A/N: Thanks to all readers, favoriters, followers, and reviewers, especially Carol and Ksummerforever! 😊

Chapter 7—The Communication

An hour after sunrise the next morning, she took out a punt from a shed next to the little lake and poled it to a tiny island on a punt. The water was so shallow that no other type of boat would get her there at all. It was a beautiful day, with blooming flowers and singing birds. As she tied the punt to a stake in the ground and sat on a large, flat boulder, a bag of textbooks by her side, she wasn't very optimistic that any of it would improve her mood.

"I'm going to have to think about this, aren't I?" she demanded moodily of a patch of bright red ranunculus flowers. They did not provide an answer, but then, she hadn't expected one to come from anywhere except herself.

All right. Fine. Let's think this thing out and get it over with.

The scenario she'd conjured up about the Beltane fires might not have been a dream, or even a fantasy. But if it was a vision, it was a meaningless one. It had only happened because she'd seen the elves preparing for the great festival, she'd read that book, and both experiences had stirred up a primal desire in her to re-enact the rituals that wizards and witches had once performed as a matter of course. Time had moved on. Those things lay in the past. However, they had once been done. Centuries ago, Ginny really would have gone to the Beltane fires when she was old enough, and offered her innocence for some young man to take as they lay together in the fields. The ancestral memories had been reawakened, that was all; they held no reality. But… she squirmed uncomfortably. Ugh, sometimes I wish I was a Slytherin so I didn't have to be so honest all the time… I do know why it happened exactly the way it did. I know why a certain someone was there, not just a faceless boy. Draco Malfoy had been dragged into the vision because he was the one she had most recently held, and touched, and so very nearly snogged.

The memory of those moments in the tower before Eostre had never stopped haunting her, and they certainly were making a full return now. The images played themselves over in her mind, although she wished they would not. She had sat in front of him to rub his aching head; he had leaned closer to her; she had moved even further towards him; their lips had almost touched… Argh. She ran her hand over her face. It all kept coming back to her in clear and dreadful detail. If she'd gone back to school after the Eostre holiday, she might have been able to forget about it, but here, there were no distractions. The memories would not leave her alone.

But none of it had meant anything, especially because if anything like her fantasies had happened on Beltane, Malfoy would have pulled her into them only in order to lure her away from the Burrow.

"No, that can't be true," she whispered. "It doesn't make any sense." The thought comforted her a bit. Malfoy had his opportunity to lure into the soft spaces, and he had not taken it. And it would not have been difficult to do. He would have taken concrete steps in his last letter, writing something much more like the one in her vision, the one that had asked her to meet him behind the house at the borderlands, where she could easily have been nabbed and taken to Malfoy Manor.

But as to why Malfoy had been in that vision, she was afraid that she knew the answer all too well.

Ginny slipped down to the ground and began moodily playing with the petals of a patch of violets. She was sure she knew exactly why she'd come so close to snogging Draco Malfoy in a deserted tower room and also why she'd fantasized about him on Beltane, or whatever had really happened. The answer was very simple. She missed Harry. That was all. She'd missed him all year, in fact, and if she was really going to be honest about it… she shifted position on the ground uncomfortably. What she really missed was their intimacy, limited as it had been. They'd never done more than snog and grope lightly, even though she was the one who would have gone further. He'd always told her that they couldn't possibly consummate their relationship that year. She was too underage, still only fifteen years old, it was too dangerous, and although it was always unspoken between them, Ginny realized that she'd known even then that she would be his weakness, that whoever wanted to get at him could do it through her. He couldn't afford to give in to a weakness like that.

Ginny had almost succeeded in pushing him further, on that night so close to his birthday, and only chance and Ron had interrupted them. She had burned with memories of that night a score of times by then, rehearsing what might have been, imagining the exquisite relief of finally letting go, of losing her virginity and releasing her sexuality at last. Again and again, she would writhe with the fantasies of sensual fulfillment. What had never struck her before today was how divorced these fantasies had become from Harry himself. And it's led to this...

