Chapter Text

The Boy Who Lived No More

Book 1 of The Girl Who Survived

One: The last leaves of summer

The eighteenth of June was the day her world had stopped moving.

Dolohov looks at her and grins. It is a foul sight, a smile borne of cruelty rather than joy. He waves his wand and the next moment, all she knows is pain. Sharp agony, spreading across the right side of her body, claws gliding over her until they dig into her face. Her mind screams, and she with it. Pain. No beginning or end. Nothing but pain.

Until it is gone. Her vision only returns gradually, blurry shapes that slowly become the Department of Mysteries. Dolohov is no longer towering over. She is trembling as Harry pulls her up, his eyes briefly widening when he sees her face.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, struggling to speak, to enunciate. It is if the pain has numbed all her muscles to the point that even talking has become a chore.

“Nothing,” he says, a shadow passing across his face. “We need to go.”

“Where’s Neville?” she asks. He’d been with them only moments ago.

“Neville’s dead,” he says.

She doesn’t resist as he drags her along, barely able to stand on her feet. She doesn’t want to believe it, can’t believe it. Harry is here. He's saved her from a basilisk, has faced down dementors and You Know Who. Somehow, he’s always come out on top. So how can Neville be dead?

They stumble into the room beyond. It is massive, almost like an amphitheatre. In the centre, upon a raised stone dais stands an archway, hung with a black veil. There is no wind, and yet it flutters. Something terrible is about to happen here, she can feel it.

He Who Must Not Be Named Returns

Dumbledore duels You Know Who to a standstill

Fudge resigns, Scrimgeour already waiting in the wings

Five Hogwarts students die in battle at the Department of Mysteries

The Boy Who Lived No More

Some headlines ended up being more respectful than others. Ginny missed most of them, confined to a bed at St. Mungo’s. The healers later told her it was a miracle she’d even survived Dolohov’s curse.

Truth be told, Ginny struggled to call it a miracle. The first month, she lived from one potion to the next, anything to stimy the constant pain that racked her body. A pain like a thousand knives gliding over her skin. Those first weeks, she only vaguely registered that her family stood by her bed. She never saw Ron, but it was impossible to draw conclusions when there was only pain.

Later, they told her she’d missed the funerals. They had tried to wait, they said, but never fully managed to explain why they hadn’t. Ginny didn’t mind. She wasn’t sure if she’d been able to stand there, the Girl Who Survived, as her friends and family were committed to the earth, eyes on her instead of those far too small coffins.

Mid-July, she'd been allowed to go home. For the rest of the summer, her family had always been nearby, too grateful or too afraid to let her far out of sight.

Mum had brought her breakfast in the early weeks when she had still been confined to bed. Sometimes, she’d talk. Sometimes, she’d just hold her as they cried together.

Dad had been next to her as she'd learned to walk again. First, hesitant, every step a torture, but never willing to surrender. One step, then the next, guided along by his gentle encouragements.

Fred and George had flown with her, the three of them rising higher and higher till it was so cold they could pretend that was the only reason they felt numb. They never spoke of it, but in those moments high up in the sky surrounded by nothing but blue, she felt they understood her better than even Mum did.

Percy had come home, crying tears of shame and regret, denouncing Fudge and condemning his own foolishness. Before, she’d have given him a piece of her mind. Now, she’d learned brothers were too precious to squander.

Bill came home as well and brought along this horrible French girl, the one who had been a Triwizard Champion, though never the Triwizard Champion. Ginny had been so ready to hate her, but after Fleur broke down crying and told them how sorry she was about Ron and Harry, Ginny no longer could. For that, her grief had been too earnest.

And Charlie, Charlie stalked through the house grim-faced, his mind for once not on dragons but on ashes. He worked through his grief while fighting and often disappeared for long nights that left Mum staring at their clock, always afraid Charlie’s dial would shift from mortal peril to something even worse. Ginny didn't stop him, only begged the world not to take another brother from her.

It was just before Hogwarts started that she visited the graves alone. Five tombstones, still shining and surrounded by flowers two months later. At that moment, the question of why she had survived and no on else had become almost too crushing to bear. Gentle Luna, feeling and seeing so much more in this world than anyone else. Only a single Quibbler had been released since that day, twenty pages all pitch black. Sweet Neville, who had asked her to the Yule Ball and then had stepped on her toes all night, not missing a single apology. A single candy wrapper had been left amidst the flowers. Brilliant Hermione, a thousand causes had been robbed of its crusader. Ginny readjusted her S.P.E.W. badge, wishing she’d listened a bit more. Loyal Ron, her big brother and now buried next to his brother in all but blood. And Harry. Oh Harry… He’d died, the world still thinking him a liar.

It was the last time she allowed herself to cry, alone and sunken to her knees in front of the resting place of her friends. She tried to think of all the times they’d had together, but every time those horrible memories of the Department of Mysteries came to the fore. Blood on her hands. Blood on the walls. Blood of her friends.

***

There was no joy to be found in returning to Hogwarts. For that the emptiness would be too obvious. Too glaring. But it was a reprieve after a summer of tears and funerals. She wasn’t quite sure what she was anymore, what she still could be now that her brother were dead. Her friends were dead. The boy she loved, would always love, was dead. At times, she just wanted to take her broom and fly, never to return. Higher and higher until the cold constricted her. But that would mean letting them win.

That year’s 1^st September was all wrong. For once, the Weasley family arrived with plenty of time to spare, no gaggle of redheads, but a single child accompanied by a mother and a father whose hairs had begun to show streaks of grey. Last year, they’d sent four of their children to Hogwarts. Now it was just Ginny and she wasn’t quite sure who she was anymore. Her brother, dead. Her friends dead. The boy she loved, loves, dead.

Inside the train, it felt all wrong too. Every second she kept expecting someone to walk into the empty compartment she’d secured for herself. Harry lugging that dreadful trunk of his inside and once again a few pounds lighter than in June. Hermione obscured by books and with a cat circling her. Ron tormented by a fervently hooting Pigwidgeon, his annoyance masking his appreciation for the stupid loud thing. Neville carrying yet another awful plant that only he could love. Luna spinning tales of Blibbering Humdingers. She swallowed a lump in her throat as she reminded herself she’d promised not to cry. And outside the window, life moved on. Children screaming and hugging, only the increased Auror presence a hint that something had changed. The first years would never get to see the Boy Who Lived or get scolded by Hermione. They’d never fully realise what they were missing.

Much to her surprise, no one entered her compartment during the first half of the train ride. No one sought to wheedle the full story out of her, not even Zacharias Smith. No one mocked her, not even Draco Malfoy, whose father had looked genuinely proud when his curse felled a child. No one even came to gawk at her horrible scars, the throbbing leaflike veins covering the whole right side of her face and ran further over the right side of her body underneath her robes. She alone had survived, but even then Dolohov had left a mark. Maybe this tragedy had finally inspired some decency amongst the Hogwarts students. Or perhaps her brothers were standing guard outside.

A knock on the compartment door interrupted her musings. So much for peace, though a soft knock was much more than she’d been hoping for.

“Yes?” she called out.

Padma Patil stuck her head through the door.

“Hi Ginny,” she began and to her credit, she didn’t even flinch when she met Ginny’s eyes and the scar circling her right eye. “Can I come in? it’s alright if you don’t want me to.”

Behind Padma, a few other students lurked. Though rather than trying to sneak a look inside, their backs were turned towards the compartment like a guard of honour. It seemed her brothers weren’t the only ones capable of guarding a door. Briefly, her heart leapt. Dumbledore’s Army, still vigilant.

“Come in,” Ginny said, her voice hoarse from disuse. She swallowed. “Come in,” she repeated, hoping she sounded less like a broken soul the second time. Judging by Padma’s pitying look, she hadn’t quite succeeded.

Padma sat down opposite her, prefect badge shining and hands wringing. She looked almost nervous. Briefly, Ginny wondered why they’d chosen Padma as the group’s ambassador. Then she realised there were no obvious suspects left.

“Ginny, I- we are sorry,” she began, looking away.

“Please Padma, don’t,” Ginny interrupted. She’d had enough pity and compassion at home. She wasn’t sure what she was hoping to find at Hogwarts, if she was hoping for something at all, but not this.

“It’s just-“ Padma continued, but Ginny cut her off.

“I mean it. Don’t,” Ginny repeated. “Don’t ask me what happened. Don’t ask me how I’m doing. And don’t pity me,” she said, trying not to snap at Padma. Merlin knew she was trying to do the right. But she couldn’t understand. It hadn’t been her friends who had died. It had been Ginny’s and there was no one else still at Hogwarts who could claim the same.

“Alright,” Padma swallowed and then smiled. “Parvati told me you wouldn’t want compassion. I should have listened to her.”

“Yeah,” Ginny said, almost grinning herself. This she could do. “Is all of Dumbledore’s Army outside?”

“No, just four or five,” Padma shook her head. “Not enough space. But almost everyone volunteered."

Ginny figured that meant Zacharias Smith and Marietta Edgecombe hadn’t. And maybe not Michael Corner either, theirs had been an ugly break-up. It didn’t matter. She was not alone.

“Did you have to fend off many people?” she asked. Padma shrugged.

“A few. I missed the start due to a prefect’s meeting. You know how this school is,” Padma offered. At that, Ginny did grin.

“Yeah, I was wondering why no one had barged in yet,” she admitted, before they fell into an almost companionable silence, something she’d never expected to share with Padma Patil.

“Listen,” Padma began, and for a second Ginny feared she was going to try compassion again. “I know you’re tough and you can handle all of this alone. But you don’t have to, alright? Everyone out there is on your side.”

“Yeah,” Ginny said, staring at the window as they lapsed into silence again. Outside, it had begun to rain, a thousand drops trickling down the glass. If she angled her face right, her reflection only showed the left side of her face. Unblemished. She could almost pretend everything was still normal.

“Padma?” Ginny said.

“Yes?”

“Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

***

It rained and rained as they sat there in silence. Padma perhaps thinking about what would have happened if she’d been at the Department of Mysteries, Ginny trying her best to think about anything but that. They’d probably have stayed silent for the whole ride if someone hadn’t knocked.

Ginny started and instinctively reached for her yew wand. She hated how jumpy she’d become, but above all she hated the world that had made her so afraid of shadows and noises.

“Yes?” Padma asked, still living in a world where a knock could just be a knock, even with Dumbledore’s Army standing guard outside.

“Padma?” a voice responded, so similar to hers that it had to be Parvati’s. “There’s someone here who wants to see Ginny,” she said, opening the door slightly, her body blocking whoever it was from sight. On Parvati’s chest shone a pin identical to Padma’s. Someone had to take Hermione’s place, Ginny had always known that, but it stell seemed wrong. That badge didn’t belong to Parvati. It was a mean thought, she knew that, but she couldn’t help but have it nonetheless.

“Are they one of us?” Padma asked, and when Parvati shook her head, Padma’s expression hardened. “Send them away.”

“No. it’s fine,” Ginny interrupted. She couldn’t run forever. Better to do it now, with someone next to her rather than alone.

“It’s a Slytherin though,” Parvati warned and just like that, everyone in the compartment tensed at the thought of a student wearing green and silver.

“Who?” Ginny asked. There were far too many Slytherins whose parents had been there.

Travers hurls a sickly grey curse at her. It crackles as it whizzes past and explodes in a shower of grey fire when it hits the pillar. She can feel the heat. For a second, she is frozen. Terrified. A second curse is already on his lips, but Hermione’s stunner hits him in the chest first.

Crabbe grimaces as his hands closes around Neville’s throat, lifting up the boy. Disarmed or not, that doesn’t stop the Death Eater. He only stops when Harry’s knockback jinx throws him halfway across the room.

Lucius Malfoy actually laughs when he enters the auditorium and sees what remains of their group. His wand moves so fast Ginny doesn’t even realise he’s cast a spell. Not until Ron begins to cough up blood and sinks to the floor.

“The prophecy, Potter. The prophecy for a countercurse.”

“The prophecy, Potter. The prophecy for a countercurse.”

“What was that Ginny?” Padma asked, leaning closer, eyes brimming with concern. Only then Ginny realised she’d said those last words out loud.

“Nothing,” she said, shaking her head to drive away the demons. “Who is it? Which Slytherin?”

“Astoria Greengrass,” Parvati said with a shrug. “You two friends?” she asked.

“No,” Ginny replied, confused.

She’d exchanged maybe three words with the girl over the past five years, despite sharing so many classes, always surrounded by green and silver. She’d never sneered at Ginny, something so many other Slytherins seemed to like to do, but she doubted that elevated her to the status of friend, even by Slytherin standards.

“Why is she here?” she asked.

“She wouldn’t say,” Parvati said. “She looked earnest, though.”

Earnest. A Slytherin. A laugh escaped Ginny and she was surprised by how harsh it sounded. Judging by the other’s expressions, she wasn’t the only one.

“Fine, send her in,” Ginny said.

A flash of silver and green entered the compartment. Green.

“Avada kedavra,” Rookwood whispers.

It is the first time she ever sees the killing curse in action. It looks so harmless. A pale green light illuminates the dark, finding its way through the room and only barely missing Luna. Ginny can’t look away, spots of green still dancing before her eyes. Luna just shrugs and throws a spell back at Rookwood.

She was clutching her wand so hard her knuckles turned white. Every instinct was telling her to fight or flee. Flee from Astoria Greengrass, ridiculous really. A girl shorter than her with brown hair and a complexion so pale she looked a bit sickly. Right now, she looked even worse than usual, maybe even more nervous than Ginny felt. Hard to blame her, really, with the death glare Padma was giving her.

“And?” Ginny asked, raising her left eyebrow. Before, she’d never been able to do that, her other eyebrow always following suit. But Dolohov’s curse had damaged the nerves. Her smiles were a bit slower on that side, the tears less numerous and her right eyebrow, it no longer budged.

“Hi,” Astoria said, voice higher than usual. “Could we… could we talk? Alone?” she added, clearly already expecting the acidic response on Ginny’s tongue.

“I think it’s better if we stay,” Padma said, earning her a nod from Parvati who leaned against the compartment door. It was odd to see Parvati so serious, so severe. It suited Padma, it was what made her such a terrifying prefect, but on Parvati it looked wrong. Too grown-up too quickly. Just another casualty of the Department of Mysteries.

Ginny saw Astoria hesitate, could see her wanting to protest but not quite daring to. It was impossible to be afraid of someone like that. She couldn’t allow herself to be. Then Dolohov would win.

“It’s alright,” Ginny said. The two Patils looked like they wanted to protest, but nodded and left when Ginny gave them a hard look. She was grateful for their protection, but she did not need it all the time. Not from Astoria Greengrass.

“Thank you,” Greengrass said. “Can I… can I sit?” she asked.

“Go ahead,” Ginny said, forcing her muscles to relax. She couldn’t spend the next three years gripping her wand whenever a Slytherin was around. “Why are you here?” she asked as Greengrass sat down, smoothing out her robes without even noticing that she was doing it. Expensive robes too, bespoke no doubt. Once, it’d have made her self-conscious. Right now, she wasn’t sure why she’d ever cared.

“I, uhm, wanted to talk to you. About what had happened,” Greengrass said, brushing back her hair. The silver bracelets around her slender arms jingled softly as she moved.

“Get out,” Ginny said, voice turning cold. She could have known. The first vulture eager for scraps, for a glimpse of the oh so exciting horror that had barged into her life.

“No. Not like that,” Greengrass stammered. “I mean… Luna.”

“Luna?” Ginny pressed, resisting the urge to hex the girl for even daring to utter that name.

“Luna was my friend as well,” Greengrass said.

“She never mentioned you,” Ginny said, resisting the urge to sneer.

“Of course not. That’s how Luna was,” Greengrass threw back, her eyes meeting Ginny’s for the first. Parvati’s words came back to her. Astoria Greengrass did seem earnest. But it remained impossible for her to reconcile this proper pureblood girl with Luna.

“Really?” Ginny prodded.

Greengrass just nodded and reached into her collar, pulling out a Butterbeer bottlecap necklace and it dawned on Ginny that perhaps it hadn’t been the bracelets who’d jingled before.

“She gave you that?” Ginny asked, trying and failing to not sound hurt. Luna had never given her one. Though Ginny wasn’t sure if she’d dared to wear it if she had. The thought was enough to fill her with shame.

“No, I made it myself. Luna said that way it was better at warding off wrackspurts and nargles,” Greengrass said.

If the necklace hadn’t been enough proof, the ease with which she spoke those strange words was. It took quite a bit of time around Luna to be able to tell all those crazy creatures apart. Truth be told, Greengrass even sounded a bit similar, the same airy inflection to her voice that Ginny had loved so much in Luna’s.

“Okay,” Ginny mumbled. “But still, why are you here?”

“I…” Greengrass began, voice trailing off. For a while, she just stared past Ginny, as if trapped by her own reflection in the glass. Then, she swallowed. “Luna asked me to come to the D.A.”

“I didn’t see you at any of our meetings,” Ginny said and Greengrass shook her head.

“No, I was too scared,” she admitted.

“And now? You’re no longer scared?” Ginny asked.

“Even more than before. And that’s why I want to join. If it’s still happening,” Greengrass added.

Was it still happening? Ginny wasn’t sure. The D.A. had been Harry’s thing. He’d been their leader, their teacher, always moving through the room to adjust a pose here or correct a pronunciation there, looking so much more alive than usual. Looking like he did on a broom. Happy. Beautiful. He’d never look that way again.

He falls down the stairs, so still and all alone. She can almost hear Tom laugh from his diary.

Ginny inhaled sharply, struggling to breathe, struggling to push back the memories, struggling not to cry. Not now, not in front of this girl in silver and green, Luna’s friend or not. She could feel soft hands close around her own and when she looked up, expecting to find pity or even scorn in Greengrass’ eyes, there was something else. Something fiercer. Sadness. Sadness and understanding. Greengrass hadn’t been there, so she couldn’t comprehend, not truly. But she did know grief. And somehow, that made Ginny feel a bit better.

“I… I don’t know if there will still be a D.A.,” she admitted.

“I understand. But, if it returns, let me know, alright?” Greengrass nodded.

“Of course,” Ginny promised.

“Thank you. I’ll… I’ll leave you then,” she said as she rose, straightening her robes again.

“No. Stay. If you want to, that is,” Ginny said, unwilling to let this strange friend of Luna go. The only one who could even begin to understand.

For a second, Greengrass just stood there, hesitation written across her face. Ginny already wanted to scream, feeling stupid for extending a hand. What did she and Greengrass have in common, except some nebulous ties to a lost girl? But then she smiled and sat down again.

“I’d like that. It’s a bit lonely in my compartment,” she admitted.

“You don’t have any…” Ginny began and then fell silent, unsure how to put it. She’d always believed the Greengrass girls to be popular in their house. Daphne was always surrounded by other Slytherins, laughing at her no doubt cruel jokes. And every time she saw Greengrass, she was always among plenty of green and silver. Always trailing them though, Ginny realised. Like someone who didn’t fully belong.

“Friends?” Greengrass filled in, laughing hollowly. “No. Just girls who happened to get Sorted into Slytherin with me. Normally, I sit with them. But this year, I didn’t want to. I already know what they’ll say about this summer. About past June. I don’t want to hear it as well,” she admitted, a hint of iron creeping into her voice.

“No. I suppose not,” Ginny conceded. “Did you attend Luna’s funeral?” she asked, a question she hadn’t dared to ask her family.

“Yes,” Greengrass said. “It was… it was very much Luna. Very intimate. A ceremony in an open field, only about twenty people in attendance, half of them your family. Xenophilius led the ceremony, standing at the front in yellow robes even brighter than Dumbledore’s,” Greengrass said, gazing out of the window as she lost herself in the memories. She swallowed and continued.

“He spoke for more than an hour, telling us about his little Luna. How he’d seen her grow up and always felt he’d come up short, not being able to protect her as much as he wanted to, especially at Hogwarts. Especially on that day in June. How he was glad she’d at least been with her friends at the end. Because they meant everything to her,” Greengrass said, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. Ginny vaguely noted her initials were embroidered onto it in green thread. When Greengrass spoke again, her voice was wobbly.

“He Disapparated after that. I haven’t heard anything from him since, or the Quibbler. I went to their house a few times. But no one was home. Or at least, no one answered the door,” she said, blowing her nose.

“I’m sorry for bringing it up,” Ginny said.

“No. It feels good to talk about it with someone. My parents don’t understand. Daphne doesn’t either. They already couldn’t understand why I wanted to attend the funeral of some strange girl who got killed by Death Eaters.”

“Are your parents-“

“Death Eaters?” Greengrass interrupted before Ginny could decide how to phrase it. “No. But they think You Know Who will win. That’s why they attended Crabbe Senior’s funeral, even though Daphne can’t stand his son. They even wanted me to attend,” she snorted. “Never.”

Suddenly, Ginny felt grateful for her family. Broken as they had all been by loss, at least they had been united in grief. All on the same side. All mourning the same five gentle souls.

For the third time that train ride, someone knocked and then without waiting for an answer, Padma walked in, Parvati right behind her, both looking worried. Clearly, they had not expected her conversation with Greengrass to last this long.

“Everything alright Ginny?” Padma asked, casting a look of distrust towards Greengrass, her wand already half drawn.

“We’re fine,” Ginny said.

“You sure?” she asked, giving her a meaningful look.

“Yeah,” Ginny said, returning it. Despite it all, she was touched by the Patils ‘protectiveness. They seemed to have at least understood that the rules had changed, that danger could be found even in a lithe Slytherin girl.

“Alright. Then we’ll leave you to it. We’re almost at Hogwarts though, so you might want to get changed,” Parvati offered before leaving. Padma cast a final look at Greengrass and then left as well.

“I’ll leave you to change,” Greengrass said, heading for the door herself and then hesitating. “If you want, we can talk some more at school? If you want to be seen with me, that is” she said.

“I think it’s you who should be worried, I’m the blood traitor here,” Ginny said.

“After everything that happened, I’m done worrying.”

“Well, so am I.”

“Good, see you around then, Ginny,” Astoria said.

“See you around, Astoria,” Ginny said, and wasn’t it odd to address a Slytherin like that.”

“Please, call me Tori. Luna… Luna did that as well,” she said hesitantly.

Then she was gone, robes billowing the way they seemed to do for all Slytherins.

Chapter Text

In the darkness, the castle glowed. Light slipped out through a hundred different windows, the lake glittering with it. Hogwarts welcomed its children home, its wonder and beauty in stark contrast with this new world. It would almost make her believe none of this had happened, if not for the Thestrals pulling the carriages, black winged horses more skeleton than flesh. Luna and Harry had been able to see them.

Now Ginny could too. Her hand rested against the side of the Thestral as it turned its head towards her in perfect silence. Almost impossible to believe they’d flown them to the Department of Mysteries. Briefly, irrationally she hated the beasts. If they hadn’t been in the Forest, they’d never made it to the Ministry. She turned away and stepped into a carriage, the Patil twins and Lavender Brown trailing her.

The first half of the ride went by in silence. She’d never had much in common with any of the girls, a year older and occupied with things she had hardly cared for and nowadays even less. Except for one thing, she supposed. And it was that that finally broke the silence.

“We need the D.A. again this year,” Lavender began.

Ginny looked up, surprised that Lavender of all people would care enough to bring it up. But she was the only one who was surprised. The three sixth year girls had clearly discussed this beforehand. It made her angry, as did Lavender’s presumptions.

“Do we? It’s not like it truly changed anything,” she said, bitterly. Luna and Neville had improved by leaps and bounds. It had done them little good.

“How can you say that?” Lavender said, voice rising but Parvati placed a hand on her arm, cutting her off.

“If anything, what happened proves we need it even more,” Parvati said with a certainty that Ginny envied.

“Maybe. Or maybe it’ll just give children the idea that they can fight like adults,” she said. They had never been an army, simply playing at war. Only, the Death Eaters hadn’t been playing.

“You know what’s out there, it’s going to come for us. Better to be prepared,” Padma said, sounding so reasonable that Ginny wanted to throttle her.

“Perhaps,” she said.

“Besides, odds are the DADA Professor will be another idiot,” Padma continued with a shrug. “I can learn better on my own. Or with you all.” The other two nodded along and with Hogwarts’ track record, after Umbridge, Ginny found it hard to argue.

“But who would run it? Harry’s… Harry’s gone,” and so are his two lieutenants, she added in her head. She could almost hear the spectre of Riddle that still lingered inside her mind rejoice.

The rest of the carriage fell silent and very pointedly wasn’t looking at her. Then realisation hit her. Suddenly it made sense why they’d shielded her so, and why they were here in the carriage with her now.

“You expect me to do it?” she asked, voice cold.

“Well, who else could do it? You know your stuff,” Padma said, her tone placating. That just made Ginny even madder.

“Because I was there?” she pressed. “Does that make me qualified? Hey, I saw my friends get killed and got cursed myself, but at least I survived, so I know everything about defence now? That’s not how it works,” she snapped.

She’d become a figurehead, Ginny realised. The fucking Girl Who Survived. Is this how Harry had always felt? Everyone looking to him, not because of who he was, but because of what had happened to him, it made her sick. This was worse than people pitying her, or needling her for what really happened. They wanted to make her a hero. They wanted her to replace Harry.

Parvati, Padma and Lavender all looked a bit pale, exchanging worried looks, trying to find something to say in the face of her fury. When Padma finally opened her mouth, Ginny cut her off.

“If you say another word, I’ll curse you,” Ginny warned. “You do what you want, but I’m not leading the D.A. and that’s final.”

The rest of their journey continued in silence and as soon as the carriage stopped, she couldn’t put enough distance between her and the three girls quickly enough.

***

Sitting in the Great Hall felt wrong. Her eyes kept wandering, searching the table for Weasley red hair. Only there wasn’t any. Instead, her eyes kept getting drawn to the black banners still decorating the hall. Cedric had been remembered for one feast, it seemed the mourning for five lasted longer. As if anyone needed a reminder.

At least she was back, safely entrenched amidst Gryffindors. Parvati and Lavender had taken a seat on her left and Ginny was doing her best to ignore them, still furious. Seamus and Dean, the latter also wearing a new prefect’s badge, were on her right and desperately tried to avoid looking at her scars. Yet from time to time, when they reached for a dish on the left side of the table, they caught a glimpse and Ginny could just see them shudder with horror. It hurt more from Dean, she’d liked him. Fancied him even once, before it all went to hell.

And now he found her hideous. Harry’s scar had made him a tragic hero. Hers were just ugly. It didn’t matter, she told herself as she ate, despite not feeling very hungry. From the corner of her eye, she could see Colin working up the courage to speak to her. Ginny didn’t mind, she was also still working up the courage to speak to him. What do you tell a boy whose hero died?

The girl opposite her, however wasn’t looking away. Braided brown hair, looking about a year younger and with blue eyes that showed not even the slightest hint of revulsion. If anything, her eyes were filled with admiration. But that didn't sit quite right with Ginny either.

She knew her. Demelza something. Third year. Fourth year now. Always wandering around with a broom. As far as Ginny knew, she’d never been awful to Harry. That earned her some credit. Her staring on the other hand endeared her less to Ginny. Harry would have just ignored it, but that had never really worked out for him, had it?

“Demelza, right?” she asked, the girl starting when she was caught staring. Everyone around her fell silent. Gryffindor, house of the brave and the dramatic.

“Yes,” she said. To her credit, she didn’t look away.

“Like what you see?” she asked, perhaps slightly sharper than necessary. The silence was now spreading across the table.

“No. Yes,” Demelza stammered, then her expression hardened. “We’ll get them,” she promised, looking at Ginny’s scars. “For that. For everything.”

Ginny decided Demelza deserved the benefit of the doubt.

“Agreed,” Ginny said, but before she could say more, Dumbledore rose and the Great Hall fell just as silent as the people around her.

“Good evening everyone,” Dumbledore said, rising and spreading his arms.

The first thing she noticed was that his tone lacked the cheerfulness of old. The second thing she noticed was his hand, now a blackened and dead-looking thing. Cursed, that she knew instinctively with the certainty of someone who had been cursed herself. All the whispers that around her told the same, Voldemort’s name was on everyone’s lips. She could hardly fault them for it. Who else could have hurt the greatest wizard alive? The one who had duelled Voldemort to a standstill with Harry’s body at his feet only three months earlier?

“Ah, the perspicacity of the youth. Do not concern yourself with it. Baking accident,” Dumbledore said with a gesture at his hand, the charm of old briefly resurfacing before a shadow passed across his face yet again. “Another year, yet a year like no other. Last year, we lost five of our students. Over the summer, we lost several more,” Dumbledore continued.

The hall had gone deathly quiet as Ginny remembered the other headlines of the summer, of houses empty come the morning, bathed in the green light of the Dark Mark. Perhaps you couldn’t see the empty seats in the Great Hall, but you could feel them.

“These are dangerous times. Friends are lost, or become lost. Own talents prove insufficient. One would be forgiven for believing there is no battle to be won, no glory to be found, no light to turn to...” Dumbledore said, voice trailing off.

The Headmaster looked like he was somewhere else. Somewhere far away with the ghosts of Harry and the others. The Hall looked at him in confusion and even horror, expressions mirrored on the faces of the teachers. And in that moment, Ginny hated him. Hated him for giving up. Hated him for being so mortal, instead of the only one who Voldemort ever feared. Above all, she hated him for voicing the thoughts that had been haunting her for months now.

And then, almost impossible, the light in his eyes returned, even if his voice remained grave.

“Yet we still march on. I promise you that I will not fail you like I failed six of you last year. Most of this summer, I have devoted to strengthening the castle’s fortifications. Voldemort and his followers gather outside, that I cannot deny. However, that is where they will remain,” he said.

Briefly, Ginny felt hope, so certain he sounded. Then the anger returned. He’d been there, right there when Harry had died. And still he dared to make promises. But Dumbledore continued, unmindful of her inner turmoil.

“Still, I implore you to be vigilant. Report suspicious behaviour and abide by the rules, including the rule that you are not to be out of after hours. While usually solely there to shield you from any youthful foolishness, and thus to be circumvented at times, this time it is for your protection. Please, help us keep you safe,” Dumbledore said.

“That said, I do have some good news,” Dumbledore continued, the hint of a smile, of the Dumbledore of old sneaking its way back in. “It is my pleasure and honour to introduce you to a former and now again current colleague of mine, Horace Slughorn,” Dumbledore said with a wave towards a bald, rotund man who waved genially at the Hall. “Who will resume his old position as Potions Master.”

Potions? And then it dawned on her. Snape was finally getting what he’d always wanted. Another class to ruin. The Hall was still slouching towards the same conclusion when Dumbledore turned to Snape.

“Professor Snape will assume the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor.”

The whispers turned to louder deliberations, even as the Slytherin table burst into applause. Ginny wanted to hex them all. They were really going to need the D.A. this year. Her fingers dug into the table, realising that if Harry had been here, he’d have shouted out his horror for all the world to hear. The same horror she saw mirrored on her housemates’ faces, in particular those sixth years who had finally believed to be rid of them, those same sixth years who’d all made it into DADA N.EW.T.’s because of Harry.

“Fuck,” Seamus said rather empathically and Ginny could only agree with that assessment.

***

The silence in her dorm was maddening. All the girls were looking at her, but none dared to speak. What would they even say? It’s not as if they’d ever been friends. She had Tom to thank for that. During her first year, he’d isolated her and after that, the cliques had been formed, none of them including Ginny. They’d laughed at her jokes, enough that people thought she was popular, but they’d never let her in. Just another thing Tom had taken from her.

She could feel him still, living inside her skull, his whispers always just at the edge of her awareness.. Lately, she’d been hearing him more and more, at night when she couldn’t sleep. And when Harry had collapsed, she’d heard him laugh.

It didn't matter, she told herself. None of the girls in her year had attended the D.A. None of the boys either, except for Colin, who’d also lost most of that first year. They hadn’t believed Harry either. She could do without them. She would do without them. She tossed her belongings on her bed and headed for the common room.

This early in the year, there was still a semblance of order to the place, though Fred and George’s absence no doubt had also helped. The fact that everyone was still unpacking also helped. Everyone except Demelza at least, of whom she still wasn’t sure about the surname. She just sat there, staring into the fire. The urge to leave before Demelza noticed her was almost overpowering, but then she remembered the fire behind the girl’s eyes. Something other than pity.

“Hi,” Ginny said a bit awkwardly.

“Hi,” Demelza said, looking up briefly and trying to smile. “I’m sorry about staring before.”

“It’s fine,” Ginny said, hovering near the couch Demelza was sat in a second longer before dropping down next to her. “I know they’re ugly scars. I specifically asked for one like Harry’s, but Dolohov’s a bit hard of hearing,” she said, earning her a shocked laugh from Demelza, who instantly looked guilty for having laughed at it.

Ginny felt a bit guilty herself, not quite sure where that horrible joke had come from. But at least it had blocked off any further discussion of her injuries. After more than a month in a family united by grief, it felt almost like a relief to be free from it. To no longer sit through all those choking silences or reflective moments whenever they noticed the empty chair. To be able to smile, even if it was still a bit forced. To have to think about nothing bigger than Hogwarts.

“So, you like to fly, right?” Ginny said, seizing upon what little she knew of the girl. “Plan to try out for Quidditch?”

“Yeah, I’ve been dreaming about it for years, but well, hard to compete with the Chasers they had,” Demelza said. “Will you still be playing?”

“Yes,” Ginny said instinctively. That was the one thing she’d been sure about before returning. She needed to be up in the sky.

“As Seeker?” Demelza asked cautiously. Ginny shook her head. She’d given it a lot of thought every time she rose high into the sky. It was difficult to imagine someone taking Harry’s place, but it was impossible to imagine her taking it again.

“No, Chaser. Sorry about reducing your chances,” she said. Demelza grinned.

“Have you seen the fliers we have in our house? If I can’t beat them to the remaining spot, I should just hang up my broom.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Ginny agreed. “Do you know anyone else who will try out?” she asked, wondering how they’d ever find five new players. Angelina, graduated. Fred and George, sort of graduated. Harry and Ron…

“Apparently McLaggen wants to be Keeper,” Demelza said.

“No,” Ginny said, shivering at the thought of it. If she’d had to choose between McLaggen as their Keeper and getting cursed by Dolohov again… well it’d be a long Quidditch season, but still, she really didn’t want him. She’d need to have a talk with Katie beforehand.

“He’s pretty awful, isn’t he?” Demelza admitted. “He has nice eyes though,” she said, sounding almost wistful.

“Demelza!” Ginny gasped.

“But he’s just so… dreamy,” Demelza said, looking for a second so much like Romilda Vane that it’s uncanny. Then they both burst out laughing. And just for a second, Ginny wondered if somehow it’d be alright after all. Or at least, that she could sometimes pretend it was. So she kept laughing and if it was a bit too loud, a bit too forced, no one commented on it. And if the fire in the hearth reminded of a raging fire running through the Ministry’s Atrium, well, she could pretend not to see that either.

***

Chapter Text

Three: Those we lost, those we gained

Ginny didn’t sleep well that night. She wasn’t sure if she ever would, again. But she slept better than she had in a while. The world was still awful, but the return to Hogwarts hadn’t been. People were looking. Eventually they’d start talking too. Some would even laugh. But she could do this. She would do this. For those who no longer could.

Still, that late night resolve was more difficult to hold onto when she went down for breakfast and could feel the looks on her. Briefly, she considered brushing her hair forward, so it at least covered the scars. But then people would think she was ashamed, and that would be even worse. So instead she had breakfast, received her schedule from a worried-looking Professor McGonagall and engaged Demelza in a discussion about the Harpies’ chances for this year. And when it was almost nine, she headed to the Dungeons for her first class of her fifth year.

The Potions Classroom was already unlocked, though Slughorn was nowhere in sight. In front, a single cauldron stood on a stone dais, white smoke drifting up from it, forming strange shapes before dissipating. Ginny quickly looked away before she could see things in it that she preferred not to see.

It was a testament to Snape’s legacy that so far no one had even dared to approach it. With Slughorn still an unknown element, no one was willing to risk poisoning or eternal scarring. Instead, they were all readying their equipment. Ginny still hadn’t figured if and how to approach Colin. Fortunately, Astoria’s invitation was still there and in a suddenly even class, one of the Gryffindor boys had been whisked away to France by his parents, that left her with an opportunity.

Astoria hardly looked up as Ginny dropped her satchel down next to her, seemingly fully focused on laying down her knife, quill and parchment with a precision that could rival Percy’s.

“Good morning Ginny, slept well?”

“Morning Tori,” Ginny mumbled in a tone that would just have to suffice as an answer. Astoria turned to her, brow furrowed.

“I guess everyone wanted to talk to you last night?” she asked, but Ginny shook her head.

“No, people have been surprisingly decent. And you saw my honour guard before,” she added. She was quite sure Parvati and Lavender had read the whole house the riot act pre-emptively. Astoria smiled thinly.

“So, are you actually any good at Potions? It was difficult to judge Gryffindors as long as Snape was doing the grading,” she admitted.

“Decent,” Ginny said with a shrug. “Do you know anything about Slughorn?”

“Not a bad sort. Bit of an influence peddler though, or so Daphne told me last night. Apparently, Dad complains about him a lot as he never made it in Slughorn’s little club.”

“Apparently?” Ginny asked, sensing a story. She’d never caught a glimpse of the workings of a Slytherin family before.

“Dad complains a lot. I gave up on keeping track a long time ago and just nod along. I’m quite sure Mum does the same. Daphne, however, was actually paying attention as it turns out,” Astoria hesitated and then sighed. “It seems that’s what she always does. She found out we talked and considered it… unwise.”

“Should I sit somewhere else?” Ginny asked, trying to sound like it was nothing. Astoria shook her head.

“No, really, I can handle my sister. I have fifteen years of experience. Besides, before I paired up with Harper and he’s terrible at Potions,” she added.

Before Ginny could say anything more, Slughorn finally arrived in the class, drops of sweat glistening on his bald head.

“Good morning class, apologies for the delay but I had a floo call from my good friend Dirk Cresswell,” he said as he moved to the front.

“Head of the Goblin Liaison Office,” Astoria whispered when she noticed Ginny’s confused look.

“Now, welcome to fifth year Potions. A challenging year this one, an O.W.L. year no less, but I will not bore you with speeches on the hardships await you. My colleagues will already do that exceptionally well, I’m sure. I, on the other hand, will reassure you. A true Potioneer is born, not raised. But an Outstanding on your O.W.L., that can be taught,” he promised.

“Today we will surmount the first hurdle, the Draught of Peace,” Slughorn declared with rather grand gestures that made Ginny fear he was going to knock over the cauldron. She pushed her chair back a little bit, just in case. Slughorn, unmindful of her concern, drew his wand and waved it at the blackboard, filling it with row after row of instruction. Ginny’s stomach sank, and sank even further when she saw Astoria gape at the instructions with equal despair.

“Now, does anyone know what it does?” Slughhorn asked, looking at them with expectant eyes. Ginny raised her hand and didn’t need to wait long.

“Yes, Miss Weasley?” Slughorn said, pointing at her. She wondered if he already knew everyone’s names somehow and then realised she’d been on the cover of the Prophet quite a few times this summer, with those scars of her that now shone in the dungeon light.. Of course he knew who she was.

“It basically does what its name promises. It makes you calm, so calm that even horrible things no longer hurt,” she said, thinking of the few times they’d given it to her. After the worst pain of the curse had subsided and had left the room for the realisation to set in.

Slughorn studied her for a few seconds and then nodded.

“Quite, Miss Weasley. Take five points for Gryffindor. It’s a difficult potion, I’ll admit and the official instructions make it even worse. So, how about I let you in on a secret?” Slughorn asked, winking at the class and pointing at the blackboard again with his wand. The instructions were erased and replaced by a much shorter series.

“You have Professor Snape to thank for that. It was about the last of his discoveries he shared with me, before he started hoarding them,” Slughorn laughed. “Though I’m sure that you as your students have reaped the advantages from his genius.”

Ginny exchanged a look with Astoria, wondering if at least the Slytherins had benefited from his tutelage. She shook her head in mute denial. No surprise there. Snape never had been one to share his secrets.

The rest of the class went by in a dream. Uncanny as it was to brew a potion without Snape breathing down their necks, Ginny rather liked it. Slughorn strolled through the classroom, seemingly unmindful of what was happening, though always just on hand to avoid disaster, such as when Astoria came close to dumping a whole moonstone into the potion.

“Sorry,” Astoria squeaked, looking at Slughorn with mild terror.

“Quite alright, Miss?” he said, voice trailing off.

“Greengrass, Astoria Greengrass,” she supplied.

“Quite alright Miss Greengrass,” Slughorn repeated with a smile before wandering off.

“Sorry,” Astoria repeated again when as Slughorn was out of earshot.

“It’s fine,” Ginny said as she began crushing the moonstone. “Though if this blows up in my face, Tori, I’m not partnering up with you again.”

“I rarely make things explode and when I do, it’s usually intentional,” Astoria said airily, brushing a strand of hair out of her face.

“That sounds like something Fred and George would say,” Ginny muttered, applying some extra pressure till the moonstone was reduced to fine powder. It was easy really, when she pretended it was Dolohov’s face she was smashing in.

The end result was perhaps closer to turquoise green than turquoise blue, but all in all, Ginny was happy with the end result. Astoria studied it rather dubiously.

“So, this is alright?” she asked Ginny.

“Yeah, mostly. Colour’s a bit off, but not much.”

“You sure?” Astoria asked, comparing it to the black-and-white picture in the book.

“Yeah, I had to take the stuff while at St. Mungo’s,” she admitted.

“Ah,” Astoria breathed in. “That makes sense. Sorry for bringing it up.”

“It’s fine,” Ginny said, bottling a sample and struggling with the plug. “St. Mungo’s was awful, but I’m better now,” she said, willing her right hand to stop shaking.

“We both know that’s not true,” Astoria corrected her firmly. “I’m not even fine at this point,” she added after some hesitation.

“Maybe,” Ginny hedged, laying down the finally stoppered vial before she dropped it. “But we’ll get there?” she said, half a declaration, half a question. Astoria just nodded.

“We’ll get there. Partner up again for Charms? I swear I’m better at that,” she promised, picking up the vial and heading to the front of the classroom.

Slughorn chose that moment to appear next to Ginny. She almost hexed him, though judging by his warm smile, he’d missed her going for her wand.

“Could you stay after class, Miss Weasley?” he asked, drifting back to the front before she could even reply.

Was she already in trouble? Fred and George would be proud, but she couldn’t think of anything she had done to earn his scrutiny. Still, what else could he want from her after but one class? It wasn’t as if their potion had been the best, Harper’s had looked frustratingly perfect. Tempting as it was to just run, she packed and waited.

“You not coming?” Astoria asked as she closed her bag, already the last in class.

“Slughorn wanted to talk to me,” Ginny said with a nod of her head. Astoria looked at Slughorn and pursed her lips.

“He probably wants to recruit you,” Astoria declared. “I’ll explain to Flitwick why you’re late,” she said and then hurried off before Ginny could ask what he could recruit her for. She didn’t like the sound of that. First the Patils and Lavender, now this?

Unmindful of her unease, Slughorn strolled towards her casually.

“Thank you for staying Miss Weasley,” he said, leaning against an adjoining table.

“Of course Professor,” she said.

“I believe I owe you an explanation,” he said, looking almost contrite. Ginny just blinked. “As you no doubt heard, I had a little luncheon with a few students during the train ride, the inaugural meeting of the Slug Club so to say.”

Luncheon on the train? Slug Club? It was all new to Ginny and she still didn’t quite understand why she was here.

“And I just wanted to make sure you didn’t feel left out. I’d be delighted if you’d be willing to join us for our next session. I just thought that the train ride might already be a difficult affair,” he said, and for just a second, Slughorn lost all of his usual pomp and his eyes were brimming with concern and compassion. “So I decided not to put you in a difficult position and instead forego the invitation. I hope you won’t hold that against me.”

Ginny wasn’t sure what was worse, the compassion or the condescension. She wanted to tell him he didn’t know anything about her. But it would be really nice to have at least one year of Potions without a teacher who hated her for the simple act of breathing. So instead she just nodded and favoured Slughorn with the smile she’d sometimes used on her mother when she wanted to shift the blame towards Fred and George.

“Of course not, Professor. Thank you for taking it into account.”

“Don’t think anything of it, my girl,” Slughorn said, patting her on the shoulder. The left shoulder, naturally.

“But, I’m sorry for asking, but I’ve been a bit out of the loop lately. What is the Slug Club?” she asked, deciding she might as well learn something from this strange conversation. If Slughorn was put-out by her question, he hid it well.

“That’s a difficult one to answer,” Slughorn said, favouring her with another one of his broad smiles. “Some would call it an excuse for getting together and eating the best food around. A bit base, but not inaccurate. Others would say it is an opportunity for talented students to meet in a more convivial setting. But I’d just say that it is an opportunity you wouldn’t want to miss and encourage you to discover the rest for yourself,” he said, laughing loudly. His was a rumbling laugh, coming straight from his rather impressive belly.

