The Difficulties of Avoidance

by dead2self

A/N: Had a good time stealing time to write this over the past few weeks. I'm about to move back overseas so things have been a bit hectic. Hope you enjoy this chapter! As always, reviews are so encouraging and motivating to me. I love to know what people think about where this story is going. Thanks for reading!

The week trudged by in a farce of normalcy. Ginny attended her classes and ate her meals, all in the knowledge that the week was marching her closer to detention with Snape. Along the way she was noticing more limping students, professors biting their tongues, and worst, Snape's black eyes glinting at her from the central seat of the staff table.

Ginny and Luna had decided that any loitering outside the Room was now unwise. Their abundant practice meant they could both push their Patronuses farther, certainly far enough to reach from the safety of their own dormitories. It was a risk, having no reinforcement outside when Tom inevitably attempted another escape, but Harper had acclimated quickly to the new regime and Ginny did not trust Snape to ignore him twice. However, this also limited her conversations with Luna to those stolen in class or after meals.

Luna's position put her in close proximity with the Carrows, who days later were still on a manhunt for the students responsible for the Great Hall's graffiti. There had been conversation of testing the wands of every student in the school, but too much time had passed to use a Prior Incantato spell. Vestiges of the paint remained as a reminder of its message and Luna reported that the new professors was desperate to lay down punishment. Ginny could tell that Luna was terrified of what they would ask of her as Head Girl, but for once Luna's blank honesty was absent.

Oddly, the only times that truly had a measure of untouched routine were her mornings with Tom. She admitted that this was likely due to Tom's ignorance of the Death Eater takeover and acting like it never happened was a necessity. Nonetheless, she enjoyed the charade and her Disillusionment Charm made some improvement. She did not know how much good it would do if she had to hide from Snape, but it was a start.

As during Umbridge's tenure, mail was being screened by Filch. Thus, when Errol narrowly missed a bowl of porridge in his landing on Friday morning, Ginny was shocked to be receiving any mail at all. She nudged her water glass closer to the ragged owl and opened the letter. Ginny read it once and then laughed, wishing she could show Riddle this evidence of where she had learned her fast tongue. This was spin at its finest.

Dear Ginny,

It was a shame about Bill's wedding. We all miss you. You did avoid a bit of an ordeal with the Ministry, though. Turns out they have reason to believe that Harry Potter is a criminal and were worried our family was harboring him. Of course, none of us saw hide or hair of him anywhere near the wedding. They took some time examining the family genealogies and, lucky thing, we've all been classified as pureblood, so we're fine. We've been released but I expect Headmaster Snape will want to ask you questions about Potter. It's unfortunate, you splitting and all, but do your best. Solemnly swear you will.

Your brother,

George

Allowing herself a furtive smile, Ginny tucked the letter away for later when she could read it privately. For now, she had quite the day before her. She ferretted away bits of food from breakfast. In a bid to avoid detection, she had taken to varying the times that she visited Tom in the mornings. Today, she planned to go during her free period, during which she knew Harper had a lesson.

It was one thing believing they would be successful and another mapping out how it could ever be possible. Riddle was no encouragement in that area.

"What hour is it?" he demanded, attending close to the door when she entered. She waved him off and laid the food on their small table. He did not wait for an answer before laying into the spread, eating with flourish. Ginny took a turn about the room, checking nooks and crannies for anything that looked new. A loud slurp diverted her attention from her study of his bed and she looked Tom's way. He sometimes ate with less decorum, as though his complete lack of regard for her made him forget to put on any show of courtesy. She had yet to decide whether this rude honesty was progress or a mark of failure.

Tom caught her staring and Ginny noticed he checked his exuberance, almost imperceptibly chewing slower. He did this not out of politeness, she assumed, but because wolfing down food made him look desperate and, worse, dependent. She curled up a one side of her mouth to let him know that she had seen. His back stacked straighter and he raised one brow at her. Ginny snorted and shined her wandlight under his bed, determining that the Room had yet to bend to Riddle's will. It was empty as ever.

"Are we still being honest with each other, Riddle?" she asked, sitting back on her heels.

"I am, though I certainly doubt you are," he answered.

Nonplussed, she continued, "Does the Room work for you?"

He took in the bare corners of the room and then shot her a despairing look. "I find it amusing that you do not trust your own thorough examination. Do ask me something else, or you waste our time."

Ginny rocked to her feet and tapped her wand against her palm. She approached him slowly, thinking of something that might take him off balance, but that he would not refuse to answer. Finally, she asked, "If I handed my wand to you right now, what would you do?"

