Chapter 7: Vanishing and Falling
Ginny Weasley woke the following morning with a jolt, her heart pounding from the remnants of an uneasy dream. She lay still for a moment, recalling the real events of the previous night: the creaking hush of the library, the silver glow from the windows, and the wild dash back to Gryffindor Tower. It felt surreal—had she truly crept into the Restricted Section? A flare of pride and guilt burned her cheeks. Merlin, yes. And Hermione—she'd been there too.
Ginny's thoughts whirled as she drew her bed curtains shut. At least Hermione said she wasn't cursed or in danger–or so she says. She flipped open the small, ancient volume she had pilfered from the Restricted Section—a nondescript, tattered spine with half the title missing. Thankfully, Sophie Roper and her other dormmates were still asleep, and the dormitory echoed with soft snores. Wand tip glowing with a dim Lumos, Ginny skimmed the through pages she hadn't dared read in the library.
The text was all dry theory on Obscuration Charms, illusions, and advanced Disillusionment spells—nothing about simply blinking in and out of existence the way Hermione seemed to. Still, Ginny clung to the hope there might be a clue hidden somewhere in the archaic language. Surely she can't just vanish at will?
Ginny knew Hermione couldn't have been Apparating either. Apparition wasn't just difficult—it was outright impossible within the grounds of Hogwarts. Everyone knew that. Besides, there had been no loud crack, no telltale sound of displaced air as there always was with Apparition. Hermione had simply vanished, quick as a candle being snuffed, without so much as a whisper. It was too smooth, too quiet, to be Apparition.
Ginny's brow furrowed as she remembered her older brother Charlie practicing relentlessly for his Apparition test. He'd filled the Burrow with his booming misfires and the occasional foul smell of scorched socks. Ginny could still hear her mum shrieking about the time he nearly splinched himself in two during a particularly disastrous attempt. It had taken Charlie two tries to pass the test, and that was outside, where the restrictions were minimal—not in Hogwarts, with its layers of ancient magic and protective enchantments.
No, whatever Hermione had done, it wasn't Apparition. It was something else entirely. Something far more… advanced. She sighed and snapped the book shut, heart fluttering in her chest. No real answers here. But perhaps she'd gleaned something: advanced magic existed that could manipulate one's presence, or time, or both. And Hermione was doing… something.
By breakfast, Ginny's eyes felt gritty from lack of sleep. She trudged down to the Great Hall, stifling yawns behind her hand. The enchanted ceiling overhead showed a pale winter sky streaked with pink dawn clouds. Long tables bustled with chatter. She slid into a spot beside her friends at the Gryffindor table.
Colin Creevey bounced in his seat, gesturing wildly with a fork that sent scrambled eggs flying. "Ginny! Finally—morning! You look terrible!"
Ginny fixed him with a mock glare. "Thanks for that, Colin."
Sophie Roper gave her a concerned look. "He's not wrong. You look knackered. I heard you come back really late last night—later than most everyone else. Where'd you vanish off to? Seamus caused a bit of a scene with that Daily Prophet article, so nearly all of Gryffindor was in the common room. But Romilda said you never showed up."
Romilda Vane, who was busy stirring sugar into her tea, perked up. "That's right. Don't tell me you've found a new secret passage or something—like Fred and George?" She giggled in a conspiratorial way. "Though that would be brilliant."
Ginny shrugged in what she hoped was a casual manner, focusing intently on buttering her toast. "Just… needed the library for something important. Very important," she added, leaving it at that.
Colin's eyes lit up, and he leaned closer, lowering his voice. "The Restricted Section…?" he asked in a near-squeak, as though gossip alone might land him in detention.
Ginny feigned indifference, though her stomach twisted uncomfortably. "I… might've sneaked in." She smirked. "But keep it down, will you? The walls have ears—and Peeves."
Her friends responded with a chorus of impressed murmurs. Sophie grinned in admiration, while Romilda shuddered delightedly. "Goodness, you've got nerves of steel. I'd never dare, not with Filch creeping around."
"Reckless, more like," Sophie teased, but there was clear respect in her tone. "Just… don't get yourself caught."