That told her enough, more or less. An exclusive club and he, as Astoria had predicted, wanted to recruit her for it. She probably had to fill the seat he’d already reserved for Harry in his mind. It was disgusting. But a small part of her – The Riddle part? – was flattered. And it did sound good. Food. Drinks. Connections. Exactly the sort of event Weasleys never got invited to.

Maybe there she’d have the chance to write her story anew. The one she'd dreamt up as a child had involved Harry. The one she'd gotten instead came with scars. But maybe there was a third one still up for grabs, involving Ginny Weasley. Nothing more. Nothing less

“Well, I’d be delighted, Professor,” she said, turning up the charm. It earned her an even broader smile from Slughorn.

“Music to my ears, Miss Weasley. I was thinking about holding a first dinner in two weeks, Monday, if you can wait that long that is?” he asked.

“It will be difficult, Professor, but I’ll try,” she said.

“Splendid. Now, do you need a note for your next class to explain why you’re late?” Slughorn asked.

“No, it’s fine. Astoria said she’d tell Professor Flitwick.”

“Yes, you worked together rather well this class. Heart-warming really, such interhouse unity. It’s been, oh twenty years, since I last had a Gryffindor and a Slytherin pair up in my class. The Gryffindor also had red hair,” Slughorn chuckled, eyes glassy as he relived a no doubt ancient memory.

Ginny just shifted on her feet, beginning to wonder if she’d even make it to Flitwick’s class before its end. But Slughorn didn’t notice it, nor did he pay any attention to the murmur coming from the classroom door.

“But I digress. Would you like me to invite Miss Greengrass as well to the occasion? It might be good to have a friend there,” he said.

More compassion. But truth be told, it’d be good to have a friend there. As she hadn’t heard about the Slug Club yet, she doubted there’d anyone else present she actually liked.

“I’d appreciate that, Professor.”

“Then it’s set. I’ll get you two official invitations,” he said, before sobering again. “I imagine returning to Hogwarts hasn’t been easy for you, Miss Weasley. If you ever want to talk, my door is always open,” he offered.

“Thank you, Professor,” she said, vowing she’d go crying to a House Elf before accepting that offer.

“Well, I suppose you have a class to get to. And I have a class to teach,” Slughorn laughed, guiding her towards the exit. “Good day, Miss Weasley,” he said as the door swung open, revealing a rather disgruntled group of third year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws who all saw Slughorn with his arm around Ginny’s shoulder. That should guarantee ‘teacher’s pet’ would be added to her list of titles before the end of the day.

***

A quarter of Flitwick’s class had elapsed by the time she dropped down next to Astoria, everyone’s eyes following her all the way to her seat, the Slytherins no doubt gossiping about whatever she’d discussed with Slughorn. The Gryffindors probably too. At least Flitwick required no explanation, just waving her to her seat.

“And?” Astoria whispered as Flitwick was wrapping about his speech on O.W.L.’s.

“Invitation to the Slug Club,” she muttered, getting out quill and parchment.

“Thought as much,” Astoria grinned.

“You’re invited too,” she added. That at least got her a surprised look from Astoria.

“Wait what?”

“Slughorn asked if I wanted you to come as well. I said yes.”

“Huh. Thanks.”

“Figures a Slytherin would appreciate it,” Ginny retorted, earning her an affronted look from Astoria.

“Hey, this has nothing to do with being a Slytherin or not. I just heard the food’s great. And, more importantly, Parkinson’s going to lose it when she hears I got invited. As will Daphne.”

“Typical Slytherin,” Ginny scoffed.

“You’re just jealous ‘cause you ain’t us,” Astoria said in a singsong voice.

“Right. Now shh, I’m trying to listen here,” she said with a nod of her head at Flitwick.

“Why? I bet we’ll get this speech at least two more times. Today,” Astoria muttered, though she did fall silent after that.

***

Astoria turned out to be right, both in Transfiguration and Herbology they were warned about the dreaded O.W.L.’s, who by the tone of it would kill them, though only if the extra loads of homework didn’t get to them first. So far, only Slughorn had spared them from an essay or spell practice and Ginny was quite sure that was only because he was going for a favourable first impression.

Transfiguration was the worst, for several reasons. Her first class without Astoria, there was an awkward moment when she wasn’t sure where to sit. In the end, the odd number of Gryffindors saved her and rather than pull up a chair and join a table of two like she’d have done before, she opted for claiming a desk for her own. Colin looked at her again, but no more. McGonagall frowned when she saw it, but said nothing. Ginny was beginning to hope McGonagall would let it slide, but after assigning vanishing spell practice to them all, she asked for Ginny to stay behind.

“You wanted to speak with me, Professor?” Ginny asked, straightening.

“Would you mind accompanying me to my office?” McGonagall asked.

At first, Ginny thought she’d misheard. McGonagall didn’t do requests. Except apparently, for the Girl Who Survived. Ginny nodded and steeled herself for another pity session as she followed her to the small study on the first floor. At least McGonagall didn’t look away from her face, giving her scarred right side just as much attention as her left side. She’d come by her title of head of Gryffindor house honestly. Ginny dropped down in a chair and gazed out of the window, wishing she was on the Quidditch pitch instead.

“Have a biscuit, Miss Weasley,” McGonagall said with a wave at a dented tartan tin lurking just underneath today’s Prophet.

“I’m sorry?” she stammered, rather sure she’d misheard that.

“A biscuit, Miss Weasley. Have one,” she repeated with exasperated fondness. Ginny gave her another dubious look, opened the tin and fished out a Ginger Newt. She studied it a while longer and then nibbled on it cautiously. This day was too confusing to keep up.

“Thank you Professor,” Ginny said, meaning it. They weren’t half bad, really.

“I’m sorry for not speaking with you earlier, Miss Weasley. I must confess I have been putting this off,” she admitted.

“No problem”, Ginny said. McGonagall wasn’t the only one who had been putting this talk off. Most people still were.

“In all my years at Hogwarts, we have sometimes lost a student. Accidents happen, as do illnesses. But five at once, four of which from my house…” McGonagall said, voice trailing off. For a moment, she looked just as fragile as Dumbledore had at the Feast. It hurt to see her like that. “I needed time to process that,” she admitted. “I still do, but neither Hogwarts nor Order can spare more time.”

The Order. Ginny swallowed down the last of her Ginger Newt. She’d tried not to think about it. Dumbledore’s actual army, the one that had stormed into the Department of Mysteries when there was almost no one left to save. And even then they’d ruined it.

Bellatrix laughs as Harry flares with green light, then crumbles. Ginny screams and tries to get up, but her body refuses to obey. She screams again, keeps screaming till her voice gives in. Harry’s gone. They’re all gone.

“Oh, are you sad? Don’t worry child, you’ll soon join him,” Bellatrix says, pointing her wand at Ginny. “If you beg, I’ll even make it quick. Maybe,” she laughs again, an insane sound that seems to fill the whole room.

Then, Harry scrambles back up, looking just like he had in the Chamber three years ago. Exhausted, hurt and invincible.

“Leave her alone, Bellatrix,” he says, raising a wand.

No one moves, all eyes on the Boy Who Lived Again. Bellatrix gapes and points her wand at him, hands shaking.

Then, two doors burst open and Sirius, Lupin and Tonks rush in. Ginny wants to cry. They’re here. They’re finally here. Too fucking late.

“Miss Weasley?” McGonagall asked gently. Ginny blinked and breathed heavily. The images were gone, but hadn’t been replaced by anything else. All she could see was darkness. The only reassurance she had that she was still in the room was the feeling of the chair underneath her.“Easy now Miss Weasley, I’m here. You’re safe.”

Safe. Ginny had come to hate that word. That’s what everyone had been telling her in St. Mungo’s over and over as well. As if it still meant something. As if that was what kept her up at night. Still, safe or not, slowly she began to see the office again. The desk. The window. The tin can. She took another biscuit and tried to pretend nothing had happened.

“Have you spoken about what happened with anyone yet, Miss Weasley?” McGonagall asked.

“Yeah,” she muttered.

Mum had tried to speak about it with her for two weeks straight before she finally got that her daughter didn’t want to, didn’t need to. Then she’d sent for Lupin, gentle Professor Lupin. That had been better. He’d at least been there at the end. Not that he’d said much. Tonks had been better at it, slowly drawing her out. But talking had never made her feel better, only worse.

“If you want to talk about it again-“

“Thank you Professor, but no,” she said. McGonagall nodded in understanding. Her she could at least refuse outright, unlike Slughorn.

“Of course. Have people been bothering you?”

No,” Ginny said.

Of course people had been bothering her. How they looked at her, or how they didn’t look. How they just went on with their stupid little lives, or how they tried to draw lessons from it. But no one had confronted her yet, though she was sure that was only a matter of time. Give it a few days, or weeks.

“If they do, come speak with me. If you want to,” McGonagall added.

Ginny took another bite from the biscuit and nodded. For a while, they just sat there in silence, Ginny studying the clear blue sky outside, McGonagall studying her and unlike all those other stares, it didn’t itch. Nor did she find compassion there, just understanding. It reminded her a bit of Astoria’s eyes, only older, wearier. McGonagall had been here before, Ginny realised.

“I loved them too, you know,” McGonagall said suddenly. “I love all my students, but they were special.”

“They were,” Ginny agreed.

And suddenly, despite her promises, she could feel the tears coming. Sniffling softly, she accepted the handkerchief McGonagall silently proffered. She blew her nose and dabbed at her eyes until the tears stopped, taking extra care around her right eye, a half-eaten biscuit still in her other hand.

“It’s not fair,” Ginny said.

“War never is,” McGonagall said. “I just wish we could have spared you that lesson.”

“Only you didn’t,” she said, blowing her nose again.

“No, we didn’t,” McGonagall agreed. “And I can’t promise we won’t do it again. But I’ll try.”

It was honest, at least. More honest than the promises she’d heard so far. And that would just have to do for now.

***

When she left McGonagall’s office, Demelza, of whom she still couldn’t remember the last name, was leaning against the wall.

“Hi Demelza.”

“Hi Ginny,” she answered, pushing herself upright.

“If you need to see McGonagall, she’s free now,” Ginny offered.

“No, I’m here for you. I heard your classmates mention McGonagall had kept you behind and wanted to see if you were alright,” she said, giving her a worried look.

“I’m fine,” Ginny said, painfully aware she must look a proper mess. She always was an ugly crier. She hadn’t met anyone yet who wasn’t.

“Do you want to talk?” Demelza asked as they both walked through the corridor.

“Yeah, but not about that,” Ginny said.

“Fair enough,” Demelza said and for a few steps, neither of them said anything. “O.W.L. year as bad as they claim it is?”

“Worse,” Ginny said. “Endless homework and terrifying speeches. I recommend flunking your fourth year.”

“I’ll consider it,” Demelza laughed.

“Demelza?”

“Yeah Ginny?”

“What’s your last name?” Ginny asked, figuring she might as pull off that particular band-aid.

“Robins. One ‘b’, very important,” she said, laughing.

“Weasley. Like the mammal, only different,” Ginny offered, earning her another loud laugh rolling down the hallway.

In that, Demelza was different from Astoria. Her laughs were louder, easier. And while Ginny could feel that she’d be willing to talk about what had happened and what was still happening outside, it was possible not to and that she rather appreciated.

“I had Snape this afternoon,” Demelza supplied and Ginny groaned.

“Was it as bad as Potions?”

“About par for the course. ‘Miss Vane, if you talk one more time during class, the dark arts will be the least of your concern’,” she said in a very passable imitation of Snape’s drawl. “And then he docked twenty points from Gryffindor.”

“Still the same old Snape,” Ginny agreed. “You’d have thought he might have softened a bit after getting the DADA post.”

“Don’t count on it. It wasn’t bad though. Miles better than Umbridge. He reminded me a bit of Moody. Fake Moody,” Demelza amended.

“That’s hardly confidence inspiring.”

“Not like that,” Demelza said with a chucjkle. “But, he gets them, you know, the dark arts. Maybe a bit too well though. When do you have him?” she asked.

Ginny stopped next to a suit of armour and rummaged through her bag until she found an already rather crumbled schedule. “Thursday,” she said, unable to shiver.

“Well, then you’ll get to judge for yourself.”

“I can’t wait,” Ginny muttered as they reached the Fat Lady’s portrait. Demelza prepared to climb inside, but Ginny put her hand on her arm.

“Demelza?

“Yeah?” she said, giving her a curious look.

“Thanks,” Ginny said. Demelza just shrugged.

“Anytime. Just remember me for the tryouts,” she teased and then disappeared inside.

Ginny followed her inside, though part of her wondered why Demelza cared. They’d hardly interacted before. Was this just an example of a loner seeking out an outsider? Or was there something more? There’d been such vehemence when she first spoke to Ginny at the Feast. She’d ask, but that seemed a poor way to repay Demelza for respecting Ginny’s own boundaries so well.

Besides, above all she didn't want to scare her away. Through some kind of miracle, she'd stumbled onto two budding friendships. Two people who didn't see the scars or the Girl Who Survived. She wasn't quite sure if they saw the real Ginny Weasley, whoever that may be at this point, but it was good enough. So what did it matter she didn't fully understand Demelza herself yet? That was part of the miracle of new friends, you didn't really know them yet, you just knew that you liked them.

Still lost in reverie, the chaos of the Gryffindor common room rose to meet her. A few were working on their homework, mostly the upper years fretting about O.W.L.’s and N.E.W.T.’s. The lower years were playing exploding snap, loud as always. A few first-years were just sitting there, still taking in the wonder of it all. And near the fire were Lavender and Parvati, who immediately got up when they saw Ginny.

“Ginny, could we talk to you for a second?” Parvati asked. Ginny could already read the question in her eyes.

“No,” she said and then headed for her dorm.

Chapter Text

Four: Raising the banners

Tuesday went by as if in a dream. More classes, more stares, more whispers. The Patils and Lavender trying to corner her. Colin avoiding her. McGonagall’s words still echoing in her mind.

On Wednesday, the sun shone and after classes, Ginny and Astoria found themselves sitting at the lake, far away from the rest of the student body. The giant squid waved lazily at them, then disappeared into the water, probably on its way to frighten some first years. Their Charms homework was lying next to them, but so far neither of them had suggested they should actually do something with it. Ginny was too busy staring at the lake and trying not to think about the Triwizard Tournament. Astoria had closed her eyes and was lying on the grass, her pale skin shining in the sun. No doubt she was trying very hard not to think about something either.

“How did you meet Luna?” Ginny asked finally.

“First year,” Astoria murmured without opening her eyes. Maybe that made it easier. “I was sitting on the ground in a side corridor, one with all those empty classrooms no one uses anymore. The place where no one ever goes. I was having difficulty breathing and didn’t want anyone to see. I missed home. Hogwarts was too big. Too scary. Too much. And when I looked up, there she was, sitting next to me. Suddenly, she started talking about Nargles and all other kinds of magical creatures. She just kept going and I listened, until it dawned on me that it no longer felt like I was suffocating.

“That’s when we began hanging out. In secret, at first. I didn’t want to be seen with some loony Ravenclaw,” Astoria muttered sourly. “But around second year, I grew out of that. Around the time that Harper stole my bag and tossed it in the lake. It made me realise there was no point in pretending. They already hated me anyway, and Luna deserved better. I just wish I’d figured it out sooner,” she said, letting out an angry breath. “How did you become her friend? First year as well?”

“Second year.,” she replied, leaning back and closing her eyes as well. “I knew her before as well, but my first year at Hogwarts was difficult.”

“The Chamber,” Astoria said.

“The Chamber,” Ginny agreed and she could feel Tom stir inside her head. “Second year was difficult as well. Slytherin’s Monster was gone, but somehow the hallways seemed even scarier and I was even lonelier than before. And then I saw some Ravenclaws who were picking on her. Emptying her bag, shredding her latest copy of the Quibbler. And Luna just watched, not moving. It just made me so angry. At them, at the world and at me.

“I hexed them sideways, I got five weeks of detention for that. And as I was standing there, panting and screaming at them that they were horrible, horrible people, Luna just walked up to me and said I hadn’t needed to do that, that she was used to it,” she said, the scene replaying in her head again. It made her even angrier than it had back then.

“And then you decided that someone who said something like that, needed it all the more,” Astoria added.

“Yeah,” Ginny admitted. “I suppose so. What are you, a mind reader?”

“Hardly,” Astoria laughed softly. “But that was what Luna told me when I told her I didn’t need her help. I’d just had another panic attack, the fifth or something that week, and I felt so weak. So stupid. And she was there and had seen it all, just like all the previous times. It made me just want to lash out, because somehow that would make me less weak. Or something. Compassion can be difficult to bear sometimes.”

“You can say that again”, Ginny agreed.

“But from her, I learned to accept it. Because that was just who she was. So wonderfully kind and incomprehensible.”

“Yeah.”

“I miss her,” Astoria said in a choked voice.

“So do I,” Ginny agreed.

“Did she…” Astoria began and then fell silent. “No, never mind.”

“Suffer?” Ginny filled in.

“Yeah.”

His name is Travers. Ginny has heard the others call him that. She tries to keep an eye on him as he duels with Luna, but she’s rather busy fending off Mulciber herself. Curses and hexes fly everywhere. This is what they trained for. Not to defy Umbridge, but to fight. To survive. Only, she’s beginning to realise it might not be enough.

Somehow, Luna’s soft gasp rises above the spellfire. She’s just standing there, as if frozen in place, arm still raised but wand already slipping from her fingers. A small red stain is forming on her chest. Then she folds in upon herself.

“It was quick,” Ginny said, opening her eyes again to drive away the sight of trembling, dying Luna. Travers was a horrible fiend who deserved to die, who would die if Ginny had any choice in the matter, but unlike the others, he’d at least been efficient.

A drop fell on her nose, then another. She wasn’t quite sure when the sun had disappeared, but on its trail had been rainclouds. Quickly, she propped her Charms homework in her bag.

“I hate Scotland,” Astoria remarked as she levitated her own belongings in her bag in a way so organised that it reminded Ginny of Percy. “So, do we try to find an unused and no doubt dusty classroom? Or are you back to the Gryffindor common room?”

The thought of returning there, Lavender and Parvati no doubt lying in wait for her again, made her stomach turn. But a disused classroom didn’t sound too appealing either.

“I might have a third alternative. Can you keep a secret?” she asked.

Astoria sighed and tapped her house crest.

“Ginny, I’m a Slytherin.”

“So is Pansy Parkinson.”

“Touché. Ginny, I am a proper Slytherin. I can keep a secret,” she promised.

“Great, you’re going to love this,” Ginny said before sprinting off towards the castle. The first few raindrops had brought plenty of reinforcements.

***

Soaking wet and dripping water all over the seventh floor corridor, Ginny paced up and down. She just hoped Filch wasn’t around to see them. To him, this would no doubt look like malicious defiling of the castle. Astoria was studying Barnabas The Barmy’s attempts to teach Trolls ballet.

“A ballet enthusiast?” Ginny asked as she walked past.

“A bit. I’ll hand it to Barnabas, he could have chosen better pupils, but it is a sound curriculum for beginners,” she concluded as she turned back to Ginny. “So, what is it that I’m not seeing?”

“This,” Ginny declared as she finished her third trajectory and a door sprang into existence to what, if she’d done it right, should be a safe room no one could find.

“Oh,” Astoria said. Ginny doubted she’d get tired of breaking through her unflappable Slytherin façade anytime soon.

“Ohhhhhh,” she repeated, louder this time as they walked in.

Ginny had known the room to be larger, or more impressive, but it had never been quite so cosy before. A burning hearth, a high pile carpet that looked like a fire hazard and an assortment of couches and chairs, including a bean bag chair Astoria was eying rather suspiciously.

“What is that?” she asked, approaching it cautiously. “Is it alive?”

“No, no, it’s a chair. Something Muggles came up with a few decades back. I saw a picture of it in one of dad’s books.”

Not in the slightest reassured, Astoria circled it and then prodded it, withdrawing her finger as soon as the chair gave way.

“Will it swallow me if I sit in it?” she asked.

“It’s not magical, Tori,” Ginny said with amused exasperation. “It can’t harm you.”

“Maybe,” Astoria said and then drifted towards a more normal red velvet loveseat and sat down in it slowly, as if she expected it to think blink out of existence any second. “Well, this is not bad. Comfortable. Bit tasteless. Who ordered this? Lockhart?”

“Magic,” Ginny said, dropping down in the bean bag chair. It was less comfortable than she hoped and it did feel a bit like being engulfed by quicksand. Not that she’d admit that to Astoria though.

“Magic? After four years of Hogwarts education, that’s the best you have?”

“Yeah. It can be any kind of room, but that’s all I know. We- I call it the Room of Requirement.”

“Oh. This is the room you used for the D.A.?” Astoria asked. “Malfoy was spouting a lot of nonsense about some hidden room last year.”

“Yeah, this was it. It looked different then, though,” she said, wondering if she was breaking some sort of D.A. rule by introducing Astoria to the room. Then again, the Inquisitorial Squad had already gotten in and the D.A. was done, so what did it matter? If the rest saw her as the heir to the D.A., Ginny figured she could at least show the room to her friend.

“Yeah, hard to practice here,” Astoria said, surveying the room. On a side table rested a gramophone that hardly looked spellfire resistant. “And you just need to pace up and down in the hallway?”

“That and you need to think about what you require.”

“Room of Requirement, yeah, makes sense,” Astoria said, walking to the gramophone. “Does this thing work?”

“It should,” Ginny said, readjusting her position in the chair. It didn’t get any more comfortable.

“Celestina Warbeck,” Astoria declared as she studied the pile of records next to it, disgust written across her face. “This really won’t do. I’ll bring some of my own along next time.”

“You brought records to Hogwarts? Why?”

“I brought a gramophone from home. When the rest is not in the dorm, I like to play a bit of music,” Astoria said, still sifting through the records. “Ugh, it’s really all Celestina Warbeck.”

Imagine, just bringing your own gramophone to Hogwarts, not even worrying about it being stolen or broken. It was yet another reminder that she and Astoria came from different worlds. She’d gotten used to her fine robes by now to the point that she hardly even noticed them. The same applied to her ever-changing necklaces, bracelets and earrings. But still Astoria kept surprising her, whether it was with stories of three trips per year on average to distant lands, or gramophones.

“Everything alright, Ginny?” Astoria asked, finally looking up from the scorned records.

“Yeah, just thinking.”

“Okay,” Astoria replied, not sounding fully convinced. “The Patils still on your case about the D.A.?”

“The Patils and Brown,” Ginny said with a sigh. “They keep trying to corner me in the common room. I keep avoiding them.”

“It’s not that bad an idea, though.”

“It is if I’m the one supposed to be in charge,” Ginny said. “Can we talk about something else instead? Charms, if necessary?”

“Alright,” Astoria said, fishing out a few books and a particularly fine quill. “Countercharms,” she read from her book. “Countercharms are spells specifically designed to counteract a different spell. They are, in essence, negative and... “Astoria paused and then slammed the book shut. “Can we do this a different time?”

“We have our next Charms class tomorrow,” Ginny reminded her, though her heart wasn’t in it. Countercharms. Countercharms sounded like…

“The prophecy, Potter. The prophecy for a countercurse.”

She shook her head and pushed the memory back, focusing instead on the still wavering Astoria, who looked like she was on the verge of tears herself. Ginny closed her own book as well and sat upright in the bean bag chair to get a better look at her friend. She was just staring ahead, lips moving without making a sound.

“What’s the matter, Tori?”

“I wish I hadn’t been Sorted in Slytherin,” she said in a small voice.

She sounded just like Ginny had in the summer before her second year, when she’d told her parents she didn’t want to return to Hogwarts. Ginny got up and sat down next to her in the couch, draping an arm around her shoulder.

“Why?” she asked.

“It’s our first year all over again, they’re strutting around the castle, like their time has finally come. Every new Prophet headline is a victory to them. Muggleborn family of five missing. Twenty-seven Muggles die from ‘gas leak’. Harry Potter memorial vandalised. And then they laugh,” she said, letting out a hoarse breath. “Lately, they’ve been acting like it’s all already settled… Is You Know Who going to win, Ginny?” she asked, sounding so scared.

A question that had been tormenting her for months now. She thought of Dumbledore’s hesitation and his bold promises. Of her parents, who looked ever more exhausted after each Order meeting. Of the Department of Mysteries and how easily the Death Eaters had batted their hexes aside. A reassuring lie was already on the tip of her tongue and she wanted to say it, because then it might feel a bit more true. But what would that get them?

“I don’t know,” she admitted.

“He was supposed to be dead,” Astoria muttered. “That’s what mum and dad always told me and Daphne, how we should be careful not to get too close with people like Nott, because they were finished anyway. Give it ten years, and we’ll have a Muggleborn Minister of Magic, they said And then this summer they told me and Daphne that it might be best to cosy up to Malfoy and his friends. You know, just in case,” she spat. “And next I know, Daphne’s sitting with them on the train, laughing at Zabini’s bigoted jokes and trading makeup tips with Pansy.”

“I’m sorry,” Ginny said, but Astoria didn’t seem to hear her.

“And then last night she told me she’d heard I sat with you in class. How that wasn’t smart. How I should spend more time with the right sort, or people might get the wrong ideas. What about Harper? He’s in my year, right?”

“I know you’re in a difficult position. If you’d prefer we only met here, or not at all…” Ginny began, even though it hurt her to even voice the thought. She’d only just made two friends, and already she might be losing one. But she could have known. Slytherins put themselves first, and could she blame them? Gryffindors were the ones with principles, and that had gotten four of them killed already.

“Their parents killed Luna!” Astoria screamed. “How can I be friends with them? How can I pretend it’s alright to laugh at some poor Muggleborns getting butchered in their home? The past four years were tolerable. Not great, but tolerable. But now? I hate them. I hate them all,” she spat. “People like that can’t win, can they?” she asked, her voice wobbly.

“Hey,” Ginny said, pulling her in a hug. “We won’t let them.”

“But how?”

How? Ginny didn’t know either. She thought Harry might have known.

“How, Ginny?” Astoria repeated, eyes shining with tears. She could see herself reflected in them, scars and all and wondered what Harry would have done.

It is just her and Harry now, and she doesn’t count. She can barely breathe, let alone stand or cast a spell. The Death Eaters are coming ever closer, stepping over what once were their friends.

“The Prophecy, Potter. You can still save yourself and the girl at least,” Malfoy says.

Harry ignores him and looks at her. Something’s broken inside him, she can tell. But still, a fire burns in his eyes.

“Don’t you dare give it to him,” she says, struggling to articulate. Her lips still feel so sluggish. She’s not quire if he’s even heard her.

“I’m sorry, Gin. But we can’t let them win,” he says finally and then hurls the Prophecy through the arch. It comes apart slowly, breaking into a thousand shards without a noise, a thousand shards that gently drift in the air. Smoke rises, and with it a figure and words. But before they can begin to mean anything, they fade.

“No,” Malfoy whispers and Ginny can hear the terror in his voice. The Death Eaters just stand there, frozen in place.

“Filthy Half-blood!” Bellatrix screams and hurls a green curse at him.

“We just keep fighting,” she said. “No matter how bad it looks. Because what else can we do?”

***

She found them in the library. Padma, Parvati and Lavender surrounded by what looked like their Transfiguration homework, the task McGonagall set for them apparently so harrowing they didn’t even notice Ginny approaching. They started when she cleared her throat. Lavender let out a cry of surprise that earned her an evil glare from Madam Pince.

“Got a second?” Ginny asked.

“Of course,” they three chorused and then exchanged pained looks. Padma prodded Parvati, who prodded Lavender.

“Listen, Ginny. We talked amongst ourselves and we realised-“ Lavender began, but Ginny cut her off.

“We’re doing Dumbledore’s Army again this year,” she announced.

She wasn’t sure how yet, and if anyone would still care to join. But after talking to Astoria, how could she not try? It’s what Harry would have done. And if she was honest with herself, it was the only way that Hogwarts could still make sense to her.

The three of them looked like fish on the dry. They gaped, opened their mouth, then decided against it and opted for simply blinking. It was rather amusing, really.

“You sure?” Padma finally asked. “We’d like that, we want that,” she admitted, looking shamefaced, “but we had no right to ask. Not after…“

“After the Department of Mysteries?” Ginny filled in. “No, you were right. That just proves we need it. I’m still not sure I’m the right one for the job though. If you think I know more than you do… I just started my O.W.L. year.”

“That’s not why we asked. I mean, you’re a great witch. But we asked because they trusted you. Because Harry trusted you,” Parvati said, her voice low.

Ginny took a deep breath, something stirred in her stomach that made her want to smile and cry at the same time.

“Plus, you nailed the Patronus charm. Unlike us,” Lavender said, sounding a bit snippy despite it all. Her Patronus. She’d thought of Harry when she cast it. She wasn’t sure if she could still do it.

“And we can take turns teaching the material,” Padma added, reasonable as always, already drawing up charts in her head. This is why you needed at least one Ravenclaw in your team. “Everyone has their own talents, we just need to apply them well. But we need someone to rally around.”

And that would be her. She hated it. But Harry had hated the attention ever since he’d come to Hogwarts, and still he’d done what needed to be done. Stop Quirrell. Save her. Save Sirius Black. Bring back Cedric. Go to the Department of Mysteries.

“Fine, but don’t blame me if no one shows up.”

“I think you’d be surprised. I’m sure we can count on last year’s group. They all showed up in the train as well,” Parvati said.

“Yeah, I’d been meaning to ask about that. How did that happen?”

“I wrote to them beforehand,” Padma admitted.

“Thanks,” Ginny said.

“The least we could do, really,” Padma said, leaving the rest unsaid. That they hadn’t been at the battle.

Ginny hardly held that against them. Not anymore at least. At first, she’d wanted to send Howlers to them all, that if the whole D.A. had been there, her friends might have lived. But those had been delusions, attempts to shift the blame. Nowadays, she was grateful, if anything. Otherwise, more would have just died.

“So, just the group from before?” Padma asked. “Except for Marietta of course,” she added with a wry smile.

“No. This is about people defending themselves. That’s too important,” Ginny said.

“So, what? We just make it public? The Headmaster might approve, but it’ll be chaos. Remember the duelling club?” Padma said, earning her a chuckle.

“Lockhart was such an idiot. Great smile though,” Lavender said.

“We’ll make it invitation only,” Ginny reassured them. “But I know people I want in.”

“Demelza?” Parvati guessed.

“Yeah, and Astoria.”

“A Slytherin?” Parvati and Lavender chorused, Padma just looked thoughtful. “But they’re the enemy!”

“Some of them. Most of them,” she admitted. “But I trust her.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Padma said. “She’s already in a difficult position. Being in the D.A. would just add more pressure. Marietta eventually cracked under it.”

“She’s not Edgecombe,” Ginny snapped. “I can vouch for her,” she added. The three exchanged looks and then acquiesced. They probably didn’t want to push their luck now that she’d finally agreed.

“You’re the boss. But people aren’t going to like it,” Parvati warned her.

“I’ll handle it. We’ll do the first meeting with the old guard, plus Demelza and Astoria if they want to come. We can discuss just how other invitations will work then.”

“Sure. When’s the first meeting?” Padma asked, getting out her agenda. It looked surprisingly Muggle. “Monday in two weeks?”

“I can’t,” Ginny said.

“Quidditch already?” Lavender asked.

“Slug Club,” she admitted grudgingly. The three girls just nodded, clearly just as unsurprised as Astoria had been that Slughorn had recruited her.

“The Tuesday thereafter?” Padma asked, and her proposal was met by agreement from the rest. “I’ll spread the word. Do the Galleons still work?” she asked.

“No, they were linked to Harry’s and… and I don’t know where his is,” Ginny said, wondering if it had been in his pocket still in the Department of Mysteries. Lavender patted her on the knee.

“We’ll use word of mouth then,” she said. “And see if anyone knows the Protean charm. Maybe one of the seventh years,” she said.

“Maybe,” Padma said, no doubt thinking the same thought as the rest of them, that Hermione would be difficult to replace.

“We’ll see. I’ll leave you to your homework,” Ginny said, feeling exhausted all of a sudden. Her right arm was beginning to shake again. She needed to lie down again.

“Want us to come with you?” Parvati asked, watching her arm.

“No, it’s fine,” she said, pushing her chair back. “I’ll see you in the common room. Or around,” she added with a look at Padma.

“Sure. And Ginny? Thanks, really. I know this isn’t easy, but the school needs the D.A.”

“We’ll see. I hope so.”

Chapter Text

Five: Defence against the dark arts

Another night spent tossing, another morning dragging herself out of bed. Steam spread across the bathroom as the hot water descended upon her. In the heat, it felt like her scars were coming alive, writhing under her skin. The Healers hadn’t figured out whatever curse it was that Dolohov had used, but sometimes Ginny wondered if it didn’t have a mind of its own. Her mum had assured her they never moved and as she was the only one who wasn’t afraid to look at them, really look at them, Ginny was inclined to believe her. But it felt like they did sometimes, constricting ever tighter around her arm, creeping ever closer to her right eye, swaying to some kind of dark tune, or maybe Tom’s whispers.

You failed them, Ginny. You survived because you were too weak. They died because you slowed them down. And Harry died, never loving you. He even chose spiting me over saving you when he crushed that orb.

She turned up the heat and let it scald away the whispers.

Thursday was DADA day. After all the complaints and horror stories, she was rather curious to see if Snape had become even fouler with his new position. It didn’t worry her, she was used to it.

It turned out she was wrong. The classroom was foreboding enough on its own, Snape having brought the darkness from the dungeons with him. Curtains drawn across the windows, candlelight dancing erratically and cautionary illustrations of the dark arts everywhere. Pictures adorned the wall, depicting people in pain or horribly disfigured. Ginny could see her own picture fit in quite nicely. Strange objects floated in glass display cases, ranging from a skull with green eyes to a necklace of a snake that seemed to be staring at Ginny, to a black mirror that didn’t reflect anything. Instead it seemed to eat the light, the room even darker in that particular corner.

And then there was Snape, glaring at the class in general and Ginny in particular, still seated alone at a table. When his gaze fell on her, it was with a venom that had previously been reserved for Harry. Before, he’d scorned her just on account of her being a Weasley, but this look felt different. As if she’d personally offended him.

“You have had four teachers so far. A fool, a werewolf, a madman and an even greater fool. I expect very little, but I do not doubt I will be disappointed at the end of this year nonetheless. You will take your OW.L.’s. most of you will fail, and then I will no longer have to tolerate your incompetence next year,” he said, his voice barely a whisper as he moved through the classroom, their necks craning as they tried to follow him.

“Still, I will try to impart whatever wisdom your tiny heads may be able to contain in the hope that you will be able to muster at least some sort of defence when faced with the dark arts. Thus, I urge you to pay attention, lest you end up like Miss Weasley,” he said, stopping behind her. Ginny could feel her cheeks burn, but refused to turn around. She could sit through Snape’s comments, she had four years of experience with it.

“The dark arts are impossible to comprehend with a narrow mind,” he continued, moving back to the front of the class. “They shift at the edge of your awareness, then strike, each attack unlike its predecessor. They can kill or maim, scar or tear and even make you wish for death. Do not believe me, judge for yourself,” he said gesturing at the gruesome pictures that radiated malice. “Or, if you are not capable of independent thought, just read the Prophet,” he sneered.

“Given the current state of affairs, the Headmaster has requested I devote most of this year to teaching you to defend yourself against dark arts wielded by humans. No doubt he already believes you capable of withstanding dark creatures as you were taught by one in your second year and still survived,” he added, lips curling upwards. Ginny wanted to throttle him for that remark. Poor Remus Lupin who had been forced to leave the school due to Snape’s machinations, despite being ten times the teacher and man that Snape was.

“Today, we will begin with the Shield charm. Any volunteers to help?” he asked, his eyes resting on Ginny. She stared back. “Despite all visible proof to the contrary, I’ve been informed you are familiar with the incantation, Miss Weasley?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Yes Sir,” he corrected, eyes turning even colder. “Five points from Gryffindor. Move to the front of the class, Miss Weasley.”

Ginny pushed her chair back and moved to the front, reminding herself that she wasn’t afraid. Her footsteps echoed across the deathly quiet classroom. Snape studied her and then raised his wand.

“Miss Weasley will attempt the shield charm, the incantation being Protego. Observe well. If Miss Weasley spoke the truth, you will be able to see the spell in action. If she boasted, you will see why it is paramount that you master the spell. Defend yourself, Miss Weasley,” he said and whipped out his wand with impossible speed, faster than even the Death Eaters had been. A white jet of light sped from his wand towards her.

Somehow, she is duelling Avery now. He hisses one curse after another that light up the dark void of space as she ducks and weaves. It’s just Quidditch, she tells herself. Quidditch with a particularly nasty Beater going after her. In the distance, a planet explodes and a man roars in pain.

She slips on the shards of what had once been a model of the planet Mars. Avery grins as he fires a red jet at her. Unable to dodge, she raises her wand and prays that her shield spell will hold.

“Protego!” she yelled, both in her memory and in the classroom.

A translucent barrier sprang into existence, shimmering in front of her. Snape’s spell splashed against it and dissipated harmlessly. Snape’s eyes briefly flared with irritation, even as Ginny couldn’t help but grin. She’d pulled off the spell just like Harry had taught her.

“As you can see, a properly cast Shield-charm will repel the attack. The quality of the shield, however, is fully dependent on the skill of the caster. Anyone can block a harmless jinx. But if we increase the intensity, the strain on the caster increases,” and without another word, Snape sent another spell flying towards her.

It slammed into her shield, which began to shiver and vibrate. The shock ran through her body as well and briefly she trembled with it. Even as the tremor faded, her right arm continued to shake. The shield, however, had held.

“You can observe that even a slightly more powerful jinx gave Miss Weasley significant trouble,” Snape said.

The class was staring in horror, even Colin was no longer trying to pretend she didn’t exist. Snape hurled another spell her way. It was as if a Bludger had slammed into her shield. It trembled, shockwaves rippling over its surface, and then broke together with the spell. Ginny stumbled backwards and sank to her right knee.

“A moderate jinx will already shatter her shield and destabilise her,” Snape lectured and then gave her an impatient look. “Get up, Miss Weasley, you can’t shield while crouching.”

Any hope she’d had that this would be the end of his demonstration was quickly crushed. Ginny rose again and conjured the shield. It looked more fragile than before. Her arm still hadn’t stopped quivering and now the tremor was spreading to her right leg.

“Observe what happens if we increase the power of the spell ever so slightly,” Snape said and then hurled another spell at her. This one was purple in colour. It touched the shield and broke it.

For one wonderful second, it felt like she was floating in the air. Then she was hurled against the wall by an invisible force that drove the air out of her lungs. She sank to her hands and knees and coughed, feeling like she might throw up.

“Ginny!” she could hear someone scream, as if from very far away, followed by hurried footsteps. Her vision was swimming, the grey stones mingling with what must be light brown hair next to her.

“Get back to your place, Mister Creevey. Miss Weasley is simply enjoying revelling in her supposed frailty,” Snape’s voice cut straight through her fugue.

“Professor, she’s hurt,” the first voice protested. It sounded almost like Colin.

“She’s fine. Ten points from Gryffindor, Mister Creevey, and it will be a lot more if you don’t return to your place right now.”

“I’m fine,” Ginny whispered as she looked up at a very blurry Colin Creevey. “Really,” she added.

Colin hurried back to his place as she crawled back up. Her back was sore from where she’d hit the wall and her whole right side was shuddering, as if the scars had been awoken. Snape just stood there, studying her dispassionately.

“Your Shield charm needs work, Miss Weasley. Even a first year should have been able to block that spell. You may return to your seat.”

As Ginny limped back to her place, unable to meet the eyes of her classmates, she decided she hated Snape. Not as much as the Death Eaters at the Department of Mysteries. Not as much as Umbridge. Not nearly as much as Voldemort. But still, she hated him.

The rest of the class passed in a blur. Snape lectured and demonstrated the spell before the class was told to practice amongst each other. As the odd one out, Ginny remained seated and was grateful for it. She didn’t trust herself to be capable of standing up again.

When Snape dismissed the class, she hardly noticed. Not until Colin stood in front of her desk and offered his arm.

“Shall we, Ginny?”

“I can walk on my own,” she lied.

“I know that,” he lied back. “But you don’t have to.”

Recognising an olive branch when she saw one, and unwilling to remain here with just Snape, she took his arm and let him guide her towards the exit. Her legs felt wobbly, as if she’d just ran a marathon.

“Snape’s a jerk,” Colin said as soon as they’d left the classroom, away from its oppressive darkness and air thick with dark magic.

“You can say that again,” she agreed.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a while. “I just didn’t know what to say. I still don’t,” he admitted.

“It’s alright, I don’t know it either,” she admitted. “Are you angry with me? For surviving?” she asked, her tone somewhere halfway accusatory and afraid.

“No!” Colin exclaimed, genuine shock written across his face. “When they died, I was angry, yes. But not with you. With You Know Who. With Malfoy, Lestrange and all the others. But not with you. Never. I’m glad you survived,” he said.

“When you didn’t come to speak with me, I thought you might have been,” she said, unwilling to accept Colin’s words so easily, reassuring as they may be.

“No. Like I said, I just didn’t know what to say. It’s just… Harry was my hero,” he said. That she could understand. Though she did wonder, who did you become when your hero was gone?

“He was that to a lot of people. Are you still angry?”

“Angry and scared. For a while, I didn’t want to come back. For the longest time, my parents didn’t want me to either.”

“Five dead, I can’t imagine how that sounded to them,” Ginny said. Colin’s parents definitely hadn’t been the only ones. The hallways were emptier this year, emptier even than could be explained by the gaping hole left by Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville and Luna. “What changed?”

“What was the alternative?” he said sadly. “We can’t just move somewhere else,” he said. Ginny had noticed before that Colin’s robes had never been less threadbare than her own. “And here at Hogwarts we at least have Dumbledore.”

Ginny hummed noncommittally. Promises or not, she still wasn’t fully convinced. Dumbledore could chase off Voldemort, he’d already done so in the past. But could he do so without collateral damage?

“And Dumbledore’s Army,” he added with a sad smile. Clearly, the Patils and Lavender hadn’t wasted any time spreading the word around.

“You coming?” she asked.

“Of course. I think everyone is. Even Smith, I suppose.”

“Great,” she sighed, wondering if it was too late to uninvite him.

***

“I’ll kill him.”

“Tori, you can’t kill him, he’s your Head of House.”

“That’s an aggravating circumstance at most. My mum practices law, she can find a way around that,” Astoria declared primly.

They had retreated to the Room of Requirement, sipping from cups of hot cocoa Ginny had liberated from the kitchen. Her brothers had ensured the last Weasley didn’t return unprepared to Hogwarts, sharing all the secrets they’d ever uncovered with her. Just in case. Astoria had claimed the loveseat again and Ginny lay sprawled out on a couch, having foregone the stupid bean bag chair this time. A Weird Sisters record played in the background, one Astoria had pronounced to be much better than their current commercial trash. Ginny didn’t quite hear the difference, but it probably was better not to argue the point.

“Do you think he’s angry you survived the Battle at the Department of Mysteries?” Astoria asked.

“Why do you think that?” Ginny asked, unable to hide her confusion.

Astoria looked at her like she was a bit slow.

“Snape was a Death Eater during the war. A lot of people think he still is. “

Of course, Astoria didn’t know. Ginny had gotten so used to being surrounded by Order people, or Luna who seemed to just know all those things without ever being told, she sometimes forgot most people didn’t know that Snape was, in addition to being the world’s biggest asshole, also a spy. And as much as she liked and even trusted Astoria, that wasn’t her secret to share.

“Maybe. But wouldn’t he a bit more subtle about it in that case? He’s a Slytherin,” she teased, hoping to steer the conversation away from that particular topic. As logical as it was to lie, it still felt wrong, especially with how surprisingly open Astoria had been these past few days.

“Have you seen some of the idiots we have in our house? Crabbe, Goyle, Harper,” she counted on her fingers. “And if you need more examples, I’ve got plenty,” she said, sipping from her mug.

“Touché, Ginny said, staring at the ceiling. It was a black void filled with twinkling stars. Beautiful, though reminiscent of the Planet room in the Department of Mysteries.

Her shield vibrates when Avery’s spell hits home, but holds. Thanks Harry, she thinks. If not for the D.A., that could have been it. She squashes the treacherous thought that without the D.A. she wouldn’t even be here and scrambles back up. She dives through the asteroid belt between Jupiter and the now defunct Mars and can hear the miniature rocks absorbing Avery’s next volley of spellfire.

Suddenly, Pluto comes whizzing past, far quicker than any other planet in the room. Just before it reaches the Death Eaters, it shatters in a brilliant explosion, almost a supernova. Spots dance before her eyes as Luna pulls her along.

“I always thought Pluto was an underrated planet,” she says.

“Did you see Pomfrey about your injuries?” Astoria asked.