The question surprised a laugh out of him. "Thank you politely; perhaps Conjure us a mid-morning tea." He glanced up to catch her frown and bared his teeth to the challenge. "I would break your fingers for starters, and your arm so the bone—"

"Right, we can skip that bit," Ginny interrupted, warding off a shiver. "And once you hurt me to your satisfaction, what would you do?"

Riddle finished the last of his breakfast and sighed at her. "Cast an Imperius Curse and compel you to cast a Patronus, releasing me from this prison."

"Is that even possible? You would have to give my wand back to me."

"I am quite proficient. It is a miniscule risk."

Ginny crossed her arms and stole a bit closer. "Alright. And after that?"

He regarded her, growing uninterested. "Join myself and accomplish the purpose for which I was brought."

"Assuming you are still alive, what will come from that?"

It was too far and he turned his back on her, padding over to the bookshelf. "I will not suffer this conversation. The pretense that you comprehend what you speak of is truly too much to bear."

She darted after him, slipping between him and his examination of reading materials. "You're just scared to think about it."

He reached over her head to select a book and held it up as he stepped away from her. "How quaint, Ginevra. You forget I am not a Gryffindor. I am not easily goaded and manipulated by taunts of cowardice."

She charged after him, keeping at his heels. "You're right. Besides, you're not in a position to make a decision either way. You'll do whatever he says."

"I have already made the decision. Please do not overtax yourself; I know the concept is difficult for you." He sat in her chair rather than his plain wooden one, probably to discourage her keeping him company, and engrossed himself in the book.

Ginny stopped behind the chair in the new silence and propped her elbows on the back, staring at the top of his head and pondering what had possessed her to think that this was possible. They stayed that way for some minutes, and her thoughts turned to admiration for his concentration. He steadily flipped pages as she stared over his shoulder, a feat that even Percy had not mastered while they were growing up.

Her stomach flopped at the thought of Percy. She had not given him a second thought until now, but he would have been in the Ministry during the takeover given his tendency to work every second of the day. She rushed to reassure herself; he was fine, or Snape would have said something cruel. But if he was fine, did that mean—surely he could not believe what the Daily Prophet was writing about Harry and their family.

Tom slapped a page down somewhat loudly, as page turning goes, and Ginny startled out of her thoughts. His neck was a touch straighter and his shoulders tensed. She chuckled as she recognized the posture of someone agitated.

"Don't let me take up all your time," he said in a voice so demure that only the expertise of a youngest sister could see through it.

"Sorry, it's just you reminded me of Percy, the great prat."

"Percy?" he repeated. "Another Slytherin bully?"

"No, my brother," she answered, and watched his whole body go rigid at the comparison. "I used to do this to him, reading over his shoulder to bother him. You lasted a lot longer than he does." It occurred to her, then, that he had not recognized the name. "Did you not take any memories of my family?"

"I took only what was important and the individuals blur together." His eyes flicked to her hair. "You all look the same."

"My family is important," she insisted. "And look at you, threatening them when you couldn't even pick them out of a crowd."

"It is not difficult to aim for red hair. Do you not have somewhere to be?" He finally looked up at her and Ginny pushed off the chair, sighing.

"Yes, Percy," she droned, and then just because she knew he would hate the gesture, reached over and mussed his hair.

He leapt up and she snatched her hand away. "I will kill them all like I promised, and with your hand," he hissed. His eyes were as wild as his hair and the book was forgotten. "You won't recognize them when I release you back to yourself. That is what I will do after I take your wand."

Ginny shot off her Patronus with force and in a beat had her wand trained on him. All traces of false familiarity had left them both, and she struck out with words fit to wound a Slytherin: "But only if he lets you." The flickering rage and disgust on his face made Ginny happy that the chair was between them. She kept her wand at the ready as she edged around him, waiting for Luna to respond.

"Get out," he rumbled, though he stayed away.

"Be patient," she bit back. They matched glares until Luna's Patronus released her. She stumbled back out of the Room without breaking her line of sight and slammed the door. Though her hand was shaking, she tapped her wand upon her head and disappeared well enough for flee the corridor and reverse the spell a safe distance away.

Ginny spent the rest of the day so enraged at the threat – at his disgusting, twisted mind and at terrifying flashes of her hand stretched out against her father – that by the time eight o'clock came around, she had barely given thought to her detention. Though she arrived on time, she idled in front of the gargoyle with no inclination of what was expected. She had never served a detention with Dumbledore; indeed, she could think of no one who had.