Maybe I'm a slut after all, she thought drearily. Perhaps all I want is sex, from any boy at all, doesn't matter who. It's the only explanation for why I would even think of Malfoy that way, Malfoy, of all the males on earth!

Wings fluttered as Invictus landed directly in front of her on the boulder, as if her thoughts about the owl's master had called him up. She jumped guiltily and took the letter.

Weasley,

I only heard about the attack on the Burrow after it had happened, when it was much too late. Please believe me, I knew nothing about it at the time. I remember how strange I felt that day, a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, and my heart pounding for no reason at all. It was as if there were a high, keening sound in my head all day long. When I learned that night that no-one had been hurt, the noise went away. But I did learn that my aunt had chased you, and nearly caught you.

If I had been there, I would never have allowed you to be harmed or frightened. No-one would have come near you, or laid a hand on you—

A few words were crossed out here. Ginny squinted and held the parchment up to the light, but she could make out nothing. So she filled in the blank herself.

Except for me.

DM

Malfoy,

I never really thought that you knew about that attack when it was being planned, which was silly maybe, because why wouldn't you have known? But I'm glad that you didn't. It seems so long ago now, and the Burrow was rebuilt, but it was terribly frightening at the time. I suppose that I was in a great deal of danger, although while it was going on, there was no time to feel afraid.

She sucked on the end of the quill.

But if you had been there, I would have felt truly safe.

GW

After sending Invictus away, she flopped back on her grass with a long sigh and stared up at the sky. They had both distanced themselves slightly from the intimacy of the previous letter, but honestly, not by much. His words were not anywhere near distant enough, and neither were hers. She no longer fooled herself into thinking that there was a solution to this problem.

There wouldn't be a solution to the problem of her homework, either, if she didn't get started on it. But it seemed impossible to keep her mind on the page once she took a book out of the bag and started to read. Divination… ugh, this one really is hopeless. Ginny was dismally aware that if her work didn't improve, she might not even be able to continue on to seventh year. Her only consolation was that Hermione wouldn't be eligible to take the NEWT's, so maybe they could both study together to bring themselves up to the mark.

Hermione. That brought up another set of difficult thoughts. Her friend, her brother, and her ex-boyfriend. Out of all of them, she was ashamed that she really only worried about Ron, for all that she felt he was essentially safe from harm. Hermione could take care of herself: Ginny had absolutely no doubt about that, and Harry… her feelings for and about Harry were such a mess that she preferred to leave them unexamined. She wanted him to be safe, but she couldn't get emotionally involved in his safety, somehow. She kept him at arms' length, even in her mind, and no matter how hard she tried, no matter how bad she felt about that failure, she couldn't do more than that.

Failure. That brought up something else, too. The whispering voice was haunting her a great deal while she was stuck at the Burrow, more than ever, really, because there wasn't enough to distract her. It talked of lost hopes and missed opportunities, battles that she would never even have the chance to fight, time that was slipping through her hands, all the things that she wanted to do and could not. It presented her with worry about her friends at Hogwarts and endless wondering about what Neville and Colin and Luna were doing. Nobody from school was allowed to send her owls, her mother had explained. They had to keep the Burrow shielded, although Ginny was never sure exactly what that meant. She didn't think there was an actual magical protection. Somehow, Ginny was not the least bit surprised that the Malfoy owl had found a way through that shield, whatever it was. She was furiously tempted, sometimes, to fling the truth in her mother's face, that hiding in the Burrow might well be doing her no good at all, that the Death Eaters could still find her. But she knew what Molly Weasley would say in return.

"But we've got you safe at home, dear, that's the main thing. You're here, where we can protect you."

And the problem, of course, was that there was no way to tell her mother that the shield wasn't working so well without explaining why and how she knew it. The thing that kept her going, that chased away the awful grey sludgy feeling, that silenced the voice of failure, was reading Draco Malfoy's letters and replying to them. That voice was silent now, because he had just sent her a letter and she was turning it over in her mind.