Ginny felt a burst of warmth, as though her inner daredevil (nurtured, no doubt, by Fred and George's antics) was receiving well-deserved applause. She glanced down the table, searching for that familiar bushy hair. Hermione sat between Harry and Ron, absorbed in an intense conversation. Maybe I can catch her eye. But just as Ginny's gaze landed on Hermione, Harry turned with a question and Hermione flicked open a textbook to show him something. Ron chimed in, brow furrowed. Three peas in a pod, Ginny thought, trying not to feel too envious.
She turned back to her own group just in time to see Colin brandishing a brand-new photograph of Cedric Diggory from the Hufflepuff Quidditch team. "I took this last week near the greenhouses! Doesn't he look brilliant in uniform?"
Romilda nearly squealed. "He's so handsome! Did you know he's Captain of the Hufflepuff team and a Prefect? He's so mature."
"Uh-huh," Ginny muttered, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. She couldn't deny Cedric's good looks, but her mind was elsewhere. "Right, well, I've got Charms in ten minutes. See you lot later."
Time wore on. Days turned colder, the castle's corridors draftier. Ginny longed to ask Hermione more about the library incident, but Hermione always seemed to be accompanied by Harry or Ron. Though they shared glances—small, knowing smiles—the subject of vanishing acts and midnight escapades remained unspoken. If Fred or George had found out, they would've whooped with pride, but they'd likely rope Ginny into more trouble, and the last thing she wanted was for word to reach Mrs. Weasley. Mum would send a Howler for sure.
Despite the lingering secrets—and demeantors still swirling the grounds, life at Hogwarts carried on. Ginny dutifully attended classes, improved her Charms work, and kept up with her homework, occasionally pausing to relish the memory that she hadn't been caught in the Restricted Section. She even found a few uses for the jinxes in that dusty book—nothing major, but enough to keep Fred and George's pranks in check.
It was on a brisk Saturday afternoon, when the stands around the Quidditch pitch were bursting with eager spectators, that Ginny felt her nerves dance with excitement. Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff. She wasn't on the team—she didn't have her own broom yet, not to mention she was still only a second-year—but she adored Quidditch all the same, cheering her house on with unwavering loyalty.
The match began in a swirl of bright robes and swirling wind. Ginny sat huddled with Colin, Romilda, and Sophie in the Gryffindor stands, stamping her feet against the cold. The usual Quidditch commentator's voice, Lee Jordan Ginny's twin brorthers' best friend, boomed across the field, announcing players and releasing the Quaffle.
"There goes Cedric Diggory for Hufflepuff—excellent Seeker—"
Romilda let out a high-pitched swoon of, "Go, Cedric!"
Ginny smirked but held her scarf tighter. Her breath plumed in white puffs. High overhead, Harry Potter darted between the stands, scanning for the Snitch. Come on, Harry, she thought, tension coiling. If he could catch the Snitch quickly, Gryffindor would secure an early victory.
Then it happened—shadows at the corners of the pitch, a bone-chilling atmosphere creeping across the stands. The sudden, dreadful sense of gloom made Ginny's stomach twist in fear. She recognized it all too well: Dementors. They were gliding toward the field.
All at once, Harry's broom lurched. A hush of horror rippled through the crowd. Ginny's heart raced, remembering the train ride where she'd cowered from the Dementor's presence. Stay calm, she told herself. But her knuckles tightened around the bench.
Above them, Harry suddenly slumped. His broom veered, and with a collective gasp from the spectators, he fell, plummeting like a ragdoll toward the ground.
People in the stands screamed. Ginny shot to her feet, horror hammering in her chest. "No—Harry!"
As the wind whipped around them, Cedric Diggory seemed to catch the Snitch—but promptly realized something was wrong. The match ended in confusion, with Hufflepuff named winners by default, yet hardly anyone celebrated. Students vaulted down the stands to reach the pitch, staff members rushing out from the sidelines.
Ginny's teeth chattered, half from the cold and half from fear. She replayed the sensation of the Dementors' presence—that terrible, sinking dread that always made the memory of Tom Riddle's diary swirl in her mind. She forced a shuddering breath, blinking back tears. I won't let it get to me again.
Eventually, everyone learned that Harry was alive and (mostly) unhurt, though his Nimbus Two Thousand had been destroyed by the Whomping Willow. Once the initial panic settled, the worried crowd began to disperse. In the stands, Ginny was gathering her belongings when she spotted Hermione weaving through clusters of students, searching for someone—likely Harry. Ginny's gaze flicked away, trying to quell the trembling in her hands.