It was just as she had worked up the nerve to say the password herself and trespass on whatever Snape was up to, that the Headmaster billowed around the corner. The skin beneath his eyes was more sallow than usual, and she saw his left fist clenched into a fist. Her stomach turned at what that meant, but he moved before her without acknowledgement and said, "Albus," to open the doorway.

"Do not tarry, Weasley," he commanded as he mounted the stairs. Scowling, Ginny scrambled up behind him.

Dumbledore sat awake in his frame this time, winking at her as she entered. Ginny wondered at the portrait as he slipped out the side, surprised he had not been gagged. She hoped he gave Snape a daily earful for being a murdering traitor, especially since she could not.

"You know why you are here," Snape began, drawing her attention back to him like whiplash. "You are a liar and one who must learn to hold her tongue."

Ginny gritted her teeth, digging her nails into her palms to keep from saying anything at all. She kept strict eye contact with her shoes, and tensed for the expected spell. When she did not answer, he spoke again.

"You will be doing lines, Miss Weasley." A heavy, ominous tome floated off the bookshelf and thudded onto the desk. "You will copy chapter forty-seven until I deem the punishment appropriate."

The shock of something so benign overrode her determination to hold her tongue and she stared openly at him. "Only lines? I thought Unforgivables were the new norm for school discipline, Sir."

His thin lips curled. "Filch tells me you have a correspondence from your brother. I do hope nothing illicit was discussed." She froze like a rod had gone through her spine, but there was nothing she could do. An unkind satisfaction crossed Snape's face and he rejoined, "I do not doubt that you will provide ample opportunity for a great variety of punishments. For now, lines will certainly suffice."

Glowering, Gnny bit back further protest and sat down heavily in the desk provided her, opening the book with perhaps more force than necessary. She sputtered through a cloud of dust as she paged for the correct chapter, thinking that no one had cracked it in centuries. Then she had to steel herself against a look of astonishment. The chapter, handwritten in a tiny scrawl, was entitled "Occulto Mens: Sealing Thy Minde." Ginny let her eyes dart to Snape, who was already seated at his desk, pointedly ignoring her while answering letters. Did he know what he had given her—but, no, the book was filthy with dust, but not even a fingerprint on it before hers.

The text was nearly impossible to make out. Ginny was close to pressing her nose against the pages to decipher the spindled handwriting, but slowly she made headway in her lines. However, even as she translated the words onto the parchment, she could not make heads or tails of what it said. She suspected she would have to read it several times over to understand the weave of Old English and archaic magical terms. Tom could probably understand it with a cursory glance, she thought bitterly, and then banished thought of him from her mind. What little she could understand suggested she should not think about the memories or emotions that she wanted to hide.

The minutes ticked by and her hand cramped around the quill, but she wrote steadily to record every word. The chapter was dense and her copy of it took several hours. Snape gave her no notice, and when she finished with chapter forty-seven, she furtively continued into chapter forty-eight, "Occulto Mens: Furthere Confounding Thy Foe." Nearly three hours had passed when Snape finally glanced up from his work, a pile of papers that had not diminished since when he started.

"That is all," Snape said so suddenly that Ginny dropped her quill. She gathered it from under his sneer and scrambled her things together. Snape levitated the book, replacing it on the heavy bookshelf. "Should you talk out of turn in the future, you can expect no less punishment than this."

Tentatively, Ginny picked up the parchment she had been writing on and asked, "Sir, what should I do with this?"

"Do I look like I care what you do with your trash, Miss Weasley? Get out of my office."

"It's past curfew."

Snape did not look up again, and rather, intoned, "I am aware."

Ginny scowled and scurried down the staircase. She hurried across the seventh floor, aghast at how smoothly things had proceeded, relatively speaking. To cap off the evening, she did not run into a single professor or prefect in her rush, arriving safely in the common room. She still clutched the copied chapters and she was eager to decipher them. Snape had just given her a lifeline in their mission, if she could just work out what she had written down.

First, however, Snape had reminded her of George's letter, and she suspected it was riddled with illicit content. Once she was tucked quietly in bed with the curtains drawn, Ginny tapped the letter with her wand, whispering, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good." The text faded into the parchment and new words floated to the surface, written in George's hand.

It turns out having sacks of money is useful not only for buying clothes that give Mum a headache, but also for bribing Owl Post officials to overlook spells they may or may not find on this letter. McGonagall let us know that you made it safely back to Hogwarts and we'll get it to Mum, who's been worried sick. They've been watching the Burrow and all the Order members for communication, so everyone is a bit cut off. I expect we'll find ways around it. If you need to communicate, try to get a note to McGonagall – she's still able to leave the castle and our shop is cluttered enough for any tail to miss a slip of parchment.