“No,” she said, still staring at the stars. One of them looked a bit like Canis Major. She wonders how Sirius is doing. She hadn’t seen him since the battle and even in her state at the time, she could easily tell he’d been an utterly broken man. No one had wanted to tell her where he’d gone off to.

“Or McGonagall?”

“No. This is between me and Snape,” she said. She wondered what it’d like to be named after a star. To look up at the night sky and see your namesake blinking happily.

“Between you and Snape?” Astoria echoed. “Ginny, he’s an adult. That’s not exactly a fair fight.”

“That’ll make it all the better when I beat him,” she declared, straightening and stretching to get the kinks out of her back. “We’re reforming the D.A.,” she announced.

“Don’t change the subject,” she protested.

“I already did, Tori. Want to come? We meet on Wednesday,” she asked, trying to make it sound casual.

Of course, Astoria had vehemently declared her intention to join before, but after everything that had happened in just a few days, Ginny didn’t want to make her feel obliged. No doubt Daphne was still putting pressure on her sister to cut all ties with a blood traitor.

“Of course!” Astoria responded instantly, silencing whatever doubts had begun to surface, before bringing her own to the table. “But will the rest want me there?” she asked, fidgeting with her Slytherin tie.

“I’m in charge, I get to decide,” Ginny said airily. “You want in, I want you there, so you’ll be there. Simple logic. Should at least convince the Ravenclaws.”

“Good,” Astoria said. “It’d be odd if someone else was in charge.”

“What, like a more experienced seventh year who actually knew what they were doing?” she countered.

“Ginny, don’t sell yourself short. Your ability to annoy Snape alone already makes you the most qualified person for the job.”

“I annoy him by existing.”

“Exactly, I can’t think of a better seal of recommendation,” Astoria said facetiously. Ginny smiled weakly. In that respect, she was at least Harry’s successor. “Plus, what seventh year do you still have left with Fred and George gone? Chang? You’d want her leading it all?”

Ginny remembered Harry and Chang’s failed romance and could feel anger bubbling to the surface. Even with one miserable date and one equally miserable kiss, Chang had had more than she’d ever would. When Hermione had told her, it had taken her all the self-control she could muster not to hex the girl. Well, her self-control and mostly Hermione’s advice that such a course of action would only be counterproductive. She told herself it wasn’t Chang’s fault, she’d been dating Michael Corner at the time herself, so why couldn’t Harry date whoever he wanted? And that was all true… but that still didn’t mean she’d be comfortable taking orders from her.

“I see your point,” she conceded.

“Anyone else new coming? Or will everyone be staring at me?” Astoria asked.

“I’m going to ask Demelza as well. For the rest, we’ll see. The Patils and Lavender are working out some kind of invitation system to keep it safe and manageable. The D.A.’s no longer illegal, but I still don’t think we should advertise what we’re doing too publicly. Some people might see it as a challenge.”

“Malfoy,” Astoria coughed.

“Exactly,” she said and then a terrible idea struck her. “He isn’t part of the Slug Club, is he?”

“No, no,” Astoria said, shaking her head. “I don’t think Slughorn likes Death Eaters, so by extension any Death Eater children are excluded. Malfoy pretends it doesn’t bother him, but it clearly does,” she said with a wry smile.

“You’re awfully well informed,” Ginny said.

“Daphne,” Astoria replied with a shrug. “She told me Zabini’s in it though, and he’s also awful.”

“Great,” Ginny muttered, a vague memory of an attractive jerk floating to the forefront. “I hope he’s at the other end of the table.”

“I’m sure Slughorn will have figured out a table setting that keeps things civil. If he devoted as much time to that as he did to the invitations,” she said, producing a vivid green piece of parchment with artful silver lettering.

“It’s pretty ridiculous, isn’t it? Makes it sound like we’re meeting with the Minister,” Ginny said, fishing her own out of her bag. “I mean, listen to this:

‘Dear Miss Weasley, it is my distinct pleasure to invite you to the first Slug Club meeting on Hogwarts’ grounds since 1981. This evening of fine food and even finer company will take place on Monday evening in two weeks, six-thirty. Formal wear is not required, though any effort in the garderobial department is of course appreciated. Yours sincerely, Professor Horace E.F. Slughorn.’ Is garderobial even a word?” Ginny asked, pushing the already creased parchment back into her bag.

“Beats me. Pretty parchment though. Do you think he does wedding invitations as well?”  Astoria said, moving towards the gramophone to put on a new record. “What are you planning for your outfit?”

“I don’t know,” Ginny shrugged. She was quite sure she’d grown out of her third-year dress robes and they’d have been too excessive anyway. “I didn’t bring that many gala clothes with me.”

“Not gala, but something more formal than our regular robes,” Astoria said, sizing her up. “We’re about the same height, right? Or at least close enough that a few charms should set it right. I can borrow you a set of mine?”

“But then what will you wear?” Ginny asked.

“Another set, I’ve got options,” Astoria said, flopping down back in the love seat. Of course she did.

“Isn’t it a bit much for just a dinner?” Ginny hedged, a bit uncomfortable. The Slug Club had sounded like an opportunity at first, but the more she thought about it, the more it sounded like something Percy would do.

“It’s ‘the first Slug Club meeting on Hogwarts’ grounds since 1981’, remember?” Astoria said, sounding so pompous Ginny wondered if she’d summoned the spirit of Percy by just thinking about him. “I’m sure you’ll get away with whatever you want to wear, Slughorn will love you regardless, but it never hurts to shine a bit. Besides, that way I can put in an effort as well without us clashing,” Astoria admitted. “You can borrow some of my jewellery as well, but I don’t think they’re quite your style.”

Ginny looked at Astoria and her elegant bracelets with swirling runes, the lariat necklace and finally the diamond dangle earrings and shook her head in amusement. “Maybe for the next ball I’ll let you talk me into those.”

“I’ll remember that. But I’ll fix you a dress? I got an emerald green one that will look great on you.”

Emerald green, like Slytherin. Or Harry’s eyes. Or the killing curse. Or, you know, just a colour that looks good on her.

“Alright, but it better be a good dress.”

“Ginny, it’ll be the best,” Astoria promised.

Chapter Text

Six: Forests once forbidden

Whatever sadist had planned double DADA on Friday deserved to die. That was the only thought Ginny could keep hold off of as she ate her breakfast without tasting it. She’d slept even worse than usual. Now Snape’s cold eyes had joined Dolohov’s cruel ones and Riddle’s red ones in her dreams. It was ridiculous. He was on their side, supposedly. What kind of girl had nightmares about a mean teacher, especially when there were so many other more terrifying candidates? And still her hand began to shake and her scars began to itch at the thought of spending most of the morning in Snape’s class. feigning illness had been tempting, but she could hardly keep that up for a whole year. Besides, Snape would probably assign her detention regardless.

At least she had History of Magic afterwards, which should allow her to catch her breath, and Care of Magical Creatures with Hagrid to round out her day. So all she had to do was survive DADA. When put like that, it almost sounded easy. Then she made eye contact with Snape at the head table and could feel her insides turn to ice.

In the classroom, Colin took the seat next to her. While she was glad for the show of support, she would have been just as comfortable on her own. She and Colin got along, but she’d have never considered him a friend. Still, before she could settle on some kind of small talk, Colin dug up a picture from his bag and handed it to her.

“Here, I thought you might like it,” he said.

Ginny accepted it carefully and her breath caught in her throat when she saw it. It was them, and her. Together in the Room of Requirement after a D.A. session. Luna staring at something off-screen that only she could see. Ron and Hermione sitting just a bit too closely together, forever caught in that half-love that would never get the opportunity to be more. Harry and Neville both laughing at something she’d said, the first exuberantly, the other shyly. And she herself, in the middle of some kind of animated explanation, still unscarred.

“They don't move, I know, but just this once I like it better that way,” Colin said, sounding almost apologetic.

There was no need for an apology. She knew what he meant, one perfect moment caught in time. The lack of movement just preserved it all the better and there was no need for animation when her memories could fill in all the little details.

"Thank you, Colin," she choked out.

There were a thousand words more to say, but then Snape strode in. She quickly put the picture away, not willing to risk exposing it to him. His eyes drifted over the classroom and once more lingered on her. It was more difficult than yesterday, but she had spent last night practicing her glare in the mirror. That and the thought of the picture pulled her through it..

By the end of the class, she was exhausted. Snape had spared her from any more public demonstrations as they continued work on what he pronounced ‘the most lamentable shield charms I have ever seen’, but he had not guarded his tongue.

“Are you that eager to add more scars to your collection Miss Weasley? The current set don't garner you enough attention?” he would say when her shield failed. “Five points from Gryffindor for such a poor attempt.”

Or, when it held but wobbled, he would sniff and shake his head.

“I’d ask you if you’d expect that kind of shield to stop a Death Eater. But we both already know the answer to that question, don’t we Miss Weasley?” he’d drawl, eyes lingering on her scars.

If not for Umbridge last year, she doubted she’d been able to hold her tongue, but that was at least one skill the toad had been able to impart during her DADA classes. So instead she gritted her teeth and kept practicing, one eye always on Snape as he set off around the edge of the classs.

By the time they were dismissed and she’d dropped down in her seat for Binns’ class, she was spent. It was only when Colin shook her awake for lunch, that she realised she’d fallen asleep within mere seconds of entering the room. Most students had already left, but Colin waited up patiently as she packed the blank parchment she’d so aspirationally taken out at the start of the class.

“Thanks for waking me,” she said, reminding herself that Binns was both a ghost and utterly disinterested in his students, so he wouldn’t have been bothered. “I’ll try not to make a habit out of it.

“You looked like you could use it. Besides, it’s only Binns. Slept well?”

“Decent,” she said. Perhaps it had been the absence of the dark, or perhaps just the exhaustion, but she had slept fitfully and felt almost refreshed. “And thank you again for the picture.”

“Don’t mention it. When I was going through the pictures this summer, I instantly knew that was one for you.”

***

This early in September, Care of Magical Creatures was usually still a pleasure. The sun drove the chill from her bones that had settled there since Snape’s class, though long she could not enjoy it as Hagrid guided them towards the Forbidden Forest, its ominous canopy blocking out all but the faintest rays of light. Her classmates all looked rather queasy, huddling together. The fact that Hagrid was lugging around two carcasses probably didn’t reassure them either. And these were supposed to be the brave students. As tales of Hagrid’s first year of teaching had spread, the elective had seen a record low of enrolments in Ginny’s year and numbers only had plummeted even further since then. She doubted anyone would continue this class past their O.W.L.’s.

Worst of all, she couldn’t fault them for it, the creatures they’d seen so far had given even her the shivers and she’d grown up with Fred and George hiding spiders in her bedroom until they discovered Ron was a better victim. After that, it had just been rats, though those jokes had stopped after Scabbers had turned out to be Pettigrew. Suddenly, rats had lost most of their lustre.

The forest got more menacing with each step, the gnarled tree branches reaching out to them, the cries, birds or otherwise, becoming shriller the deeper they went. The leaves rustled beneath their feet and whenever someone stepped on a branch and it snapped, everyone started and looked around, as if expecting some vicious beast to devour them the second they made a sound. When she nearly stumbled over a protruding root, she got out her wand and lit up her surroundings with a whispered Lumos. The rest soon followed suit, nine bobbing lights led on by the kindest giant she knew.

They came to a halt in a clearing. Hagrid tossed down the meat and began an explanation, but she wasn’t really paying attention because she saw them again. No longer pulling the carriages, but free. Like they’d been on the eighteenth of June. Slender legs, white eyes, black wings.

Ginny loves flying. Looping freely through the sky like a mad bird, wind in her hair, hands on her broom and always, the faint threat of oblivion. To lose yourself to the physical sensation, soaring away as all the whispers and doubts in her head finally fall silent, even Tom’s. When she flies, there is only the blue sky, nothing more. She loves it.

What she doesn’t love, is this. Holding on to something that doesn’t seem to be there as the wind pulls at her, the emptiness below calls out to her and invisible wings beat loudly.

Their wings were no longer invisible. Not to her, though judging by the confused reactions, she was the only one. Hagrid was still explaining something, but she wasn’t really paying attention. Something about them being bad omens, or maybe that was just superstition. She wasn’t sure about that and instead kept her eyes trained on the beasts. Perhaps it’d be more fun to fly on them now that she could actually see them.

When the class ended, she didn’t follow the other students back to the castle, all clearly eager to escape the oppressive gloom of the forest. Instead, she strolled towards the nearest Thestral and extended a hand. It licked it tentatively, its tongue a lot softer and wetter than she’d expected, and then dug into the carcass again. Ginny patted it on its back. It felt exactly the same as last time.

“Y’alright Ginny?” Hagrid asked as he walked up to her.

Ginny just shrugged, stroking the Thestral’s reptilian head. What was she supposed to say?

“T’was a terrible thing that happn’d,” Hagrid said, sniffling now.

“Yeah,” she said. “Can I fly on them?” she asked, hoping to forestall any other questions. She liked Hagrid, but she’d already had to talk about this with so many people this week, she felt too empty, too tired to do it again, let alone with Hagrid who seemed only one word away from bursting into tears.

“If ye want,” Hagrid said, scratching his head even as he blew his nose with a very large and very dirty handkerchief.

“Thanks,” Ginny said as she heisted herself on the horse and wound her hands into its black mane. She clenched her legs around its body and briefly wondered if this was smart. Then she decided she didn’t care.

“Do you think we can fly above the forest a bit? Please?” she asked, remembering how Harry had talked to the horses as well.

She felt just as stupid as he must have, but the Thestral spread its wings, crouched and then streaked upwards as if launched from a catapult. She clutched the beast tightly as the foliage went by in a blur, branches snapping and leaves brushing past her face. They broke through the canopy and then they hovered alone in the air, the sky cold but the sun brilliant. Little dots moved below on the Hogwarts grounds as she wondered how many of them could see her mount. A bit further lay a tiny speck that had to be Hogsmeade, even as the Thestral beat its wings and guided her further over the forest and towards the lake.

“Okay, how about a nosedive?” she asked, shouting over the wind to be heard. The Thestral craned its neck as if to make sure it had heard her correctly.

“You heard me,” she said.

It still looked at her rather doubtfully.

“Oh come on, you’re not my mum. Or Percy. You look a bit like him though, so I think I’ll call you Perceval,” she announced. “So, Perceval. Nosedive?”

The Thestral, Perceval, seemed to shrug and beat his wings again, continuing their flight. Just as Ginny thought he was ignoring her and they would need to have a serious talk, he dove.

Her stomach was still catching up as they sped towards the lake. Her eyes were teary and her hair blew wildly in the wind, a loud roar in her ears even as she screamed with joy herself.

Perceval pulled up just before they crashed into the lake, its hooves skimming over the water as they flew past the giant squid. Drops splashed against her face and she let out a wild whoop. This, they hadn’t taken from her. This, they’d never take from her.

Chapter Text

Seven: Lines in the sand

Sunday breakfasts at Hogwarts always were an odd affair. Instead of the usual organised chaos and rush to get to the first class, people trickled in and out. To Ginny, it was by far the most pleasant breakfast of the week with only a fraction of the usual people staring at her. She reached for a cinnamon roll, tossed her hair back and dared anyone within sight to stare. And if her right hand shook a little bit when she bit into her roll, it did so a lot less than usual.

Demelza was seated opposite her, both early risers. A quick inspection of the Slytherin table had confirmed her suspicions that Astoria liked to sleep in. Malfoy on the other hand was present, looking even paler than usual. Maybe he was sick; that would explain why he hadn’t bothered her yet.

The Head table was equally empty. Dumbledore wasn’t there, but Ginny hadn’t seen him since the Feast. However, most other teachers were still in their beds as well, with only McGonagall and Snape already present, though they’d taken up places on opposite ends of the table. McGonagall was absorbed in the latest issue of Transfiguration Today, while Snape attacked his porridge with a vehemence usually reserved for Potions ingredients or Gryffindor students.

“So, Demelza, you know about Dumbledore’s Army, right?” she asked as she made sure no one was within earshot. The only other Gryffindors were on the far end of the table though, and discussing the latest Montrose Magpies game rather loudly.

“Yep,” Demelza said, popping the ‘p’ as reached for the pumpkin juice. “Want some?” she asked. Ginny waved her off and leaned in a little bit closer, just in case.

“We were thinking about doing it again this year, first meeting this Wednesday. Want to come?”

Demelza choked on her pumpkin juice.

“Anapneo,” Ginny said, pointing her wand at Demelza who instantly was able to breathe again. You couldn’t grow up in the Weasley household without at least picking up a few useful spells from Mum.

“You can’t just spring that on someone this early in the morning,” she said, wiping tears from her eyes as she carefully put her pumpkin juice back down. “I’m allowed to join? I thought it was an exclusive thing.”

“Very exclusive,” Ginny agreed. “Luckily for you, I’m in charge.”

“And you want me there?” Demelza asked. Ginny sighed.

“Demelza, look around. I’m not exactly drowning in friends. If I don’t invite you, who would I invite?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I just wasn’t sure if we were friends, or you know, you just lacked a better alternative.”

“Of course we’re friends!” Ginny let out, slightly too loud she realised when the other Gryffindors craned their necks. “I at least like to think so. Are we?” she asked, wondering if that was what she was to Demelza, an alternative.

“Yes. No,” Demelza amended. “We’re friends. You’re not just an alternative,” she clarified.

“Good,” Ginny said, reaching for a piece of toast with a smile. “So, you coming to the D.A.?”

“Of course,” she said. “I wasn’t sure if it was happening, and even if it was, I wasn’t sure if you were part of it anymore. Otherwise I’d already have badgered you about it.”

“Well then that’s sorted. Was that what you were trying to figure out during the Start-Of-Term Feast?”

“When you caught me staring?” Demelza asked, blushing.

“Yeah.”

“No, it wasn’t that. Last year I was part of a group of five. One was… one was killed during the summer,” she said in a small voice.

“Oh, I’m sorry Demelza,” Ginny said. “I didn’t know.”

“You couldn’t have known,” she waved her off, clearly unwilling to confront that particular memory too much. Ginny couldn’t fault her for it. “The other three didn’t return here. I’d considered not coming back either. Beauxbatons sounded so safe. So nice. I was still hesitating when I got on the train all alone,” she said, tapping her finger nervously on the table.

Ginny could understand that. She’d hesitated all the way to King’s Cross too. Her parents had never offered to send her somewhere else, but if she’d asked, they’d have tried to figure it out at least. Sometimes, she’d fantasised about it during the summer. A different country where her scars would just be ugly scars, not signs of a survivor. Where people would just see Ginny, not the Girl Who Survived or even another Weasley.

“I was still hesitating when I sat down at the Feast,” Demelza continued. “And suddenly, there were you and I was in awe. They’d hurt you and your friends, and still you came back, going beyond what could be expected of even the bravest Gryffindor. That’s when I stopped thinking about Beauxbatons. And that’s why I want to join Dumbledore’s Army,” she said, suddenly looking very self-conscious. “I’m sorry for rambling.”

It was the most impassioned she’d ever seen Demelza, a far cry from their easy conversations so far. But Ginny thought she’d seen signs of it before at the Start-Of-Term Feast. When she instinctively felt she’d like Demelza.

“You’re not rambling. You were speaking from the heart,” Ginny reassured her, though truth be told, she was unsure how to react in the face of such emotion.

“Often the same,” Demelza countered.

“Not this time. So, I’ll write you down as ‘attending’ for Wednesday?”

“Of course. Any other newcomers?”

“Astoria. For the rest, we’ll see. I think Padma’s working on some kind of vetting process.”

“Cool. Will we be trying to drive Snape from the school as well? Or was that an Umbridge-only thing?”

Ginny glanced at Snape, who chose that precise moment to look up from his breakfast and fix her with a murderous glare. She quickly looked away and told herself she wasn’t afraid of him. He was just a teacher. He was on their side. Presumably.

“We’ll probably leave that up to the DADA curse,” she said.

***

When she got to the library, she was one of the first there. Demelza had begged off with a foolish excuse she hadn’t expected either of them to believe and Astoria was still nowhere to be seen. Not that she minded, there was plenty of work to do. She was halfway building a tower of books on the Fanged Geranium, Sprout had wanted seven inches on it and so far she had one, when Katie Bell appeared next to her. Most of her body was obscured by a pile of reference works on Transfiguration, so it took a while before she recognised her Quidditch teammate.

“Word from the wise, never pursue a N.E.W.T. in Transfiguration,” Katie said with self-deriding smile. “Can I join you?”

“Sure,” Ginny said after constating there were at least half a dozen tables nearby still completely empty.

Katie happily dropped her collection on the table, sending a cloud of dust flying, and pulled up a chair. Pince gave them a warning look and Katie mouthed an at first glance rather insincere, apology. They both worked in silence for a few minutes when Katie cleared her throat.

“So… I’ve been made Quidditch captain,” she announced.

“Right, Angelina’s graduated. Congratulations!” Ginny said, not exactly surprised but still a bit confused. She hadn’t given it much thought yet. Part of her had still been expecting Angelina to march into the locker room for the first match and deliver a terrifying pep talk. But it made sense for Katie to get the badge. Fred and George had gone off as well, she’d only been a substitute and Harry and Ron…

“Thank you,” Katie said with a sad look that told her she’d reached the same conclusion in her head. “Do you still want to play this year?”

“Of course!” Ginny burst out, earning her another glare from Pince. “If you still want me that is. Won’t I need to try out as well? I was only a substitute last year.”

“Ginny, I’ve seen you fly. No one in our House can match that. And we already need to fill five spots. You’re in.”

“Thanks,” Ginny said.

“Are you still playing Seeker?” she asked.

“No. Not Seeker. I’d like to be Chaser,” she admitted.

Katie nodded. “Is it about Harry? “

Of course it was about Harry. Everything was about Harry.

“Yes. And no, " she said, holding up her right hand. As if on cue, the tremors returned. "Hard to make daring catches like this,” she admitted.

Katie just studied it, the shaking, the scars that ran from the back of her hand to her arm until they disappeared up her sleeve.

“I’m sorry. The curse?” she asked tentatively.

“Yeah,” Ginny said, even if she wasn’t entirely sure. No one was. It could be that curse they still hadn’t identified, or it could be something psychological. The Healers hadn’t been able to agree on it, but she preferred to think it was the curse.

“So Chaser it is,” Katie said, pulling out a parchment with only two names and one title on it so far. Next to Ginny’s name she wrote ‘Chaser’ in a tight scribble. “I just hope we’ll get a full team.”

“Of course we will, it’s Quidditch. People are crazy about it.”

“Fine, I hope we’ll get a full team that is at least halfway decent,” Katie amended. “Know anyone who will try out this year?”

“Demelza,” Ginny supplied.

“Right, your new friend. Is she any good?”

“She says she is,” Ginny said. Maybe she’d go flying with Demelza beforehand, just to make sure she wasn’t all talk.

“I’ll take it. Apparently McLaggen has been telling everyone he’s going to be our new Keeper, so that’s two.”

“Not that idiot,” Ginny groaned.

“An idiot who supposedly is a decent Keeper. Beggars can’t be choosers,” Katie said. “Though he is an idiot. I can confirm after spending six years with him.”

“He’s in his seventh year, can’t we exclude him on account of us wanting a long-term team?”

“I’ll consider it,” Katie said with a sigh, leaning back in her chair. “I don’t expect us to win the cup this year, we’ll be rebuilding, but I’d like for us to win a match at least.”

Rebuilding. That was one way to call it. In a way, that was what this whole year would be about. Picking themselves up again while hoping that Voldemort didn’t kill them.

“Anyway, sorry to bother you, I’ll leave you to your work,” Katie said, misinterpreting Ginny’s distant look. “Try-outs are in two weeks, Thursday if you want to come watch the disaster,” she said before walking away, levitating her stack of books in front of her.

Rebuilding. She liked the way it sounded. And wasn’t that what she’d been doing so far? Signing up for the Slug Club, restarting the D.A, continuing with Quidditch even if their team was in tatters, finding friends in Astoria and Demelza who both had become outsiders as well … She dug up Colin’s picture again and stared at her friends who would stay forever young. It wasn’t a betrayal of their memory, she told herself. It’d only be a betrayal if she forgot them and that she never would. What she was doing was simply learning to live with it and learning not to feel guilty when she felt happy. They wouldn’t mind, would they?

The idea of rebuilding was still on her mind when a paper phoenix drifted towards her from the top of the ceiling. It landed on her essay with which she had barely progressed so far and unfolded itself with precision, straightening out the creases as it did so. Ginny looked around, but no one had the air of someone who had just tossed a paper bird at her. No one was even looking in her direction. She shifted her attention back to the now fully unfolded paper, filled with the curliest script she’d ever seen, its letters elongated all over the paper, almost as if they were ready to jump off the paper into the world.

Dear Miss Weasley,

I apologise for not reaching out sooner, but other obligations have so far kept me away from Hogwarts more than I would have liked. I would, however, wish to rectify this as soon as possible when I return to Hogwarts in two weeks.

Would it be possible for you to visit my office that Friday, eight o’ clock in the evening? If this would be convenient to you, just tell this paper as much.

Yours sincerely,

A.P.W.B. Dumbledore

That confirmed her suspicions that Dumbledore hadn’t been around so far. So much for his promises to protect them. But why he wanted to speak with her, she wasn’t sure. If it was for further commiserations or, worse, to discuss what had happened, she was hardly interested. But it was difficult to say no to your own Headmaster, who also happened to lead the resistance against Voldemort.

Besides, maybe talking to him would finally allow her to figure out if she was angry with him or not.

She and Harry are hiding behind the stone benches, spells flying through the room as the Order and the Death Eaters clash. Their friends are hard-pressed, fighting like lions but outnumbered. Then, a sudden flare of heat draws her attention. Amidst the purest flames and with Fawkes on his shoulder, Dumbledore appears.

“Look!” she says, nudging Harry and pointing at the wizened wizard who descends the steps and with simple flicks of his wands dispatches Death Eater after Death Eater.

And despite everything that has happened tonight, Harry smiles and his eyes light up. He’s thinking the same thing she’s thinking. They’re safe now.

She studied the parchment, trying to figure out its instructions. ‘Tell the paper’. How did one ‘tell the paper’? Feeling slightly stupid, she leans closer forward and whispers.

“I’d like to attend. R.S.V.P. or whatever it is,” she said.

Nothing happened and Ginny felt like an absolute idiot. Then, the paper scrunched up and unfurled itself, revealing a much shorter message.

Thank you. The stone gargoyle guarding my office appreciates it when people offer him cauldron cakes.

More enigmatic messages. She wondered how the Order put up with him.

***

As Ginny left the library, five Slytherins were waiting for her in a side corridor. Her stomach sank, she’d been expecting a Slytherin intervention for some time now, but she wished they’d been less numerous. Or not quite so tall. Nott and Harper stepped in front of her, blocking the way. Behind them, Zabini, a visibly amused Parkinson and a bored-looking Daphne Greengrass watched the spectacle. Strangely enough, neither Malfoy nor Crabbe or Goyle were there.

“Weasley,” Nott sneered.

“Nott. You’re in the way,” she said, trying to push past him.

He grabbed her by the arm. Her right arm. A shiver ran down her spine and she pulled herself loose.

“Nervous, aren’t you Weasley?” Nott remarked and despite it not being funny at all, the four other Slytherins laughed. “I thought you’d have learned some more restraint by now,” he said.

He closed the distance, towering over her. Ginny tried to take a step back, but walked into Zabini who had taken up position behind her. Trapped between them, she couldn’t get away. Nott extended a hand and ran it over the leaflike scar on her face. For a second, she was frozen.

“Shame, without this, you’d have almost been pretty,” he remarked.

She shoved him back, hard enough to make him stumble, and drew her wand, pointing its trembling tip at a very unimpressed Nott.

“And no manners either. You should be careful where you point that thing, blood traitor,” Nott said. “Unless you want us to finish what Dolohov started?” he asked, taking a step forward again so her wand was now almost poking him in the chest.

“Back off Nott!” she warned.

“Or else?” he said, taking another step forward at the same time that Harper went for her arm. She quickly ducked to the side, rolling between Harper and Zabini. She landed in a crouch and kept her wand fixed on the three male Slytherins.

“Ah, Quidditch reflexes. How annoying,” Nott said, finally reaching for his own wand. That was the excuse she had been waiting for.

“Stupefy!” she yelled.

A jet of red light burst from her wand. Nott’s eyes widened and he only barely managed to conjure a shield. Everyone stood there in shock. Then Nott’s expression hardened and a cruel, almost familiar smile formed on his lips. Ginny told herself this wasn’t Dolohov, or even any Death Eater. Just some stupid kids, acting tough while they had no idea what was truly happening out there. Only, there were five of them, all of whom had had drawn their wands, Daphne excepted, and she was alone.

“You want to fight, Weasley?” Nott asked, his eyes flashing and the anger clear in his voice. “I thought Dumbledore’s Army had learnt its lesson after its… decimation last year.”

She was going to end up in the Hospital Wing. Or St. Mungo’s even. She could see it in Nott’s eyes. All she could do was try to make sure she didn’t end up there alone.

“Leave her alone!” someone shouted, following by footsteps going tip-tap on the stone floor. All eyes darted to the side as Astoria Greengrass came rushing towards them, wand in her left hand.

“Oh for Merlin’s sake,” Ginny heard Daphne mutter as she pushed to the fore. “Astoria, this doesn’t involve you.”

“That’s my friend you’re ganging up on. I think I’m pretty involved,” Astoria said, taking up position next to Ginny, left foot in front of the other, her body angled so she presented a smaller target. A duellist’s pose, Ginny realised.

“You know Daph,” Nott said, his voice was cold as ice. “Your sister’s almost as pretty as you are, but not nearly as smart.”

“And you look just like your father, only without the smashed-in face,” Ginny threw back. Nott Senior had been the only Death Eater at the Department of Mysteries that hadn’t hurt anyone. Harry’s elbow had seen to that.

“Astoria, leave,” Daphne begged, even as Nott growled. She alone still hadn’t drawn her wand.

“Yeah Tori, leave or we’ll have to hurt you too,” Zabini said, wagging a finger. Ginny decided she was going to hex him first. From the looks of it, Astoria had similar plans.

“What is the meaning of this!” a Scottish voice that could only be McGonagall’s shouted. True to form, the Transfiguration professor strode towards them. Ginny had never been quite this happy to see her.

“Just having a conversation, Professor,” Nott said, quickly slipping his wand back inside his robes.

“Hmm,” McGonagall said, turning towards Ginny and Astoria as if looking for injuries. Ginny almost wished McGonagall had been a bit later. Either she’d have had a proper reason to punish the Slytherins, or Ginny could have hexed Nott’s nose off by then.

“It’s nothing, Professor,” Ginny conceded. It would hardly help Astoria’s position in the house if she got her sister detention. Besides, if threatening words were enough for a detention, Malfoy and Harry would have never had a free evening.

“I see,” McGonagall said, sounding rather dubious. “Well, off with you then,” she told the Slytherins with a look that promised scrubbing floors if she caught them again.

“Of course, Professor,” the Slytherins chorused.

They formed up a line and swaggered away, their tread revealing that they hadn’t been chastised in the least. To them, McGonagall was nothing but a relic of a crumbling regime while their star was rising. When Zabini brushed past her, he hissed in her ear.

“This isn’t over, Weasley.”

Ginny winked back at him.. She’d allow herself to be scared of Snape, but not of some kid trying to act tough. Zabini was no Death Eater, not even a proper Junior Death Eater like some of the rest. It, however, did not bode well for tomorrow’s Slug Club meeting. Maybe if they brawled there, he’d end up evicted. It was a nice thought.

“Everything alright, Miss Weasley, Miss Greengrass?” McGonagall asked the two of them once the Slytherins were out of sight.

“Yes, thank you Professor. I guess a Slytherin welcome was long overdue,” Ginny said, earning her a pained smile from McGonagall.

“That’s one tradition I wish we could disperse with,” she said, shaking her head. “You alright as well, Miss Greengrass?”

“Yes Professor,” Astoria said softly, still staring at the corner around which her sister had disappeared.

“Well, I think it’s almost time for lunch. I trust you can find your way there safely?” McGonagall asked.

“Yes Professor. Let’s go, Tori,” Ginny said, dragging her friend along. As soon as they were out of sight of their teacher, Ginny pulled her into a tight hug. “Thanks,” she whispered. “I know that couldn’t have been easy.”

“Easiest thing I ever did,” Astoria protested, sounding slightly muffled with her face pressed against Ginny’s shoulder.

“I hope you won’t get into trouble for this.”

“I’ll be fine,” Astoria said. “It’s you they hate. I’m just a nuisance and none of the boys want to risk pissing off Daph by hexing me. Not if they want a dance with her at the New Year’s Eve gala,” she said with an impish smile.

“Your sister won’t be mad at you for intervening?” Ginny asked as they continued walking through the hallways.

“Oh, livid. But we’ve had plenty of shouting matches in the common room before. Nothing new there. See you in the Room after lunch,” she said as they entered the Great Hall and she headed for the Slytherin table, soon disappearing in the crowd.

Ginny headed for her own table and wished Fred and George were still at Hogwarts. She’d have loved to sick them on Nott and his friends.

Chapter Text

Eight: Lines in blood

As usual, Ginny claimed her usual place next to Astoria in Potions. Colin still looked a bit disappointed whenever she did that, but she was hardly going to abandon Astoria in one of the two classes they shared. She wished Astoria had taken up either Muggle Studies or Care for Magical Creatures, but she’d declared those two to be very unfashionable, unlike Runes, which she intended to take up to her N.E.W.T’s, and Divination, which she had proclaimed to be absolutely hilarious.

Slughorn beamed at the two of them as they were preparing their equipment, giving Ginny two points for ‘having such a gleaming cauldron’ and Astoria two for ‘such precision in arranging her tools’.

“Are those Slug Club bonus points?” Ginny asked her friend.

“I’m not complaining. We’ll meet in the Room an hour in advance?”

“An hour? Just to try on a dress?” Ginny asked in disbelief.

“And to do your hair,” Astoria added.

Ginny would have protested, but Slughorn chose that moment to launch into an explanation of the Strengthening Solution. Both of them wrote down his instructions and while Slughorn talked too fast to keep up, he interspersed his lecture with enough pointless anecdotes that allowed them to catch up as he droned on about crystallised pineapple, dinners with his good friend Barnabas Cuffe and a Muggle sport called golf he enjoyed playing with Rufus Scrimgeour, before he became Minister of course.

It was a relief, really, when they finally got to the brewing proper. You’d almost begin to miss Snape. Almost, but not quite. As Ginny powdered the griffin claw, imagining it was Nott’s face this time around, she realised she actually understood what she was doing and why. If it stayed like this, she might actually grow to like Potions.

“So, Tori,” she said. “Why do we need to do my hair for a simple dinner party.”

“Because you’ll look great,” Astoria said, holding up the vial to the light to measure the quantity of Salamander blood.

“I thought such occasions served to let our hair down,” Ginny remarked, swiping the powder together and fighting the urge to sneeze.

“Oh ha-ha. I’d really hoped the famed Weasley wit had been restricted to your… to Fred and George,” Astoria amended. Ginny suspected she’d meant to say something else and appreciated the effort.

She and Ron hide behind one of the large tanks, barely daring to breathe as the Death Eaters sweep the room, the light at the tip of their wands casting long shadows. Ron’s expression is one of utmost concentration as levitates the tank in the far corner towards them, floating high and noiselessly through the room.

The tall one, Ginny thinks it’s Rabastan, only notices it when a dark shadow falls over him. His companion – Jugson? - only notices it when the tank comes crashing down on their heads. The glass shatters, liquid and brains alike pouring over them. One of the brain extends its tentacles and begins to attach itself to Rabastan’s mask. Ginny looks away in disgust.

“Behold, the benefits of using your brain,” Ron declares with a broad gesture of his arm..

“It’s, ‘using your head’, Ron,” Ginny reminds him. He sighs.

“I know Ginny, but as there were no tanks with heads around, I had to get creative,” he says and laughs again even as she tries to remember what door they’d come through.

It was the last time she’d heard him laugh, she realised. For good measure, she grinds the griffin claw some more.

“I think it’s already dead, Ginny,” Astoria said as she gently pried the pestle from her hand and brushed the powder into the potion. “You alright?”

“Yeah. Just… just memories,” she said and Astoria gave her a knowing look.

“Those can be tricky,” she said as she stirred the potion, leaning back to keep the fumes out of her face. “Good memories, or bad ones?”

“A bit of both,” she said, refraining from further explanation when Slughorn approached them.

“This looks promising, well done ladies,” Slughorn remarked, leaning over and letting the fumes wash over him, giving a rather brilliant sheen to his forehead. “Smells like it should too. You’re both coming tonight, yes?”

“Of course, Professor,” Astoria said.

“Wouldn’t want to miss it,” Ginny chimed in.

“Excellent,” Slughorn said. “Are you allergic to anything?”

“Boring dinner partners?” Astoria offered with a guileless smile that Ginny knew she must have spent practicing in front of a mirror for days, if not weeks.

“Then you need not worry, Miss Greengrass,” Slughorn said, chuckling indulgently before he moved on to the next pair.

“What?” Astoria said as Ginny gave her an amused look.

“Keep that up, and you might become his new favourite,” she teased.

“Hardly. I’ll never reach your levels of fame, fortunately, and at the end of the day, that’s all he cares for. But if I amuse him enough, he might put Zabini at the end of the table for me,” she said as she moved the cauldron off the heat. “And now we’re supposed to let it simmer for a few days, so I guess that means no Potions class for anyone until Wednesday.”

“I’m pretty sure he’ll just store them somewhere, Tori,” Ginny said.

“In that case I hope he stores Harper’s cauldron upside down,” Astoria said, pointing at their housemate who had yet again brewed the perfect potion and had earned ten points in the process.

“I thought you ditched him because he was terrible at Potions?” Ginny asked.

“Right, I said that,” Astoria said, biting her lip. “Guess our chemistry was just off,” she declared, earning her a scoff from Ginny. “What? Oh. Oooooh. Chemistry. Potions. Ha,” she snorted. “Guess we’re both hopeless cases.”

“Guess we are,” Ginny agreed as they both left the classroom and headed for charms.

***

Even if Ginny wasn’t feeling the dinner, the Room of Requirement certainly was. For the occasion, it had turned into a dressing room of Malfoyesque proportions. One wall was just one big mirror, a second was all coat racks and coat hangers, the third had three dressers and what could only be described as a pile of makeup, as well as the gramophone, this time playing a record by The Hobgoblins. And in the middle of it all stood Ginny in what was without a doubt the most expensive dress she’d ever worn, an emerald green cocktail dress with such a tight waistline that Ginny was surprised Astoria’s parents had signed off on it. Her mum would have never allowed it, that much was for sure. She still remembered their discussions prior to the Yule ball in her third year.

Studying herself in the mirror, she angled her body so she could get a better look at its back. It was open. Very open. She turned back to the front and wondered if it didn’t show too much there as well. A few scars had spread as far as the middle of her chest, just visible in the dress.

“You don’t like it,” Astoria declared, sitting in a chair on the side.

“No. Yes. It’s beautiful, Tori, I mean it. But I’m just not sure if it’s me,” she admitted, feeling awful about it. Astoria had gone through all this trouble to lend her this beautiful, expensive dress and here she was, being ungrateful.

“Why wouldn’t it be ‘you’?” Astoria asked as she got up and walked to her.

“Because, well it’s… Forget it, it’s stupid. Let’s go to the party,” she said, but Astoria gently took her arm.

“We’d be half an hour early. Also, I still need to change,” Astoria said with a gesture at an equally beautiful black dress that dangled from a coat hanger. “Really, what’s the problem, Ginny?”

“It’s just… this dress is…” Pretty. Unblemished. “Better suited to someone else. You should wear it instead.”

“It looks gorgeous on you, Ginny. It brings out your hair and your eyes,” Astoria said, pulling her closer to the mirror.

It just made her see her scars better. The large veinlike pattern covering the whole right half of her face, looping around her right eye and mouth, but otherwise they ran straight from her hairline to her neck until they disappeared down her dress, resurfacing on her bare right arm all the way to the back of her hand and on her lower leg down to the nail on her big toe. And then the dress still obscured half of it.

“And the scars. It brings out the scar” she muttered sadly.

“The scars don’t matter,” Astoria said.

“Don’t they?” Ginny asked, trying not to scream at her friend but Merlin, it was difficult. “My whole right side is a patchwork. The little kids at King’s Cross were scared of me. The big kids and the adults too. Half the school still won’t look at me and it’s been a week. And can you blame them? I look like Moody!”

“You don’t look like Moody,” Astoria shushed her.

Ginny rounded on her, the anger must have been clear in her eyes because Astoria involuntarily took a step back. But before Ginny could say anything, Astoria put her hand on Ginny’s shoulder and squeezed it, the movement so like her mum that Ginny’s tirade died on her lips.

“You don’t look like Moody. You look like Ginny Weasley. My friend. Star Quidditch player. D.A. leader. One of the few brave enough to stand up against Voldemort. And anyone worth their salt can see that. Those scars are just on the surface, but what they represent, what they say about you, that goes all the way down to the core. And that deserves to be seen,” Astoria said.  “So I’d say it’s the perfect dress for you, really.”

Ginny looked at her reflection again, not even bothering to angle her face. To her, the scars looked as horrible as ever. She wasn't entirely sure she fully believed Astoria either. At the end of the day it was easy for her to wax poetically and support her friend. Ginny didn't doubt Astoria had meant every word, truly meant it, but at the end of the day, she wasn't the one with scars. Ginny was. But she wanted to believe her, at least. It made it more bearable. And the dress was beautiful.

Harry pulls up next to her as they are running through the Hall of Prophecies. Behind them, the turmoil of a hundred prophecies unleashed reverberates, snippets of screams and spellfire cutting through it occasionally.

They round a corner and come to a skidding halt as they almost barge into a very surprised looking Death Eater. He raises his wand, but Ginny’s faster and knees him in the groin. As he doubles over, she shoots a stunner into him.

“Nice work, Gin. I’m glad you’re here,” Harry says as they take off again.

She wished Harry could have seen her in this dress.

“Alright, I’m wearing it,” she announced, a set in her jaw.

Astoria gave her a searching look, but whatever she wanted to see, she clearly found.

“Yes, I think you are.”

***

They were the last to arrive and it was all Astoria’s fault. Her dress, a beautiful black A-Line, hadn’t taken much time to put on, and the updos she insisted they both got had been fixed after about ten minutes of spellwork Ginny had never heard of. But then Astoria had spent twenty minutes agonising about her jewellery, before eventually settling on her usual silver bracelets with swirling runes that she still refused to translate for Ginny, as well as a silver sautoir with a three-pointed star pendant. At least she’d managed to talk Astoria out of her heels, which would have been both wildly excessive and slowed them down even more. And just when Ginny had been sure they’d been finally done, Astoria had insisted that not only Ginny took a picture of her - Mother would love it - but also that she took a picture of Ginny. Ginny suspected a more defiant look had never been captured by Astoria's camera

But rather than being upset, Slughorn just beamed at them as they rounded the corner, having slowed down for the last part so they wouldn’t arrive winded.

“Miss Weasley, Miss Greengrass, you both look wonderful, really. See, this is what I was hoping for with my invitation,” he said as they stepped inside his office, where the other five students were already gathered around the table.

Slughorn had not spared any trouble for the occasion. Candles floated around the room, lending an intimate atmosphere to the gathering. The large round table at the centre was already well-supplied with appetisers, butterbeer and quite a few drinks she wasn’t entirely sure the other teachers would approve of being served to students.

The first thing she noticed was that Slughorn’s old house was well-represented. In addition to Astoria, there was Zabini, as well as two seventh-year Slytherin girls whose name she couldn’t remember for the life of it. At least Harper’s Potions brilliance hadn’t earned him an invitation yet. The only other Gryffindor in attendance was - she had to resist the urge to groan out loud - Cormac McLaggen, who looked to be rather appreciative of Astoria’s outfit. Seventh-year Ravenclaw Eddie Carmichael was also there, but not a single Hufflepuff. Ginny vaguely remembered Carmichael as that one Ravenclaw who had tried to fence some kind of brain tonic to distressed O.W.L. students, before Hermione had put a stop to it with her usual decisiveness.

“Hermione, can you take a look at Ginny? Dolohov hit her with a curse,” Harry says as he lowers her onto one of the benches.

Hermione is next to her in a second, crouching down and muttering under her breath as she casts a few spells and takes her pulse. Ginny’s breathing grows less laboured, but that’s about it.

“Did you hear what incantation he used?” she asks and Ginny can see the worry written across her face.

“No,” she coughs. A few levels down, Harry sits next to Ron who has a mean-looking cut running across his face.

“Hmm, I don’t recognise it either. Maybe if Umbridge had been less useless,” Hermione muttered.

“Am I going to die?” Ginny asks, feeling like she is freezing and burning up at the same time.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hermione says with such conviction that Ginny can’t do anything but believe her. She mutters another spell and the worst of the tremors fade.