But it was wrong to take that kind of comfort in messages from him, desperately and dangerously wrong. She had to tell her mother and father what was happening. It was mad not to. She was putting everyone in danger by accepting those owls; she probably really was a terrible daughter after all. Her punishment would be the look of total disappointment on her father's face. No, my punishment will be whatever hellhole they send me to next. Maybe they'll hide me in a cave in Cornwall!

Yet she hadn't told them, and she knew, deep down, in some unadmitted place, that she never would.

Several days slipped by. Her father seemed to spend the vast majority of his time either at the Ministry or tinkering out in the shed. Her mother went to the village every day. Fred and George visited once. Ginny walked around the lake, flew her broom, tackled the roses and other outside tasks, and kept up with schoolwork as owls dropped off new assignments and picked up completed ones.

She received letters from Draco every morning, and she could not find it in herself to regret that the decision to cut back on the number of owls seemed to have fallen by the wayside. They had both pulled back from the raw closeness of Beltane and talked about books they'd read and plays they'd watched and films they'd seen; she was quite surprised at how many Muggle movies he'd somehow been exposed to. He often talked about the fields and lands and gardens around Malfoy Manor, although never about the house itself, she noticed, and she did much the same with the Burrow. Yet there was always a strange, oddly personal line or two at the end, far too personal, far too revealing, and hers were the same way. It was bizarre. Mad, really. After each note, Ginny knew that she was going to accept the next, even though she occasionally made a token, weak vow that she would never send another reply. Yet the next morning, the white eagle owl would tap at her window, or flutter down to settle at her feet when she walked through the orchard or around the lake, or hover in the air next to her broom when she went flying early in the morning. She would unroll the parchment, she would read the note from Draco, and she would scribble her reply, sending it back with the owl.

Staying here for so long was just too difficult otherwise, she told herself constantly, and it was true. Ginny could enjoy being alone, and she tended to retreat into herself whenever she was unhappy and anxious, but deep down, she was not really an introvert. The ordeal would have been easier if she'd been one. As it was, she just felt cut off and isolated from everyone and everything in the outside world. The days dragged, and yet each was the same as the last, so they blurred together too. Only Draco's letters broke the endless monotonous stretches of time.

April 30, 1998

Ginny stood flattened against the wall of the third floor corridor, her ear almost to the door of the spare room. She hadn't been able to coax any extendable ears out of Fred and George, she'd had no luck with Audible charms, and she was down to good, old-fashioned listening at doors. She'd been trying to spy on her parents over the last weeks with a notable lack of success. They just always seemed too quick for her, and there were too many nooks and corners around the Burrow for them to hold private discussions. Sheer luck had led her to Bill's old bedroom first thing in the morning, where they were closeted behind closed doors. The problem was that she still couldn't really hear anything. It was mostly murmuring with a word or two rising above the beelike buzz of sound.

Pst. Pst. Psssst.

"But they say…"

"But what if…"

Bzz. Bzz bzz bzz.

"You'll never get me to believe that she…"

"I'm not saying that I believe it, but that's what they're…"

Whisper whisper whisper.

One word rising above the mumbling.

"…Ginny…"

So they were talking about her! She leaned closer, but their voices had dropped to a maddeningly low range again. Maybe if she pressed her ear a little bit harder against that crack…

The door suddenly opened, sending Ginny flying across the opposite wall. Her parents stepped out of the room. No point in pretending I wasn't listening, she thought, giving them a weak smile. Her mother sighed.

"How much did you hear, Ginny?"

"Not enough," she said, deciding that there was no point in being diplomatic. "But I know you were talking about me."

Her parents exchanged glances.

"Can't you just tell me what this is about?"

"We weren't discussing anything the least bit important," said her mother. "Nothing you need to know about."

