safe, she thought. I don't know how, but I do. The others, though…

"Everyone is quite all right, Ginny," said her father from the other end of the table. "But there have been some developments."

Her mother picked up the thread of the story. "We learned that all three of them were caught and taken to a Death Eater lair yesterday, to Malfoy Manor."

Ginny dropped her fork on her plate with a clatter. Malfoy Manor. This was it. This had to be the thing that Malfoy had referred to in that letter, and she no longer tried to pretend to herself that it had been part of a dream. Had Draco Malfoy been involved? Had he done anything to her brother and her friends? Had he even been there when all three of them were brought in? And is he all right? Some traitorous part of her mind asked that question, too.

"Yes, I can certainly understand why you're upset," said her mother. "Bill didn't know all of the details; apparently, they didn't tell him, but it seems that Ron and Hermione were- questioned. Apparently, Ron had the easiest time. I suppose it's because he's a pureblood, which I can only be thankful for now. I feel dreadful for Hermione, of course, but…" She allowed her words to trail off.

Ginny fought the urge to grit her teeth. Her mother had never really liked Hermione, never truly believed that she was right for Ron, and she knew that deep down, Molly Weasley would have sacrificed her without a second thought for Ron's comfort and safety. Ginny certainly understood the feeling, but the thought of Hermione being questioned and hurt by Death Eaters was utterly appalling.

"Anyway, Ginny dear, the main thing is that they're all right now. They escaped to Shell Cottage."

"Dobby the house elf was killed, Molly," her father put in.

"Oh. Right. That was terribly sad, of course, but still, Harry, Ron, and Hermione are all safe. So all's well that ends well, or at the very least, it could have all turned out so much worse."

Ginny could hardly argue with that. She couldn't seem to keep the stream of questions about Draco Malfoy out of her mind, but at least she was able to keep herself from speaking any of them.

"So Bill let me know about all of this a few hours ago," said her mother. "They're continuing on their quest after they rest for a bit, and they're fine for now. Aren't you glad to hear it?"

"Of course I am," said Ginny. "It's such a relief." And it was, not only because of the good news that all three had made it through such a terrible test, but because now she herself had heard at least some kind of news about what was really going on. "I'll tell everyone at school when I go back after break," she added.

Her mother and father exchanged glances yet again.

"What else is wrong?" Ginny asked.

"Dear… you won't be seeing your friends again this spring," said Molly.

"Why?" Ginny asked blankly. The statement seemed to make no sense. She wondered if she had heard it correctly.

Her mother took a deep breath. "Because you won't be going back to Hogwarts."

She stared at her mother "What?"

"You'll stay here until—things quiet down."

"When's that going to happen?"

"It's impossible to say right now," said her mother.

"But—that's mad. I can't. I've got to go back." Ginny swung round to her father. "Dad, come on. You have to know that I can't just stay here!"

Her father looked back at her with weary eyes. "I'm afraid that you've got to, Ginny."

She clutched onto the seat of her chair. "Give me one good reason why I should!"

"Because if you go back to school, the Death Eaters will kidnap you to get to Harry!" her mother burst out.

"Mum, that's…" Ginny faltered. She couldn't finish the sentence as she'd originally meant to, because the idea was not crazy, and she knew it.

"That would never happen," she said desperately. "The school's protected with powerful spells, you know that."

Molly's lips tightened. "That's not nearly as true as it once was. It may well be possible to breach those protections now."

"But.. but…" Oh gods, why can't I say anything else, I sound like an idiot!

"Ginny," her father said quietly, in a tone of voice that always meant he was serious. "The truth is that we just don't know what might happen this spring, if you go back. It's a real possibility that the Death Eaters might decide to use you to get to Harry. You'd be perfect bait, and I think you know this yourself."

No, I'd be safe at Hogwarts, I would, I would, Ginny longed to cry. But she couldn't. The words died on her lips, because she knew they were not true.

Ginny dug her fingernails into her palms, trying to stay calm. "How long am I staying home?"

"I don't know. As long as need be. I don't want you going into the village. You may not leave the grounds of the house, Ginny; don't go further than the orchard," said her mother.

"You mean I'm trapped here?"

"You'll be safe here," said her mother. "And we can't be sure that this would be true anywhere else—Ginny, really, you must see that. The news about all those dreadful things that happened at Malfoy Manor this week just proves how true it really is."

A thought struck Ginny. "Wait. When did this happen to Harry. Ron, and Hermione?"

"Two days ago," said her father.

"But you said that you both only found out this morning."

"Yes. Bill Flooed us very early," said her mother.

"So you didn't even know about this when I first came home," Ginny said slowly. "But you were both planning for me to stay here after Eostre all along, not just because of this news. Isn't that true?"

It was. She knew it the instant she saw the look on her mother's face.

"You already wanted to keep me at home before you even knew this had happened." An edge was entering Ginny's voice, and she didn't even try to stop it.

"Yes," said her mother, her face set. "Because we knew all along that something exactly like this might happen, Ginny. This only confirms that we were right."

"Mum—Dad- you're hiding things from me. I don't even know if you've told me everything now!"

"We've done the best that we could. It's all been for your safety, Ginevra, and you might be a bit more appreciative."

It was never a good sign when her mother started calling her by her full name. "But couldn't you have told me earlier?"

"No," her mother snapped. "The attitude you're taking now only proves that we couldn't have done. If you insist on acting like a child, you'll be treated as one."

Ginny leaped to her feet before she even realized she'd done it. "I'm not a child, and you've lied to me!"

Tears sprang to her mother's eyes. "After all we've done for you, this is the sort of thanks we get! You're so terribly ungrateful, Ginny; you always have been. "

Arthur Weasley put his hand over his wife's. "Molly…"

She snatched it away. "I'm not done. I'm far from done. She's never appreciated everything she's been given. Never. She's spoiled."

It was an even worse sign when her mother began referring to her in the third person while she was in the room. Ginny put her hands on her hips. "So now I'm spoiled, because I want to know what's being decided for me before I'm kept away from school, before I'm going to be stuck at home for Merlin only knows how long?"

"See?" her mother demanded of her father, although Molly Weasley might also have been speaking to the ceiling. "This is the thanks we get. She's got a roof over her head, a warm bed, meals served to her like a princess, I work and slave my fingers to the bone around this house every minute of every day, and she still talks back to me. No, no—" She raised a hand. "Don't say another word, Ginevra; you've already said quite enough for one morning! I've got another one of my headaches. I'm going to bed. If I don't have any analgesic potion left, I'll just suffer in silence, I suppose." She pushed back her chair and started up the stairs. As soon as she was gone, her father turned to Ginny.

"Ginny, please try to understand," he said. "Your mother and I only want what's best for you. I think you do see that the Burrow is the only safe place for you to be. And I'm afraid that it does need to be until the end of term."

The end of term. Ginny's stomach dropped. "No," she whispered.

"Yes," her father said, inexorably.

Actions