Ginny and Astoria ended up to the left of Slughorn, she directly next to him and Astoria at her side. He must have saved those spots for the two of them. She couldn’t help but smile victoriously at Zabini, who was seated quite a bit further away. Unfortunately, McLaggen was seated on his right and looked ready to engage her and Astoria in a discussion that would no doubt focus on Quidditch, Cormac McLaggen and how good Cormac McLaggen was at Quidditch.

A bottle of butterbeer and two carafes, one with red wine and one with white wine, floated towards her and hung expectantly in the air. Ginny pointed at the butterbeer, which poured itself into her glass. Next came several bowls of appetisers.

“So, Miss Weasley, Miss Greengrass, as you missed the first occasion, I think it’s only proper if we do a quick roundtable,” Slughorn said. Already chewing on a piece of bread, she just nodded in response.

As it turned out, everyone there was special one way or the other, as Slughorn subtly, or not so subtly, pointed out. McLaggen’s uncle was someone important in the Ministry, Zabini’s mother was very beautiful, the twins were identified as Hestia and Flora Carrow, though Ginny didn’t quite get what was so important about them. Eddie Carmichael, finally, apparently was a brilliant student, brain tonic or not, and in the process of being headhunted by the Unspeakables.

It didn’t get much better after that, though the food at least did. Rich dishes usually reserved for special occasions followed each other in quick succession, ranging from a lobster Ginny had no idea how to eat – she ended up just copying what Astoria did – to some kind of magical creature she’d thought extinct. At least it provided a distraction from Slughorn’s inane questioning that seemed designed to portray everyone in the best light. At least there was a brief moment of entertainment when a slightly inebriated McLaggen revealed that Zabini’s mother was very good at marrying people who just so happened to die quickly thereafter. Slughorn quickly changed the topic but in a way that you’d hardly notice. After that, the carafes no longer floated past McLaggen, just the pitcher with water.

All throughout it, Ginny tried to nod and laugh at all the right moments. Astoria was much better at it of course; she batted her eyelashes at all the right times and Slughorn was basically eating out of her hand by the end of the evening. Still, Ginny felt she’d acquitted herself well for a blood traitor who was consistently ignored by half of the guests – Zabini and the Carrows- and who consistently tried to ignore McLaggen. At least Carmichael was moderately entertaining, he reminded her of her brother Bill in a way, only a bit more normal. Perhaps that was the Ravenclaw factor at work.

Slughorn had also risen in her estimation. He was an influence peddler without a doubt, but the way he smoothed over any potential awkwardness, even between her and Zabini, was an art in its own. As was his gift for dancing around what had had happened last June. It made for an almost normal evening. If this was high society, she thought she could get used to it.

She and Astoria were the last to leave, and after having thanked Slughorn profusely once more for the invitation, they left. Once they were sure they were out of earshot, they both burst out laughing.

“Merlin, that was beautiful. Did you see Zabini’s face after McLaggen’s jibe?” Astoria giggled. “I thought he was going to have an apoplexy right then and there.”

“My favourite moment was when McLaggen dunked his elbow in the mayonnaise bowl,” Ginny added, wiping tears from her eyes. “Okay, I will admit this was more fun than I’d expected. Though I might need a class on how to eat lobster first.”

“You did look a bit uncomfortable,” Astoria said. “I hope I wasn’t eating too fast for you to mimic my movements?”

“You noticed that?”

“Ginny, you cast furtive glances at my hands every five seconds. Of course I noticed. I don’t think I’ve ever eaten lobster quite this slowly, but I didn’t want to risk whatever disaster might ensue if you missed a step. Eating lobster is almost as dangerous as brewing a potion,” she said, struggling to keep a straight face.

“Thanks Tori,” Ginny said.

“Anytime. Anyway, I’m off to bed, I’m spent. Smiling all the time is exhausting,” she admitted.

“I’ll give you the dress back tomorrow,” Ginny promised.

“That’s alright, I don’t need it anytime soon anyway. Goodnight Ginny.”

“Goodnight Tori,” Ginny said and they both went their way, Astoria almost floating over the ground.

Her head was still swimming with memories of an evening unlike any other as her feet led her through the hallways of Hogwarts with the familiarity of more than four years. Tonight had been fun. Simple fun, without concern for the war or the dead. Even her scars had felt almost invisible.

Until shadows detached themselves from the walls and became people.

Harry takes the orb and none of the horrible scenarios she has considered manifest themselves. Instead, it’s worse.

“Thank you, Potter. Now, if you’d be so kind as to hand it over?” a voice says. A voice she’s had nightmares about almost as much as she’s had about Tom. Lucius Malfoy, the man personally responsible for the horror that was her first year.

She turns around and slowly the shadows become people, all in black cloaks and with faces obscured by white masks crafted to inspire fear. They do their job well, all thirteen of them. Yet her eyes inevitably find their way back to their spokesperson.

“If you do, no one needs to get hurt. If you don’t, well, let’s not even consider that particular piece unpleasantry, shall we?” Malfoy suggests, his voice smooth.

She wants to hex him, every bone in her body is calling out to her to do it. He took her first year from her and replaced it with a jagged memory that still cuts into her mind whenever she gives it even the smallest of openings. She wishes she could claim it is deference to Harry that stays her hand, but it is something uglier. Fear.

 A scream was already forming in her throat, her palms sweaty and her heart accelerating, but then she recognised Harper and Nott. Junior, not Senior. Zabini appeared from a side corridor as well, twirling his wand in his hand, a grease stain from the dinner still on the hem of his robe. Malice was written across their faces. She was outnumbered three to one and they were planning to hurt her, and still she was grateful, grateful that they weren’t the ghosts from her nightmares. Grateful that they weren’t called Dolohov, Malfoy or Lestrange.

“Fancy seeing you here,” she said, taking a few steps back, anything to create distance as she weighed her options. There was no Harry to give orders anymore. Could she scream? Yes. Would anyone but these three hear it? Doubtful.

“I told you this wasn’t over yet, Weasley,” Zabini said, taking his place next to Harper and Nott. “We’ll make you regret what you did.”

“Because of you, my father is in Azkaban,” Nott said.

“I’m quite sure that was mostly Dumbledore’s work. Harry helped too I guess,” she said. If Harry could break Nott Senior’s nose, she was sure she could do the same to Junior.

“It’s your fault !" he screamed, taking a step closer. “I’m all alone in the manor and my father’s tormented by dementors!” She almost felt sorry for him. “Because you didn’t have the decency to die, you filthy blood traitor. But soon my father will be free, and you’ll be begging for your life again. When The Dark Lord takes Hogwarts, your time will come.” Almost, but not quite.

They really thought she was scared. Nott didn’t even have his wand out, too busy ranting, fully convinced she’d just stand there frozen with fear as they took turns monologuing. Had no one bothered to tell them what had happened at the Department of Mysteries? Good for her at least.

She whipped out her wand hurled a stunner at Zabini, too surprised to conjure a shield. He tumbled backwards as the other two just gaped at her. Nott finally drew his wand.

“You were saying, Nott?” she asked innocently, twirling her wand between her fingers.

“You’ll pay for that, Weasley,” Nott snarled, eyes narrowing.

“Yeah, you’ve been saying that a lot,” she said, following it up with another volley of spells.

The two Slytherins ducked and returned fire. Ginny didn’t bother identifying the spells. She ducked to the side and as she rose from her crouch launched into a spell chain.

“Stupefy. Reducto. Protego.” The last one was only just in time to block Nott’s diffindo.

The walls lit up with flashes as they traded spells. It made such a ruckus it was hard to believe no one would hear it. But no one came running around the corner, or broke up the fight. They just kept jinxing, hexing and cursing. A purple curse that hummed as it sailed past her head. Harper stumbled as her return Impedimenta hit him in the chest, but before she could follow up, Nott’s stunner forced her to duck. A conjured snake slithered towards her and briefly, she wished she was still a Parselmouth. She conjured a bird that swooped down and carried the hissing serpent off. Harper ducked as it flew past, giving her another opening.

“Flipendo!” she screamed, putting all her frustration of the past week in a single spell.

Harper got his shield up, but the jinx slammed through it and carried him across the hallway in a crumpled heap. She turned towards Nott, expecting to find to hesitation. Except he was smiling, as was the curse coming her way.

A diffindo cut open her left cheek. Blood trickled down. She brushed it aside before it could land on Astoria’s dress, then numbly stared at her smeared hand.

Her brother Ron is choking on blood, scratching at his neck as he sinks to his knees. Hermione is casting one spell after another, but Ron just turns bluer and bluer.

“While I don’t want to rush you, Potter, I don’t think he has much time left,” Malfoy drawls.

The knockback jinx takes him full in the chest, blowing him down the set of stairs. Hermione just stands there, wand pointed at Malfoy as the other two Death Eaters look on in surprise. Ron is breathing normally again.

“Was that the countercurse you meant?” Hermione asks.

Malfoy pulls off his mask and tosses it aside. His nose is broken, blood dripping down his face.

“I think we have reached the limit of negotiations for now. Kill them,” he commands.

‘Kill him,’ she could hear Tom whispering in her ear, hissing sounds intermingling with promises to destroy her enemies if only she would let him back in. They tried to hurt her. They deserved to die. And he could show her how.

“See, that’s better. Now your face is almost symmetrical again,” Nott sneered.

He launched another curse that she batted aside, taking out one torch. The shadows grew deeper.

“You’re a good for nothing blood traitor, Weasley. The Girl Who Survived, ha!” he said, throwing another spell her way. It narrowly missed her and had her stumbling back. It was almost impossible to make out what Nott was saying as Tom’s demands grew louder and louder. And part of her just wanted to give in.

“You just got lucky, Weasley and now you think you’re all that. But I’ll put you back in your place.” His next hex exploded against her shield, a thousand fiery sparks lighting up the hallway.

“And when the Dark Lord comes to the castle, we’ll make sure Dolohov lends us a hand.”

And suddenly Nott looked a lot like Dolohov.

'That's right,' Tom whispered.

“Pleaga!” she yelled, weaving a figure eight in the air with her wand.

Something rippled through the air. A wave too large to dodge. Nott shielded, his eyes for the first time showing something more than disdain. It didn’t matter. The wave just crashed through it and over him, his whole body shimmering as if he was underwater. Nott himself looked as if he was drowning, his face frozen in agony. Then the spell swept past him and Nott just stood there, swaying with a thousand little bleeding cuts covering his face and hands. His wand fell from his hand, landing with a clatter on the floor. Then he collapsed.

Ginny was panting, exhausted. She didn’t know where the incantation had come from. All she knew was that a part of her was smiling contently. The Tom part. What had she done?

“One moment Lucius,” Rookwood interrupts, sounding far too calm and reasonable for a man who spent the last fifteen years or so in Azkaban. “The girl shows promise,” he remarks as he pulls Malfoy back up and then takes off his mask, revealing a pockmarked face and a scraggly beard.

“Hermione Granger, was it?” he asks, sounding so polite. “I’ve heard you’re clever. Clever people don’t need to die here, tonight. If you just give us the prophecy, I can show you knowledge you can only dream of. I can help you look into the dark heart of magic and its old eyes of wisdom,” he proselytises and just like that, Ginny can see what form Azkaban’s madness has taken in Rookwood. A fire burns behind his eyes, not of determination but madness, an all-consuming fire that devours. Hermione can see it too and just scoffs.

“How disappointing,” Rookwood pouts. “My earlier objections are withdrawn, Lucius. Pleaga,” he says, still in that tone as if he were talking about the weather. His wand forms a figure eight in the air and something terrible ripples towards Hermione.

She had used a Death Eater’s curse on a student. She could have killed him. She may have killed him. She sprinted towards Nott and pressed her ear against his chest. It was still moving, his breathing a bit laboured and his heartbeat weaker than it probably should be, but at least it was still there.

That was of course when Snape turned around the corner.

“In my defence, it was three on one,” Ginny blurted out.

And then she started laughing. She didn’t know why, but she couldn’t stop, not even when her laughs turned into tears and she had sunken to the knees, gripping herself tightly.

Snape surveyed the scene and then pulled out his wand. For an instant, Ginny thought he was going to hex her. Instead, he just conjured a beautiful silver doe and instructed it to find Madam Pomfrey. That done, he pulled her along, without saying a word but his eyes promising pain and detention beyond compare. And as she was dragged away from the scene, she suddenly realised her right arm hadn’t shook a single time during the fight.

Chapter Text

Nine: The price of victory

Instead of taking her to the Dungeons, Snape had led her to McGonagall’s office, who looked like she had been about to turn in. Ginny had been deposited on a chair in the corner as the two conversed in hushed tones, throwing the occasional odd look in her direction. She could make out fragments like ‘should be expelled’, ‘a danger to herself and others’ and ‘clearly traumatised’. Snape was waving his finger a lot, McGonagall just shook her head each time. And Ginny just sat there, still in that beautiful dress though her hair was a mess by now, trying not to think about Nott covered in cuts and how upset Mum would be if she ended up getting kicked out during the second week of school. At least Fred and George would be proud.

Finally, the two seemed to have reached some sort of agreement. McGonagall rose from her chair and walked up to her, looking as severe as she’d ever seen her.

“That was a dark curse you used on Mister Nott, Miss Weasley.”

“I know, Professor. I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me,” she said, unable to meet the Professor’s eyes. She could feel the disappointment. It was a lot worse than Snape’s anger ever could have been.

“Where did you learn it?” Snape asked, leaning against the wall and looking bored. Ginny assumed that meant she probably wasn’t going to be expelled.

“Rookwood. He used it against Hermione and somehow, it was the first spell I thought of when Nott was pushing me back.”

“Rookwood,” Snape repeated, looking almost impressed. “It’s a miracle Mister Nott isn’t a gibbering mess right now.”

“I don’t need to tell you how dangerous it is to use Death Eater spells?” McGonagall asked her.

“No, Professor.”

“I’ll escort you back to Gryffindor Tower. Can you check in on Mister Nott, Severus?”

Snape just nodded and glided out of the room, not sparing Ginny a single look. She already knew that Thursday’s DADA class was going to be hell. If she’d still be around for it. Did McGonagall at least wish to spare her the shame of being expelled in front of Snape? Was she being escorted to Gryffindor Tower, only to pack up? She could already picture Mum’s disappointed expression, Dad’s sadness. Her brother’s incomprehension. She’d been given a chance that had been denied Ron, and she’d squandered it.

Meanwhile, McGonagall said nothing. It made Ginny want to shake and demand McGonagall tell her what was going to happen. But that would hardly help her cause. And the night had gone so well at first.

Only when they were at Gryffindor Tower, McGonagall cleared her throat, the two of them coming to a halt in front of the Fat Lady.

“That’s a beautiful dress, Miss Weasley,” she said.

“Thank you, Professor,” Ginny replied. Could it be that even McGonagall didn’t know what to say? She looked almost as ill at ease as Ginny felt. She cleared her throat again.

“I know you’re hurting, Miss Weasley. But that kind of magic is never a solution,” she said.

“I know, I know, it was stupid. It’s just, when Nott came for me, all I could think of… all I could think of was Dolohov.”

“I suspected as much,” McGonagall said and Ginny had the feeling that she saw her, really saw her, all the way to that core Astoria had spoken off. “I know you would never use that curse against a fellow student. So the only logical explanation was that the boundaries had begun to blur… It’s no excuse,” she added firmly. “But it does mean you will not be expelled. The exact nature of your punishment I will discuss with Professor Dumbledore on his return.”

“Yes Professor. Thank you Professor,” Ginny said, barely believing her luck. McGonagall gave her another warning glare that promised greater punishment if she ever did something like that again. Then her expression softened.

“You’ve suffered more than perhaps any student we’ve ever had here, Miss Weasley. Your first year was a trial in its own and now this… The burdens you carry are ones few would be able to carry, and none should,” she said.

“I’m not sure I’m carrying them all that well, Professor,” Ginny admitted, thinking of whispers, sleepless nights and vicious curses coming from her own lips.

“I’d beg to differ,” McGonagall said, smiling weakly. “Just know that you don’t have to carry them alone. We’re here to help. Though with how we’ve failed you, I can’t blame you for not seeking us out.”

“You didn’t fail me, Professor,” Ginny protested and felt she meant it. Dumbledore, maybe. Snape, every day. But McGonagall? She was sure that if Umbridge hadn’t sent her to St. Mungo’s, she’d have torn the Department of Mysteries apart for them.

“Maybe,” she said. “Let’s both try to do better, shall we? And for what it’s worth, you did well to fight off three opponents. I only wished you picked up Transfiguration as quickly as dark curses,” she concluded before walking off, leaving Ginny in front of the portrait, alone except for her thoughts. As she stepped into the Tower, she knew it would take a long time before she could fall asleep.

***

The next morning, Ginny was exhausted and felt even worse. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw herself casting that curse again. Nott’s expression of shock and then anguish. She had twisted and turned, trying to ignore the voice that told her it was no less than he deserved, than all of them deserved. They had taken her friends, hadn’t they? Without regret. The worst part, she wasn’t even sure if that particular voice was Tom’s, or her own.

It was almost a relief to go to breakfast, the clamour and morning rush allowing her not to think, but just be pulled along with the flow. At least until a green and silver blur hurried towards her from the Slytherin table. Astoria. And she wasn’t looking happy.

"What did you do to him? He looks like you put him through a paper shredder!” she shouted. Ginny blinked, taken aback by her hostility. She’d expected commiseration.

"I thought you were on my side,” Ginny blurted out instinctively, even as she wondered how Astoria knew what a paper shredder was. Astoria’s look just became harder.

"That doesn't mean I need to approve when you curse Nott into the Hospital Wing!”

“It was three on one!” Ginny protested, getting angry now. She knew that what she’d done was wrong, but she’d already been chewed out by Snape and McGonagall. And if she’d lost, she’d be the one in the Hospital Wing now. If she was lucky. But Astoria didn’t care, it seemed. She just pushed on.

“And that means you can switch from stunners to curses? I thought you were better than them. Guess you aren’t," she snarled, before storming off.

Ginny wanted to shout something at her retreating back, but the words wouldn’t come. Was she no better than the Death Eaters? It had been one of their curses she’d used. Without hesitation.

“I’m sure Nott had it coming. Good work, Ginny,” Colin said through a mouthful of sausage.

She just gave him a furious glare and then stormed off herself.

“What? What did I say wrong?” she heard Colin protest to the table at large.

“Just be quiet, Colin,” Demelza snapped.

After Astoria’s outburst, all of Hogwarts knew that Ginny Weasley had hexed Theodore Nott so badly he’d ended up in the Hospital Wing, or even St. Mungo’s. On that, the rumours couldn’t quite agree. Some applauded her, others just looked at her as if her scars were no longer the scariest thing about her. And the Slytherins, they just whispered, ranks closed once more.For the first time that included Astoria.

Ginny had gone to the Room of Requirement in the hope of finding her friend there, but it had been just her. When she couldn’t stand the oppressive silence anymore, the silent gramophone almost mocking her, she went to the Quidditch pitch and flew until she felt like she was about to fall off her broom from exhaustion.

Yet all the time, Astoria’s words kept echoing in her mind. Surely she hadn’t already lost her newest friend? Her newest best friend? She wanted to talk about it with Demelza, but she was too afraid that then she’d end up rejecting her too, that she’d look just as disappointed as McGonagall had.

So instead she just returned to her dorms and wrote a letter to home. Mum had made her promise to keep them informed, so she told them about the first week, about the Slug Club and the upcoming Quidditch try-outs, about Demelza and Colin and, though solely in passing, Astoria. What had happened with Nott, as well as her fallout with her friend, she saved for a separate letter to Percy. If anyone of her family would understand what it was like to be ashamed of what you’d done, it’d be him.

Chapter Text

Ten: Dumbledore’s Army, redux

When she entered the Potions classroom Nott was still in the Hospital Wing on Wednesday and Astoria was already sitting with Harper, refusing to look at her. Colin was all too happy to sit with her and continue working on stage 2 of their Strengthening Solution, his own concoction from Monday having ended up as an awful-smelling, near solid goo. Slughorn just watched the house divide with sad eyes, though he gave Ginny and Colin as well as Astoria and Harper five points each, despite the Slytherins’ potion being clearly superior.

Ginny tried to approach Astoria after class, but she just walked past Ginny as if she was air. Ginny bit her lip, swallowed her pride and hurried after the gaggle of Slytherins, calling out to Astoria. Instead, Harper detached himself from the group and blocked her way.

“She’s not interested in talking to you, Weasley. Take a hint.”

“Move aside, Harper,” she said, standing on her tiptoes to catch Astoria’s eye. At least they had stopped.

“Or what? You’re going to send me to the hospital wing too, Weasley? You’re a menace and if you weren’t one of Dumbledore’s pets, you’d have been expelled by now!” he spat.

They walked away in group, Astoria not once glancing her way. Ginny just stood there as if she’d been punched. A menace? Maybe they were right. Maybe she’d always been one. In her first year, she’d been Tom’s tool as he terrorised the school and almost killed Harry. Now she’d almost killed a student herself. Had that been because of Tom’s whispers? Or because her scars didn’t just run on the surface?

***

The Room of Requirement had taken its traditional D.A. shape again. Dark detectors, practice dummies. If the dummies looked a bit more like Death Eaters than before, no one mentioned on it. Ginny wondered if she wasn’t just seeing things again. Astoria on the other hand was nowhere in sight, leaving Demelza as the sole new recruit for now. She was standing alone at the edge of the group, looking rather uncomfortable but determined.

Much to her surprise, the Patils and Lavender had been right. Apart from Edgecombe, everyone still at Hogwarts was there. Smith still sported the same look of unimpressed boredom, Chang looked like she could burst into tears any second - no change there - and Dean and Seamus still didn’t dare to meet her eye, but they’d come. They’d all come and were waiting for her to say something. She cast a look at Padma who was standing next to her. Padma just shrugged as if to say ‘it’s your show now’.

Ginny supposed it was. She took a deep breath and pushed all her doubts away, all the whispers about her being a menace, even Tom’s. Danger to others or not, she owed it to Harry to at least try.

“Nice work, Gin. I’m glad you’re here.”

She held on to those words and could sense Harry’s presence in the room with them. She could feel all of them. Luna, Neville, Ron, Hermione and Harry, all watching and waiting, nodding in approval. She pulled out her wand and focused on that feeling.

“Expecto Patronum!” she shouted and a large horse burst forth. It looked a bit shy at first, and confused that there were no Dementors, then galloped through the room. She could still do it.

“Okay, now that I have your attention, welcome to this year’s first meeting of the D.A. For those who have forgotten, that stands for Dumbledore’s Army,” she said, the room’s acoustics accommodating her so that she barely needed to raise her voice to be heard.

She remembered the first time she’d come up with the name. It had seemed so fun then. Now, it was no longer funny. It had become a declaration of intent, rather than a joke. She could read it in everyone’s eyes too, the knowledge that they were here in the hope of learning how to survive a war.

“In case you don’t recognise me anymore, I’m Ginny Weasley,” she said, pointing at her scars. “You may have seen my face in the Prophet.” A nervous laughter ran through the room. “I’ve been asked to take charge here, but if anyone has any complaints, in light of my skillset or… or recent events, let’s hear them,” she said, her eyes lingering on Smith. But no one spoke.

“Last year, we were preparing for an invisible war. That’s no longer the case, you’ve seen and read it all. We’ve lost friends to the war. Some have fled the country,” she said, her eyes lingering on the empty place next to Ernie Macmillan. Hannah Abbott had been sent to Beauxbatons by her parents. From what she’d gathered, Hannah hadn’t wanted to come back either. She had always had a soft spot for Neville.

“Others we’ve lost forever,” she continued, looking at Susan Bones, whose aunt Amelia’s murder had been relegated to a footnote following the battle at the Department of Mysteries.

When she met Susan’s eyes, she realised she couldn’t give the speech she’d had have in her mind. The plucky one so reminiscent of Dumbledore’s hollow promises, speaking of love and friendship that would conquer all. It hadn’t helped Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville and Luna one bit; if anything, love had gotten them killed. Most of the students before her hadn’t witnessed the war up close yet, but they would. And then they’d know her for a liar. So instead, she took a deep breath and forced herself to be truthful.

“We’ll probably lose more people. Friends and family. And what we’re doing here, it’s no guarantee that it will be enough. Voldemort,” she said, her voice finally no longer shaking when she said the name, though a ripple of nervous fear still ran through the room. “Voldemort and his Death Eaters are out there. They don’t hesitate like we do. They just…”

Rip… Tear… Kill… She could still hear the basilisk in her mind sometimes.

“But that just makes it all the more important that we fight back. And that’s what we’re here for.”

Luna collapses and her mind goes blank. She doesn’t know what hex she uses on Mulciber, all she knows is that she screams it with all her strength and it sends him careening into the wall. He doesn’t get up again. Travers is still admiring his handiwork when her second hex speeds towards him. He bats it aside and grins.

“That eager to join your friend, Weasley? Don’t worry, I’ll make it quick,” he hisses and tendrils of dark smoke snake out towards her. Her wand slashes downwards and dispels them, but like a hydra, two new ones form for every head she eliminates.

Travers’ expression is one of pure concentration, muttering under his breath as his assault intensifies. The tendrils creep ever closer and begin to wrap themselves around her ankles, chilling her to the bone. Is she going to die?

“Petrificus Totalus!” She’s never been quite so relieved to hear Neville’s voice. Travers stiffens and falls forward, the smoke disappearing as if it had never been there to begin with.

“To learn how to defend ourselves. Together. The Sorting Hat’s a ratty old thing, but it was right. Divided we fall,” she said, not quite capable of uttering the first part of the phrase.

Neville steps over Travers’ stiff form, visibly proud. He’s done it. After a lifetime of jokes and sneers, he’s taken down a Death Eater. Then he sees Luna and goes deadly pale. He runs towards her and shakes her, but their friend doesn’t move. The red stain has covered most of her chest by now.

“Luna,” he begs. “Come on, Luna.” Ginny puts her hand on his shoulder and tries not to cry.

“I’m sorry, Neville. I… I was duelling Mulciber when it happened.”

“It’s not your fault. Let’s stick together from now on.”

“And that also means we’ll be looking to expand our numbers, especially with how many of us graduated last year. We already got Demelza,” Ginny said with a wave towards her friend, who instantly turned a deep shade of red as all eyes focused on her. “And we’re looking for more. We’ll have to be careful though. While we’re no longer an illegal organisation strictly speaking, I think there’s something to be said for keeping a low profile. But I’ll leave that part of the explanation to you, Padma,” Ginny said, stepping aside and handing the floor to the Ravenclaw who seemed a lot less perturbed by all the attention.

Ginny dropped down in one of the chairs nearby. That had been worse than playing Quidditch in front of the whole school. She felt as if she’d run ten laps around the lake, breathing heavily as Padma launched into her explanation. Her screening process sounded rather complicated to Ginny, but Hermione’s cursed parchment clearly hadn’t done the trick last time. She wondered if Edgecombe still had those boils. Ginny kind of hoped she did. That way at least one monument to Hermione’s intellect would be preserved.

Parvati had taken the word now, explaining they were going for a multidisciplinary approach this year, which was a fancy way of saying all the sixth and seventh were expected to chip in with their expertise as well. They would be starting off with a refresher on stunners and shield charms though, as Snape’s instruction method had been deemed lacking so far, or at least too terrifying to be pedagogically responsible.

It wasn’t long before everyone was paired up, with one half of the room throwing up shields and the other half throwing stunners at them. Ginny watched on, arms crossed in front of her chest, feeling like a general surveying the troops.

“Going well so far, don’t you think?” Padma said, standing next to her. “No complaints, no major injuries.”

“Yet,” Ginny said, eying Smith suspiciously. “Give it a few sessions, especially when we start expanding.”

“We’ll handle it. Thanks for doing this, Ginny.”

“It seemed more productive than just hexing all aspiring Death Eaters to pieces,” she said, stepping aside when a wayward stunner came streaking past. “Aim still needs work, Denis!” she shouted at the younger of the two Creevey brothers.

“What happened there anyway? The Hogwarts rumour mill has been spreading contradictory tales,” Padma said.

“Harper, Nott and Zabini ambushed me after the Slug Club meeting. I fought back and lost my head. It won’t happen again,” she vowed, though she didn’t even believe the promise herself.

‘Menace,’ she could hear Tom hiss.

“Did you read the Prophet this morning?” Padma said, proffering a copy without waiting for an answer. She must have seen Ginny skipped breakfast this morning, having felt too nervous for the confrontation with Astoria in Potions. Ginny took it and unfolded it, stifling a gasp.

DUMBLEDORE DUELS DEATH EATERS IN DIAGON ALLEY

Underneath the headline was a picture of Dumbledore warding off the assault of four Death Eaters, with more Death Eaters and Aurors in the background.

“I suppose the reporter was rather miffed it isn’t called Diagon District,” Ginny remarked as her eyes skimmed the text. Apparently, Death Eaters had gone after a few Muggleborn stores and had been carving a path of destruction through the Alley until Dumbledore had shown up. After some token resistance, they’d rapidly Disapparated.

“They’re getting bolder,” Padma remarked.

“It does look like it,” Ginny agreed. “Arresto momentum!” she yelled, pointing her wand at Justin Finch-Fletchley who toppled backwards when Susan Bones’ stunner pierced his shield. He floated softly to the ground. “Nice stunner, Susan. Cast a Rennervate on him and then put some cushions down, would you?” Ginny yelled. “That goes for the rest of you too!” she added.

Harry had thought of putting those down in advance. Or probably Hermione. They still had quite a bit to learn.

“I got a letter from my father this morning as well,” Padma continued. “He’s considering pulling me and Parvati from school and leaving the country. We’d discussed it this summer as well, but I thought we’d talked him out of it. Apparently not,” she said with a sigh.

“Because of the attack?” Ginny said with a wave of the Prophet.

“The attack. Or maybe the regular reports of families killed in their beds. Or maybe the rising casualty rates among Aurors,” Padma shrugged. “From what I’ve heard, it’s the First Wizarding War all over again.”

“The First Wizarding War. So it’s officially the Second Wizarding War now?” Ginny asked.

“Looks like it. I’m safe here at Hogwarts, but I think I’m not the only student afraid to be pulled out of class and told that I’ve lost someone. Your family’s all fighting, aren’t they? Aren’t you afraid?”

“Every day,” Ginny admitted. “I know they’re all talented wizards and witches, but that’s not really reassuring. That just means they’ll be on the frontlines. While I’m here.”

“Hey, at least we’re doing this,” Padma said with a wave at the D.A. “We’re doing the best we can.”

“And that’s more than can be expected of teenagers, really,” Parvati interjected, joining them at the front. “The atmosphere is different from last year, isn’t it?” she said.

“Yeah,” Ginny agreed. Last year there bad been an air of gaiety and rebellion. Half of the people present hadn’t probably even believed that Voldemort was back then. They had just enjoyed thumping their nose at Umbridge. None of that remained now. “What are we doing next time?”

“Patronus charm?” Parvati suggested. “I’d really like to get it down. Yours is beautiful, Ginny.”

“They all are, that’s why they’re Patronuses,” she said, thinking of Snape’s doe. It didn’t suit him at all. She’d expected a snake, or a bat. No doubt there was a story behind that, though not one he was likely to share. She hadn’t really understood why hers was a horse either. At first she’d felt disappointed, hoping for something similar to Harry’s. But she’d grown to like her horse. It looked a bit like Perceval.

“So, Patronus?” Parvati asked again. Ginny couldn’t help but grin.

“Sure, Patronus. But don’t be upset if it doesn’t work at first. It’s a tricky charm.” She wondered if she couldn’t get Lupin to help with that. He’d taught Harry successfully. Perhaps she should write to him as well. He’d looked so lost as he’d helped escort her to King’s Cross.

The three of them spent the remainder of the training wandering the room, adjusting grips, correcting pronunciations and wand movements. It was good they ended practice half an hour later with a loud whistle from Parvati, who had somehow found a whistle; if she’d had to duck one more errant stunner, she was sure she’d have snapped. Padma had impressed the importance of being subtle on them yet again and then the meeting broke up, people drifting back to their common rooms. Ginny lingered, studying the almost-but-not-quite Death Eater dummies.

“You coming, Ginny?” Demelza asked, dawdling at the door.

“Go ahead without me, I’ll be down a bit later. You enjoyed yourself?”

“Yes, you were a lot more helpful than Snape,” she said and then hesitated. “Mind if I wait here for you? After what happened, it’s maybe better if we stick together.”

“Thanks Demelza, I appreciate it,” Ginny grinned. At least she still had one friend for sure. “It won’t take long. I’d just like to let loose at these dummies. Keep the reflexes sharp.”

She approached the five dummies, inhaled, exhaled and drew her wand.

“Stupefy!” she screamed, instantly following it up with the banishment charm and an impediment jinx. She ducked, crouched, jumped and hurled spell after spell at the dummies. After a while, she stopped thinking, acting on instinct. The dummies began to look more and more like Death Eaters. She screamed out a cutting curse and followed it up with a fire-making charm and another one of Dolohov’s, sending a streak of purple flame at the furthest dummy. She rolled and then rose in front of the last one, the one that looked the most like Malfoy.

“Pleaga!” she yelled.

The shimmering wave didn’t so much nick the dummy as shred it. Where the curse had passed, nothing remained but a few tufts of black robe. She took a step backwards, panting and covered in sweat, and took in the other dummies. One had been cut in half, a second was charred, the third was still burning with purple fire and a fourth lay scattered all over the room. In her mind, she could hear Tom applauding enthusiastically.

‘Encore! Encore!’

She lowered her wand and turned around. Demelza was watching, mouth open, her expression caught somewhere between awe and fear.

“Wow,” she muttered.

“Let’s just go,” Ginny said, feeling her cheeks burn with shame. She wondered if McGonagall still wouldn’t have expelled her if she’d seen this.

Chapter Text

Eleven: Curses and Keepers

At least Demelza hadn’t shied away from her after last night’s spectacle. If anything, she looked at Ginny with even more admiration than before. It didn’t strike her as fully healthy, but she really didn’t want to push her remaining friend away. Besides, she wasn’t sure if what she’d done had been wrong. If it had been wrong, why had it felt so good? She hadn’t been afraid when casting those curses. She’d been alive. No memories, no whispers, no shifting scars, just magic.

And then Ginny remembered Nott again, and Astoria’s disappointed face, and the Death Eaters who had wielded those exact curses. Their wrongness could no longer be denied. But still, it felt so good. Not to mention, there had been Percy’s response as well, which had been encouraging, but possibly in all the wrong ways.

Dear Ginny,

Never apologise for defending yourself. While I agree that a different spell would have been better suited, I don’t want you to hesitate when you are duelling either, afraid to cast a spell that goes too far. We’re at war and you matter more than any Death Eater or Slytherin.

As for your friend, if she is who you tell me she is, she’ll come around. It might take a while though, I don’t need to tell you it took me far too long. I wish I could offer more comforting reassurances.

Your loving but foolish brother,

Percy

Not even her most stringent brother, the one always quoting rules and procedures at everyone, would condemn her actions - though she knew that was just as much the loss of his youngest brother speaking as Percy himself. Still, it was reassuring. And then she thought of Nott again, or Astoria, or Dolohov, and the reassurances slipped through her fingers.

Ginny hugged herself as she stood there in front of the mirror, naked. The scars were moving again. She could feel it even if her eyes deceived her. They recognised the magic that had brought them forth, and welcomed it.

They only run on the surface, she told herself. Even if Astoria wasn’t talking to her anymore, at least she could still hold on to her words. Merlin, she missed her friend. The Patils and Brown were friendly enough, Demelza was great, but none of them were Tori. She had understood Ginny, until she no longer did. She just hoped Percy had been right and Astoria would come around sooner rather than later.

But first there was Snape to confront. Her first DADA class since the incident and she had no doubt he wouldn’t spare her. The seconds ticked by as they all sat in class. The classroom felt even darker than usual, as if all the dark artefacts contained within their display cases had been awakened by the spells she’d cast. The black mirror in particular shone even more than usual. As stared at it, she could almost see Nott’s trembling form in it.

Just when she was beginning to hope he wouldn’t show, Snape marched into their class and carved the word ‘curses’ into the board with flaming letters.

“Normally, I would address this later in the year. However,” Snape began, smiling softly. “Recent events have made them particularly topical.” His gaze lingered on Ginny as he stalked the room, setting off around the edge as usual.

“Curses are the most dangerous spells you will encounter in your lives, often unexpectedly. A follower of the Dark Lord may wield them, or a crazed student who shows nothing but disdain for your physical integrity.”

Ginny told herself she wouldn’t get angry. Snape was just trying to get a rise out of her, now that McGonagall hadn’t allowed him to expel her. But she would not give him the satisfaction.

“Curses can make you wish you were dead, inflicting terrible pain or permanent disfigurement. You are familiar with the Cruciatus Curse, but there are several spells that can have equally terrible effect, despite not being, semantically speaking at least, unforgivable. Others will simply kill, ranging from the almost sterile killing curse to a well-aimed and infinitely more bloody cutting curse. And then some will scar,” he said, just as he reached Ginny. It seemed almost like a coincidence.

“Of course,” he said as he continued his walk. “Scars are not always detrimental. Those with an inflated sense of self-importance proudly display them for all the world to see. Any claim to fame is a good one, so to speak, especially if you are otherwise sorely lacking in talent.”

He wasn’t just talking about her. He was talking about Harry. Her right hand gripped her wand, even as her left dug into the table. Ginny couldn’t curse him. She’d be expelled and for some reason, Snape was still a part of the Order and an instrumental part of Dumbledore’s plans. But oh, how she wanted to. She wanted it so badly. And Snape could see it in her eyes, she knew it.

“Fortunately, I will teach you how to defend yourself… If you are in the possession of sufficient intellect of course,” he said, his gaze sweeping the classroom, his superior smirk telling them all just how doubtful he considered that. “And if not, you will at least serve as a useful object lesson to your successors, though as we’ve already had five and a half last June, don’t feel obliged on my behalf.”

She could not hex him. They needed him.

“Miss Weasley, if you would be so kind to assist in my demonstration? No harm will come to you, I assure you. And even if it does, well, I doubt anyone will see the difference.”

She rose from her seat and walked to the front, still clutching her wand. She could not hex him. They needed him. A refrain she kept repeating in her head. But did he need her? His cold eyes told her that was unlikely.

“The normal defence would be to conjure a shield charm. If you would be so kind, Miss Weasley?” he asked. She conjured a shield and was relieved to see it looked solid.

“Now, such a shield will protect you from most curses, provided your opponent is not of superior magical strength,” he said, tapping his wand against her shield, sending ripples across it. “It is not perfect, however. The Killing Curse cannot be shielded against. If you are faced with its tell-tale green light, the only defence is to dodge.” For an irrational second, Ginny thought he’d demonstrate it on her.

“Even some other curses can circumvent the shield’s protection, curving around it or by their nature capable of piercing it. Miss Weasley has recently provided an example of the latter.”

The rest of class was no different; Snape seizing upon every opportunity to mock her, even as he kept her there, still manifesting the shield charm. Her arm felt heavy after already five minutes, but Ginny refused to give him the satisfaction of lowering it, even as he kept occasionally tapping against her shield under the guise of pedagogical examples, always looking so disappointed when it was still there. Her arm burned and shook and tears were welling in her eyes by the end of the class, but she didn’t relent. It was a good thing she wouldn’t have to try out tonight, as she doubted she’d be able to pick up a Quaffle after this, let alone toss it.

She could not help but let out a relieved breath when Snape dismissed the class and she could finally lower her arm. She made for her belongings, but Snape stopped her, eyes glittering black.

“Miss Weasley, had it been up to me, you’d have been expelled. However, Professor McGonagall pleaded your case most vehemently, no doubt because she wishes to see how many students you can lead to their death. Personally, I suspect you may have it in you to break Potter’s record.”

Ginny didn’t answer. She just gathered her things and hurried out. However, unlike Snape’s previous taunts, his parting one had lodged itself inside her mind. Is that what she was doing with the D.A.? Making people believe they could fight so they could die like Luna, Neville, Hermione, Ron and Harry?

***

It felt good to wear her familiar Quidditch jersey again, number five in bright gold on her back and she herself high up in the air. This high up, she almost felt like a Seeker again, the spectators reduced to specks and with a good overview of the aspiring Quidditch players as they took flight and gathered around Katie.

Only when the trials properly started did she float a bit lower. Demelza flew rings around the other competitors that made Ginny dream of their trio being able to rival even the well-oiled machine of Angelina, Alicia and Katie. For seekers, a combination of Chaser rejects and aspiring Seekers tried out and that’s how they ended up with Dean Thomas. She hoped he’d be able to look at her directly eventually. For Beaters, Jimmy Peakes and Ritchie Coote made a more than favourable impression, even if one of them almost took her head off when he misjudged his swing. While no Fred and George, Ginny was confident they’d be able to keep her safe most of the time at least, and that was all you could ask for from Beaters.

Only, then they still had to choose a Keeper. McLaggen had already announced to the whole house that these try-outs were just a formality and that he was a shoe-in. Maddeningly enough, his confidence wasn’t misplaced. Despite trying her hardest, Ginny couldn’t get her throw past him, nor could any of the others. McLaggen saved all five, the others two at most. She already had a feeling of approaching doom when Katie floated over to her.

“Ginny,” she greeted her, looking grim.

“I don’t want him in the team. He’s an asshole,” she declared. The Slug Club event had been bad enough, but having practice with him – each week?

“Yes, and the rest was terrible. Like, really terrible. Chudley Cannons terrible.”

“Merlin,” she sighed, though she knew Katie was right. “Fine. But if he oversteps, I’m knocking him off his broom.”

“We’ll set out clear rules,” she promised.

“I give it two weeks before he breaks them. Three tops,” Ginny said. Katie gave McLaggen a searching look.

“Halfway the first match,” she said with a grin. “Come on, it will be fine,” she promised and then flew off to tell McLaggen the good news.

As soon as Katie was gone, Demelza flew over to Ginny, her hair a mess and her face still sporting the broad grin of Gryffindor’s newest Chaser.

“Judging by your grim expression, Cormac’s in?” Demelza asked.

“Yes,” Ginny huffed, “and if you try to tell me it’ll be alright, I’ll hex you.”

“Oh no, it will be dreadful,” Demelza agreed. “But it’s good news in a way. With him, we’ll never win the Cup. So that means we’ll still have something to aim for next year,” she said, before speeding off and making some more victory loops. Below, McLaggen’s friends were already clapping him on the back.

The sad thing was, Demelza was probably right. Ginny doubted they’d be running around with the Quidditch cup this year on the sprawling green field below. At least they’d won last year, even without Fred, George and Harry. At least she’d been able to help give him that. One final moment of Quidditch glory and a massive middle finger to Umbridge. How stupidly happy she’d been then, to snatch the Snitch away right under the nose from Cho Chang. It had seemed like an important victory then, a way of showing Harry she was infinitely better than her.

And Ron… Ron had been ecstatic. The one game where the stars had finally aligned and his skill had surpassed his nerves. That last catch of him: that was how she wanted to remember him. Hair tussled, cup held in his hand and the crowd bearing him on their hands. He’d been wanting that kind of recognition for all his life, she now realised. It couldn’t have been easy, being friend to the famous Harry Potter. And still he’d never hesitated.

Somehow, Ron is still standing. Every spell he parries just increases the frustration already written across Lucius Malfoy’s face. Ron’s on the other hand, is one of pure focus. The same look he had right before he saved that last throw. Maybe that’s how he sees Malfoy, just another Chaser throwing Quaffles. It’s the only way to explain how he keeps his cool in the face of such an onslaught. Dad would be so proud if he could see this. Worried, ever so worried, but proud.

He even returns fire, a red stunner whizzing just past Malfoy’s face. And Ginny begins to wonder if maybe they can still win this somehow. The other Death Eaters are still nowhere to be seen. It’s just Harry, Ron and Hermione versus Bellatrix, Malfoy and Rookwood. Terrifying opponents, but even numbers. If only she could help, but even trying to lift her wand fills her with nausea.

“Weasley is our King,” she sang sadly.

Chapter Text

Twelve: Of inheritances and phoenixes

The stone gargoyle stared at her. She stared back and shook the bag with cauldron cakes, procured from the kitchens, in front of its ugly mug. It seemed not impressed by the offering. Ginny looked at her watch again. It was already three past eight and the stupid thing wasn’t moving. She was late for an appointment with the Headmaster, greatest wizard alive and also the person responsible for her still to be determined punishment. This wasn’t helping her case at all and it was all the gargoyle’s fault.

“Come on, he said you’d like these,” she said, giving the bag another shake.

Perhaps she should just ram the cauldron cakes down its stupid throat. Knowing her luck though, it’d probably choke on it and then she’d definitely be expelled. Was it technically considered murder if you killed an inanimate object turned animate?

“Come on, the House Elves made these. If you have a problem with their cauldron cakes, take it up with-“ and then the statue moved aside and Ginny felt like a massive idiot.