Irritation bolted through Ginny. "I'd say I should know whatever this is—I heard my name."

"Er… Molly, perhaps we ought to…" her father began, looking uncomfortable.

"I don't think there's any reason why we should say another word about this silliness," said her mother, with a grim, determined look on her face that Ginny had long since privately dubbed the presenting-a-united-front expression.

Ginny thought for a moment. "Whatever this is, it's the same thing you were talking about on Beltane, the thing you wouldn't tell me. Isn't it?"

Their silence was answer enough.

"I knew it! Mum—Dad—why can't you just tell me?"

"Molly," her father said quietly, putting a hand on her mother's arm and giving her a long look.

"Oh, all right!" Molly snapped.

"I knew there was something going on—" began Ginny.

"It's complete nonsense," said her mother.

"They don't seem to think so," her father put in.

"I don't care what those fools at the ministry think!" Molly put her hands to her head. "I can't talk about this. No, no—" she waved a hand. "I'm getting too upset."

"Molly, please—"

"Oh, another one of my headaches is starting; I can just feel it." She stomped down the corridor and towards the stairs. Arthur watched her leave with a stricken look.

Finally, he turned back to his daughter. "Let's go outside," he said. With a feeling of déjà vu all over again, Ginny followed him.

They walked around the field near the broom shed, which Ginny thought was at least a change from last time.

"Ginny, you know that we mustn't upset your mother," he said.

She nodded. More of the same, I wonder how many times I've heard that line. Tiptoeing on eggshells around Mum, that's all the entire family ever does. "Yeah, right. Look, Dad, can't you tell me what all this is about?" When he stayed silent, she added "Don't I deserve to know something, when it obviously has something to do with me or I wouldn't have heard my name?"

"Yes… yes, I think you do deserve to know." He sighed deeply. "Some officials at the Ministry think that because you're the seventh child of a seventh son, you might have some sort of special magical powers."

Ginny began to laugh, but she sobered when she saw the look on her father's face. "Dad, you can't possibly believe that rubbish!" For once, I agree with Mum, she thought. I've never heard anything sillier.

Her father paused. "Of course not."

After a swift, pickup breakfast, her father left, and Ginny knew that she needed to go outside. She walked through the orchard, smelling the sweet apple-blossoms, feeling the spring air unwind the tension in her shoulders. When Invictus landed on the branch of one tree, hooting at her inquisitively and cocking his head to one side, she laughed and took the parchment.

In the last letter, she and Malfoy had been discussing school, and their shared fears that they were slipping further and further behind in their learning. She had asked him if he missed Hogwarts, and she wondered what kind of reply he would give. No, because I'm having so much fun with the Death Eaters? Yes, because I wish I could get away from Voldemort? Or will he just say nothing at all?

Weasley,

It's very strange. I thought I was done with Hogwarts, that I could not have cared less if I ever set foot on those grounds again, that I certainly never wanted to return to school as a student. But I find myself remembering the little things, the details. The Quidditch pitch on a cloudy day. Walking through the fields and woods after the rain, when the earth sends up that delicious scent. And seeing the sun in your hair, Weasley, the lights of copper and gold. These are the things I miss. It's not as if I don't have a great deal to do here, because I most certainly do. But I imagine your hair glinting in the sun now, and it makes me smile. Even here.

DM

For an instant, she closed her eyes, remembering the sun on his hair, too.Then she wrote her reply.

Malfoy,

I miss Hogwarts too, more than I ever thought I could. The summer after my first year, I honestly didn't care if I never set foot there again, because—well, never mind that for now. Then I grew to like it again, but I never loved it with an unreasoning love in the way some of my friends did. (The way Harry did, she thought, but did not even feel tempted to write.) The funny thing is that I'm not sure if I miss the school nearly as much as I miss being free. I really do want to run away sometimes.

She hesitated, and then added one last line.

Do you ever want to run away?