Mum will kill me for telling you this, but I think it's important enough to risk writing. A few days before Bill's wedding, the Minister himself came to visit Harry at the Burrow. It turns out Dumbledore left some things to Harry, Hermione, and Ron. Search me why Ron got anything, but Harry got an old Snitch and Gryffindor's sword, except the Ministry refused to give him the sword. Said it wasn't properly Dumbledore's to give, that it belonged to Hogwarts.

I never was much acquainted myself, but I expect that if Dumbledore left the sword to Harry, it was important. If it isn't at the Ministry, it's back at Hogwarts now, probably in Dumbledore's old office. How'd you like to pull one over on Snape for a good cause?

Stay safe,

George

Ginny's heart hammered in her chest as she read the letter again. She could barely believe her luck; thanks to her detention, she knew Snape's password had not changed. Something to help, really help, Harry—

By the time she had skimmed to the end, a postscript had appeared.

I thought George might have left this bit out, but I know you'd want to know. We did not come away from the skirmish at the wedding entirely unscathed. The two of us tried to fight back, give Harry enough time to get away, you know, and a Death Eater got him from behind. Took his ear clean off, and it must have been some Dark magic because it won't reconnect or grow back, no matter what Mum does. It was hard to tell with the masks, but the voice sounded a hell of a lot like Snape, the slimy git. We're fine now, but I didn't want the asymmetry to be too unsettling next time you see us, particularly since he's taken to storing anything that will fit up there to get a rise out of Mum. I'm pretty sure this quill was sticking out the side of his head all afternoon.

Give them hell,

Fred

The excitement buzzing in her head drained away. Ginny felt as though she had taken a Stunner to the chest. Worse, as though her brother had simply thrown his wand aside and knocked a Bludger in her gut instead.

Then she pitched from the bed with a singularity of purpose. She threw a pair of school robes on over her pajamas, in the process emptying half her trunk onto the floor and attempting to locate her D.A. galleon. She plucked it up as Abigail Lawson was stirring in bed.

Demelza sat up full in her bed, peeking through the curtains. "Ginny, what're you…"

Ginny did not stop to answer, flying through the door barefoot and furious. She did not stop until she had thrown open the door to the seventh year boys' dormitory, giving no heed to the bang it sounded against the wall.

"Whatsits—!" yelped Colin, startling awake. Gregory swore colorfully and their third housemate, a Gryffindor prefect, was clawing at his bed's curtains.

"What is the meaning of this?" he croaked, fighting covers to get out of bed.

"Get out, Kirke," Ginny demanded, stepping aside for him. He stared incredulous at her, but she stabbed her finger.

"Not likely," he rumbled, stalking toward the door. He tried to shove her out but she slipped past him. "Look, I'm prefect and I'll—"

"What are you going to do, hand me over for the Carrows for torture? Take a walk and I'll be gone when you get back."

Scowling, he hesitated only until Ginny thrust her hand into her robes for her wand. "Fine, fine," he grumbled, backing out. "Over Potter, then?"

Ginny shot a half-hearted Stinging Hex at his retreating heels and then turned on the other two boys.

"Blimey, Ginny, what time do you think it is?" asked Gregory, now sitting up in bed with a blanket wrapped about him.

"Ginny, why'd you run out?" asked Demelza, peeking her head in the door. Gregory went red as he staggered off his bed, blanket tight about his waist. "Merlin, Jones, you sleep starkers?" she added, attention arrested by his attempts to put on trousers and flash a rude hand gesture at once.

"What are you doing?" Colin squeaked, finally awake and out of bed.

Ginny flashed him the coin, expression solid. "I'm in," she said. "And I know what Dumbledore's Army is going to do next."

"You woke us up for that? Bloody hell, Ginny, what makes you think you can waltz in and out, give orders? You didn't want in and now…" Gregory trailed off when he got a good look at Ginny's face. Going silent, he stepped closer. "What happened?" he asked, quieter.

She must have been a sight, cheeks flushed and teeth gritted. Her hands were shaking and it was only then that she remembered the letter crushed in her other hand. "George's ear," she seethed, slapping the parchment into his hands. "And because it's for Harry."

The silence that fell over their gathering was almost reverent. Ginny did not mince her words.

"We're going to steal Gryffindor's sword from Snape's office."