“Oh. Yeah, I guess that makes more sense than a statue eating them,” she muttered as she hurried up the circular stone staircase that had been revealed. She hesitated before the door, wondering if you were still supposed to knock if you were already late and if so, if your knock should already convey the hint of an apology.

“Come in, Miss Weasley,” Dumbledore said, solving that problem at least.

She stepped inside and her breath was taken away. She’d only been here before once: last year, when Nagini had attacked her father. Back then she’d been too overtaken by sleep and shock to admire the room properly, but now she could see it was beautiful; the large circular room was so full with trinkets she didn’t know where to look first. A claw-footed desk, the Sorting Hat dormant on a shelf, a broken ring resting on a pedestal, curious silver instruments spinning and spouting forth little puffs of smoke that drifted across the room. The walls were lined with the portraits of the past Headmasters, most sleeping gently in their frames. And then Ginny realised she probably should devote a bit more attention to the current Headmaster, who was studying her with a patient expression.

“I’m sorry for being late, Professor Dumbledore. I, uhm-“

“Encountered some trouble with the gargoyle. Yes, I heard,” he interrupted her, not entirely successful at hiding his smile. “My instructions were a bit confusing, I admit. Have a seat.” Ginny blushed as she sat down opposite him. So Dumbledore had heard her being an idiot. She folded her hands together and schooled her face into an expression of appropriate contrition.

“I’d just like to say again how sorry I am about Monday night’s incident,” she said.

“Yes, Professor McGonagall informed me of it already,” he said, sounding even more disappointed than McGonagall had. “While I appreciate both the position you were in, as well as any memories it could have triggered, it was a troubling incident. Mister Nott will be able to leave the Hospital Wing this Sunday,” Dumbledore said and Ginny realised she was relieved, even if it meant he’d probably be looking for revenge. “But he could very well have fared worse had your control of the spell been greater. You will not use such spells on students again.” As his blue eyes met hers, she couldn’t help but wonder if he knew about her last practice in the Room of Requirement.

“No, Professor.”

“As for your punishment, you will have detention with me. There are certain matters we will need to discuss, and this way we will have an excuse that will not elicit undue curiosity amongst your peers, while also placating Professor Snape.”

“Yes, Professor,” she said.

“Now, with that unpleasant business out of the way, I would like to apologise myself, for not making time earlier to talk with you. I have been busy this summer,” he said, gesturing at his blackened hand, “though that is no excuse for my absence. I have failed you just as much as your five brave friends, if not more.” He leaned forward over his desk. “How are you, Miss Weasley?”

In his presence, she still felt like a little girl; the same girl who had been pulled along by Harry after the Chamber of Secrets. The same girl who’d been assured by Dumbledore that it wasn’t her fault. Maybe that was why she couldn’t muster the energy to dissemble. Or maybe it was because in his presence, she could no longer hear Tom’s whispers anymore.

“It’s difficult,” she admitted, running her fingers over the scars on her right hand. “It’s just, everything here reminds me of them. It’s like I can still feel them, looking over my shoulder.”

“I would not be surprised if you could. The ones we love never truly leave us,” he said, his eyes briefly flickering to the ruined ring. “And though it may be a painful memory, it is one borne of love and I would urge you not to spurn them.”

“No, I don’t want to forget them. I never could,” Ginny said. “I just wish I could forget that last night, but I keep thinking about it. All those scenes replaying over and over and over again in my head.”

“That makes two of us,” Dumbledore confessed. “Some sights… some sights cannot be forgotten.”

The duel between Dumbledore and You-Know-Who is one between titans. She and Harry can only watch on in awe as a torrent of fire wrestles with a emerald green snake, thrashing wildly as waves of heat and cold roll over the whole room. Frost forms on the benches and is washed away mere seconds later by a wind so warm sweat drips down their faces.

The snake lets out a final screech and then collapses, shattering into a thousand pieces. The firestorm instantly launches it towards You-Know-Who. Yet before it can reach him, an emptiness opens before him, a darkness that eats the fire until the room is almost pitch black. Ginny can hear whispers coming from beyond the veil. They sound almost excited.

A flash of lightning illuminates the room, then strikes Dumbledore with such brilliance that for a moment, all she sees are spots. She is almost afraid to look when her sight returns, but Dumbledore is still standing, unharmed and surrounded by a gentle glow.

“It was foolish of you to come here tonight, Tom,” Dumbledore says. You-Know-Who just laughs and weaves a pattern in the air, too fast, too complicated to follow. Dumbledore is already reacting before the incantation is finished, a shimmering golden shield forming around himself, as well as Ginny and Harry.

The next moment, the whole room shakes and a noise washes over them, so deep that Ginny doesn’t so much hears it as feels it in every bone of her body. She reaches for Harry’s hand and is relieved to find him doing the same. The golden shield shakes with them, hairline fractures spreading.

Another deep rumble runs through the room, the light dims even further till all they see are the two golden shields, the people in them and the tip of You-Know-Who’s wand, glowing fiercely. As Dumbledore sinks to one knee, more and more fractures spread.

And then it stops and the light returns. The room is unharmed. They are unharmed. And You-Know-Who is gone. But from Dumbledore’s expression, you can see it is not over, his eyes flitting all over the room.

“Stay where you are,” he shouts in their direction, even as his wand traces the air, leaving streaks of the purest light behind. If Ginny doesn’t know better, she’d say he is afraid.

Then You-Know-Who reappears, right in front of them.

“Avada Kedavra!” he says, voice sibilant.

Dumbledore is next to them in seconds. You-Know-Who needs less. Harry is still holding her hand when the curse hits him in the chest and she can feel it turn cold. He stumbles forward, slips from her grip and rolls down the stairs.

A flame whip speeds towards You-Know-Who, who simply blinks away. This time, he doesn’t return. His laugh lingers though, echoing across the walls of the chamber, intermingling with Ginny’s screams.

“I can still feel his hand in mine,” she whispered, looking at her own. She still didn’t know why Harry hadn’t even raised a wand in defence. Had Voldemort been too fast? Or had Harry been too tired?

Something soft landed on her shoulder. For a second, she thought it was Dumbledore’s hand, but he was still seated at his desk. Instead, a bird with beautiful red and gold feathers rested on her shoulder and emitted a sad sound when he saw her look.

“Hello Fawkes,” she said, scratching his head. “I heard you sang at Harry’s funeral.” Mum had described it as ‘the most beautiful and sad sound I’ve ever heard’.

“Does it ever get better, Professor?” she asked.

“Eventually,” he said. “But it never goes away.”

Fawkes began to sing softly and for a while, they just sat there. When the song had ended, Dumbledore cleared his throat.

“There was something I wanted to give you. Harry’s inheritance is a complicated matter due to the absence of his will and while I know he would have wanted for everything to go to your family, his vault remains sealed for now. I am doing what I can, but it is a slow process.”

“I don’t care for the money. None of us do,” she said, perhaps a bit sharper than was necessary.

“I know you do not,” Dumbledore assured her. “But what is right is right. It is with that in mind that I would already like to give you this.” He showed her a cloak made of the gentlest fabric, his hand dipping in and out of sight as he handed it to her.

Harry’s cloak.

She couldn’t bring herself to reach out, to touch it. Dumbledore seemed to understand and waited. It looked so strange without Harry wearing it. It had always been a package deal. Harry and the cloak, the cloak and Harry. Ever recurring in Ron’s tales, she easily could have pictured him, Hermione and Harry huddled underneath it in their first year, or sneaking past Umbridge. It was his, it would always be his. But maybe that is precisely why she finally took it from Dumbledore. Something to remember him by.

“Thank you,” she said, pressing it against her chest and sniffling softly.

“There is more we need to discuss, Miss Weasley, but I think this suffices for tonight. I will see you again soon. I will send another letter.”

“Yes, Professor,” Ginny said, rising. Fawkes flew off her shoulder and landed on his perch. One feather lingered on her lap. She held it between her index finger and thumb, twirling it around slightly and then put it in her hair. Fawkes gave her a rather smug look.

“And if you do not mind, feel free to leave those cauldron cakes. I am feeling a bit peckish,” Dumbledore said with a self-indulgent smile that Ginny could only return.

“Of course, Professor,” she said, throwing the cloak around her shoulders and disappearing from sight. She already knew what she was going to use this for.

Chapter Text

Thirteen: Under the cloak

To wander under the Invisibility cloak was an experience unlike any other. It was such a relief to be able to look at people  again, without them staring at her and her scars. Finally, she could observe again, safe in the anonymity of before. It was even stranger to observe the Slytherins coming and going to and from their common room. Here in the low light of the Dungeons, far away from the other Houses, most of them looked so very different. Less guarded. Less hostile. Even Malfoy had looked stressed and exhausted, rather than contemptuous.

And Astoria, when she finally left the Dungeons, just looked sad. A ball of stress formed in Ginny’s stomach and she considered keeping the cloak on and just letting her friend – former friend? – walk by. She turned Dumbledore’s words at the end off her third year over and over in her head, but she could only conclude that there was a clear line between what was right and what was easy. She slipped off the cloak and was grateful that, shocked as she looked, Astoria at least didn’t go for her wand.

“Astoria, can we talk?” she asked.

Astoria just turned around and kept walking, nose upturned and pretending as if she wasn’t there.

“Please, just let me explain,“ Ginny said, trailing her.

“Explain?” Astoria snapped, rounding on her. “How do you think you can explain using the Transmogrifian torture on someone?”

Ginny blinked. Now that she knew its name, the curse had become even worse, if something like that was even possible.

“I thought as much,” Astoria said in response to her silence and stalked off. Ginny took a deep breath and hurried after her.

“Astoria, please, just listen to me. Five minutes, that’s all I ask. For our friendship,” she pleaded. Astoria stopped again and gave her a look that made Ginny wonder if even her trump card wasn’t enough anymore. That their friendship was gone.

“Five minutes. Start talking,” she said, taking out her watch.

“Can we do it somewhere else?” Ginny asked.

“We can talk here.”

“You can talk here. I can get hexed by the next Slytherin to leave your common room.”

“And whose fault is that?” Astoria crossed her arms, then sighed. “Fine, follow me.”

They didn’t go to the Room of Requirement as Ginny had hoped, but she supposed an empty classroom was as good as she was going to get. Astoria leaned against the wall, arms crossed in front of her chest.

“Well?” she asked. “Why did you almost kill Nott?”

“I… I wasn’t well,” Ginny said. Astoria scoffed.

“Neither was Nott, thanks to you.”

“I didn’t know what the spell would do. I’d seen Rookwood use it once, but it didn’t… didn’t do that.”

“And a Slytherin was perfectly fine as a guinea pig?” Astoria snapped back. Her eyes seemed to burn with impatience and Ginny realised she wasn’t going to get away with anything but the truth. Not if she wanted to save her friendship.

“When they cornered me, I felt like I was back in the Department of Mysteries,” she admitted and for the first time, something akin to doubt passed across Astoria’s face. Right, not easy, Ginny reminded herself, and pushed on.

“And then Nott was pushing me back, spell after spell. I was losing. I was too weak. And suddenly I wasn’t fighting him anymore. I was fighting Dolohov. Only this time, all my friends were already dead and no one was going to save me. I was all alone. I was going to die alone. And I just lost it,” she stammered, the admission tasting like ash in her mouth. “But I didn’t want that to happen. I could have killed him. Oh, I could have killed him.”

She didn’t know when she’d started crying, or how many of her five minutes had already expired. Only, one second Tom was mocking her for her weakness, and the next, she could feel arms around her.

“Shh it’s alright, Ginny,” Astoria said, pulling her closer. “I’m here. Let it out.”

And then she cried some more.

***

Astoria had told Ginny to put the cloak back on and wait there. She’d returned with a record and two cups, before dragging her to the Room of Requirement. Now, Ginny was clutching a cup of tea and wrapped in a cat-themed blanket, as Astoria fiddled with the Gramophone’s needle. A soft piano and a deep voice floated across the room. It didn’t sound like any Wizarding record Ginny had ever heard, but it fit the mood rather well.

“So,” Astoria said as she dropped next to her and touched her mug against Ginny’s. “Sorry for locking you out.”

“It’s fine. I can imagine how it must have looked. What kind of idiot uses an unknown curse anyway?”

“What kind of magical genius reproduces an infamously difficult curse after witnessing it once? I thought you must have spent months practicing it.”

“Guess we Weasleys are just born dark wizards,” she snorted. It got a lot easier to imitate a curse if you saw it every night in your dreams. Somehow, Astoria seemed to understand that instincitvely. She pulled Ginny a little closer.

“This week has been shit without you,” Ginny said.

“Same. Do you know how many Mudblood jokes Harper made during that one Potions class? Eleven. You’d almost start to admire his inventiveness,” Astoria said, rolling her eyes. “Partner up again on Monday?”

“You can count on it, Tori,” Ginny said, the nickname coming out a bit hesitatingly still, unsure as she was if she’d regained the right to use it. When Astoria didn’t complain, the last ball of stress in her stomach unfolded itself.

“Now, I need to hear how in Merlin’s name Cormac McLaggen made the Gryffindor Quidditch team.”

“The competition was miserable and he, unfortunately, did well. In hindsight, I should have Confunded him before the trials.”

“Yes, you should have. This is why you need me. I’d have come up with that plan before it was too late. Unless we poison his cup at the next Slug Club meeting?” she suggested, tossing a biscuit in the air and then catching it in her mug with a plop, spilling some tea over the edge.

“We are not poisoning my own team.”

“Fine,” Astoria sighed. “can we at least poison Urquhart then? Ever since he made captain, he’s been even more insufferable than before. I mean, he wasn’t even on the team last year and now he’s suddenly this bigshot?”

“Have you had trials yet?” Ginny asked.

“They’ve been delayed. They were supposed to happen this week but,” she hesitated, looking a bit nervous. “Nott was intending to try out, so they postponed them.”

“Ah,” Ginny said, sipping from her mug to fill the silence.

“Just to be clear, if you knock him off his broom, I’m okay with that,” Astoria said eventually. “Same for Malfoy. If he’s even playing this year.”

“How do you mean?” Ginny asked. In what universe wouldn’t Malfoy be starting? The team was still playing on Malfoy sponsored brooms for one.

“He’s been acting strange ever since he got to Hogwarts. Always wandering off, looking preoccupied, muttering to himself…”

“He looked rather exhausted when he left the common room this morning,” Ginny said.

“How long were you out there?” Astoria asked, visibly amused.

“A while,” she admitted.

“Voyeur,” Astoria chuckled. “I’m flattered you went through the effort. But yeah, I don’t know what’s up with Malfoy. Maybe it’s because his father is in Azkaban?”

“Maybe,” Ginny said, recalling the picture of him flanked by Dementors that the Prophet had so happily put on its front page.

Scattered as the fight had been, most of the Death Eaters had managed to sneak away. Malfoy, Rookwood, Nott, Jugson and the severely concussed Rabastan Lestrange had been less lucky. If only they’d caught Dolohov as well. Before she’d arrived at Hogwarts, every passer-by had looked like him. She had kept expecting him to jump from the shadows and finish what he’d started.

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Astoria promised. “It’s not as if he’s bad to look at.”

“Tori!” Ginny protested, a shiver running down her spine at the mere thought of Malfoy being desirable.

“What? He’s a total jerk, but his jawline… now that’s art,” she said, taking a bite out of her biscuit with a far-too-proud grin.

“To me he’ll always look like a ferret. Remember Moody? Well, fake Moody,” she amended.

“Right, that was funny. As far as homicidal DADA teachers went, he was my favourite,” Astoria said. “Do you think we’ll ever have another Triwizard Tournament?”

“Somehow, I doubt it.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” she sighed. “Shame. I really enjoyed Fleur Delacour finishing last each time.”

“Bill’s dating her now, you know?”

“Your oldest brother? You’re joking!” Astoria almost shrieked. Ginny just shook her head. “Well, best of luck with that. How’s her accent by now?”

“Still terrible,” Ginny muttered.

***

At least the letter arrived on Sunday. As it was, only a quarter of the school were there to watch Harry Potter’s old owl swoop down in front of Ginny during breakfast. Her heart skipped a beat as Hedwig landed in front of her and extended her leg. How many times hadn't she flown through the Great Hall before? Always going for Harry first, and Ron's bacon second. How often hadn't she come to the Burrow carrying a letter from Harry, usually downplaying just how horrible his relatives were yet again? She’d missed the beautiful, far too clever snowy owl.

How easy it was to hope that somehow, Hedwig would be carrying a letter from Harry again. Her hands shook as she removed the parchment from Hedwig’s legs and then just stared at the roll of velum. As long as she left it unopened, there was still a chance that it was from him. The Boy Who Lived defying all the odds just one more time, like he’d done so often before. Writing her to tell not to worry, because how could he leave them?

Ginny,

It’s high time we talked. When is the next Hogsmeade weekend?

Don’t tell anyone in the Order about this

Sirius

She wanted to scream in disappointment. She wanted to tear the parchment to shreds. Instead, she left the Great Hall, fetched her broom and flew as high as she could until all she could feel was the cold. Until she no longer had to think about Harry never writing letters again, or Sirius’ infuriatingly short ones.

Chapter Text

Fourteen: Playing at war

The next meeting of the D.A. got off to a rocky start. In total, there were nine newcomers, but all everyone seemed to care for was the pale girl in green and silver. Astoria sidled closer to Ginny and looked downright miserable. Only now Ginny noticed she wasn’t wearing any jewellery for once. Had she feared they’d get in the way during practice? Or had she nurtured the hope that without her usual adornments, she’d somehow escape notice? Ginny took a few steps forward, placing herself between her friend and a distinctly hostile audience.

“Alright, good evening everyone. As you may have noticed, we have some new faces here,” she began before being cut off by Zacharias Smith.

“What’s she doing here?” he shouted, pointing at Astoria. That reaction she’d expected at least. Of course there would be one instigator and of course it’d be that total jerk Smith. What worried her more were the murmurs and nods of approval his outcry received, including a very militant looking Susan Bones. From the corner of her eyes, she could see Padma shrug, as if saying ‘I told you so’.

“She’s here at my express invitation,” Ginny said, hoping that would suffice. It didn’t.

“Listen, I was okay with you being a bit off your rocker as long as you were hexing Slytherins, but bringing them here?” Whatever else Smith wanted to say died in his throat as Ginny fixed him with a quelling look.

“What Zacharias is trying to say,” Susan interrupted, sounding maddeningly reasonable and Ginny instantly understood why she had inherited Hannah Abbot’s prefect pin,  “Is that we are a bit concerned that you brought a Slytherin here. Last year, they broke up our meeting. This year, they are killing us out there. And while we’re trying to learn how to defend ourselves from that, her sister is flirting with all those junior Death Eaters.”

“I’ll just leave,” Astoria whispered to her, but Ginny held up a hand.

“Don’t you dare. This is too important,” she whispered back and then turned to face the room at large. “I understand your concerns, Susan. But Astoria is not her sister. Nor is every Slytherin our enemy.”

“Could have fooled me,” Seamus muttered under his breath.

“Look at me. All of you. Really look at me,” Ginny demanded, presenting her scarred side to the group. She could feel the scars itch and shift under their hungry gazes, finally having been granted permission to do what they’d been doing furtively for so long. “Don’t you think I know how important all this is? Don’t you think I know what we’ve lost? Don’t you think I know what we’ll lose, and how much more we’ll lose if we get this wrong?”

For an instant, it looked like she’d won them over, all those pairs of unblinking eyes staring back at her and remembering just what this war had cost her personally. But then Susan spoke up again, sounding almost annoyed.

“We don’t question your conviction, Ginny. We question your judgment. Look at her. Slytherin. Pureblood. Where was she last year?”

“Hiding.” Ginny almost missed it herself, so softly Astoria had spoken. The rest of the room wasn’t sure either, looking at her in confusion. Astoria’s pale cheeks had turned red. “Hiding,” she repeated, louder this time. “I was hiding, Susan. Even when Luna asked me to come along, I still hid. Maybe because I knew we’d just be having this same discussion. Or maybe because I was too comfortable in my Pureblood palace, who knows. But I’m here now, willing to make amends,” she said. “I’m not entirely sure what else I can say. The question is, I suppose, is whether you want to fight this war with three houses, or with four. Limited as Slytherin’s contribution may end up being,” she admitted. “But I’m here.”

Perhaps it was Luna’s name that sealed the deal, or perhaps the unusual candour of a Slytherin, but Susan shifted and then nodded after a while. It didn’t look like genuine acceptance, but it was something. That same resignation washed over the rest of the D.A. as well. The glares and whispers lingered, but the knives were put away. For now.

“Any further issues anyone wants to bring up?” Padma cut in. When the rest of the D.A. stayed silent, she grinned. “Good, because we’re doing the Patronus charm today and I for one can’t wait to get started. Ginny, mind explaining it again for those who haven’t figured it out yet? Which I guess is almost everyone?”

Ginny stifled a sigh of relief and quickly went over the basics again, concluding the demonstration with her horse galloping through the Room once more. As soon as everyone had started on the charm, she walked over to Astoria, who was sitting on the side with her back against the wall. She looked even paler than usual.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, just tired.” Astoria leaned her head against the wall. “I hate public speaking. All those eyes on you.  The realisation they’ve all heard what you said and that it was stupid.”

“It wasn’t stupid,” Ginny said, sliding down next to her. “It was from the heart.”

“A Slytherin would tell you that’s stupid,” Astoria said. “And I’m quite sure I haven’t convinced anyone. They’ll just talk behind my back now. Unless something goes wrong, then the finger pointing will start.”

“Tori, that’s nonsense,” Ginny protested but Astoria scoffed, a bitter sound.

“Tell me this. If I’d joined last year, who do you think they’d have instinctually blamed after Umbridge’s little intervention?”

“True,” Ginny admitted after a beat. There was no point in denying it. She’d probably still have accused Zacharias Smith, but she’d have been in the minority. “We can’t change that. But we can keep proving them wrong, every week. And that starts now. Give me your best Patronus,” she said, getting up and extending her hand. Astoria studied it and Ginny could see the hesitation, the desire to just stay seated and take the easy way out. But Gryffindors weren’t the only ones who could do what was right instead of what was easy. Astoria clasped her hand and let herself be pulled up.

“Fine, how do I make silver animals appear? Knowing my luck, it’ll probably be a snake,” she said.

“I doubt it,” Ginny said. If her Patronus wasn’t a basilisk, she doubted Astoria would just have a snake on account of her Sorting. “Now, we’re going to need a happy memory for this. The happiest you got.”

“Happy memory, happy memory,” Astoria muttered as she practised the wand movement in the air. “How do I know which one is the happiest?”

“Just guess, I suppose,” Ginny said. “It’s not an exact science.”

“What signs?” Astoria said, looking very confused. Ginny shook her head, not sure how to explain that to a sheltered Pureblood.

“Nevermind.”

“Which memory do you use?” Astoria asked.

“It’s changed over time,” Ginny said. “It used to be my eight birthday. That was the last one where all my brothers could make it.”

“And now?” Astoria asked.

“Nice work, Gin. I’m glad you’re here,” Harry says as they take off again.

“It’s more complicated,” Ginny said, looking away. She could tell that Astoria wanted to press her, but instead she just repeated the wand movement. That was friendship, she supposed. Letting go, even if you didn’t want to.

The first cries of ‘Expecto Patronum!’ were beginning to reverberate across the room, though with little to show for it so far. Everyone was trying hard, eager to not just master the famously difficult charm, but also to be the first one to get it down. Of all the D.A. members that had mastered it before, only Ginny and Chang were left, the latter’s swan floating through the room to the accompaniment of awed cries. Just for that alone, Ginny hoped Astoria would figure it out today.

“Expecto Patronum,” Astoria incanted with a vehement flick of her wand, though without even the slightest tinge of silver mist.

“That’s normal for a first time,” Ginny said, slapping her already visibly disheartened friend on the back. “Keep at it.” Ginny then headed for the rest of the room. She corrected a few poses and pronunciations as she made her rounds.

Still, there wasn’t much she could do, except give a few encouraging smiles. Truth be told, if everyone hadn’t been so excited about the charm, and if Dementors hadn’t been so awful, she wouldn’t have bothered with the charm yet. But there was a certain poetry to continuing where the final D.A. session of last year had ended. If Harry was somehow watching, she was sure he’d get a kick out of everyone struggling with the spell. It still seemed impossible to believe he’d mastered it as a third year and then driven off a horde of Dementors with it too. He’d really been something else. And still he’d died.

She leaned against the wall and watched Chang’s swan continue to drift by, all alone in the sky. Was she still thinking about Harry? Was she mourning him as much as she had mourned Cedric last year? Or were she and Michael too busy having fun? To watch her correct his pose, hand on his as she guided him through the motions, it made her irrationally angry. She’d had Harry, and then discarded him. And now she had Ginny’s ex-boyfriend as well. She wondered if that meant if Michael would be dead by the end of this year as well. Perhaps she was a bit like Zabini’s mother. It was a horrible thought and she almost instantly felt guilty for it, but couldn’t fully hide her grin. And it hadn’t even been the Tom part of her. That had been all hers.

Maybe she should talk to Chang. Clear up the air, be the bigger woman. Harry might have done that. But Chang had had Harry, and Ginny never would. So instead, she headed over to Demelza who was at the other end of the room, completely botching the charm.

By the end of the meeting, there had been only one new corporeal Patronus to add to the list, though with how much Padma was beaming when her silver swallow burst forth from her wand, it still felt like a victory. At least most of the sixth and seventh years had managed a silvery mist by then, as well as a visibly proud Colin. Astoria on the other hand hadn’t made much progress. Still, and to her credit, she’d kept attempting till the last second, her face one of grim determination.

“Alright, thank you, everyone, thank you. That’s it for this week,” she announced, raising her voice to reach the backrow, where Seamus and Dean were putting in one final attempt. “Do keep practicing if you find the time this week. Many of you are really close,” she said with a smile that came surprisingly easy. It was hard not to feel a little bit proud herself after seeing everyone work so hard. No wonder Harry had always come so alive during these meetings.

One by one, the students filtered out, still abuzz with excitement. No doubt a few fifth years were already imagining the bonus points they’d earn with a corporeal Patronus at their DADA O.W.L. Great progress or not, she doubted many would be able to withstand a Dementor and sustain the spell in face of their powers. Ginny wondered if she would be able to, even as her sense of accomplishment slowly faded away.

Lost in thought as she was, she didn’t notice Demelza until the girl was standing right in front of her. Unlike usual, she looked almost bashful, with a uncertainty Ginny had only seen on her five minutes before Quidditch trials had started.

“What’s up, Demelza?” she asked.

“I was just wondering if you were going to have another go at those,” she said with a wave at the dummies. “And if I could watch again.”

Her first instinct was to say no. What had happened last time had been terrifying. Riveting at the moment itself, but she still didn’t quite understand what had come over her, lost to some sort of primal instinct. But the memory of Hedwig and how forlorn she’d looked after delivering the letter pushed itself to the front. It dawned on her that she really wanted to let off some steam. Besides, she had to practice, didn’t she? There was a war going on out there. A war she couldn’t avoid. What point was there in the training the D.A. if she wasn’t ready?

“Yeah, sure. Just give me a minute, alright?” she said, seeing Astoria was still in the room as well, still lurking at the edge and afraid of coming too close to the others. Ginny doubted she’d be as enthusiastic an audience as Demelza. With a smile, Ginny walked towards her. Astoria looked completely wrung out, her hair dishevelled and a red tinge to her cheeks that looked distinctly out of place on them.

“Good to see you survived,” she said. Astoria gave her a grimace.

“For now. At least it will be good preparation for the holidays. The extended Greengrass family Christmas dinner will be a walk in the park. Not even aunt Myriam can glare like that one,” she said with a shake of her head in Susan Bones’ direction.

“Susan will come around. It’s just,” Ginny said, shaking her head, “she has lost her aunt.”

“I know,” Astoria said. “And that’s awful for her. I just wish she’d realise I didn’t have anything to do with it. Maybe more Slytherins would be on your side if they didn’t feel like the villains from the start.”

“That isn’t fair, Tori,” Ginny protested.

“No. But neither is treating me like the villain.” Astoria massaged her temples. “I’m sorry, it’s just been a long day. Let’s continue this discussion tomorrow? Or, preferably, never,” she said with a weak grin.

“Alright,” Ginny agreed. “Have a good night, I’ll just work a bit more with Demelza.”

“Have fun, but I want remedial Patronus classes as well in that case. I’m getting a corporeal Patronus before Corner, even if it’s the last thing that I do.”

“I didn’t know you didn’t like Michael,” Ginny said, surprised.

“Ginny, he’s your ex. Of course I hate him,” Astoria said.

“Michael and I are fine,” Ginny objected. “There’s no need to hate him.”

“Ginny, you and Michael are not fine. The whole group may have been glaring at me, but I saw the way you were looking at him and Chang. And I understand. I’ll teach you some proper Slytherin curses next time.” she said with a broad grin.

“Okay, fine, I don’t like them. But we’re not cursing them.”

“if you’re not doing it, I will,” Astoria said in a singsong voice before sauntering off, looking mighty pleased with herself.

“Nothing too bad,” she shouted at Astoria’s retreating back.

“If course not. What do you take me for, a Slytherin?” she asked before disappearing through the door, leaving just Ginny and Demelza.

The dummies were already waiting for her. They really did look like Death Eaters. Perhaps that had been the one alteration her subconscious had permitted the room to make. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she needed to get better and if some semi-realistic dummies helped with that, why not? She tied her hair back and stretched, trying to ignore Demelza’s almost hungry look.

More importantly, when she practised, she wasn’t afraid. She accelerated to a sprint, jumped and waved her wand.

A blasting curse took the first dummy’s head clean off.

Chapter Text

Fifteen: The Cave

She had been dreading the first Hogsmeade visit ever since she’d replied to Sirius’ letter. Her first instinct had been to simply never respond. After the battle, he’d just disappeared with no one in the Order seemingly any wiser as to his whereabouts. At first, she’d suspected they simply hadn’t wanted to tell her what they no doubt deemed ‘sensitive Order secrets’. His latest letter, had left her wondering if they had even known.

Still, secret mission or not, that was no excuse for his lacking correspondence. Everyone in the Order had reached out to her and while she hadn’t always appreciated the attention that entailed, she’d appreciated that they’d at least tried. Not Sirius. He’d disappeared and while Harry had been his godson, he had been her friend. After all the time they’d spent up cooped in at Grimmauld Place 12 together, she’d expected at least something.

And now, all she’d gotten was a letter too short to be even called cryptic. So, as tempting as it’d been to tell him to go to hell, curiosity had gotten the better of her. That and the fact that she still cared for him. But as they day of their supposed reunion got closer, she got more and more nervous. Sirius had been in a dark place even before the eighteenth of June. There was no telling in what state he’d be now.

While she hadn’t told the Order, she had told Astoria that she’d be meeting with an escaped convict who had proven himself capable of murder. Needless to say, her friend had been trying to dissuade her ever since, an effort that continued as they walked towards Hogsmeade on a particularly cold nineteenth of October. At this point, Ginny was well familiar with the arguments her friend had been recycling for the past few weeks.

“You said yourself he was deranged, Ginny,” Astoria protested, wrapping her shawl tighter around her neck as they fought against the biting cold.

“I didn’t say that,” she protested, her voice muffled by her scarf. On days like these, her scars seemed to pulsate just a little bit more, as if Dolohov’s curse itself resented the cold.

“Fine, unstable then. An unstable, convicted murderer.”

“Falsely convicted.”

“But not for a lack of trying, mind you,” Astoria said. Ginny had come to regret divulging the second hand account she’d received of that night in the Shrieking Shack. “And after having disappeared off the map for months, suddenly he wants to talk with you? And you can’t tell the Order? Something’s off here, Ginny.”

“Maybe, but he’s still a friend. And Harry’s godfather. I’m meeting him.”

“Fine, but I’m coming with you,” Astoria declared. Ginny stopped in her tracks

“I’m sorry, what?” She asked.

“If I can’t stop you from going, I can at least come along to keep you safe.”

“What, with your incorporeal Patronus?”

“Oh no, we’re not going there,” Astoria bristled.

Her progress with the Patronus charm had been a sore point. Ginny thought she was doing rather well. Apart from Seamus and Anthony Goldstein, no one had pulled off a corporeal Patronus since the last meeting, yet Astoria had taken her own failure personally. Ginny was beginning to suspect her friend’s memory might not be up to the task, but any inquiries into that field had been blocked off rather decisively. And, as unwilling as she was to divulge her own memory, Ginny didn’t feel like she was in any position to insist.

“You’re not coming along. Sirius doesn’t know you. If he sees an unknown -” Ginny hesitated, the word ‘Slytherin’ already on the tip of her tongue, “-student, he won’t show himself.”

“I’m sure he’ll at least approach us in that Animagus form of his. Then you can explain,” Astoria said.

“Even then, I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”

“Why? According to you, he’s harmless,” Astoria said smugly. Ginny just rolled her eyes and they continued the rest of their walk to Hogsmeade in silence, except for the occasional recasting of a warming charm.

Hogsmeade had changed just as much as Diagon Alley. An all-permeating atmosphere of fear had settled on the village that even the influx of Hogwarts students could not repel. You saw it in the way people hurried across the streets, the absence of vivid colours in the storefronts that hadn’t been boarded up and the Aurors surveying the place. All in all, a Grim didn’t look out of place, perched on a rock at the edge of the village as he was. Sirius was watching the students with an intentness Ginny had never seen before in his eyes. It reminded her of Moody.

“There he is,” she said, nudging Astoria gently. Her friend’s eyes followed her gaze and eventually landed on the Grim.

“That’s one big dog,” she said, her tone somewhere between appreciative and scared.

“Still want to come along?”

“Of course,” she said, and if she hesitated briefly, Ginny didn’t hold it against her.

The two of them detached themselves from the crowd and headed for the dog. As soon as they neared him, he took off, leading them past a rarely used path towards a cave. Astoria eyed it dubiously and Ginny could tell that underneath all those layers of clothing, she was gripping her wand. She resisted the urge to do the same. This was Sirius. He was on their side. On Harry’s side.

The cave was a damp and cramped affair, littered with old copies of the Prophet, gnawed off bones that Astoria tried her best to ignore and a few rags that could once have been blankets. In the middle of this little kingdom sat the Grim, eying them closely.

“You can change back, Sirius, Tori knows. She’s on our side,” Ginny said.

The dog stared back. Ginny could feel the doubt dripping from it, paired with contempt for Astoria’s green and silver tie. Then, the dog shimmered and before them appeared a skeleton-thin man, clad in partially torn robes and shrouded in a black, tattered cloak. His hair was wild and a new scar ran from his left ear all the way to his right jaw. After Azkaban, you’d still been able to tell he’d been handsome once. Now, even that had been taken from him.

Sirius goes straight for Bellatrix, seeing only his cousin and the wand she’s pointing at his godson. Within seconds, spells are flying back and forth. Bellatrix is screaming and taunting Sirius, who happily returns the favour. Right until he sees the lifeless forms of Hermione and Ron and a gravity settles over him that is completely alien to him, as if cutting through the fog that is twelve years of Azkaban. Harry is looking like he’s never seen Sirius before.

Only, somehow Bellatrix is his match and more than it after her own fourteen years in Azkaban. Sirius is going to lose and everyone realises it, except he himself.

He still doesn’t quite realise it when he goes down in a spray of blood, Bellatrix trying to catch the droplets in the air with her tongue.

“Hello, Sirius,” she said. Astoria took a step closer to her.

“Ginny,” he greeted her, his voice rough with disuse. “Are you sure she’s good for it?” he asked, shaking his head in the direction of Astoria.

“She’s my friend,” Ginny replied. “So yes.”

“Loyalty to your friends. I really wonder why they keep calling that a Hufflepuff virtue, we Gryffindors revel in it. And then learn to regret it,” he said darkly, ghosts of a Halloween long ago dancing behind his eyes. “But whatever. Thank you for coming.” He pointed his wand at a pile of branches in the corner, and a flame sprang forth to light up the firewood.

“Fucking cold,” he rasped.

Sirius shuffled closer to the fire, holding his hands close to it. The flames cast long shadows across his face, almost erasing his scar. At least around him Ginny didn’t need to feel self-conscious. They’d both been marked by the Department of Mysteries. She edged a bit closer herself, letting the comforting heat wash over her, though Astoria stayed where she was.

A silence descended upon the cave. Invitation or not, Sirius didn’t seem in any hurry to speak. Instead, his eyes were glued to the fire, as if finding truths in it that only he could see. Astoria gave her a doubtful look, but Ginny just waited. If anyone could understand the need for time, it was her.

“Thank you for coming,” he repeated again. “I apologise for taking so long to write. It was… difficult to find the right words. In the end, I gave up on trying and just wrote,” he said, an ugly hint of a smile passing across his face.

“Where have you been?” she asked.

“Here. There. Everywhere,” Sirius said. “You didn’t tell anyone in the Order about this, right?”

“No. Just Tori,” she said. Sirius’ eyes flickered to her friend. Then, he shook his head like a wet dog.

“Tori. Doesn’t sound like a Slytherin name,” he said.

“It’s short for Astoria,” Astoria replied.

“Ah. Yes,” he said and then his gaze returned to the fire.

“Why did you want to see me, Sirius?” Ginny asked.

“To give you this,” he said, reaching inside his tattered cloak and pulling out a wand. He tossed it at her and she caught it instinctively.

“A wand?” she asked.

“Mulciber’s wand.” Ginny almost dropped the wand in revulsion. “He was at the Department of Mysteries, wasn’t he?” Sirius asked, a hunger in his eyes to match his voice.

“He was,” she said, turning it around and thinking of all the horrible curses that had sprung from the wand that night until she’d brought him down herself.

“I also got Macnair, but I couldn’t get his wand. His friends showed up when they heard the noise,” Sirius said, flashing her a grin. Unlike the last one, this was a full-out smile, but no less gruesome.

“Is that what you’ve been doing?” she asked.

“Yes. Someone had to and the Order sure as hell wasn’t.”

“Getting revenge,” she muttered as Astoria took a few steps until she was standing right next to her.

“Getting revenge and winning the war in the process. I’m done with Stunners. It’s not as if they showed you any mercy. Showed Harry any mercy,” he snarled, spittle flying from his mouth and evaporating in the fire.

“And that’s why you’re here? To tell me…”

“That I’m avenging you all? Yes. Slow work, but rewarding. I recommend it. You could come if you want?” he asked, trying and failing to conceal the need in his voice.

“Me?” she stammered.

She could hardly believe her ears. He wanted her to run away with him and do what? Live as a fugitive and strike from the darkness against Death Eaters? Go around collecting wands of the dead? It was almost flattering that he’d reached out to her, if it wasn’t so sad. Maybe he’d already reached out to others. Or maybe he’d just surmised that no one else would consider it. She wasn’t sure what it had said about her that he thought she might be amenable.

“Yes, you,” Sirius said, looking up from the fire. “I know how much you cared for all of them. For Harry. You’re not like the rest of the Order who wept and once they’d pretended enough that they cared, they went on with their lives. But you, you really grieved. Because they were your friends. And because they hurt you,” he said, his voice low. “You understand pain. Like me. Like they will.”

“Sirius… I’m still in school,” she said, latching onto the first rational argument that came to mind. If mum ever found out about this, she’d kill Sirius herself.

“So what? What does Hogwarts matter? Your O.W.L's won't end the war. Nine Outstanding won't avenge Harry. But this will.”

Their eyes met for the first time.

When she saw the darkness in them, any doubt she might have had, was erased. Sirius wasn't fully sane anymore. Maybe not quite as deranged as Rookwood or as twisted as Dolohov, but not quite whole either. Parts of him had come undone in Azkaban and with Harry’s death, they’d crumbled. Suddenly, the cave seemed a lot smaller and darker.

“Come on, Ginny,” he insisted, taking a step closer and extending a thin hand, more bone than meat. Involuntarily, she took a step back.

 “You were there!” he screamed when she remained silent. “You were there when Harry died!”

“Sirius, come home, please,” she said instead. “We’ll win this war, we’ll honour Harry’s memory. But together. Hunting them, it won’t fix anything,” It won’t bring back Harry, she wanted to say but the words didn’t make it past her lips.

“We’re well past fixing anything,” he snapped.

“Perhaps. But we can still break a lot more if we aren’t careful.”

“Careful? You sound like Remus,” Sirius breathed.

That told her she wasn’t the first he’d approached. Perhaps he’d trusted only Professor Lupin to understand. Perhaps he’d approached everyone in the Order, made the same overtures and been denied each time. That would explain the desperation in his voice.

“Sirius, I just want to make sure we don’t lose anyone else.”

“Who is there still to lose? Harry’s gone,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper and shoulders drooping. He shuffled back to the fire and gazed at it for so long, Ginny wondered if he’d forgotten they were there. When he spoke again, his voice was so low she barely could make out the words. “I promised I’d protect him, James. And I failed. I’m sorry,” he muttered. Ginny could feel her skin crawl. He had always had one leg in the past, but now he'd tumbled all the way backward.

Astoria took her arm and tried to guide her towards the exit, but Ginny stood there as if frozen. She couldn’t just leave him here. He needed help, but what could she offer? She still fought the same battles in her mind each night. Maybe that was why Sirius was doing what he did. Maybe finding new battles to fight helped him forget the ones that came before.

“Don’t you want to get Dolohov, Ginny?” he asked finally, turning back to her. “After what he did to you?”

And of course she did. Every day she looked in the mirror and saw those scars. Every time she could feel them move. Every time she could see them reflected in other’s people horror. That was all Dolohov’s fault and for that, she wanted him to suffer. To die.

“Yes,” she admitted.

“I can help you do that, Ginny,” he said.

For a moment, she could see it and she was tempted. So tempted. She and Sirius standing over a writhing Dolohov. Scarring him like he’d scarred her. Using the Transmogrifian Torture on him and hearing him scream. Maybe then she’d finally stop hearing him in her dreams. But that would mean admitting that the part of her that told her there wasn’t anything worth living for anymore was right. The part that Tom always agreed with, and she on the darkest of nights agreed with as well, when the whispers were at its most convincing.

And then she thought of Astoria next to her, still standing there even though she was visibly shaken by Sirius. And her mum, her whole family, who rather than being broken up by the death of Ron, had pulled together and held each other just that little tighter than before. How they’d sat by her bed and not once been terrified of her scars. Who still saw the same Ginny they’d always seen. And although that could be infuriating sometimes, she knew it was the clearest proof of love anyone could wish for. As long as she still had that, she couldn’t give up. She wouldn’t give up. Not even for revenge.

“I’m sorry, Sirius,” she said, shaking her head and putting Mulciber’s wand back on the ground. Sirius followed her movement and whatever hope had remained in him, seemed to die that instant. She could see it in the way he withdrew into himself.

“I thought you cared for Harry. Guess I was wrong,” he said and it hurt. She knew he was wrong. Knew he was just hurting and lashing out. It still hurt.

“I cared for Harry. I still do,” she said. “Enough to know that this isn’t what he’d have wanted. He’d have wanted for the war to end. He wouldn’t want us going around butchering people in the dark until our luck ran out. And I think you know that too, Sirius. Please don’t let this devour you.”

“Excuses,” Sirius spat. s “Nothing but excuses. First from Remus, now from you. Go get your O.WL.’s, Ginny, if you’re that afraid of doing what was right. ”She’d never be able to reach him, she realised. No doubt Professor Lupin had tried as well, and failed.

Come on, Tori,” she said, suddenly too tired to argue. Too tired to try to save Sirius Black, who didn’t want to be saved anyway. Her friend draped an arm around her and guided her towards the exit. She could feel the tension in Tori’s arms.

At the threshold of the cave she hesitated and cast a final look backwards. Sirius was gazing at the fire as it slowly died. His hands were shaking and his lips were moving, conversing with ghosts only he could perceive. She feared this was the last time she’d ever see him alive again. But try as she might, she couldn’t think of anything else to say or do.

So instead, she took another step until they were back under the cold, bright autumn sky. She just stood there, arms dangling by her side, feeling utterly lost and helpless. It must have showed on her face, because next she knew, Astoria had wrapped her in another hug.

"Do all Slytherins hug so much?" she replied, hugging back awkwardly.

"Only the best ones," Tori said, and then sobered. “Don’t let his words get you. He’s a broken man.”

“I know,” Ginny said with a pained smile. “I just wish I could save him.”

“Some people don’t want to be saved. They just want to burn up.”

Chapter Text

Sixteen: Always

Their walk back to the village was shrouded in silence. Seeing Sirius had been like holding up a terrifying mirror of what would be left for Ginny if they lost this war. She vowed to return to the Room of Requirement later that night, to practice some more. She needed to be stronger to keep her loved ones safe. It was that or turn out like Sirius, left behind by the dead.

Maybe Tori was having similar thoughts, or maybe she was still haunted by the sight of the man in the cave. Regardless, she only spoke when they were back in Hogsmeade itself, back under the watchful eyes of the Aurors and amidst the Hogwarts students racing from Honeydukes to Zonko’s.

“Shall we go get a Butterbeer? The cold is killing me,” Astoria said, raising her hands for Ginny to inspect. They did look rather blue.