GW

"What in Merlin's name is wrong with me?" she asked the empty sky aloud as soon as the owl had disappeared. Why did I write that last line? Ugh. All right, I'm not going to stop reading his letters and I know it. But asking Malfoy questions like that, like it's part of some bizarre fantasy that he might actually change… That has to stop, she vowed. It's not as if I don't have a great deal to do here, he said… oh, I can just imagine the sort of things he's doing.

The facts must be faced, she decided. Malfoy lived under the same roof as Voldemort, and he was a Death Eater. If he ever felt conflicted about that service, the feeling was clearly not enough to get him to leave, or he would surely have already done it. He had vowed himself to the cause, and he was serving his Dark Lord. Perhaps he really did feel bad about it all from time to time, but that meant nothing. He hadn't wanted to identify Harry, which would have certainly led to the identification of Ron and Hermione, but that could easily have been because of some fleeting whim of his. He and she were thoroughly, permanently, irrevocably on different sides, no matter how his letters haunted her. Really. They were.

Late that evening, her mother tapped at her door. Ginny looked up from the desk, where she had been studying The Book of Terribly Tedious Arithmancy Problems.

"Are you better, Mum?" she asked in a gentler voice that she'd used with her mother since she had come home for Eostre. Molly Weasley looked very pale.

"Yes." Her mother sat on the bed and gave Ginny a tremulous smile. "And I've got good news; your father Flooed from the Ministry to tell me about it. He's working late again."

"What is it?" Nimue knows I could use some good news, thought Ginny.

Her mother smiled. "I've heard that they're getting very close to coming back, dear. I mean Harry, Ron, and Hermione, of course. They could return any day now."

"That's wonderful!" Ginny gasped.

"Oh, I can't wait to see Ron again. I'm sure he hasn't been eating properly. And I'm sure you'll be very glad to see Harry." Her mother's smile became more meaningful. Ginny squirmed. The truth was that she didn't know how happy she would really be to see Harry again.

"You must miss him," said her mother.

"Uh… right."

"You know, Ginny…" Her mother sat on the bed. "I'm not so sure that it wasn't a good thing for the two of you to be separated for awhile, this past year. Perhaps it's just as well that you've had some time apart."

"What do you mean, Mum?" Ginny asked guardedly.

Her mother gave a little laugh. "Absence makes the heart grow fonder, but the temptation has been removed."

"Temptation…" echoed Ginny, still not quite sure what her mother was getting at.

"I might as well tell you now, dear, that I was a bit concerned at how close you and Harry were becoming by last summer. I took certain steps, and I'm glad I did."

The other penny dropped. "Mum, you're the one who sent Ron to look for us on that day in June," Ginny said slowly. "You wanted him to find out what Harry and I were doing."

"Well, dear… " She gave Ginny a searching look. "No man will buy the cow if he can get the cream for free."

Oh, please don't let me blush, Ginny prayed. She was afraid that the prayer was going unanswered, because she could already feel the heat rising in her cheeks. Harry and I weren't doing anything. Don't be ridiculous, Mum. She should really say the words. But she couldn't, because the truth was that if Ron hadn't interrupted them, she really didn't know how far she and Harry might have gone, on that day.

"It's something to keep in mind, dear, after your reunion," her mother said at last. "A girl always needs to hold a bit of herself back."

She had always done that with Harry, she realized. He had never known more than a bit of her, that self that was eager for him, a doormat under his feet. He had never seen all of her, not even close. She didn't think she even could show him her real self if she wanted to. But with someone else… She cut off the thought.

"Mum, I really want to get bed early," she mumbled.

"That's a good idea, dear," said her mother, rising from the bed. "I'd just like you to keep in mind what I've said, because you will be seeing Harry again, quite soon, and it's easy to get carried away."

Not with him, Ginny couldn't stop herself from thinking.

But when she was lying in bed a bit later, she could not stop her thoughts from ranging over someone else, a man who could carry her away on a tide of desire both sweet and terrible, one with shining hair and eyes like silver moons.