"Ginny!" Hermione's voice rang out, and Ginny turned. Hermione appeared anxious, but her features softened when she saw Ginny's pale face. "Are you… all right?"
Ginny swallowed. "I'm fine. It's Harry you should worry about."
Hermione nodded, glancing over her shoulder as though torn between checking on Harry and making sure Ginny was okay. "I—I will. But you looked shaken." She hesitated, then placed a gentle hand on Ginny's arm. "Those Dementors… they can dredge up awful memories. I felt it too, but at least I have some—well, a slight advantage, with Professor Lupin teaching Harry those lessons."
A pang of longing squeezed Ginny's chest—she didn't have those secret Anti-Dementor lessons from Lupin. "I… can handle it," she whispered, forcing a smile. "We're all still breathing, right?"
Hermione's gaze lingered, the warmth of her eyes comforting. She squeezed Ginny's arm lightly, then drew back. "All right. Just… take care, yeah?"
Ginny nodded, feeling a swirl of conflicting emotions: relief at Hermione's concern, embarrassment at her own fear, and a spark of admiration for just how capable Hermione was. With that, Hermione rushed off after Harry and Ron, leaving Ginny to gather her scattered composure.
In that moment, Ginny realized she was truly grateful for Hermione's steady presence. Not just the quick mind or the top marks—Hermione was courageous in her own quiet way, standing up for others, offering help without being patronizing like Percy might. She was practical, cool under pressure, and somehow still willing to bend a rule or two if the situation demanded it. Like sneaking to the library at night…
But that memory brought a flurry of questions: Why had Hermione shown up in the library then, of all times? How did she know Ginny was there? And how was it so perfectly timed that Peeves got Filch's attention away from them? The oddities piled up, fueling Ginny's suspicions. Yet Hermione's fleeting, comforting smile stuck with her—maybe not so distant, after all.
As the days melted into the final weeks of term, winter gave way to hints of spring, and the Dementors' presence around the castle persisted. Sirius Black sightings, rumors of Hippogriff trials—everywhere Ginny turned, there was news of something going awry. She kept up with her classes and tried to keep her mind off the previous year's memories. The Chamber of Secrets might have been sealed again, but the Dementors seemed keen on reminding her how fear truly felt.
And yet, a strange sense of growth pulsed through Ginny's days. She was forging her own path, not merely trailing behind her older brothers. Colin kept her entertained with his endless photo ideas, Romilda with her many crushes, and Sophie with her calm, level-headed approach to life. Quidditch matches continued, culminating in an exciting if nerve-racking new rivalry for the Cup. Hermione was busier than ever, half the time studying or dashing off with Harry and Ron. But Ginny and Hermione still exchanged smiles, fleeting but genuine, especially after that dreadful Quidditch match.
May arrived in a burst of sunshine and blossoming shrubs around the grounds. Under that warm light, Hogwarts felt slightly less foreboding, as though the castle itself hoped for a peaceful end to the school year. Ginny often found herself outside by the lake, enjoying the breeze across the water. She'd sketch out plays for Quidditch with a borrowed broom at her side—dreaming of the day she might be on the Gryffindor team, showing the world what she could do.
Still, whenever her thoughts strayed to that night in the library, her pulse quickened. She couldn't help replaying the moment Hermione had emerged from the shadows to rescue her from a sure detention. Rescue me, or rescue us both? The puzzle fit too perfectly: Hermione showing up exactly in time, Peeves conveniently shrieking down the corridor, Filch taken on a wild goose chase.
Despite the swirl of questions, Ginny found comfort in the silent understanding she and Hermione seemed to share. They might not have had many private conversations afterward—her eyes were always drawn to Hermione's, though, seeking that steady calm. And each time, she found it waiting for her, as though an invisible pact had formed in the hush of the library's moonlit shelves.
With June rounding the corner so came end-of-term tests looming and a crackling tension around the castle. Ginny felt it in every corridor, in the anxiety of her fellow second-years, in the hushed gossip swirling about Sirius Black's fate and Professor Lupin's frequent absences. Yet through it all, a quiet sense of possibility lingered in Ginny's mind. Next year, she told herself, I'll be older, braver, maybe on the Quidditch team… maybe I'll get some answers from Hermione. For now, she clung to the spark of warmth cast by their tenuous peripheral friendship—secretive, subtle, and all the more precious for its quiet hush.