“You should wear mittens,” Ginny said, showing her own in return, safely covered in mum’s handknitted red and gold mittens.

“Sorry, mittens aren’t very Slytherin. And I may have forgotten my gloves at the castle,” Astoria admitted as they walked into the Three Broomsticks.

There at least it still felt like the Hogsmeade of old, the place cramped with students huddled around tables, telling wild tales or trying to convince Rosmerta that they were old enough for firewhisky. The warmth washed over Ginny and a tingle ran from the tips of her fingers through the rest of her body. She recognised quite a few D.A. members and though Dean and Seamus hailed them, she shook her head in friendly denial. Instead, she headed for one of the few tables at the back that were still empty.

“Such chaos,” Astoria complained as she dropped down on a chair and rubbed her hands together, wincing. “I always pictured the Gryffindor common room something like this.”

“I’m already getting a headache,” Astoria continued, pinching her nose bridge.

“It’s this or the cold,” Ginny said. “A butterbeer?” she asked.

“Yes please,” Astoria said.

The crowd was so thick it almost made Ginny miss the early days of September when people parted before her, as if afraid her scars were infectious. At least they were still enough to shut up anyone offended by her squeezing past. Rosmerta, however, didn’t flinch and just handed her two mugs of butterbeers, telling her to keep her money.

“Rosmerta’s treat,” Ginny explained as she waved off Astoria’s attempts to pay her back. “I’d have refused but honestly, pride’s overrated. Must be your Slytherin side rubbing off on me.”

“To progress in that case,” Astoria said, their two mugs meeting with a soft cling. “Heard anything from Dumbledore yet?”

“Yeah, he wants to meet me again at the end of next week.”

“And do you know what he wants?” Astoria asked.

“No idea,” she admitted, turning the mug between her hands. “Unless he wants to play my therapist, I can’t see why he’d want to talk with me. I’ve hardly spoken to him since the end of my first year.”

“Maybe it’s about what happened at the Department?” Astoria asked.

“Maybe. Or maybe he heard about Sirius. Should I tell him about it?”

“I don’t think it matters. He’ll be long gone by then anyway. He reeked of paranoia,” she said. “I do hope not everyone on your side’s like that.”

“Don’t you mean our side?,” Ginny asked

“I’m on your side, Ginny. That doesn’t mean I’m on everyone’s side. Or that they are on my side. I doubt they’d invited us over if I’d entered here alone,” Astoria said with a wave at the table of Dean and Seamus. “But don’t worry, I’m definitely not on You-Know-Who’s side.”

“I know. How are things in Slytherin? They still haven’t given you any flak about that?”

“No, not even Nott. I think you scared them off. He’s been so skittish.” Ginny felt an odd mix of horror and pride. She’d humbled them, the proud Purebloods.

“How’s your sister taking it?”

“We’re not talking much. But that’s hardly different from before,” Astoria reassured her. “Daphne’s always considered me a bit of an embarrassment. This is just the latest way to get under her skin.”

“And your parents?” Ginny asked, thinking of the serious-looking people so different from her own parents that Astoria had shown her in a photograph.

“Guess we’ll find out at Christmas. You featured in my letters though, and I haven’t gotten any Howlers yet, so I’m cautiously optimistic. I suspect Daphne told them you hexed Nott and that probably earned you a few points. Mum hates his mother,” she said with an impish grin. “She once made a pass at dad from what I’ve heard.”

“But didn’t they want you-“

“To make friends with the Junior Death Eaters? Yes, but they know better than to insist. We have a reputation for being stubborn. Besides, I doubt they mind me and Daphne each playing a different side. That gives them options, and dad loves options.” Astoria gave a long-suffering sigh. “You know what the other Purebloods call him behind his back? Flip Flop Greengrass. Because his name’s Philip and that’s apparently the extent of their wit.”

“Still better than what they call my dad.”

“At least ours aren’t in Azkaban,” Astoria said, eying Crabbe and Goyle who had just entered. “Or dead.”

Neville’s still gasping for air when they notice Crabbe Senior isn’t moving. Harry keeps his wand trained on the Death Eater, but he stays down.

“Quite the Knockback Jinx,” Ron says, clapping Harry on the back.

“Yeah,” Harry says hesitatingly. “Let’s go.”

“It was an accident, you know,” Ginny said.

“Sorry?”

“Crabbe’s father. He was hurting Neville and someone threw him off him with a Knockback Jinx. Only, he landed wrong and broke his neck. I’m not sure if anyone of us even knew he was dead then. I sure as hell didn’t,” she admitted.

Truth be told, Ginny hadn’t believed it when she found out during the summer either. Moody had wanted to know what had happened. She’d just been able to gape when it dawned on her that he meant Crabbe had died during the battle. With much humming and hemming, she’d told him she didn’t know what had happened, earning her the full attention of both his eyes. She was quite sure he knew she was lying, but she wasn’t going to accuse Harry, who’d never wanted to hurt anyone. If that meant Moody thought she’d killed Crabbe, so be it. It wasn’t as if anyone would pay any attention to his crackpot theories.

“Did you kill him?” Astoria asked softly.

“No,” Ginny said, shaking her head. “It was someone else.”

“Hmm,” Astoria said, looking pensive as she sipped from her Butterbeer. “Daphne told me about the funeral. His wife delivered a rather beautiful eulogy. And by that, I mean she managed to say nothing about the circumstances of his death or his extracurricular activities.”

“Has he talked about it?” Ginny looked at Crabbe as he moved towards the bar.

“Not as far as I know. All I know is, suddenly the seventh years treated him with more respect. Guess his dad’s a war hero from their point of view.”

“Huh,” she said, never having considered that to them, Crabbe would be just like Harry and her friends. “Is that why Malfoy isn’t with them, jealous of the fame?”

“He’s got detention with McGonagall. Failed to hand in an essay or something. He was complaining about it yesterday.”

“First time I heard about him getting detention,” Ginny said, confident Ron would have gloated about it before. But apart from that one trek into the Forbidden forest, he’d always seemed to know just how to toe the line.

“Malfoy’s been odd this year. More quiet. More brooding. Then again, who wouldn’t be in his place? It was always ‘my father this’, ‘my father that’ and suddenly, his father’s in Azkaban for murder. Hard to brag then.”

“I’d thought he’d brag more, honestly,” Ginny spat, studying the grooves and the carvings in the table. “Finally, his father managed to do what he’d always wanted to. Kill a Weasley.”

“I wonder if that isn’t it. Malfoy’s always acted tough, but maybe he finally realised what that means. They were in his year too, you know.”

“I doubt he cared very much for that. He hated them. All of them,” she said, remembering all the awful things he’d done. All the times he’d mocked Harry, Ron and Hermione, with accusations ranging from ‘Potter stinks’ to ‘Mudblood’.

“I don’t claim he didn’t. But did he really want them dead? It’s easy to think you do at our age. But when it happens…” Astoria said, voice trailing off. Her tone and the dead look in her eyes told Ginny this was more than idle speculation.

“Who did you want dead?” she asked gently. Astoria averted her eyes.

“I’d… I’d rather not talk about that. Just trust me when I say that maybe Malfoy got dealt more cards than he wanted and is trying to make sense of it all. Either that, or he’s planning something even worse.”

“Do you think that’s what’s happening?” Ginny asked.

It was a lot easier to believe that Malfoy was involved with some grand scheme, maybe even under the supervision of a Death Eater, than that he hadn’t wanted them dead. That he too had been horrified at what had happened inside the Department of Mysteries. Still, maybe even for him, that had been too much for a schoolyard feud. The usual venom had been missing the rare times that their gazes crossed.

“I don’t know, Ginny. There’s so much moving and shifting inside Slytherin, it’s difficult to tell bluster from bold ambition. I can hardly figure out my own sister, let alone the rest. It’s no longer quite as easy as before.”

“I wonder what they’d make from it, if they were still here,” Ginny mused.

“They’d probably be in the middle of it and horribly in trouble,” Astoria said and Ginny choked out a short laugh.

“That does sound like them,” she said fondly. “I’m quite sure Harry would be obsessing over Malfoy, thinking he’d be involved with some kind of plot. He could have an infuriatingly one-track mind.”

“You loved him, didn’t you?” Astoria asked.

Ginny’s eyes flashed left and right, but their table sat alone in a sea of chaos, the hubbub stopping even the most dedicated of eavesdroppers. No one could hear her here, and still she hesitated. But in Astoria’s green eyes, she saw herself reflected and the truth was already there, plain for the world to see.

“Yeah.” She told herself she wouldn’t cry here, not in the Three Broomsticks.

“For how long?”

“Always,” she admitted. “As a child, I loved the idea of him. And then he saved me in the Chamber and I loved the hero he’d become. And then I got to know the boy behind the legend, and I loved him even more.”

It was difficult not to think about how silly she’d been back then. Just a starry-eyed girl who didn’t know anything about the world, or Harry Potter. If Hermione hadn’t taken her aside one day, she’d still have been running after him like an adoring fan. She wondered if her plan would have worked, if they’d only had a bit more time. When she thought of his last smile, she liked to think it would have.

“That’s why Sirius hit you so hard. Harry loved him as well,” Astoria said.

“Yeah. That’s why we were at the Department of Mysteries. Did I ever tell that part?” Astoria shook her head. “Voldemort had sent Harry a vision of Sirius being tortured there. And when we couldn’t reach him through the Floo, we set out to save him. Only he wasn’t there. Just Death Eaters and the trap we walked straight into,” Ginny said, tracing the symbols carved into the wood with her finger. She wondered what had gone through people’s minds when they did that. Her finger stopped when it reached a Dark Mark.

“That’s why they all died in the end. Because we wanted to save Sirius. And now that he really needs saving, I can’t do it. And that just makes me feel like I failed Harry. Again.”

“You didn’t fail him, Ginny. I told you, some people don’t want to be saved.”

“That wouldn’t have stopped Harry. Saving people was his thing,” Ginny muttered. Tori took her hand and squeezed it.

“And even he couldn’t save everyone.”

Chapter Text

Seventeen: Of tales told and towers tall

On Halloween, Dumbledore finally summoned her again, after having deferred their meeting twice. This time, Ginny no longer spent ten minutes entertaining the Gargoyle. One waspish ‘cauldron cakes’ later, they parted and she ascended the stairs. Of course, Dumbledore knew it was her even before she opened the door.

His office was still as much a marvel as last time. No longer fearing punishment, Ginny gladly took it in, staring at the silver instruments to figure out what they were or meant. All elegant curves and sharp edges shrouded in smoke.

“What are these, Professor?” she asked, crouching in front of them. One of the instruments looked like it didn’t entirely fit in this reality, shimmering as if not quite there.

“A few toys I designed to help me think. In the end, they only ended up making me worry more. I do not recommend it,” Dumbledore said. “I am sorry for taking so long for seeing you again, Miss Weasley. The war remains very exacting of me.”

“No problem, Professor,” she said, finally pulling herself away from the instruments and sitting down in front of him. Fawkes was asleep on his perch and that saddened her a bit. She liked the phoenix.

“I heard you’ve continued your friends’ extracurricular activities in that particularly unique room,” Dumbledore said and Ginny blushed, feeling like a child caught with its hand in the cookie jar. Whatever the extent of their subtlety, it had clearly not fooled the Headmaster.

“We felt it was necessary,” she said, refusing to apologise. This was Harry’s heritage.

“Quite, and I am honoured that I can still lend my name to such noble efforts. All I ask is that you continue it with the same careful deliberation that your predecessors showed. I would hate to see any students get hurt.”

“Of course, Professor. I, uhm, also spoke with Sirius Black,” she supplied. Dumbledore’s eyebrows rose.

“Did you?”

“He needs help, Professor.”.

“On that we can agree. Unfortunately, Sirius does not share that opinion. I have sent him several owls, Miss Weasley. Twice, I almost caught him. But he has proven himself as skilful at eluding me as the Ministry. And even if I were to catch him, what would I do? He no longer wishes to be restricted to Grimmauld Place and I can hardly lock him up there against his will. I fear we must accept that we all have different ways of fighting the war.”

“He’s going to die, Professor,” she said softly, knowing it to be true.

“I will do everything in my power to prevent that… though I fear you are correct nonetheless and that my efforts will prove insufficient,” Dumbledore said, his old grey eyes staring at her over his half-moon spectacles. She could just feel the exhaustion coming from them. Dumbledore was fighting the war on all fronts and it had begun sapping his strength. It gave her little hope for the future.

“I am sorry I cannot be of more help, Miss Weasley. I share your concern, but also your feeling of powerlessness,” he admitted and she knew that part of the conversation was over. “Are you familiar with the concept of a Pensieve?” he asked, gesturing at a stone basin with odd markings on the side, resting on the pedestal that had previously held the broken ring.

“Yes, Professor,” she said.

“I’d like for you to visit a few memories with me tonight. While I hope you will not need the knowledge contained therein, I fear that the times we live in leave us with little choice,” he said, heading for the bowl. A silvery substance floated inside. “If you would, Miss Weasley?”

Ginny stepped closer and studied the substance, wondering what she’d find within. Would these be Dumbledore’s memories? Her mind was already racing with dreams of secret techniques or arcane power, anything to give her an edge, anything to bring her closer to the power displayed by Dumbledore and Voldemort that night. Anything to win the war. It was enough to overcome her distrust of old memories and voices of the past, whether they spoke through images or ink. She took a deep breath and entered the Pensieve.

She left Bob Ogden’s memory with a feeling of betrayal and disappointment. The familiar hissing sound of Parseltongue had left her feeling cold and try as she might, she couldn’t feel sorry for Merope Gaunt, nearly strangled by her family.

“That was Voldemort's mother,” she said, less a question than a statement of fact.

“I am surprised you recognised her, Miss Weasley,” Dumbledore said as he siphoned up the memory with his wand and carefully returned it to a vial.

“If you know him like I do, it isn't difficult. Trust me,” she said, perhaps a bit more impolite than her mum would have liked.

Even if he didn’t take after her, she’d seen Tom reflected in Merope Gaunt’s face. For once, Tom supplied no commentary herself, though she could feel him brimming with resentment. Strange to think this was where Voldemort had come from, just three relics of a shattered house.

“Of course,” Dumbledore conceded. “You have had a singularly unique experience. I apologise, I should have warned you before.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Ginny said and it didn’t, not if it meant something to the war. She just wished she knew what.

Dumbledore studied her carefully, any trace of the kindly grandfather momentarily gone as she felt like being stripped bare underneath his eye. “No, maybe it doesn’t,” he admitted, his hale hand momentarily reaching for the blackened one.

“And the man on his horse, his father?” she asked. There the resemblance had been more striking, but it seemed impossible to think that proud Voldemort could have come from a Muggle. She could hear Tom snarl at the mere thought, a vehement denial already on his lips.

“Quite,” Dumbledore agreed.

A small part of her wondered how two people that different had ever gotten a child together. Most of her didn’t care and only wished they hadn’t. If Dumbledore was disappointed in her not asking any further questions, it didn’t show on his face. He only rummaged through his cabinet and produced a second vial, holding it up against the light. Somehow, this memory seemed a bit darker than the last one.

“Now, the next memory features a young Tom Riddle himself,” he said. “I would understand if you preferred not to see it, though I would recommend that you do.”

“Tom?” she repeated, her voice barely a whisper. A snake in her stomach seemed to uncoil. “If it’s information I need to know,” she said, voice trailing off.

“I think it would help you, yes,” Dumbledore said.

“Fine,” Ginny said. Dumbledore emptied the vial in the Pensieve, his eyes twinkling.

“I am pleased to see you more than earned your Sorting, Miss Weasley.”

“Sure,” she muttered, staring at the memory that swirled in the basin. Tom was in there. He couldn’t hurt her, no more than his voice in her head could.

And am I truly that harmless? She could hear him whisper the question in her mind. Taunting her, daring her. But that had rarely discouraged her. She’d show him. Without another word, she dove in the memory.

When she resurfaced, Ginny could almost see him standing there in the corner of the room, cold, imperious and paranoid.

“He was twisted from the start,” she said.

“He had certain traits that worried me,” Dumbledore admitted. “Though you will probably not be surprised to learn he hid those well at Hogwarts. So well that I almost forgot my initial impression. Almost, but not quite.”

“But he fooled the rest.”

“I am sorry to say so, yes. Like I told you before, Miss Weasley, Tom Riddle was good at deceiving and manipulating people. His time at Hogwarts was no exception, to the detriment of many.”

“How does this help, Professor?” she asked and she was surprised by how much she’d sounded like Tom at that moment, demanding an explanation. For a second, she’d wondered if she’d gone too far, but Dumbledore just gave her a sad smile.

“I want you to understand Voldemort, Miss Weasley. And that is not a pleasant journey of discovery, but a necessary one.”

“And why me? Or is everyone in the Order getting to see these memories?”

“Not everyone, though I will confess to having shared them with a select few. But I fear that you will still have a crucial role to play in this war. Thus, I seek to arm you to the best of my capabilities.” Ginny traced the scars on her cheek and wondered what role that could be. A victim, again? It was hard to imagine anything else.

“And that means knowing Voldemort was rotten from the start and liked his trophies?” she said and was surprised how proudly Dumbledore suddenly beamed at her.

“And the latter in particular is of significant importance. Indeed,” he said, returning to the cabinet again. “That is where the next memory comes into play.”

However, before he could say anything more, a brilliant silver lynx appeared in the room and spoke in the grave, loud and above all worried voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt.

He’s attacking Azkaban

Dumbledore’s eyes widened briefly. A new wave of exhaustion seemed to settle on him as he just stood there, frozen in place. Then, he closed the cabinet and whistled softly, waking Fawkes. His wand was already in his hand and Ginny watched him take a deep breath, pushing down whatever frailty that had sought to come to the fore.

“We will continue this later, Miss Weasley,” he said, extending his good arm for the phoenix to land on. “I ask you to not share this with anyone. Except maybe Miss Greengrass,” he added, seeing her hesitate.

Next, he disappeared in a burst of flames. To Azkaban no doubt. Ginny could already picture it, dark figures with white masks assaulting its tower tall in a bid to free whatever Death Eaters still remained there. Malfoy. Rookwood. Nott. Rabastan Lestrange. Jugson. If their attack was not repelled, they’d all be free again. She prayed that Dumbledore would be able to stop them, but he’d look so weak for a second. And Kingsley had said ‘he’. That must mean Voldemort was there. Could he even be stopped?

She took out the invisibility cloak, ready to depart, and then realised she was alone in the Headmaster’s office. She could feel the portraits watching her, knowing what she was thinking. They’d tell Dumbledore, but did that matter? He’d said he wanted to prepare her for war and then only showed her vague memories. Dumbledore could hardly fault her for doing some independent study. Besides, she doubted she’d be able to sleep after hearing Kingsley’s grave warning.

So instead she returned to the fragile silver instruments and gently prodded one. It emitted a high-pitched whine and then emitted a puff of smoke larger than any before, which slowly took the shape of a snake. She wondered if she could have spoken to this one too if she still knew Parseltongue. Not sure what to make of it, she let her eyes roam across the rest of the room. Bookshelves lined the walls and while those may have intrigued Hermione, they hardly appealed to Ginny. Except, one book seemed to stick out just a little bit more. She softly walked to it and when she touched its back, it almost seemed to shiver with recognition.

Secrets of the Darkest Art, it simply read.

“Don’t touch that!” a voice commanded. She almost dropped the book in surprise. As it was, she turned around and searched the room until her eyes found the familiar portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black. “You heard me,” he repeated. “That is no book for a student. For anyone, really.”

Somehow, the book had ended up in her hands. Like a diary long ago, really. Her first instinct was to put it back and flee the room. But what if something important was in there? What if it meant the difference between saving her friends, and losing them?

“Don’t tell him, or I’ll take turpentine to your portrait in Grimmauld Place,” she threatened him and then threw the cloak over herself and the dark little tome.

***

She read it alone under the covers, a Lumos lighting the pages as she turned them in ever-increasing horror. She thought she knew of dark arts, taught in class and witnessed on the field of battle. But this was different. This was truly foul, the kind of magic only a twisted mind could dream up. And then she read a passage which explained it all. Why Dumbledore had it, and why Tom had fallen suspiciously silent since she’d found the book. She thought of a diary that had seemed to suck her in through black ink and then reconstructed itself with her own life. It had been more than a memory.

It had been a piece of someone’s soul.

Chapter Text

Eighteen: From the depths

The agitated discussions in the Great Hall that morning told Ginny the assault on Azkaban must have made the Prophet. Briefly, a wave of panic hit her when she saw Dumbledore was absent, but then she told herself that surely there would be a much greater uproar if something had befallen him. Demelza tossed her a copy the second she sat down at the table. She could feel several eyes on her as she unfolded it.

MINISTRY WARDS OF AZKABAN ATTACK

Underneath it was a picture of Azkaban, its tall tower shrouded in mist and figures on brooms, lightning flashing behind it.

Optimistic as the headline was, she didn’t doubt it had been Dumbledore first and foremost who had defeated the assailants. Worse, as she kept reading it soon turned out to be a partial success at best. Azkaban still stood, but several Death Eaters had been liberated, freed from its depths. And it included five names she knew all too well. Suddenly, Malfoy’s name appeared at number three in the most wanted list the Prophet published each day, with two spots below him Rookwood, and Rabastan Lestrange rounding out the top ten. Nott and Jugson didn’t even warrant a placement, which said more about the other people on the list than about them. Mulciber’s name still lingered though; apparently, Sirius’ activities hadn’t reached everyone yet.

She just hoped that any of the Order who had been there had survived. The Prophet forewent any lists of the fallen, speaking only of a few brave Aurors who had died doing their duty. The casualties probably had been more numerous, but that did not fit the narrative the Ministry was spreading. While Scrimgeour faced the reality of Voldemort’s return, he had taken a page from Fudge’s playbook in downplaying the severity of the situation.

But regardless of the dead, all she could focus on was the most prominent of the escapees. Lucius Malfoy.

After Ron’s stunner almost takes him out, Malfoy treats him with more respect. Grudgingly given or not, a determined grimace sets on his face and his taunting ceases. His wand becomes a blur as he launches into a spell chain, every curse nastier than the last one. Ron is slowly pushed back, every parry and dodge a fraction slower than its predecessor.

Malfoy sends a cloud of conjured daggers towards her brother and he bats them all aside with an overpowered Ventus. One nicks his arm, but it doesn’t stop him from rolling out of the way of the blazing ball of fire that rolls over the benches. She can tell he wants to return fire, but Malfoy doesn’t leave him an opening, a ghostly wolf on the heels of the fireball. Ron dispels it. He doesn’t dispel the burst of lightning that follows.

It hits him straight in the chest with a horrible crackling sound. Ron’s whole body stiffens and the smell of burnt flesh wafts over her. He collapses like a doll whose strings have been cut. She can hear Hermione scream with her, a scream gradually morphing into a screeched curse that almost takes Rookwood’s head clean off. Harry just pales and keeps duelling Bellatrix, a set in his jaw.

They’re going to die in here.

Her eyes glided over the Slytherin table, for once not looking for Astoria, but Malfoy. But instead of celebrating the escape of his father, he sits alone at the far end, mechanically eating his porridge. Astoria’s words came back to her. Perhaps he truly hated what had happened. Perhaps the words ‘my father will hear about this’ had turned from idle boasting into a threat he no longer wanted to carry through.

Or he could have heard about Horcruxes as well. The mad grasp for immortality made her sick to the stomach. The diary had to have been one and it had come from Lucius Malfoy. Ginny wondered if there were more, and if so, how Wizarding Britain would ever be free from Voldemort. Would he keep looming over them, a dark spectre always one ritual away? Harry had never told her what had happened in the Graveyard. All she’d learned from Ron and Hermione was that it had been awful. That she could believe, the image of Cedric’s body had been imprinted on all students. Had a Horcrux been at the source of it all?

She headed for the Room of Requirement alone that Saturday morning, the familiar dummies watching her with what she thought was a sense of impending doom. She'd begun going to the Room of Requirement more often, shrouded in the cloak until she was inside and alone with her targets. She’d duck, dive and cast spells until she could barely stand. Today Ginny vowed to keep going until she could no longer stand.

Lucius Malfoy was free. The one who had killed her brother as she could only watch. She'd felt helpless then. She didn't feel helpless when she practiced and flicked spells at dummies. Maybe, if she practiced enough, she wouldn't feel helpless either when she faced him again.

Spells that whispered as they sailed through the air burst forth from her wand. Dumbledore could show her as much memories as he wanted, this struck her as more useful. This would help her survive the Death Eaters, even Malfoy and Rookwood.

When the last spell left her mouth, she collapsed to the ground, shaking. All her muscles burned and she felt empty, like she’d wrung the last drop of magic out of her. The room looked like a battlefield, angry scars carved into the walls, the dummies shattered, one reduced to nothing but sand. Would this be enough to survive?

“I thought you’d be here,” Astoria said, standing at the edge of the room.

Ginny flinched. For how long had her friend been there? She didn’t know. All she could remember were the memories and the spells that she’d cast. Merlin, the spells. What would Astoria think of her? But if it had shocked her friend, she didn’t show it. Instead, she tossed a blanket over her and sat down next to her, handing her a glass of water. Ginny drank from it greedily.

“The Prophet claims Malfoy and Rookwood killed Ron and Hermione,” Astoria said after a while.

“That’s true. I don’t know how they found out, but it’s true. I saw them do it and love it,” she coughed, choking on too much water. Astoria slapped her on the back until her breathing returned to normal.

“Is that why you’re in here?”

She thought of Horcruxes and whispers.

“Partially,” she admitted.

“The meeting with Dumbledore?” Astoria asked. “What did he want?”

“To show me memories,” she said bitterly. “Of Voldemort’s past.”

“His past? Why?”

“I don’t know. I think he’s working towards something.” Horcruxes. “There were more memories but then he was called away to help defend Azkaban. I guess it’ll make more sense at the next meeting. I hope,” she said.

“Dumbledore has a strange way of fighting a war,” Astoria said. “He and Scrimgeour refuse to communicate from what I’ve heard.”

“The Order always fought independently.”

“The real Dumbledore’s Army. And instead of taking the fight to You-Know-Who, he just keeps Apparating all over Britain to put out fires large and small.”

“I don’t get it either,” Ginny said.

“Small wonder you’re in here practicing,” Astoria said with a sweeping gesture that encompassed the room. “Not quite D.A. material I’d say.”

“Yeah, these are spells I saw the Order of the Phoenix use. And Death Eaters,” she admitted. Whatever accusations she’d been expecting didn’t come. Instead, Astoria stared off into the distance

“Do you think you can teach them to me? Maybe I’ll have more luck with them than with the Patronus charm.”

“Sure. But I thought you wouldn't approve of such spells,” she said. Astoria sighed.

“Because of what happened with Nott?”

“Yeah,” Ginny acknowledged. Astoria looked like she wanted to hit Ginny for a moment and then sighed.

“Is that why you kept sneaking off to practice on your own? Ginny, I didn't approve of you using such spells on fellow students. But this? This is different,” she said. “We're fighting a war and I'm a Slytherin. That means I want to win. And this looks like something that might help.”

Ginny let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. Apparently, she had misjudged her friend. Even if Astoria didn’t seem as hungry for these spells as Demelza, she at least saw the point of them. Then again, she didn’t know just how much Astoria had seen. Had she truly seen the worst spells? The ones she’d reconstructed from memory? The ones wielded by Malfoy, Rookwood and Dolohov?

“What was that flashing light you used at the end? I still got spots dancing in front of my eyes,” Astoria said.

“Oh, the Sunflash spell,” Ginny said, visibly relieved Astoria had asked after that one. “Bill actually taught me it. He stumbled across it while Curse-Breaking. Wait, I’ll show you,” she said, pushing herself upright. Her muscles protested, but she didn’t fall back down. “You form a circle in the air, then a downward slash and you just yell ‘Sol Invictus’. Great for blinding your opponent.”

“I noticed,” Astoria remarked drily, before following Ginny’s instructions. Ginny shielded her eyes with her hand, but even then the bright flare left her blinded when what was like the light of a thousand suns lit up the room.

“Merlin, I thought it’d at least not blind the caster,” Astoria swore as she rubbed her eyes.

“Yeah, I probably should have warned you about that. But look at you, you got it down in one. Great job, Tori,” she said, slapping her friend on the back. The room still glowed with the intensity of the flare.

“It almost makes up for my continued failures with the Patronus. Can’t we cover this in the D.A.?”

“I’m not sure if twenty students trying this spell at once would be good for the eyes.”

“Fair,” Astoria admitted, repeating the wand movement as she committed it to memory. “So, memories of Voldemort. Like, from the last war?”

“Before. Dumbledore’s been digging into his past.”

“And how will that help?”

“My thoughts exactly, Tori. I guess we’ll just have trust him.”

“Hmm,” Astoria said, putting more scepticism in it than Ginny had considered possible for a single syllable. “I wonder why he doesn’t confront You-Know-Who though. He’s the only one who can defeat him and if You-Know-Who falls, the war’s over.”

“And if Dumbledore loses, there’s nothing staying his hand,” Ginny said. “I saw them duel before. I’m not sure who would win,” she admitted.

“Right, you did. Any spells you picked up there?”

“Nothing I could even remotely understand,” she said.

It wasn’t as if she’d forgotten. The memories were as vivid as the rest, but whenever she tried to mimic their displays, she just fell short. Perhaps theirs were spells too complex for regular witches and wizards. They had gone further than any who became before.

You don’t stand a chance, Tom said, voice exultant.

“Come, let’s go,” Astoria said, pulling her along. “If you’re late for class, Snape will have your head.”

***

If Snape had any feelings about the Azkaban break-out, he kept them to himself. Instead he just drilled them relentlessly on curses and counter-curses.

“The prophecy, Potter. The prophecy for a counter-curse.”

Maybe Malfoy would get to utter those words again now that he was free. It made her wish the Dementors had kissed him.

At least Snape was less terrifying than usual, exhaustion having taken the place of his usual sneer. It made her wonder if he’d been at Azkaban as well last night, and for which side. She wondered why he hadn’t warned them. It struck her like something a spy definitely should have picked up on. But Dumbledore had been just as surprised as she’d been; perhaps Voldemort kept his cards close to his chest. Or perhaps Snape wasn’t quite on their side after all. It was easy to believe he was a Death Eater, especially when he ridiculed her.

“How do you ever expect to do any magic that way, Miss Weasley? A ghoul has better enunciation and I have seen less sloppy wand form from koalas. Did your brain get damaged as well?”

“Sorry Professor,” she shrugged. Compared to his usual tirades, this really wasn’t half bad. Uninspired really.

“Don’t be sorry. Be better, Weasley,” he snarled before lecturing Creevey on his equally terrible wand form. Worse really, a koala would make for a better wizard.

Would her family have been there as well, tonight? Would they have had to watch as Lucius Malfoy escaped? She hoped they hadn’t been there. She hoped they’d all spent the night safely tucked in bed. She doubted it though. What little she’d gleaned from their carefully censored letters, they were all in the thick of it. Every time an owl headed her way, she was afraid it’d be carrying terrible news. But so far, there had only been vague tales of near-misses – mostly from Bill and Charlie – and reassurances – from the rest, especially mum and Percy – that they were being cautious.

It chafed being stuck here. Sure, she was safe. Sure, she was leading the D.A. But the real war was being fought out there, while she went over Voldemort’s childhood and spent each day worrying she’d lost another brother. It made her wonder what Harry would have done.

Chapter Text

Nineteen: Atop the Astronomy Tower

The Quidditch Cup, impossibly, continued. After weeks of training and Ginny suppressing the urge to hex McLaggen every time he opened his big fat mouth and began blabbering about strategies that made no sense, the first game of the season was there. Of course, it was Gryffindor versus Slytherin. It felt almost wrong to fly onto the pitch in front of the roaring audience, like life was normal still.

“McLaggen! Peakes! Coote! Robins! Weasley! Bell! Aaaaand Thomas!” Smith cried out, his loyalty to the D.A. clearly warring with his disdain for the Gryffindor team in his voice.

Most of the stands were waving gold and red, the Slytherins beleaguered as always. Ginny raised a fist to greet the noise. She’d feel guilty about playing Quidditch while a war was going on, but Merlin, she deserved this. The thought of flying again had spurred her on during her recovery and today she’d show the whole world just how much better she was. Her right hand still trembled, but that wouldn’t stop her from putting a hundred Quaffles past the Slytherin Keeper.

As added incentive, the new Slytherin Quidditch team had seemingly gone out of its way to provoke her, fielding not just Crabbe and Goyle, as Beaters, but also Nott as Chaser and Harper as Seeker. Malfoy had begged off for reasons no one really understood, but it gave Ginny hope for the match. Dean wasn’t a bad seeker, but she knew perfectly well that Malfoy was better. Harper on the other hand, she was quite sure he could beat him to the Snitch. Katie hadn’t been able to hide her grin as she announced the news, a winless season suddenly looking far less likely.

“Let’s destroy them,” Demelza whispered next to her, clearly having similar thoughts.

“Three hundred to nil,” Ginny said.

“Three hundred to ten. Wouldn’t want McLaggen to be too proud of himself,” Demelza countered. Like the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, she wore a black armband. A futile gesture perhaps, but a gesture nonetheless.

A whistle later, the game was off and Ginny was the first to the Quaffle, snatching it away just from under Nott’s nose. She whooped as she sped upwards, swerving past a Bludger and Urquhart before tossing it to Demelza. Demelza ducked just in time to avoid the second Bludger and hurled it past the Slytherin keeper. Ten – Nil, fifteen seconds in.

It only got better from thereon out, especially when Ginny learned to filter out McLaggen’s ‘suggestions’. Rebuilding year or not, she, Katie and Demelza left the Slytherin chasers gasping for air.

“Just like Ireland – Bulgaria!” Demelza yelled as she tossed another Quaffle through the left ring, leaving the score one hundred twenty to forty. She was still smiling when Crabbe hit a Bludger towards her that nearly knocked her off her broom.

Ginny was next to her and held her arm as she lolled on her broom, even as Hooch whistled and shouted furiously at Crabbe.

“Bastard, she’d already tossed the Quaffle when he knocked it her way,” Katie said as she floated over. “You all right, Demelza?”

“Fine,” she wheezed, eyes unfocused. Blood dripped from the corner of her mouth. “Just bit my tongue.”

Blood drips from Dolohov’s mouth, a shard from what has to be Pluto lodged in his shoulder.

Hooch whistle snapped her out of it as she awarded a penalty to Gryffindor.

“Mind taking it, Ginny? I need another second,” Demelza panted, wiping away the blood and grinning. Ginny nodded, caught the Quaffle that Hooch tossed her way and floated towards the rings.

Only she and the Keeper existed. The crowd’s roar faded into the distance, as did her teammates and the other Slytherin players. Just her and the Keeper. She studied his grip, trying to see what way he’d swerve. Looked like right. She arced her arm back.

Dolohov plucks the shard from his arm, as if only now noticing it, and casually tosses it aside. Ginny doesn’t watch it land, her eyes fixed on his wand as he slowly comes closer, the only noise the sand running down the hourglasses and the ticking of clocks. Her back is to the wall and she’s lost her friends. She’s trapped and alone.

Her scars burned. Her right hand shook as she tossed the Quaffle and the Keeper easily plucked it from the sky. A groan rose from the crowd even as she cursed herself and flew back to the other side of the pitch to stop the Slytherin counterattack.

It only got worse from then on. Try as she might, Ginny’s arm kept trembling, the scars wrapping themselves tighter and tighter around her. It was a struggle to stay on her broom and steer straight and while her haphazard flying did make it easier to dodge the Bludgers, it definitely hurt her game otherwise. Passes didn’t connect, attempts went past and interceptions turned into fumbled affairs. Slowly, Slytherin fought themselves back into the game, Tom applauding each goal in her mind, until the score was one hundred fifty to one hundred ten. And McLaggen’s increasingly angry comments didn’t help either. She hadn't allowed herself to dream much since June, but on the rare occasions that she had, she'd seen herself in A Holyhead Harpies outfit. Guess that last dream had been crushed too.

Katie was on the verge of calling a time-out when the two Seekers dove down at a breakneck pace. A pass missed Nott who just stared at the chase. Demelza caught it instead, but came to a stop when she saw it as well.

Come on, Dean, Ginny thought. She needed this game to end. She needed him to beat Harper. A neck and neck race unfolded itself before her, both Seekers with only eyes for the Snitch as they streaked down, zipping past the stands. The crowd roared as both extended their hand, mere inches away from the ground. Both pulled up and no one knew who had won. Then Dean pumped his fist and shook a Snitch at the audience, the stands exploding.

The whole team piled on Dean, yelling and screaming. A catch in his first game, the most important game of all. Dean was ecstatic and for once didn’t look away when his eyes met Ginny’s. In that moment, he didn’t see the scars. And in that moment, everything was forgotten. Her tremors. Dolohov. Voldemort. They’d fucking won. It felt like winning the cup all over again.

This one’s for you, Ron.

***

Even without Fred and George supplying illicit goods from Hogsmeade, the party in the common room was a blast. The whole team had ended up with Gryffindor flags tied around their necks and felt invincible as a few seventh years kept handing them shots of firewhisky. Demelza kept hugging her and telling her how amazing she was, a declaration that got louder and more extensive after each shot.

Ginny just enjoyed it, her total collapse during the second part of the game long forgotten. She’d tried to mumble an apology to Katie, but their captain just brushed her off and told her they’d won and that was all that mattered.

Three hundred to one hundred ten. She couldn’t stop repeating the numbers to herself and the room at large. Slytherin had gotten annihilated and that made her feel even warmer inside than the firewhisky.

“Did you see Nott’s face?” Demelza yelled for the fifth time that night.

“Yes Demelza, I did,” Ginny said, gently prising the glass from her hand. “How about a Butterbeer instead?”

“But I don’t want a Butterbeer,” Demelza pouted as Ginny dragged her away from the centre of the room and its far-too-inviting bar.

“Fine, water then,” she said, leaving her friend behind in the sofa.

That was when a very drunk McLaggen blocked her the way, a Gryffindor flag tied around his head like an oversized bandana, two cups of firewhisky in his hand and plenty more down his throat. After the game she’d tried to avoid him, his angry accusations after Quaffle after Quaffle had made its way past him not yet forgotten. She should have know her luck wouldn’t hold.

“Good game, Weasley, want a shot?” he offered, handing her one of the two cups.

“No, I think I’ve had enough,” Ginny said, trying to move past him. McLaggen moved with her.

“I’ve been thinking,’” McLaggen began.

“There’s a first,” Ginny muttered under her breath, but he either didn’t hear, or didn’t care.

“We’re both in the Slug Club. We’re both in Gryffindor. We’re both kick-ass Quidditch players,” he slurred, his earlier shouts that she couldn’t throw to save her life apparently already forgotten. “So, how about it?” he asked, taking a step closer.

“How about what?” she asked, trying to ignore the smell of alcohol wafting from his mouth.

“Us, you know,” he said, taking another step closer even as she took one back.

Merlin. She hadn’t thought about boys since June. She doubted many had thought about her either. Not that it mattered. Maybe one day she’d forget about Harry, but honestly, she doubted it. And even if she’d ever want to date again, she’d never settle for Cormac McLaggen.

“I’m sorry, Cormac, you’re a great guy…” she began.

Liar, Tom hissed and she could feel he was enjoying this.

“…But I’m not really looking.”

“You’re making a mistake,” he said. Somehow, he was no longer holding cups, instead grabbing her arm. “Come on, we’d be great together. Star couple.” He winked.

“The answer is no, Cormac,” she said, pulling her arm loose. She could see McLaggen’s expression shift.

“Really?” he slurred.

“Really,” she repeated.

“Have you looked in the mirror lately? This is a once in a lifetime opportunity for you,” he said, touching her scars. She flinched away and struck him across the face, a loud slap echoing across the room.

“Get out of my sight,” she hissed, resisting the urge to curse him then and there.

“Oh come, are you going to keep pining for pathetic Potter the rest of your life? He never even wanted you.”

Bang!

She didn’t know what spell she’d used. All she knew was that suddenly, she’d seen red and the next second McLaggen’s had been sent crashing into one of the tables and was now dripping with butterbeer. That was enough for the party to pause, the whole room now watching their erratic Chaser and Keeper glare at each other. Everyone liked a good show. Ginny tossed her hair back.  Perhaps her training so far wasn’t enough to handle Death Eaters, but it was definitely enough to handle one drunk oaf.

You’re not finished yet. End him, Tom encouraged her.

“You’ll regret that, bitch,” McLaggen said, getting back up.

“I highly doubt it,” Ginny said, turning around and heading for the Portrait. She needed some air.

“Watch out!” someone yelled.

Ginny ducked and turned around, wand in hand and eyes searching for McLaggen as a jinx just missed her head. Tom was screaming for vengeance and Merlin, she agreed. But before she could decide what curse to use, desperately trying to think of anything else than something from the Death Eaters’ repertoire, a force wave slammed into McLaggen and sent him flying across the room until he hit a wall.

This time, he stayed down. Demelza grinned at the room, a bit unsteady on her feet but her grip on her wand anything but.

“Oops,” she said. “Katie! We’re going to need a new Keeper,” she announced to the rest of the room.

The rest of the common room just stood there in shock. Then, someone cheered and the rest joined in unisono. The party recommenced, their unfortunate Keeper already forgotten. Demelza draped her arm across Ginny’s shoulder and once again she concluded that it really wasn’t fair that someone a year her junior was that much taller.

“Got your back Ginny,” Demelza said.

“I could have taken him,” Ginny protested.

“I know, but I wanted to share in the fun,” she said. It was hard to argue with that, really. After training with him for two months, everyone in their team deserved a chance to hex him, really. “So, fresh air?”

“Let me just get the cloak first. I think we’re way past curfew.”

***

Somehow, they ended up at the top of the Astronomy tower. The wind was howling and she was sure they’d have a cold in the morning, but so far, the firewhisky kept them warm. So instead of shivering in the dark, they lay on their backs and watched the stars dance before their eyes. Merlin, she’d really had too much to drink.

“McLaggen’s an ass,” Demelza said.

“I know.”

“Don’t let him get to you.”

“He wasn’t entirely wrong though. I was a lot more popular among the boys last year,” she said, running her finger across the scars. She didn’t need to see to be able to trace them, she’d studied them enough for that.

“Anyone who is put off by that isn’t worth it,” Demelza said.

“Sure,” Ginny said, knowing she sounded dismissive and not caring. “That doesn’t mean I don’t miss being…” Pretty. Desirable. Unblemished.

“It was a cruel thing Dolohov did to you.”

“Better than the alternative,” she sighed.

“Your hand was shaking during the second part of the game,” Demelza said and Ginny resisted to urge to swear.

“Must have been nerves,” she lied.

“Did the curse do that as well?”

“Maybe. Probably,” she admitted. “Sometimes it comes out of nowhere. Sometimes, a memory triggers it. And suddenly, I’m a broken thing.”

“You’re not broken,” Demelza said vehemently. Ginny just made a noncommittal noise. “Have you talked to a psychiatrist yet?”

“I’m not crazy,” Ginny snapped.

“I didn’t say that. But after everything you’ve been through, it could maybe help.”

“I’m fine,” Ginny said.

“All right. But if you change your mind, my mum’s a psychiatrist.”

“I said I’m fine,” Ginny snapped, her voice ricocheting across the tower and down the battlements.

“Okay,” Demelza said, sounding a bit hurt. Ginny probably should have apologised, but she could not find it in her. She was here, wasn’t she? Wasn’t that enough proof that she was fine?

“Your mum’s a Muggle?” Ginny asked instead.

“Muggleborn,” Demelza said. Ginny could hear her hesitate and wonder if she should accept the change of topic. “She never really took to the wizarding world. Same for dad. They decided Magical Britain was a madhouse and went full Muggle. At least until their daughter came along,” she said, sounding almost bitter. Ginny could hear her think in the darkness and waited as above them, more and more stars revealed themselves to her slowly adjusting night vision.

“They tried to convince me not to come back this year,” Demelza said. “Gone Muggle or not, they know what direction the wind is blowing.”

“Why didn’t you? Your friends didn’t come back, you told me as much. Why push on?” Ginny asked, even as she wondered herself what she’d have done in Demelza’s place. Would she have gone back to a world that killed children? Or would she have fled into the Muggle world in the hope that the Death Eaters would forget about them?

“Because this is just as much my world as it’s Draco Malfoy’s. Maybe mum and dad can give it up, but I can’t,” Demelza said, letting out a hoarse breath. “Magic’s my birth right and I love it. I want to conjure whistling birds out of thin air, soar through the sky on a broom and take pictures that move. And I’ll fight for it if I have to.”

“I can get behind that,” Ginny said.

They lay there in companionable silence until the firewhisky slowly left their bodies, replaced by a freezing cold. Ginny was just about to suggest they call it a day when they heard footsteps. She could hear Demelza shift as well.

“Quick, under the cloak,” Ginny said, throwing it over them and huddling in a corner. “Probably Filch who can’t sleep,” she added. If the cantankerous caretaker caught them, they’d have detention for sure. Not to mention, drunk and out and about at night? She’d get Howlers from mum till Christmas.

Only, it wasn’t Filch. It was Draco Malfoy. Impossible not to recognise him, that platinum blond hair of his shining even in nothing but the pale moonlight. She and Demelza huddled a bit closer, her mind already racing. Was he up to something after all?

But instead of pulling out his wand and summoning the dark mark, or even doing anything, he just sat down and began to stare at the stars as well, cloak wrapped tightly around him. It was a lonely, forlorn sight, granting him a vulnerability she had never associated with Malfoy before. Out there in the night, all reasons for his silence were laid bare for the world to see. It left her feeling like a voyeur. As much as she hated his father, she couldn’t find it in her to hate the son at that moment. Just another broken thing of the war.

She gave Demelza a gentle prod and together they shuffled down the stairs, taking care to make as little noise as possible. She doubted Malfoy would have taken well to being spied upon. So instead they drifted in silence through the castle, past sleeping portraits and empty classrooms. Even the Gryffindor common room had become deserted, though the signs of the party were still there. Spilled drinks and half-empty plastic cups, a few leftover crumbs and snacks and even one snoring seventh year that was in no risk of waking. The table McLaggen had knocked over lay still on its side as well.

“Thanks for tonight, Demelza,” Ginny said as she shrugged off the cloak.

“Think nothing off it,” Demelza said as she nibbled on a discarded Chocolate Frog. “Do you still need Agrippa?” she asked, holding up the card for her to see.

“I already got him, but thanks.”

“Do you think we’ll be on a card one day?” she asked, tossing Agrippa back on the table. “You know, the heroic D.A. members who defeated You-Know-Who.”

Ginny snorted and shook her head. “I definitely hope not. That would require us to see a lot more action than I’d like. Let someone else do it,” she said, leaning against the table and wondering how long it would take before someone put Harry on one.

“As famous Chasers then, the duo that tore up the league,” Demelza said. “We’ll see. Goodnight Ginny,” she said, disappearing up the stairs.

Ginny popped a Berty Bott’s Every Flavour Bean in her mouth and quickly washed it down with some pumpkin juice when a taste akin to parchment filled her mouth. Agrippa stared at her from the card and with a sigh, she picked it up and put it in her pocket. Ron never had quite managed to complete his collection.

Chapter Text

Twenty: Of trophies and desires

It was already early December when Dumbledore summoned her. Snow had descended on Scotland and painted the castle a brilliant white, the younger years losing themselves in snowball fights even as the headlines grew more dire. Prominent witches and wizards murdered in their homes, the tendrils of Voldemort seeping deeper and deeper into their society. Outside Hogwarts, paranoia had taken root; every neighbour a potential threat, every shambling figure a possible Inferius, every scream in the night a possible death. And inside Hogwarts, Ginny dreamt of Horcruxes.

When she entered Dumbledore’s office, she didn’t waste time studying whatever latest titbits he’d gathered, though they looked even more numerous than usual. Nor did she spare Fawkes more than a cursory glance. Instead, she threw the dark little tome that had tormented her so for the past month on the table.

“I wondered where that had gone too,” Dumbledore remarked mildly, peering at Secrets of the Darkest Art over his spectacles.

“Voldemort has made a Horcrux, hasn’t he?” she challenged.

“Indeed he has,” Dumbledore agreed in a tone as if discussing the weather. That just made Ginny want to scream.

“Was that what the Prophecy was about?”

“No,” Dumbledore said with a sigh.

“The diary, it was a Horcrux, isn’t it?”

“It was,” Dumbledore admitted. “As I am sure you have read, Basilisk venom is rather effective against them.”

“Was it the only one?” she asked. The Tom she knew would never have been content with but one. He would have hedged his bets, hoarded pieces of soul in a dozen different containers to survive. Dumbledore favoured her with a proud smile.

“An astute question. While I am still in the process of uncovering the exact number, I can confirm he made more than one.”

Several Horcruxes. She’d known it, but to hear those words spoken by Dumbledore made her fears even more tangible. And instead of looking for them, he was sitting here showing her memories from decades ago. Their adversary was immortal, an endless future ahead of him, and they were stuck in the past. She was still trying to figure out how to put that politely when Dumbledore beat her to it.

“I take it you have read all of it?” he asked, tapping the book. She nodded and with a flick of his wand, he sent it back to his bookcase. “In that case I will not bore you further with technical explanations. I cannot teach you more on the topic. What I can teach you, however, is how the mind of Voldemort works. That I believe is just as essential in our mission. You said it yourself during our last conversation; Voldemort likes trophies. It speaks to reason that his Horcruxes would take a similar form.”

“Nothing but the best for his soul,” she muttered.

“Quite. And it is with that in mind that I wish to show you another memory,” he said. “Unless you object?”

“No,” Ginny said stiffly as Dumbledore headed for the cabinet to retrieve the Pensieve and another silver vial and beckoned for her to come closer.

She had not been prepared for the more adult Tom Riddle. All the mannerisms and little smiles were still there, only the mask fit him better now, even more beguiling and tempting. The young Tom Riddle had taken her soul, the older might have taken her heart as well. His mask had been a work of art, only slipping when that cow of a Hepzibah Smith dangled his heart’s desire in front of him.

“I take it she did not survive the week,” she said.

“No, she did not. Unfortunately, poor Madam Smith’s death was ruled an accident. Back then, Voldemort still traded in subtlety,” Dumbledore said.

“It was the same locket as Merope’s, wasn’t it?” she asked, even as she couldn’t help but feel she’d seen the locket even before that.

“Yes. To the locket, he at least had some kind of claim. For the Cup of Hufflepuff, there was no justification but greed.”

“And they became Horcruxes?”

“Here we enter the realm of conjecture, but I suspect so, yes. Young Tom Riddle loved Hogwarts and admired its founders, greater wizards than even he could ever be. Do you now understand why these memories are so vital, Miss Weasley? They tell us what to look for.”

“Though not where,” Ginny said with a sigh.

“That is a more vexing question, yes. One I have been struggling with for these past few months,” Dumbledore said, taking off his crescent moon glasses and polishing them.

“With any success?” Ginny asked and for a second, she thought he’d brush her off, like everyone in the Order always did. The thought must have crossed his mind too, because he was silent for longer than usual.

“With some success,” he finally conceded. “You may remember the ring I had here? Prior to its destruction, it resembled the ring of Marvolo Gaunt more strongly.”

“And it’s destroyed?” she asked. Dumbledore glanced at his hand and nodded.

“Definitively.”

“Where was it?”

“The old Gaunt shack. Like the items itself, it seems Lord Voldemort prefers some symbolism for their sanctuary.”

“Yet somehow the diary ended up in my hands,” she said, still feeling its indestructible paper underneath her fingertips.

“I am sure Lucius Malfoy did not know quite what price he held in his hands. Nor, I suspect, does Lord Voldemort know his servant no longer has it,” Dumbledore said and Ginny almost had to smile. If Voldemort would ever find out, Malfoy would know a painful death.

“So maybe someone else has another piece,” she speculated.

“Ah, an intriguing question, is it not? The answer, I suspect, depends on the number of Horcruxes. Lord Voldemort was rather sparing with his trust, though a few might qualify.”

“Lestrange. Rookwood… Dolohov,” she said.

“Those would come to mind, yes,” Dumbledore agreed. “Which makes it all the more regrettable that Augustus Rookwood was liberated from Azkaban.”

“What happened there, Professor? The Prophet didn’t say much,” she asked and felt a twinge of regret when a shadow passed over Dumbledore’s face.

“I was proven fallible yet again,” he said simply and Ginny knew there was no point in asking further questions. “Now, I do have another memory to show you, courtesy of my colleague Horace Slughorn.” He retrieved another vial from the cabinet. “After you, Miss Weasley.”

Her head was swimming when she rose again, expecting to find her confusion mirrored in Dumbledore’s face, but he simply nodded sagely.

“Disconcerting, wasn’t it?” he said and she wondered if they’d seen the same memory.

“Is the Pensieve damaged?” she asked, studying the stone basin for fractures.

“No, the Pensieve is in as perfect a state as ever. The fault lies with the memory. I fear Horace has deemed it fit to tamper with it, albeit inexpertly.”

“But why?” she asked, thinking of Professor Slughorn. As tiresome as he could sometimes, he had never treated her with anything but perfect courtesy and kindness. Nor would he have chosen to come to Hogwarts if he had ties with the Death Eaters, surely?

“I suspect because he is ashamed of what the memory reveals about himself, Miss Weasley, just as I suspect that the genuine article would tell us how many Horcruxes Lord Voldemort sought to create.”

“And can we undo his tampering?”

“No. We can only hope he will give us the real memory. I have been trying to convince him to give it to me, but if he persists in this folly, I will have no choice but to resort to coercion,” Dumbledore said. “Before doing that, however, I was wondering if you could perhaps have a friendly chat with him on the topic.”

“Me?” she repeated, not quite sure if she’d heard Dumbledore correctly. “I’m sorry, Professor, but he’s my teacher. I don’t see how I can make him give me the memory.”

“From what I have heard, he is very fond of you. He tells me you have attended all his dinners.”

“I’m not sure if that makes me any better placed,” she said, but then added, wilting under Dumbledore’s patient look, “but if you think it could help…”

“I think so, yes. Do let me know if you have known no success by the Christmas party he intends to organise and then I will take matters into my own hands, but I genuinely wish to avoid that. Bluntly put, it would entail using means that would not necessarily have any result and would certainly alienate Horace. I do believe that would be a genuine loss for the war effort and, if the memory were to elude us, possibly catastrophic.”

“All right, Professor,” she said, wondering how on earth she’d get the memory out of him. Astoria was much better at playing him. “Can I tell my friends about this?”

“I would advise against it. As important as it is to trust one’s friends, this information is too delicate.”

“Is it because Astoria’s a Slytherin?” she asked, thinking of how Susan Bones still pretended her friend was nothing but air every D.A. meeting.

“Hardly, Miss Weasley,” Dumbledore said, shaking his head. “I would advise just as much caution with Miss Greengrass, as I would with Miss Robins. It is simply because they have not yet bled for the cause.”

“Is that why you trust me?” she threw back angrily. “Why you share all that information? Because of this?” she said, brushing back her hair so her scars were fully on display. Dumbledore shook his head sadly.

“No, Miss Weasley, the reason I trust you fully is because of something far more important. Love,” he said. The look in his eyes told her he was speaking of more than a sister’s love, or a friend’s love.

“Nice work, Gin. I’m glad you’re here.”

“Now, unless there was something else you wish to discuss, I shall bid you goodnight.”

“You said the Prophecy didn’t concern Horcruxes. Does that mean you know its contents?” she asked. For a while, the question hung in the air. Dumbledore took off his glasses.

“Yes, the Prophecy was made in my presence.”

“And did it contain anything that could help us?” she asked.

“No, it offered nothing more than a few promises that never amounted to much,” Dumbledore said with a sigh. “But if you wish to know, I see no purpose in withholding its content from you. You did fight for it after all.”

Dumbledore rose and placed his wand against his temple, pouring memories inside the Pensieve. But rather than wait for her to enter it like before, he tapped it and a ghostly figure rose from it. Professor Trelawney, though she spoke in a way unlike any Ginny had ever heard before.

Ginny was crying by the time Trelawney was finished. Finally, she understood. Harry had never known it, but he’d been marked for a lifetime of war. He’d died doing what he thought was right, but the game had been rigged from the start.

“It wasn’t fair,” she said, voice hoarse as she dabbed at her eyes with a beautifully embroidered handkerchief that she’d never gotten around to returning to Astoria.

“No, it was not,” Dumbledore agreed.

“Why did you never tell him?” she asked.

“Because I was a foolish old man who thought I could protect him, instead of turning him into a weapon. And I will spend the rest of my life wondering if he might have survived instead of Voldemort, if only I had played this game more wisely.”

She wasn’t sure what to say. Would Harry still be alive otherwise, if Dumbledore had carefully crafted him into a deadly weapon? And at what cost? Would he still have been a boy willing to go into the Chamber of Secrets for a friend’s sister he hardly knew? Would he still have cried as he brought Cedric’s body back? Would he have gone to the Department of Mysteries to save a godfather who had never been in danger? All those questions crowded her head, but in the end, she asked a different one.

“The power the Dark Lord knows not… what was it?” she asked.

“I thought I knew, but lately, I am not sure anymore. I fear I sought to imbue the mundane with too much power,” Dumbledore admitted and Ginny could hear a lifetime of sadness in those words, even if she wasn’t entirely sure what he meant. “Now, the hour is late and I am afraid I really must be going. A few Order members await me. Goodnight, Miss Weasley.”

“Goodnight, Professor,” she said, throwing the cloak – the cloak, not hers, it would never be hers, always Harry’s - and left the office and all its questions behind her.

Chapter Text

Twenty-one: Christmas memories

As the grand Slug Club Christmas party approached, Ginny got more and more nervous. She’d promised herself to stick around until the end and then hopefully wheedle the memory out of a Slughorn intoxicated by alcohol and adoration of his contacts. However, she was painfully aware that her plan did not extend much further than that. How did one start a conversation like that? She doubted asking Slughorn if he knew anything about Horcruxes would have the desired effect. She really needed Astoria’s input here, but she did not dare to flout Dumbledore’s restrictions. Despite being more away from the castle than anything, he remained dangerously well-informed. Besides, it wasn’t exactly unreasonable what he asked of her. She trusted Astoria with her life, but if Voldemort found out they knew about his Horcruxes, a lot more lives would suddenly hang in the balance.

So instead Ginny prepared for the confrontation alone, even as she happily let Astoria handle the issue of their outfits. As it was a Christmas party, whatever limited restraint Tori had showed before was apparently no longer in order. She was pulling out all the stops from what Ginny had gleaned so far and things had only gotten worse once she’d heard several members of the Weird Sisters would be attending.

At least that had put a stop to any plans for bringing along a date. After the McLaggen incident, most had kept their distance - though she doubted many would have asked her anyway in her current state. Astoria, on the other hand, had seemingly been fending off proposals all week, ranging from the genuinely interested to those who simply wanted a free ticket to what had somehow become ‘the most exclusive Hogwarts event of the year’ as Astoria liked to put it.

That was why the two of them ended up in the Room of Requirement again, preparing for the party together. Unlike last time, Astoria had taken a more colourful approach, ending up in a long red dress that left arms and shoulders bare.

“You look like a Witch Weekly model,” Ginny remarked as her friend critically studied her reflection.

“Hardly, but at least it’s festive. A bit too Gryffindor perhaps,” she added, comparing the colour of her dress to the one of Ginny’s tie. “Did you hear a vampire would be attending? Do you think it’s smart to show this much collarbone in that case?” A worried frown appeared on her face.

“I doubt Slughorn will allow his party to end up in slaughter,” Ginny replied. “Is that why you’re wearing so much silver?” she asked, gesturing at the necklace, earrings and bracelets her friend was sporting.

“I just like silver,” Astoria said, blushing slightly. “But yes. It was that or garlic perfume and I doubt that’d endear me to the Weird Sisters.”

“Aren’t they a little old for you?”

“A bit, yes. But that doesn’t mean they can’t still get me VIP tickets to their next show,” she said, adjusting her lavaliere necklace.

“Just don’t leave me alone tonight, alright? Nobody at the party likes me,” Ginny said.

“Oh come on, Ginny-“

“McLaggen, Zabini, those Carrow creeps,” she said, counting on her fingers as she summed them up.

“That leaves Carmichael still,” Astoria countered and then laughed. “Fine, I got your back. Just promise you’ll intervene if Daphne and I get into a fight.”

“She’s invited?”

“Zabini’s date,” Astoria said with a shrug. “Don’t worry, I know what she’ll be wearing. Our dresses are better.”

“If you say so,” Ginny said, studying her own reflection. She had to hand it to Astoria, the long purple dress was gorgeous. Also, it came with long sleeves and a long hem. This way, only the scars on her face and neck were on display and those were partially obscured by her hair, which Astoria had spent half an hour on. “We’re not exactly colour-coordinated though, are we?”

“No,” Astoria admitted with a sigh. “But I really needed to see you in purple. Also, the only other dress I had was a white one and, well, I’m quite sure you wouldn’t think that one decent.”

“Is it that bad?”

“I don’t think so. You might disagree,” Astoria said, fixing her hair with three small silver clasps.

“The vampire’s not going to bite your head, Tori,” Ginny said.

“Not mine he won’t,” she said with a grin. “All right, let’s go.”

***

If Astoria had shown little restraint, Slughorn had shown none. His office, large to begin with, had somehow reached proportions similar to that of a ballroom. Instead of showing the usual array of pictures, the walls had been draped with hangings in Christmas colours and what looked like massive Christmas balls floated over the audience, casting a positively merry yellow light over the occasion. Despite being almost punctual this time –Astoria hadn’t had to explain anymore how her far too complicated camera worked - the place was already brimming with people, elderly witches and wizards mingling with the younger generation.

“A bit gauche,” Astoria muttered. “And the hangings are a different colour red than my dress, wonderful.”

“Ladies,” Slughorn declared as he made his way towards them through the crowd. He plucked two flutes of champagne from a tray supported by a house- elf and presented them with a flourish. “Welcome, radiant as always.”

“We try to rise to the occasion,” Astoria said.

“And risen you have. Cheers,” Slughorn declared, raising his own glass. Judging by the colour of his cheeks, it wasn’t his first one. That was at least going according to plan.

“Thank you for hosting this, Professor, quite a welcome change from the usual Hogwarts Christmas celebrations,” Ginny said.

“Isn’t it?” he agreed. “I really don’t understand Dumbledore, you’d think a man as eccentric as him would know how to throw a proper party. Ah well, fortunately for you all, I have returned. Now, have you met Corban Yaxley?” he asked, steering them towards a tall man who was refilling his glass with punch at the bar. “He was just telling me how much he enjoys working with your father, Miss Weasley.”

Yaxley looked up when he heard them approach and raised his glass in a silent toast. He reminded Ginny of the many statues dotting Hogwarts’ halls, his eyes just as cold, his features just as sharp. Something about him made Ginny’s hair stand on end and she could feel Astoria stiffen slightly next to her.

“Ladies,” he greeted them, his voice low and with lurking tension, like the low rumble of thunder in the distance. “Horace has been most complimentary of both of you.”

“I was just telling them about your cooperation with Arthur Weasley.”

“Ah yes, our new head of the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects,” Yaxley said with the fluency of a practiced bureaucrat. “A most deserved promotion.”

“Thank you, Mister Yaxley,” she said, trying not to squirm under his searching look. Unlike most people, he didn’t look at the scars. His eyes were firmly locked onto her eyes.

“Corban is one of the up-and-coming stars of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement,” Slughorn supplied. “Head of the Auror’s Office Investigation Department.”

“You make it sound more spectacular than it actually is, Horace,” Yaxley said, sipping from his glass without his eyes ever leaving Ginny. “And at my age, I doubt I can still qualify as an up-and-coming man. I think Kingsley Shacklebolt is more deserving of that title. I understand you know him as well?” he asked, smiling in a way that Ginny could only describe as insincere. His lips curled upwards, but the rest of his face remained impassive.

“I’ve seen him before,” she dissembled, earning her a stiff nod from Yaxley.

“And you must be Lord Greengrass’ daughter,” Yaxley said, now shifting his gaze to Astoria even as Slughorn disentangled himself to speak with another one of the new arrivals, two men of whom one was so pale that Ginny started to believe the rumours about a vampire in attendance.

“His youngest, yes. My older sister Daphne is over there,” Astoria said, gesturing at Daphne who stood in a corner, clad in a brilliant white dress and laughing far too loudly at some warlock’s comment.

“Your father is a lucky man to have such lovely daughters who keep such… varied company,” he said, eyes sliding from Ginny to Blaise Zabini who was standing next to Daphne. A few surface scars still remained from Ginny’s curse, though they had been getting progressively better over the months.

Yaxley sipped from his glass again and an uncomfortable silence descended upon them. Astoria, who was normally the first to fill any silence that lasted longer than five seconds remained unusually silent as Ginny racked her brain for any mention of Yaxley by her father, but she drew a blank.

“How do you and my father know each other, Mister Yaxley?” she asked eventually.

“Strictly through work, I fear. Though to be honest, I am more familiar with your brother Percy. We both assist and advise the Minister on a variety of matters. A most diligent, ambitious young man. He’ll go far, no doubt. What we do is perhaps not quite as… heroic as the work of some at the Auror office, but we all have our part to play in the war,” he said, his gaze falling on her scars for the first time. “But here I am spoiling such a wonderful evening with such dreary talk. I will leave you to it,” Yaxley said, bowing at each of them and then heading towards Snape, who looked like he had never hated his existence more.

“Strange man,” Astoria said.

“He gives me the shivers,” Ginny admitted. Her hand had begun to shake softly and she willed it to still. After another sip of champagne, it actually did.

“I’ll ask dad about him when I go home. I think he’s a Pureblood, so dad ought to know his whole lineage,” Astoria said as she headed for a house-elf offering canapés. She popped one in her mouth and much to Ginny’s disappointment, didn’t turn into a canary. If Fred and George had still been at Hogwarts, they would have had a ball on a night like this.

“I think that’s your vampire by the way,” Ginny said, gesturing at the pale man.

“I saw him. I’m wondering if we can maybe sick him on McLaggen?” she asked, shaking her head in his direction. Ever since Ginny had told Astoria of the incident after their Quidditch victory, she’d been devising progressively more gruesome ways to dispatch him. That Demelza had already gotten to hex him seemed to be a sore point. “Has he given you any trouble since?”

“No, nothing, he just ignores me now. A major relief.”

“And the Quidditch Team?”

“We’re considering our options. Good Keepers seem to be in short supply, but our next game’s not until March, so we still have some time.”

“And even then, it’s only the game against Hufflepuff. What really matters is the game against Ravenclaw. If Chang wins, I’ll have no choice but to hex her.”

“You’re particularly sanguine tonight,” Ginny remarked, though she couldn’t disagree with the sentiment.

“Probably the alcohol. Let’s get some pumpkin juice instead,” Astoria said, handing her empty glass to a very enthusiastic house-elf. “And then we go talk with the Weird Sisters. Shame the singer isn’t here, he’s my favourite.”

“At least the lead guitarist is here, as well as the drummer. Imagine getting stuck with the bass player,” Ginny quipped.

***

As it turned out, the bassist may have been preferable. Brilliant musicians as they may be, both the guitarist and the drummer turned out absolute bores right up to the point that they downed their tenth drink of the evening, at which they began nattering about how it wasn’t easy being a rockstar. When Ginny and Astoria finally managed to remove themselves from the conversation, the party was slowly dying down.

“Well, shall we call it a night?”

“You go ahead. There’s something I want to ask Slughorn,” she said.

“Gwenog Jones’ Floo address?” Astoria asked. “ A proper shame she didn’t attend.”

“No you dolt. It’s for-“ She paused and looked around to make sure no one was within hearing distance. “Dumbledore.”

“Ooooh. Well, good luck in that case,” Astoria said, giving her a quick hug before joining the flow of people leaving.

Ginny emptied her glass of pumpkin juice and wished it was Firewhisky instead. She could do this, she told herself. Slughorn liked her. It was just a friendly question, nothing like facing off against Death Eaters. She took a deep breath and headed towards Slughorn, who was studying the empty office with an air of satisfaction. Without any guests in it, it gave off a very different impression, like a train station after the last train had left. An atmosphere of gaiety still lingered, but was rapidly leaving the building.

“Ah, Miss Weasley, what can I do for you?” he asked when he spotted her. “If it’s the recipe for the punch, I’m afraid I can’t help you just yet, but I already promised Mister Worple I’d ask the Elves.”

“That’s alright, professor Slughorn. I wanted to thank you for arranging this, I had a great night,” she said.

“Happy to hear it, Miss Weasley. The world can always do with another party, especially in times like these,” he added sadly.

“I actually wanted to talk to you about that, Professor.”;

“The war? Of course, hold up,” Slughorn said, sobering up. With a flick of his wand, two chairs drifted over. “Such discussions are best held seated, don’t you think?”

“Agreed,” Ginny said, glad to be off her feet. “You know I was at the Department of Mysteries when it happened, Professor?”

“Yes, yes. Terrible business, really. So many promising witches and wizards lost,” he said gravely. “I’m quite sure all of them would have been present here otherwise,” he added, sounding a bit like a collector who missed out on a rare treasure. “And for you personally, it must have been even worse, having been there. Having seen it all…” he murmured, voice trailing off. “Do those scars still give you trouble? If you wish, I could inquire among my friends. While I don’t wish to question the people at St. Mungo’s, I do know a few exceptional healers and potioneers,” he offered.

Slughorn sounded so genuinely concerned that Ginny was tempted to just leave it at that and tell Dumbledore she’d tried and failed. But then she thought of losses of memory and waking up with blood on her hands, of snakes slipping through pipes and petrifying people with a mere glance, of a high cold laugh and a green curse as Harry collapsed.

“Thank you, Professor, but I fear there’s not much to be done about curse scars,” she said, fidgeting with the golden bracelet Astoria had loaned her. “As you know, my family’s very involved with the war.”

“Yes, most admirable,” Slughorn said more slowly.

“And I was wondering if you could help us with something.”

“And that would be?” he asked, eyes narrowing as he sensed her game.

“It’s about Horcruxes,” she said.

“Dumbledore put you up to this, didn’t he?” Slughorn said, his tone devoid of his usual amiability. “Well, in that case I’m sure you’re well aware I know nothing of Horcruxes. Goodnight, Miss Weasley.” He rose rather stiffly and headed towards the door that she suspected led to his private chambers.

Ginny thought of Dumbledore, and his dire pronouncements. The outcome of this war could hinge on that memory. She needed to get it, no matter what. Harry wouldn’t have been afraid, she told herself as she prepared to share a story she’d sworn never to speak off.

“Did you hear about the Chamber of Secrets being opened four years ago?” Ginny asked. The seeming non sequitur stopped Slughorn in his tracks. “It was Voldemort who did it. Or more precisely, Tom Riddle. A Horcrux was smuggled into Hogwarts. It possessed a student and forced her to unleash the Basilisk.”

“I did not know that,” Slughorn said, turning around.

“Not many do. I only know because… “ she hesitated.

Years of silence, shame and sibilant voices protested her every word, encouraging, commanding her to stay silent. She could hear Tom whisper, but couldn’t make out his words, drowned out as they were by the hiss of the Basilisk. Her arm was shaking, her scars were burning and she could feel the ones on her throat almost strangle her, spreading all over her neck, all over her face. She let out a soft choking sound as tears welled in her eyes. She vaguely noticed Slughorn running towards her.

Be quiet, Tom hissed. She could see him standing there in the corner of the room, holding her wand. You’re mine and I won’t allow you betray my secrets.

He was killing her somehow, she knew it. I’m sorry, Harry, she thought. I tried. But maybe she would see him again now. Maybe she’d hear him call her Gin again.

And suddenly, she could breathe again. She gasped and panted as the tremors subsided and the scars stopped burning. She gingerly touched the left side of her neck, afraid of what she’d find, but the skin was still unmarked. Had she imagined it all?

“Are you all right, my girl?” Slughorn asked, kneeling in front of her and eyes thick with concern. Suddenly the words came tumbling out.

“It was me. I was the one who opened the Chamber of Secrets. I’d been given a cursed diary containing a memory and soul of an adolescent Tom Riddle. The whole year, he whispered to me. Isolated me. Used me. And when I’d done his dirty work, he tried to kill me to resurrect himself. If not for Harry, he’d have succeeded,” she gasped out. Slughorn stared at her in horror, at a loss for words.

“I still dream of it. A dark chamber filled with bones. A gargantuan serpent. Tom Riddle pulling my strings as he took my first year. And now he’s taken my friends as well. My brother. The boy I love,” she stammered. “He’s taken almost everything from me. I dream of it every night. His smile. His laugh. His Death Eaters killing my friends. And still it’s not enough. Still he takes more.”

“I’m sorry, Ginny,” Slughorn said, putting his chair next to her and draping an arm around her shoulder. “I’m sorry you’ve had to experience all this because I was a foolish, vain man.”

A single empty vial floated towards them. She watched as Slughorn filled it with a silver strand from his temple, a look of sad concentration on his face as he did so. He pressed it into her hands without another word.

“Is this…”

“Yes,” Slughorn said simply. “I’d understand if you don’t want anything to do with me anymore after you’ve seen it, but know my office will always be open to you.”

“Thank you, Professor,” she said, sniffling softly as he handed her a handkerchief, a beautiful one bearing his initials that made her wonder if he and Astoria had the same supplier.

“You remind me of Lily Evans, you know. Mister Potter’s mother. Yet another brilliant student I failed.”  Only now she noticed he was fighting back tears himself.

Without another word, Slughorn shuffled away as Ginny clutched the vial that should tell them how many Horcruxes Voldemort had made. As soon as the door had fallen shut behind the Potions master, leaving her alone among the empty glasses and bowls, she drew her wand and summoned her Patronus.

“I have it,” she told the shining horse.

Chapter Text

Twenty-two: Six

Dumbledore’s response was nigh instantaneous. A brilliant silver phoenix burst into life in front of her and told her with Dumbledore’s voice she was welcome to come to his office as soon as it suited her. Ginny stood there, enthralled by the Patronus, almost as beautiful as Fawkes himself. She extended her right hand and watched the phoenix study it with unjudging curiosity.

Only then did she have time to marvel at Dumbledore’s swift response. Either she got lucky, or he must have expected her to succeed and awaited her message. His confidence made her feel warm and then used. Had he counted on Ginny using her personal experience to get to Slughorn? It made her wonder if he saw them all as pieces on a board and if so, if she could fault him for it.

She rose, still a bit unsteady on her feet from Tom’s assault, and moved towards his office. She probably looked awful right now. Although Astoria had applied makeup more liberally, Ginny hadn't been able to resist the mascara, for which she was now paying the price.. As it turned out, that had been a mistake. But she hadn’t expected to end up crying at a Christmas party. Merlin, she’d cried in front of Slughorn. A good thing it was almost Christmas break, maybe it would be less mortifying to see him again. Then again, he’d also cried. She wasn’t sure if that made it more or less awkward.

But there was plenty of time to worry about that later. Right now, she needed to get to Dumbledore. Ginny lifted the hem of her dress and sprinted, her ballet flats echoing across the hallway as they skipped across the stone. She was out of breath by the time she reached the gargoyle.

“Cauldron. Heh. Cakes,” she panted out, leaning against its head as she caught her breath. If the gargoyle minded, it kept its own counsel and shifted aside.

She ascended the stairs at a more stately pace that suited her dress better, but she was quite confident she was still blushing when she stepped into Dumbledore’s office. Despite the hour, the Headmaster looked as awake as ever, clad in aquamarine robes and several books spread out across his desk.

“Miss Weasley,” he greeted her, sending the books flying with a gesture. “You have it?”

“I do,” she said, holding up the vial. Dumbledore seemed at a loss for words, staring at the vial with a smile that gradually took over his face.

“Excellent,” he said and then paused, as if only now taking in her appearance. “Are you all right, Miss Weasley?”

“Intense night. I’m fine, Professor,” she said, putting the vial on his desk.

“That is a beautiful dress, if I may say so,” Dumbledore said.

“Thank you, Professor. Shall we look at the memory?” she asked, not entirely successful at keeping the impatience out of her voice. While she appreciated the compliment - even as she tried not to think about what it meant to be complemented on her style of dress by Albus ‘you can never go wrong with fuchsia and periwinkle’ Dumbledore - she had cried and nearly died to get this memory. The least he could do was put it in the stupid Pensieve.

“Of course,” Dumbledore said, pouring the vial’s contents into the stone basin. “After you, Miss Weasley. She took a deep breath - no matter how often she’d done it, it still felt like diving - and leaned forward.

***

“Seven?” she stammered the moment she resurfaced.

“Seven pieces, six Horcruxes,” Dumbledore agreed mildly. “I must admit, I had suspected as much. A powerful magical number, seven, and in accordance with Tom’s penchant for symbolism.”

“We need to find six Horcruxes,” Ginny whispered, the momentousness of the task giving her vertigo.

“But we know, and all thanks to you, Miss Weasley. You did exceptionally well. If it means anything to you, I am very proud. And I am sure Harry would be as well.”

“Thank you, Professor,” she managed to say. Would Harry be proud? Or would he be too horrified himself by the number? Six, how could they find six Horcruxes that could be hidden anywhere?

“And do not forget, we have already eliminated two,” Dumbledore said. “And leads on two more. Not to mention I have some other suspicions that I will follow up on this Christmas. While I will not present you with a destroyed Horcrux under the Christmas tree, I may be able to give you one for the New Year,”  He continued lightly. “Now, I think it is high time you got some well-deserved sleep.”

Ginny cast a look at the clock and barely managed to suppress a horrified noise. It was already past midnight. The train back to London left in the morning and she still had to pack. Admittedly, she should really have done that before the party, but by then she’d been too much a ball of nerves to do anything even remotely productive.

“Professor, may I ask one more thing?” she asked, hand already on the doorknob.

“Even two, Miss Weasley,” Dumbledore said.

“Will Professor Slughorn get in trouble for this?”

“No, Miss Weasley. We all make mistakes and his, while foolish, is hardly the greatest I have ever witnessed.”

“Good,” Ginny said and then disappeared down the stairs.

***

Somehow, Ginny and her luggage made it all onto the train in time. Astoria was tapping her foot impatiently when the harried redhead and her bulging trunk tumbled into the compartment. It didn’t help that she nearly keeled over when trying to stuff it in the rack above them. Astoria caught it right before it crushed her foot and together they shoved it in.

“Really, Ginny, what do you have in there? Mine’s half the size and I’m quite sure I have everything and then some,” she said, gesturing at her own beautiful black trunk, the epitome of clean and efficient packing.

“Mum asked to bring a few bricks back from Hogwarts. We’re looking to build a new shed,” she deadpanned as she installed herself on her seat. Astoria had taken out a black velvet blanket and sat all wrapped in it, her head only just sticking out.

“You’re cold?” Ginny asked, mildly surprised. While not as warm as during the summer, the Hogwarts Express was well-heated all things considered.

“Always in December,” she said.

“You didn’t look cold in your dress yesterday.”

“I cast warming charms,” she said. “So how did the thing with Slughorn go?”

“Good. I got what I needed.”

“Dumbledore happy?”

“Yeah,” Ginny said and Astoria nodded, wrapping the blanket a bit tighter around her.

Slowly, the train began to roll out of the station. Ginny got out her Transfiguration homework, while Astoria had a Potions text propped open upon her lap, trying to turn the pages without having to remove her arms from the warmth of the blanket.

“Is that a Slytherin thing?” Ginny asked eventually. Astoria looked up, visibly confused.

“You're going to have to be more specific. My tie? Yes. This blanket?” she said, spreading her arms to exemplify it and nearly knocking her book out of her lap. “No.”

“No, you not pushing me about my talk with Slughorn. I'm not used to that. My brothers were never content with a finger, always taking a hand and all other extremities. No such thing as secrets among Weasleys, as George is fond of saying,” she said, smiling.

“Oh… That. No, that's a Greengrass thing I suppose,” Astoria said. “Mum never was big on sharing secrets, dad was never big on asking after them. I guess it caught on. Do you want me to push you more?” she asked, tilting her head. “I could try if you wanted.”

“No, no, please don’t,” Ginny chuckled. “It’s a relief, really.”

“I can’t imagine growing up with six brothers,” Astoria said and then paled, looking like she’d said something wrong.

It took Ginny a heartbeat to realise. Six brothers, or five. To her, it would forever be six. Six brothers. Six Horcruxes. The numbers threatened to overwhelm her and Astoria began to look more and more worried as her silence continued.

“It’s quite something,” Ginny finally said, smiling wanly. “Never a dull moment when all of them were still around. As the only daughter, I at least had some privacy, though I had to put up quite the fight to keep it. Fred and George weren’t big on rules. Or locks. But Percy usually made for a more tempting target. How was it growing up with a sister?”

“Awful,” Astoria said. If she had noticed Ginny’s deflection, she didn’t show it. “Daphne and I are different enough not to get along, but just similar enough to always get in each other’s way. Dresses, dolls, dad’s sparse affection, you name it and we probably pulled one another’s hair for it. Everything’s a competition and as the older one, of course she has to win. I’d hoped Hogwarts would offer a reprieve, but no. Slytherin for the two of us,” she sighed. “So now we’re still competing.”

“Yeah, I got that impression,” Ginny said. It had reminded her a bit of her interactions with Percy, the veneer of hostility smothering most affection. At least that was gone now, replaced by an, admittedly awkward, affection.

“I suppose the war’s just another competition for us,” Astoria mumbled. “And, to be honest, sometimes I do hate her. Like, really hate her. When she giggles at Zabini's jokes or sneers at you. But for every memory like that there is one of her hugging me when I was crying, her teaching me how to apply eyeliner or that time in third year when she almost blew Harper through a wall for jinxing me. And when all the bad has been matched with the good, there's still a lot of good left. Doesn't mean she isn't being stupid right now though, but that's just as much the world's fault as it is hers.” Astoria said, casting her eyes skywards. “Merlin, having a sister’s complicated.”

“That goes for siblings in general,” Ginny supplied. “Ever wonder what it would have been like to have been an only child?”

“Regularly,” Astoria admitted with a laugh.

“I try sometimes, but it’s just such a foreign concept to me,” Ginny said, just as a cold breeze ran through the compartment. Someone had opened the door.

In the opening stood Nott, leaning against the frame with a smirk on his face that he must have learned from Malfoy, the one to imply only he was in on some sort of hilarious joke. His eyes shifted from her to Astoria and then back. It made her skin crawl.

“What do you want?” Ginny asked.

“Why would I want anything?” Nott asked, all false innocence. “I just wanted to wish you both a Merry Christmas. Peace on earth and all that,” he drawled.

“Yeah, Merry Christmas to you too, Nott,” Ginny said. “I hope a reindeer eats your Christmas dinner and your tree topples over.”

“Thank you, Weasley,” Nott said. “The same to you. Who knows, maybe by the end of this year, you’ll know what it’s like to be an only child… or an orphan.”

“Get out,” Astoria snapped, slipping out of her blanket and drawing her wand in a single heartbeat.

“Easy, Greengrass,” he said, eying her with mild distaste. “I was just speculating. I wouldn’t dare to threaten Weasley. She’s been known to curse people who do.”

“I’m not the villain here, Nott,” Ginny said.

“Aren’t you? None of us have forgotten what you’ve done, Weasley. The Dark Lord won’t appreciate it either,” Nott threatened.

 “Get out, Nott. I won’t warn you again,” Astoria said stiffly.

“As the lady commands. Merry Christmas, girls,” he said, the compartment door slamming shut behind him.

“Creep,” Astoria hissed and then saw Ginny’s downcast expression. “You okay?”

“Do you think he meant that?” she asked.”

“What, his threats? Come on, this is Theodore Nott we’re talking about. I doubt he’s even seen You-Know-Who and I doubt his father’s one of his favourite Death Eaters either. From what I’ve heard, he’s a bit of a dunce.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Ginny said, remembering how Nott senior had been the first to go down. “It’s just, well, it would be very much him to attack on Christmas. No better way to inspire fear.”

“True,” Astoria said, pursing her lips. “But if he goes after anything, it’s probably Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade.”

“Merlin, when did that get reassuring?” Ginny sighed, feeling very tired suddenly.

“Sign of the times, I suppose,” Astoria said, gazing out of the window at the snowy Scottish lands. They at least were still untouched. Unharmed. Unblemished. Ginny wondered how long that would last.

***

Three steps on the platform. That was how far she got before her mum swept her up in a hug, holding her like she couldn't quite believe Ginny was still there. Before, she would have been embarrassed, but now Ginny hugged her back just as fiercely. When they had said goodbye on the platform on September first, neither of them had known how and if they’d see each other again. But this Christmas holiday, they’d at least have together.

“I missed you, mum,” Ginny whispered, a lump in her throat.

“I missed you too, darling,” she replied, slowly letting go. Ginny could feel the reticence.

Her dad stood behind her a bit awkwardly. Ginny could see his desire not to embarrass his daughter war with his desire to do the same as mum. Ginny decided she’d make it easy for him and hurled herself around his neck. Her dad stumbled a bit, surprised by her vigour.

“Hi dad,” she whispered.

“Hi Ginny, it’s good to have you back,” he said, before slowly disentangling himself and pulling her towards the exit.

Only now Ginny noticed she’d been one of the few to linger. Most had already hurried off, not spending a second longer than needed in King’s Cross. Even with an Auror presence that must have been at least tripled since September, people were ill at ease. Suddenly, the Prophet’s headlines seemed a lot more real. Even Astoria was nowhere in sight anymore.

“It’s been bad out here,” her dad admitted, interpreting her looks correctly. ”We’ll explain more at home.” He looked around a bit furtively. “How was Hogwarts?”

“Your letters sounded… optimistic,” her mum supplied. “And if that’s how you feel, great. But you know you can be honest with us, right?” she pressed as they stepped through the barrier.

Ginny sighed. While still better than the normal trips back, ones usually characterised by a long scolding of Fred and George, she did wish the interrogations could have waited at least a little while. But then again, with the concern that visible in her parent’s eyes, it made sense. They must have been worried for so long.

“I’m fine, really. It’s not easy, we knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but it’s been better than I’d expected.”

“Your health’s been okay? Quidditch not too demanding?” her mum asked.

Ginny thought of shaking hands, of scars shifting and burning, of feeling so exhausted she could barely move.

“I’m fine, really. Nothing to worry about,” she said, earning her a noncommittal hum from both of her parents. “I’m careful, really,” she said, trying not to think about nights practicing spells long after everyone else had turned in, of one final round of Quidditch practice in the hope of never having the shakes again.

“And… the people?” her mum asked.

“Decent, for the most part. A few jerks. Mostly Slytherins. But I’m not alone,” she said.

“You mentioned the Greengrass girl. I can’t say I approve of her father,” her dad said. Coming from him, she knew that was a strong condemnation, as strong as he’d get without speaking of Death Eaters or Umbridge.

“I don’t think she is either,” Ginny said, unable to hide her annoyance.

“Or her mother,” her mum chipped in.

“And her sister isn’t great either,” Ginny said, deciding to beat them to the punch there. “But Tori’s been really great. I’m not sure if I’d managed without her. Please, just trust me, she’s the good sort.”

“Tori?” her dad repeated, sounding mildly amused and a lot less worried all of a sudden. Apparently, dangerous Slytherins didn’t have nicknames.

“That’s what Luna called her as well,” Ginny said, and just like that, she had her mum as well. Any Slytherin who was friends with Luna had to be the odd duck out, the Andromeda Tonks kind of Slytherin. “is the rest at home?” she asked, changing the topic just to be sure.

“They will be. Percy’s still at the Ministry. Scrimgeour seems to have taken a shine to him,” her dad said with a hint of disapproval.

“The Minister?” Ginny echoed, surprised that Percy had somehow survived Fudge’s fall from grace, but even more surprised that he hadn’t bragged about it in any of his letters.

“The Minister, and he works far too long hours. It’s a good thing we put food in front of him, otherwise he might forget. He’s lost at least five pounds since September,” Mum said anxiously.

“And the rest?”

“They’ll get here close to Christmas. Fred and George have their own place now, as do Bill and Fleur,” her dad said, even as her mum harrumphed slightly. That cold war clearly wasn’t over yet. “Charlie… Charlie is still abroad but he promised to make it here for Christmas.”

“Is he alright?” she asked.

“Last we heard, he was fine,” her dad reassured her. “He’s just incommunicado a lot.”

“He was never very good at keeping up with his correspondence to begin with,” her mum added. “But really, he’s fine. Dedalus Diggle is with him and for all his flaws, Dedalus is very sensible. Now, grab my hand,” she said, extending hers. Ginny took it and wished she could already follow Apparition classes this year.

After six seconds of feeling like she was being pulled through a far too narrow pipe, she landed on her feet in front of the strangest and most lovely building she’d ever seen. She was home.

Chapter Text

Twenty-three: Christmas

If not for the set in her dad’s shoulders, the almost-constant frown on her mum’s face and the clock hands all pointing towards mortal peril, it could have almost been a regular Christmas holiday. Packages began to appear underneath the Christmas tree and her brothers trickled in one after another.

Fred and George were first and while they disappeared off to their store each day – ‘It’s a madhouse Ginny, we’re selling even faster than at Hogwarts under Umbridge’s tenure’ – they always found time to give her a tight hug or leave her yelling at them for one prank of the other. After Ron’s death, they’d turned sombre for three days and then had thrown themselves into their work with even more of a mad fervour than before. Perhaps their jokes weren’t quite as whimsical or from the heart as before, but they tried.

Percy was the next to arrive, after two nights reputedly spent sleeping at his desk. Perhaps Scrimgeour was truly such a taskmaster, or perhaps her most stubborn brother was still not quite sure where he fit back in with the family. It made her wonder if he would ever have found his way back if not for what had happened at the Department of Mysteries. And though he tried hard to be a better brother, she often caught a guilty grimace on his face when he thought no one was looking. It made her want to hug him each time he entered a room.

Next to arrive were Bill and Fleur, looking harried, exhausted and madly in love. From what she’d gathered, they were doing after hours’ work at Gringotts at Dumbledore’s request. Bill claimed they were trying to iron out an alliance with the Goblins, but with how freely he volunteered that information, it made her doubt that he was being sincere. Bill and Fleur looked like they were carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders. It made her wonder if they’d also heard the word ‘Horcrux’ uttered before. Every evening when they sat down at the table, arriving almost as late as Percy, she felt the urge to ask. And every evening, the memory of Dumbledore’s piercing gaze stopped her.

Charlie only arrived on Christmas Eve, with more recently acquired scars than even dragons could explain away. But unlike the rest, he seemed more alive than ever. If her other brothers were struggling through the war, Charlie had come alive during it. Not that he enjoyed it - that would be doing him a disservice -  but it did feel like he’d finally found a cause worth fighting for. And if his particular dial seemed to point even more at mortal peril than the rest, he took it in stride.

Christmas itself was an odd, at times muted affair. After months of fear, of worrying about those not present, they were finally all in one room, finally certain that they were all safe. Yet at the same time, it was impossible not to think of Ron, who had loved Christmas more than anyone else in the family. Sometimes, his absence was so tangible in the room, Ginny felt like she’d choke on the air itself.

Still, no one spoke of it. As if everything was alright. As if everything was like before.

They sang Christmas Carols, making fun of Celestina Warbeck whenever her mum wasn’t looking. They walked around the Burrow, admiring the beautiful, unblemished snow tapestry and then turned it into a battlefield as they started tossing snowballs at one another. They returned back inside, dripping snow wherever they went and chilled to the bone, at least until they all had a mug of tea.

They unwrapped gifts and laughed when the twins gave Percy a pillow to put on his desk. They laughed even louder when Percy gave them a ‘closed’ sign and told them they clearly needed one. When they all put their Weasley sweaters on, it felt so comfortingly familiar and normal. And if her dad briefly hesitated when distributing the packages, as if his hands couldn’t figure out why he was holding one package too little, nobody mentioned it.

And finally, they sat down for dinner. Her mum’s eyes briefly glazed over as she stared at the table, chairs neatly rearranged to make it seem there had never been one more. Or maybe two. With how often Harry had joined them for Christmas, Ginny felt his absence just as strongly as she felt Ron’s. Her brother had loved Christmas, Harry had loved everything that came with it. Judging by her mum’s expression, she wasn’t the only one who missed him.

It made her want to stand up and scream that nothing was like before. Instead she extended her plate for another helping and asked Charlie how Norberta was doing. Because maybe it couldn’t hurt to pretend that there was no war, there were no lost children, just for one day. And if at the end of the day she hid under her blankets and cried until she had no more tears left to shed, well, maybe that was how it was supposed to be.

Only, as she lay there, crying and trying to muffle her screams, someone knocked.

“Yes?” she asked, her voice already betraying her with that one quivering syllable.

“Can I come in, sweetheart?” her mum asked. It was tempting to say no, to hide just a little bit deeper under the covers. But then she remembered how her mum had looked at the table and realised that maybe, even pretending for one day that everything was just fine, was too much.

“Yeah, all right,” she said, sniffling and wiping her eyes. At least her mum didn’t look surprised.

“I miss them too, Ginny,” she said, sitting down on the bed next to her and extending one hand, reaching for her daughter’s. Ginny clasped it tightly. “I miss them all the time, but today even more. It doesn’t feel the same without Ron and Harry here, does it?”

“No. No, it doesn’t,” Ginny admitted. “Sometimes, I manage to forget about a second. When we’re all waiting for dad to open the package with the lawnmower. And then I remember and I just feel so guilty for… for forgetting them, even for a second.”

“Ginny, don’t feel guilty, please,” her mum protested, sounding horrified. “I was grateful we could celebrate Christmas together today. But that doesn’t mean we can’t be sad too. Because they should have been here today as well. And there’s no need to feel guilty about any of that.”

“I suppose.” Ginny said, not quite convinced. She took a deep breath. “I just don’t know if I’ll ever be truly happy again without them.”

Her mum squeezed her hand just a bit tighter.

“When I lost my brothers,” she began and cleared her throat. Ginny instinctively held her breath. She never talked about them. “When I lost Gideon and Fabian, the first Christmas was awful. They were a bit like your brothers Fred and George. Always the heart of the party, always loud. And the next Christmas, the war had just ended, there was just this hole where they’d been. A hole that seemed to grow bigger and bigger until there was nothing left to celebrate.

“Halfway the day, I just couldn’t take it anymore. I ran to my room and screamed. Screamed until I lost my voice. And then you began crying next door. You were so small still,” her mum said, gently stroking Ginny’s cheek. “So I picked you up and walked around with you, talking and singing to you until you stopped crying. And holding you felt so good, so right. This little bundle of you. And then I thought of Fabian and Gideon again and felt guilty. Because how could I be happy while they were dead? But then I looked at you again,” her mum said, wiping her eyes. “And I just felt so grateful. My beautiful daughter.

“We’ve lost them and that will never be quite alright. We’ll always miss them. But that doesn’t mean we can’t learn to be happy again, one day at a time. This Christmas might still be too soon for you. It’s too soon for me for sure. But one day, we’ll get there. Together,” her mum said.

“Yeah,” Ginny mumbled.

“If you want, we can visit the cemetery tomorrow?” she said, giving her hand another squeeze.

“I'd like that.”

There was so much more she wanted to say, but couldn't find the words for. So instead she hugged her mum and cried.

Chapter Text

Twenty-four: Godric’s Hollow

All five of them had been buried at Godric’s Hollow. Weasleys usually were buried closer to home, Longbottoms had their own family tomb and no Granger had ever been buried at a Wizarding cemetery, but they’d all decided that Harry belonged with his parents, and the five of them belonged together.

Five tombstones in an innocent white marble, Harry’s in the middle. The flowers were not as numerous as during the summer, but still outdid any other plot. The odd multi-coloured wreath at Luna’s grave told them Xenophilius had already come by.

Five golden fires in a bell jar still burned as brightly as the first time she’d come here, Dumbledore’s contribution, a perpetual flame for each of the them. A sixth stood in her room back in the Burrow. It had been accompanied by a small note, telling that not just the fallen deserved to be recognised and mourned.

Her whole family was gathered around the five graves. None of them spoke, their breath condensing in the cold. Ginny kept rereading the life dates over and over again, the different days of birth, that same date of death. 18^th of June 1996.

“Could I have a moment with them?” she asked finally.

“Of course, dear,” her mum murmured, planting a kiss on her forehead before she left.

She waited until the others were well at the other end of the cemetery and then crouched in front of the graves. Running her hand through the snow, she wished she had something to give, to leave with them.

“Hi everyone, “ she said, her voice soft, “sorry it’s been so long. It’s… It’s been strange at Hogwarts. I keep expecting to find you all waiting just around the corner. But I guess I know where to find you, and where not. It just sucks. The world out there is growing darker without you all. Sometimes, I wonder-“ she hesitated but the graveyard was empty. Nobody but her friends would her thoughts she hadn’t dared to voice until now. “Sometimes I wonder if it wouldn’t have been better if it had been any of you, instead of me. But…” Ginny bit her lip. “Well, I’m trying.”

“I, uhm, started the D.A. again. I hope you guys don’t mind, but I needed it. A lot of people did. And not just because Snape’s teaching DADA,” she said, smiling wanly as she could almost hear Harry’s outraged cries.

“And, well, Dumbledore’s teaching me as well. No straight answers, just riddles. And… and Horcruxes,” she breathed out, barely daring to voice the word. “We can’t kill him you know, not yet. Voldemort. Not until we find these awful magical artefacts and it just leaves me dizzy, the momentousness of the task." She closed her eyes. Six people, six horcruxes. The way it should have been. "At least Harry already got one," she managed to say, forcing herself to stand up. "I'll find a way, I promise."

She brushed her hand past each of the tombstones, hoping to feel something more. But in the end, it was just her on the cemetery. Her and cool marble. With a sigh, she returned to her family. If she tried hard enough, she could almost picture the five of them walking next to her. Almost, but not quite.

***

When they returned from the cemetery, five people were waiting in front of the Burrow. Four of them she had never seen before, though their Auror uniforms reassured her at least somewhat. The fifth, his robes billowing in the cold wind, she was far more familiar with, his face a regular feature in the Daily Prophet. Rufus Scrimgeour looked different in the flesh. More weathered. His face was a map of lines and wrinkles, a display of what awaited anyone with the passing of time, if they were lucky. His hair, a few snowflakes clinging to it, had been tawny at the start of his career, now it was rapidly greying as well.

Scrimgeour detached himself from the group and approached them, his walking stick sinking into the snow but his feet almost floating over the surface. His uneven gait reminded Ginny of a hurt predator’s, limbering towards their prey. Her dad readied himself to meet the Minister, but Percy stopped him.

“I’ll handle this, dad,” he said, pushing back his glasses. “He’s probably here for me. He sounded  more hopeful than convinced.

“Percy,” Scrimgeour greeted him, tucking his stick under his arm.

“Minister. I'd hoped you asked for our address so you could send a Christmas card,” Percy replied.

Scrimgeour dug into his coat and produced a rather cheap card depicting an overly jolly Santa and a possibly drunk Rudolph the reindeer.

“Merry Christmas, I don’t trust owl post,” he said, pushing the card in Percy’s hand. He tried to move past her brother, but Percy moved with him.

“Can I help you, Minister?” he asked mildly.

“No, you are on holiday. I would, however, like to briefly speak with your youngest sibling,” Scrimgeour said, his eyes falling on Ginny. She met his gaze head on.

“Absolutely not,” her mum interrupted, coming to stand next to Percy.

“Madam, I am the Minister of Magic. I promise you that she will be safe with me,” Scrimgeour said.

“And I am her mother,” her mum said.

“Mum, it's fine,” she said.

“You don’t have to, Ginny,” Percy reminded her.

It’s fine,” she repeated. “Shall we take a walk, Minister?”

“A walk sounds delightful,” Scrimgeour said.

As they walked away, she could feel her family’s eyes on them. Scrimgeour took a moment to study his surroundings and, after what he had no doubt deemed an acceptable delay, cleared his throat.

“A very charming home you have, Miss Weasley.”

“Thank you, Minister,” she said.

“I am glad we can finally talk. I have wanted to do so for a long time,” he said.

Ginny looked at him, mildly surprised. Harry had been a desirable figurehead, and in a way it made sense that the D.A. had rallied around her. But what did she have to offer? As a figurehead, she’d only remind Wizarding Britain of the Ministry’s earlier failure to protect them. Hers was the face of loss.

“However, first there was your recovery and then the walls of Hogwarts sealed you off from the outer world,” Scrimgeour continued, pausing and gazing in the distance. “And I think we both know how well those walls guard their secrets, do we not?” Ginny just knew that somehow, he knew what had happened in the Chamber of Secrets.

“As you say, Minister,” she said, trying to keep the dismay from showing. Somehow, she’d always believed no one but those few who had been in McGonagall’s office that day knew the truth. Unaware of her inner turmoil, or perhaps simply not caring, Scrimgeour continued.

“As you are no doubt aware, the war is exacting a heavy toll on all of us. I try to keep us all safe, but we both know that that is impossible,” he said, eyes lingering on her scars. “I will, however, ensure that Voldemort does not win.” He did not show the slightest bit of hesitation as he spoke the name, which made Ginny like him a bit more. “That makes it all the more frustrating that we face such inner strife.”

“Inner strife, Minister?” she asked eventually when it became clear he was waiting for her reaction.

“I speak of your headmaster, Miss Weasley. Headmaster and officious leader of the, shall we say, underground resistance against Voldemort. Underground resistance you are well familiar with. And while I understand his reticence -  my predecessor was a fool - the time for division is past. The times are too dire for that.” Ginny nodded, still not sure where the Minister was heading.

“I must admit, you strike a different tone in your speeches, Minister,” she remarked, remembering the Prophet’s headline on Christmas Eve all too well, where Scrimgeour had promised safety and victory.

“Quite. But between us, there is no need to mince words, is there?” he said as they’d come to a halt at the far end of the Burrow’s garden. “Which is why I wish to make a request of you, Miss Weasley. I understand Dumbledore has taken you into his confidence,” he continued and once again, Ginny wondered how he knew. “Isn’t that so?”

“I have spoken with him,” she agreed.

“And would I be correct in saying that whatever he has discussed, concerns the war?”

It was so tempting to tell Scrimgeour everything. To speak of Horcruxes and let the Ministry find the remaining four. Surely they would had more means than a consistently more tiring Dumbledore? But then she remembered the tales of her parents of how permeated the Ministry had been by Death Eaters in the past.

“I think that is something between me and Professor Dumbledore, Minister,” she replied.

“I would argue that there is no room for secrets between allies in a war,” Scrimgeour said.

“But there is room for discretion,” Ginny said.

A flicker of annoyance passed over Scrimgeour’s face, but was quickly replaced by the mask she knew so well from the Prophet’s pictures. His grip tightened on his walking stick as they began to circle back.

“Discretion is important, I agree. Rest assured that I would not only be forever grateful for whatever you would feel comfortable sharing, but would also treat it with the utmost circumspection,” he said, before lapsing into silence.

They were nearly back at the house before he spoke again."I heard there have been some issues with resolving the inheritance of Mister Potter. As Minister of Magic, I could easily remedy that. It would be so much better if Mister Potters wishes were honoured, wouldn’t it?” he asked.

“Is that a bribe, Minister?” she asked, fighting the urge to hex him in what would no doubt be a headline worthy case of underage use of magic.

“Not at all,” Scrimgeour said smoothly. “Just a favour between friends. Because I think we could be friends, Miss Weasley.” Suddenly, Ginny felt like she was at a Slug Club meeting. “Consider it. My door will always be open to you,” he concluded before returning to his escort and Disapparating with a loud ‘pop’, leaving a seething Ginny behind.

The door of the Burrow opened and a worried Percy walked towards her, holding two mugs of steaming tea.

“I had no idea he’d be coming here today, Ginny, I swear,” he said.

“I know, Perce.” Ginny accepted one of the mugs.

“If you want, I can poison his tea tomorrow?” he offered, sipping from his own and grimacing. “Careful, it’s still very hot.”

“Maybe. Do you know Corban Yaxley, Percy?” she asked.

If she hadn’t known her brother so well, she would have missed the look of surprise and concern that passed across his face. It was only there for a second before he hid it with another sip of tea.

“A bit, we are distant colleagues. How do you know him?”

“Slug Club Christmas party. Apparently, he and Slughorn know each other. Though I doubt he’s an Alumnus, a bit too old for that.”

“Yes, quite,” Percy agreed, staring into the distance. “Steer clear from him in the future, Ginny. He’s a dangerous man.”

“He’s a Death Eater?” Ginny asked. Percy shrugged.

“I don’t know. But even those on our side can be dangerous. What did the Minister want anyway?”

“Information about my meetings with Dumbledore,” she muttered.

“I suspected as much,” Percy admitted, looking at his mug.

“How do you know about them anyway?” Ginny asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Scrimgeour mentioned it in front of me before,” Percy said. Ginny got a sinking feeling.

“But you didn’t tell the rest of the family?”

“Not my secrets to share,” he said simply. “Did you tell Scrimgeour?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head.

“What are you talking with him about anyway?” Percy asked casually, leaning against the window sill.

“Careful, you’ll end up covered in snow.” She chuckled when Percy cursed and began brushing off the snow. “But I’m afraid I can’t tell you, Perce. I’ve been sworn to secrecy.”

“Fair,” he said. “I guess that’s the name of the game nowadays. Nobody knows in the Order what the rest is doing. Only Dumbledore has an overview. Just be careful, all right?” He ruffled her hair.

“You too,” Ginny said, wondering if her brother had ever ruffled her hair before. “I’m glad you came back after last year.”

“Me too Ginny, me too,” he said, smiling wryly. “Come, let’s go back inside. It’s getting cold.”

Chapter Text

Twenty-five: Of battles won and lost

The twenty-seventh of December saw Percy returning to work, but the rest of the family still remained at the Burrow. They were all gathered around the table for breakfast, most still waking up, when a very confused barn owl slammed against the window.

“That’s strange. Usually only Errol does that,” Fred said, already out of his chair to take a look outside.

“It should be fine.” Bill did not even look up from his plate. “I put up spells that should keep any hostile mail out.”

“We put up spells,” Fleur corrected.

“Anyone expecting mail?” Fred asked as he returned carrying a now mostly white and mildly dazed owl inside. He put it on the table and the owl took two hops in Ginny’s direction, sending snow scattering everywhere, before falling over and landing in Charlie’s oatmeal.

“You did that on purpose!” he said, pointing an accusing finger at Fred as the clearly concussed owl rolled out of the bowl. No longer covered in snow, Ginny finally recognised the poor bird as Ovid.

“Oh, that’s for me. Hi Ovid,” she said, then added when the rest of the family looked at her questioningly: “He’s Astoria’s owl.”

“Is he usually that confused?” George asked as the twitching bird scattered oats all over the table.

“Not really, no,” she said, untying the letter from his trembling leg. “Charlie, can you check if he’s okay?” she asked, turning to the one brother who hadn’t almost killed an animal during his Care of Magical Creatures O.W.L.

“The spells must have given it some difficulty then,” Bill remarked. “They probably weren’t entirely sure what to do with a decent Slytherin’s owl.”

That at least vindicated her for her insistence that they’d exchange gifts at Hogwarts. With all the spells thrown up around the Burrow lately, she hadn’t been sure any owls would get through and with how excited Astoria had been about her gift for Ginny, it’d be a shame if it was vaporised. Still, it seemed like Astoria had at least been willing to risk a letter. And Ovid, apparently.

“He’s fine,” Charlie remarked. “Just a bit dazed. Merlin, Bill, what kind of spells did you put up?”

“I’m sure it was one of Fleur’s,” Bill protested, earning him a glare.

“If the poor creature had set off one of my spells, it wouldn’t be here anymore,” she sniffed.

As the rest of her family bickered, Ginny unrolled the parchment. Astoria’s flowery script unfurled itself in front of her, the first half in green ink and the second half in red ink. It instantly gave her a headache.

Dear Ginny,

Merry Christmas!

I hope this finds you well, or even at all. Ovid seems confident he will bring the task to a good end, but he is known for his temerity. This Christmas, and every Christmas before, he made an attempt on the pheasant and was only just rebuffed by my mother, who grows increasingly fed up with his antics. I do hope that next year, Ovid won’t end up on the menu himself.

I equally hope your Christmas celebration was a good one. Ours was an unrivalled success, with mum only being called away by one of her clients around dessert. While I do not wish to spoil too much, I can reassure you that for the next Slug Club occasion, I am not at risk of reusing an earlier outfit.

Other than that, this Christmas holiday has been of the rather boring sort, characterised by ignored homework and a very snippy Daphne, who seems aggrieved that my parents don’t vocally disapprove of our friendship. I miss you, my friend.

See you on the train,

Tori  

“Is that a joke about your Sortings?” George remarked, catching a glimpse of the colourful palette.

“Or an excessive Christmas celebration?” Fred added, eager to escape Charlie’s attention who, having chastised Bill, now seemed rather belligerent about his oatmeal au owl.

“With Tori, you never know,” Ginny said absentmindedly, wishing her friend was here right now.

“I still can’t get over the fact that you’re best friends with a Slytherin called Tori,” Bill said, then quickly added when he caught their mum’s warning glance :“Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Just strange.”

Before Ginny could launch a vehement defence of her friend’s moral character, a brilliant white hawk Patronus flew inside the kitchen and landed in the middle of the table. It took in the assembly and then spoke in Percy’s voice, enunciating clearly despite the hint of panic to it.

“Ministry under attack. Please come help.”

The whole table was on their feet in seconds, wands drawn. Charlie Disapparated before they could even talk, the rest grouped together. When Ginny took her mum’s arm, she shook her head.

“Not you, Ginny.”

“This is my war too,” she protested.

"You are not of age yet,” her mum said as Fred and George Disapparated.

"So what? I just stay at home worrying? I already do that enough at Hogwarts,” she protested. Bill and Fleur popped away as well as her dad took her face in his hands, not even trying to avoid the scars.

“You've done enough. Let us take this one,” he said kindly.

"Everyone has already done enough!" she shouted back.

He smiled painfully at that. "Perhaps, but you most of all. Please, Ginny. We don’t have time to argue.”

And without another word, he and her mum Disapparated. Ginny was left with a table with a half-finished breakfast. Perhaps she should have told them about Dumbledore’s meetings. Or about the D.A. She practised every week for battles like this.

But they had left her behind nonetheless. Left her to worry. Left her to stare at the clock's dials, terrified that any second, one would fall off. Its dials vibrated softly, as if all jockeying for the best spot to indicate mortal peril. Seconds ticked by, then minutes. It wasn’t difficult to imagine spells streaking just past her family as they fought shadows. She summoned her Patronus so she wasn’t alone. With Ron, she’d at least been there with him. Now, she didn’t know anything. In her mind, the shadows got longer and took more familiar faces. Bellatrix Lestrange. Malfoy. Dolohov. Rookwood. Rodolphus Lestrange.

Rodolphus Lestrange is being driven by an unrestrained madness. When he throws curses, he leaves himself wide open, either confident that no one will be left standing in the wake of those grisly purple clouds that spurt from his wand, or simply not caring what happens to him. She and Luna cast a Bubble-Head charm as the cloud spreads across the whole room. It is the smallest they have been in so far, with only one exit and that one is blocked by Lestrange.

The room itself is filled with all sorts of impossible objects, geometrical shapes that seem to exist in several dimensions at once. Cubes that somehow seem to have one edge too much. Yet impossible as they are, they begin to corrode as the miasma reaches them.

She throws a Stunner in Lestrange’s direction, but the purple smoke eats it. He wades towards them, seemingly undisturbed by it all. Ginny’s skin, however is already starting to tingle as the tendrils reach even their corner of the room. Even through the Bubble-Head charm she can smell it, a cloying odour that seems to extend all the way to her brain.

“Tick tock tick tock, how long till it gets you?” he sings, moving his head left and right to the rhythm of his words as his voice goes higher and higher. He laughs, a horrible chortling sound, like a man choking on his own laughter. He doesn’t even notice that one of the objects, a hexagonal prism made of chains, is drifting towards him.

He’s still laughing when it touches him and suddenly, he’s inside, ten times smaller. The smoke is transported inside with him. The room is like before, only now some of the shapes are deformed, scrunched together or bleeding a blue liquid.

“Let’s go, and don’t touch any of those things,” she says to Luna, who just nods. Even her forever calm friend looks disturbed.

“I’m scared, Ginny,” she whispers.

“You and me both,” Ginny says, her hands trembling.

They return through the same door. It doesn’t take them back to a hallway, but instead to another small room. This one is a bright white, with a single red statue of a horned creature in the middle. Next to it stand Travers and Mulciber.

A loud bang in the kitchen dragged her back to reality, the smell of the smoke still up her nose. She hurried back and found Charlie covered in blood, supported by a sooth-covered George.

“Ginny, a hand please?” he said.

“I’m all right,” Charlie added, seeing the horror on her face. “Just a bit banged up.” He slid down in the chair. “An explosion that I stood too close to. Ginny, get me a towel will you?” he asked. “George, you should go back. They need you.”

“Dumbledore just arrived, they’ll be fine. You’re hurt,” he protested.

“Ginny’s here, go,” Charlie repeated. George hesitated and then nodded, Disapparating with a pop as Ginny was running over to Charlie with a soaked towel.

“Thanks,” her brother said before having a coughing fit. With shaking hands, she dabbed at his forehead. He was covered in blood and dust, but she saw only superficial scars. When their eyes met, she could see they were unfocused.

 “I feel like that stupid owl this morning.” He took the towel from her, roughly rubbing it over his face.

“What’s happening?” she asked.

“Death Eater assault. You-Know-Who is there as well, I think he’s trying to take the Ministry. The Order and Dumbledore just got there, we’ll repel them. Speaking of which, I should be getting back,” he said, pushing himself upright and collapsing instantly. If Ginny hadn’t caught him, he’d have hit the ground.

“You’re staying here,” she said, pushing him back in his chair and reclaiming the towel. His robes were shredded, but she couldn’t find any other wounds. “Everyone all right?”

“As far as I could see. The whole thing was a bit chaotic but most of us were fighting them off in the atrium,” he said, head lolling.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t get you to St. Mungo’s?” Ginny asked, feeling so very useless in that moment. Next semester, they really should cover healing charms with the D.A.

“No no no, it’s good. Hardly the worst injury I’ve had. Did I tell you about that one Romanian wizard?”

“No, what about him?” Ginny asked as she rummaged through the cabinet for some disinfectant, desperate to keep him talking. Someone had once told her that was good. Probably Hermione.

“That was one of You-Know-Who’s foreign acquisitions,” he chuckled. “Stanislas something, he was supposed to convince a few local vampires to join the war. The vampires didn’t have much truck with him and told me his location. Problem was, the shifty bastard had his whole place brimming with curses. When I broke down his door, I got hit by like ten different spells. And then this Stanislas came at me, waving his wand. Ow!” he yelled as Ginny pressed a cotton wool soaked with a disinfecting tonic against his jaw. “I managed to put him down eventually, but I was bleeding all over the place by the end. I spent a week in their local St. Mungo’s. Don’t tell mum,” he added, sounding worried for the first time.

“I wouldn’t dare to,” Ginny said. “Have you been in many fights so far?”

“A few. You-Know-Who’s more… brutal than last year. I suppose he no longer needs subtlety now everyone knows he’s back. He’s got the Order and the Aurors running ragged,” he admitted. “Last week during the meeting at Grimmauld place, Tonks and Lupin fell asleep halfway. You should have heard Moody tear into them.”

Charlie was still chuckling when the rest reappeared with a few loud bangs. Her mum's distressed face told her everything she needed to know. Her eyes flitted from one to the next. Dad, clothes ripped in a few places. Bill, covered in a grey dust. Fleur, looking as beautiful as ever, even if blood trickled down her neck. Percy, glasses askew. Fred and George, both with scorched hems and George still covered in sooth.

As she madly counted and found all Weasley accounted for, though each with the same grave expression, she looked up in confusion.

"What happened?"

Her mum was at a loss for words, staring emptily ahead. Bill opened his mouth and closed it again as Fleur pulled him close. Percy took off his glasses and polished the lenses, blinking as if he wasn’t believing his own eyes. Even Fred and George couldn’t find a joke.

"Dumbledore," her dad said finally, dropping down in an empty chair, hands in his hair and his voice empty as he began to talk. “It was a mad chaos. Spells flying everywhere and five Aurors and Scrimgeour himself trying to hold off You-Know-Who. Then Dumbledore appeared in a flash of fire.”

“I only caught a glimpse of him, but he looked so tired,” her mum added quietly.

“He went straight for You-Know-Who, just like last summer,” her dad said with an awful, hollow voice. “Same atrium, same duel. Only, he moved slower this time. His spells were just a bit less brilliant. And You-Know-Who saw that too and he pressed him. I tried to get to him, but I couldn’t get past Lucius Malfoy. Moody was trying as well, but then one of Rookwood’s curses set his wooden leg on flame.”

“Good thing Fleur was on hand to blast Rookwood into that centaur fountain,” Percy said as he put his horn-rimmed glasses back on.

“And then suddenly, just as we’d almost pushed the Death Eaters back, suddenly… Dumbledore collapsed.” Her father folded his hands together in front of his face. “I don’t know what happened.”

“The Killing curse,” Percy filled in. “I saw it happen. Kingsley and I had just driven off the Lestrange brothers. A few steps away from helping. And then suddenly a green curse slipped through Dumbledore’s artfully arranged defence.” Percy balled his fist. “If only we’d been quicker.”

“Not your fault, Perce,” her mum said as she kissed him on the brow automatically. If Percy heard her, he showed no sign of it.

“After that, You-Know-Who laughed and then gave the sign to retreat. He must have considered that enough for one day,” her dad said, biting on his nail as he made circles on the table with his other hand. “And all we could do was watch as Dumbledore lay there.”

Dumbledore, dead.

Yes, oh yes, she could hear Tom crow in her head. But how could it be? That wise, kind old man she had seen so often this year. Sure, he had looked tired, but every bit as formidable before as he slowly pieced together Voldemort’s past. How could he be… dead?

Her scars burned and shifted on her body, her right leg shaking so badly she almost fell before she dropped down in the chair. She grabbed her right arm with her left but couldn’t still it. She didn’t want her family to see it. But none of them looked like they saw very much in that moment.

The only wizard Voldemort was afraid of, dead.

Is this what your dead brother would have called checkmate?

The one who was supposed to destroy the Horcruxes, dead.

An Order without a leader, a school without a headmaster and soon, a world without mudblood filth.

What were they supposed to do now?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Dumbledore, dead.

Chapter Text

Twenty-six: Secrets of the old year

DUMBLEDORE FALLS IN DEFENCE OF MINISTRY

Not even a Ministry controlled Prophet could soften the blow. Percy revealed Scrimgeour and most of his advisors had spent a whole hour trying of ways to spin it. In the end, they realised it was futile. Dumbledore was gone and the whole wizarding world was holding its breath to see what Voldemort would do next. What had seemed like an overextension at first, an overzealous assault on the Ministry, had turned into a last minute victory.

But the Ministry persisted. Scrimgeour passed emergency law after emergency law and no longer spoke of certain victory, but of eternal opposition and moral duty. Of defiance in the face of darkness. Rumour had it that Scrimgeour had personally ordered the execution of all captured Death Eaters. At this point, it was difficult to say for sure, but all they knew that one day, Avery was no longer on the Prophet’s list of top ten wanted Death Eaters. The Carrow twins’ demise she learned of via Percy, who had circled the announcement of their burial for her in the Prophet.

Ginny wasn’t sure if that could prevent the fall of the Ministry, one the Order already seemed to consider a certainty. Shacklebolt spoke of infiltration, Moody of incompetence and Percy of people pushed to their breaking point. But as the end of 1996 approached, it still held. Whatever losses Voldemort had sustained during his previous assault, it had been enough to grant them at least a momentary reprieve.

DUMBLEDORE TO BE BURIED ON HOGWARTS GROUNDS ON FIRST DAY AFTER CHRISTMAS BREAK

Four days of relative peace, four days of Ginny dreaming about four Horcruxes who would perhaps never be found, least of all the one Dumbledore had promised her as a gift for the New Year. And as long as they remained, the war could never truly be won. Ginny didn’t know what to do. Surely, Dumbledore must have told someone else. Surely, this couldn’t have been intended to be her burden?

New Years’ Eve was an even more muted affair than Christmas had been. Percy was trapped at the office, Charlie had disappeared two days before together with Hestia Jones and Fred and George had begged off early, citing exhaustion. Her mum and dad hadn’t lasted much longer either.

As it was, when the clock struck eleven, only Ginny, Bill and Fleur remained around the kitchen table, staying awake more out of some sense of obligation than any desire for festivity. Bill had been nursing the same bottle of butterbeer for an hour now with heavy-lidded eyes. Fleur had spent the whole night engrossed in some French wizarding novel Ginny had never heard of.

It was difficult to believe that somewhere, at the Ministry’s New Year’s Eve gala people were laughing and celebrating. In the shadow of a fallen giant or not, the party continued, with a light show and live music. She wondered if Astoria would still be going, and just how many people would only attend because they were too scared to spend the evening alone in the darkness. Maybe that was why she hadn’t gone to sleep yet herself, too afraid of the shadows of her dreams.

“Bill, I need your advice,” Ginny said finally.

“What about?” he asked, eyes suddenly alert again. “Is it about a boy?”

It sounded so hopeful that Ginny almost made up a story of a passionate teen romance, just to see her oldest, wisest and, if she was being entirely honest, favourite brother happy again. To take his mind off the worries of the war, instead of adding more. But after four days of fretting, it was driving her insane. She couldn’t tell Astoria, least of all via a letter. She couldn’t tell her mum or dad; they already bore the burden of trying to keep six children alive during a war. She couldn’t tell Scrimgeour, not with his cabinet in disarray and important positions filled more and more by people not up to the task as their original holders perished or succumbed to the pressure. But maybe, she could tell Bill and his fiancée. Level-headed Curse-Breaker Bill. Triwizard champion Fleur, one of the two still left.

“What if Dumbledore had entrusted me with a secret…” she let her voice trail off. Across the table, Fleur closed her book and studied her with visible interest.

“I’d keep it,” Bill said instantly.

“And what if it was really important?”

“All the more reason to keep it,” Bill said.

“Maybe. How important is the secret?” Fleur interrupted, speaking for the first time in what must have been three hours.

 “The type that could decide the war,” Ginny said, with some hesitation.

Bill frowned. She could see the gears turn inside his head, trying to figure out if his sister was exaggerating, or sincere. Ginny had hoped they were beyond that, since last June.

Fleur regarded her just as intently, only she seemed to reach a conclusion much faster. She took her wand and tapped it against her novel.

“Fleur!” Bill hissed, shocked.

Ginny didn’t understand his reaction. Until the cover of the book began to shimmer, its pink cover turning black, French words replaced by English. Secrets of the Darkest Art.

“Are you familiar with this book, by any chance?” Fleur asked. Ginny nodded.

“Why in Merlin’s name are you familiar with that?” Bill asked, sounding angry with her for the first time in her life.

“Dumbledore told me,” she said and she could see Bill’s desire to start shouting. Perhaps it was only Fleur’s pale hand on his that stopped him.

“In that case, I think you should tell us what he told you,” Fleur said gently.

“Dumbledore-“ Bill began.

“Dumbledore believed in hoarding secrets and scattering information. That hasn’t won us the war. Perhaps it’s time for a different tactic,” Fleur suggested.

And so Ginny told them of a young Tom Riddle and his desire for trophies, of a soul in a diary left to a trusted protector and of a ring hidden in a shack. And finally, she told them of six that had become four. Through it, Bill and Fleur listened and nodded along, sometimes in recognition, sometimes in concern.

“Merlin, Ginny, you shouldn’t have been exposed to all this,” Bill said. “What was Dumbledore thinking?”

“It’s war, Bill. Nobody gets to stay innocent, in case you’ve forgotten,” she said, brushing back her hair in the way she knew drew people’s attention to her scars.

“I know that, but this? Merlin, you’re too young.”

“Bill,” Fleur reprimanded him, “you’re beginning to sound like your mother.”

It was clear that Bill wanted to say more, but Fleur’s look shut him up. It looked dead useful, and Ginny wondered if she could learn it too.

“When did he tell you?” Ginny asked. Bill sighed, resigned to his little sister being a part of the war after all.

“In September. He asked both of us to come to Hogwarts in the deep of the night and then in his office, he told us about Horcruxes and how he suspected one might be hidden at Gringotts. Ever since, Fleur and I have been going through inventories and vaults when the goblins aren’t looking. It’s been slow work,” he admitted.

“Unsuccessful work,” Fleur added. “It’s taken us four months to check the Rookwood and Dolohov vaults and those weren’t even the largest or best-protected vaults. I have no idea how to even get into the Malfoy or Lestrange vaults without a goblin.”

“We can probably exclude the Malfoy vault. I doubt he’d give two to one Death Eater,” Ginny said.

“Agreed. But that still leaves the issue of the Lestrange vault. And what if it’s in some minor vault? Maybe one opened by Voldemort himself under a false name?” Bill asked. “We could spend a lifetime looking for it then.”

“If that’s what it takes,” Fleur said, a note of sadness mixed with determination in her voice.

“And then there are still three left. I wish Dumbledore had told me more about that clue of his,” Ginny sighed.

“Search his office when you get back. Tear it apart if you have to. There might be a clue,” Bill said. “But otherwise… I don’t know.”

“Was this why the Minister wanted to speak with you on Boxing Day?” Fleur asked.

“Yeah, but I didn’t tell him anything,” she said.

“Good,” Bill said.

“Should we tell more people in the Order?” she asked.

“No,” Bill said.

“Yes,” Fleur said at the same moment. They exchanged a look and something told Ginny this wasn’t the first time they had had this discussion.

“This is too big for the three of us,” Fleur protested. “Especially without Dumbledore.”

“Dumbledore disagreed. Besides, what’s to say he didn’t tell other people? He had a plan, he must have. We can only disrupt it by making a lot of noise. What if we tell the wrong person and Voldemort finds out?”

“I trust the Order,” Fleur said.

“Harry’s parents trusted Peter Pettigrew,” Ginny interrupted. “I’m not saying we can’t tell anyone, but we need to be really sure; Sure enough to risk the outcome of the war.”

“We could tell the rest of your family,” Fleur suggested.

“No,” Bill and Ginny chorused.

Just the thought of involving the rest filled her with revulsion. Charlie, already fighting his way across Europe. Fred and George, moving in the shadows while trying to keep the whole of Britain laughing. Percy, stumbling under the weight of a whole government. And Mum and Dad, keeping all of them afloat. None of them deserved more of a burden. Maybe that was why Dumbledore had handed out secrets so carefully, giving each only as much as they could handle.

But who then? She could see the question form on all their faces. Before, she’d have said Harry, who had always been on the front line. But who now? Moody, veteran of two wars and a hundred battles? Kind Professor Lupin, expert on all matters dark? Tranquil Kingsley, Auror and at the heart of the Ministry? She trusted all of them. As the Potters had trusted Pettigrew.

How about your good friend, Professor Snape?

They were still thinking when the clock on the table creaked and Charlie’s dial fell off.

***

It had been a routine assignment, Moody came to tell them the next day. Just a stakeout like they’d done a hundred times. What had been different this time, he didn’t know yet. All they knew was that when he got to their safe house for the change of guard, a Dark Mark hung over it. Inside, he found Charlie and Hestia dead. The whole place had been torn apart. They hadn’t gone quietly, he told them. As if that was supposed to console them somehow.

Mum had gone white as a sheet and then had disappeared to her room. Dad had remained at the table, clutching Charlie’s dial and looking like he wanted to glue it back onto the clock. Bill and Fleur had gone to tell Fred and George. They didn’t return until well into the afternoon and when they did, she could smell the alcohol on the breath of all of them. Mum would have sniffed in disapproval, but she was still hidden in her room.

And Ginny, she got out her broom. Charlie had loved to fly too. She flew as high as she could, until the cold stilled even her trembling right arm. But even this high with her thoughts dulled by the frost, there was one thought that would not let go. Charlie, her wonderful brother. Charlie, who had dreamed of dragons as long as she could remember. Charlie, whose wounds she had only treated a few days ago. There was an symmetry to it though. Four Horcruxes remaining, four brothers left.

Chapter Text

Twenty-seven: Funerals of the new year

Charlie’s burial was a closed casket service. She hadn’t wanted to know the details, she'd told herself. And still she hadn’t been able to stop herself from lingering in the hallway when Moody talked to Dad alone and used words like 'mauled' and 'Fenrir Greyback'.

It was a private affair, restricted to family and Order members. The snow had stopped falling by then and had been erased by the sun of the new year. It left only a barren ground for her four brothers to carry a shining black coffin to the cemetery. Not Godric’s Hollow this time. Ottery St Catchpole’s cemetery, where Weasleys had been buried for centuries, and where the war had already seen Cedric Diggory interred.

They all gathered around the coffin, shuffling closer as if physical proximity could somehow make it less awful. Ginny stood next to Mum and didn’t let go of her hand, squeezing it every ten seconds just to make sure she was still there. Still alive. Fred and George stood so close they almost seemed like the one person they so often appeared to be to other people. Percy was crying softly, accepting a handkerchief from Dad without further comment. And Bill stood at the front with Fleur next to him.

He told them about growing up with Charlie in a tremulous voice that somehow still carried all the way across the cemetery. About the brother he’d been closest to in age and had seen evolve from child to man, though his eyes still lit up the same way whenever he saw a dragon no matter what age. Quiet, reliable Charlie who had never hesitated when asked for help, including when Dumbledore had come knocking. Brave, tireless Charlie who had fought the war as vigorously as anyone.

After Bill, Dad took the word. His speech was more halting and he was robbed of his voice by grief twice. But still he pressed on and shared the miracle that had been their second child, the one most with his head in the clouds literally and figuratively, until the world demanded he had come down. And now, that was where he would remain. But they would remember him, in the little things in life. That one hill he’d crashed into during a particularly daring Seeker dive. The first day of Spring that always saw him running through the garden, no matter the weather. Every dragon they’d ever see. Charlie would never leave them.

Each of them tossed a white rose on the coffin before they committed Charlie to the earth. Through it all, Ginny felt numb. It seemed impossible that Charlie was gone too. Somehow, she thought that after Ron, that would be it. That they had already paid the price of war. Now, she couldn’t help but wonder if they would ever stop paying it.

Scrimgeour was waiting for them at the gates. At least he had shown the courtesy of leaving his escort a bit further away, though they watched him like a hawk. He himself had yet again aged a decade and earned a new scar, but still struck Ginny as combative.

“My condolences,” he said and Ginny could see he meant it. “I did not know him well, but I witnessed his bravery myself on the twenty-sixth.”

“Thank you, Minister,” Mum managed to say, before drifting past him. As the rest of the Weasleys and the Order streamed out, Scrimgeour fell in step next to her.

“Miss Weasley, do you have a moment?” he asked.

“Leave her alone, Rufus,” Moody said, positioning himself between her and Scrimgeour. “This is not the moment.”

“I disagree, Alastor,” Scrimgeour said calmly. “We are up against the wall here.”

“My answer hasn’t changed since last time, Minister,” Ginny interrupted curtly.

“As you wish, but do consider that the circumstances may have changed with Dumbledore’s passing,” Scrimgeour said, at least possessing enough decency not to push the issue. “May I have a word with you as well, Alastor?” he asked and the two grizzled ex-Aurors detached themselves from the group.

Tonks fell into step instead, this time bereft of any colourful hair or strange facial feature. Instead, she looked depressingly normal, her hair a faded grey. When Ginny caught her eye, she sighed, a sound to perfectly encapsulate the day.

“I’m sorry, Ginny,” she said.

Ginny vaguely remembered they’d been at Hogwarts together and though there was so much she wanted to ask, so much that she’d never be able to ask Charlie himself, she couldn’t bring herself to do it now. So instead, she just nodded.

They gathered at the Burrow afterwards, her mum all caught up in preparing the food. She moved through it almost mechanically, hands busy as her mind mourned. Ginny thought of the conversation they’d had on Christmas and realised that the day where they’d truly be able to let go was far away still.

It made her not want to leave for Hogwarts. Would everyone still be here next time she came home? And what world would they live in then? A whole generation was slowly dying in this war. Death Eater fought Auror and Order, while Muggles died simply for being born. It was too much, far too much. And still there was no end to it.

Mind swimming as it was, she almost didn’t notice when Astoria stepped into the Burrow. All in black, for once without accessories and looking utterly out of her depth, she hesitantly crossed the threshold, as if expecting to be sent away any second. She hadn't been invited to the funeral, but Ginny had owled her and begged her to come afterwards. Secret organisations or not, war be damned, she needed a friend.

Astoria took one long look at her and then the hesitation disappeared. She hurried towards her and gave her a hug. The kind she’d been getting from her mum ever since they’d gotten the news, only this time Ginny could let go, something finally breaking through the numbness, through a cold harsher than any Dementor had ever inspired.

“Oh Tori,” she sobbed softly into Tori’s hair.

“I’m so sorry Ginny,” her friend said, carefully releasing her and guiding her towards a couch in the corner of the room, then settling down next to her.

“What are we supposed to do now? Dumbledore’s gone. Charlie’s gone,” she said, her voice catching.

“What we always do, we keep going,” Astoria replied, handing her a handkerchief. “But not today. Today, standing still is already more than enough.”

“It just doesn’t feel real,” Ginny stammered. “Because how can he be gone? How can this be real? Haven’t we lost enough?”

“More than enough,” Astoria said softly. “I’m sorry Ginny, I just - just don’t know what to say.”

“Tell me we’ll get them for this,” Ginny said.

“We will. They’re going to pay, no matter what it takes,” Astoria promised, with an intensity that finally made her understand why this gentle girl had been Sorted into Slytherin.

When she couldn’t sleep that night, when Charlie and Ron, Hermione and Harry, Luna and Neville all clamoured, she thought of that iron resolve. She would get them.

***

Before she returned to Hogwarts, Dad took her aside. Her brothers had all left the house by then and Mum had ventured outside again for the first time in a week. She herself hadn’t been sure what to do, the remaining homework looking distinctly unappealing, but still about the only option that still remained. Until he had knocked on her door.

He came inside, hesitantly and sat down on her unmade bed as she turned her desk chair towards him. His face and handwringing told her it was no accident he had waited for this talk until mum had left.

“Ginny, before you return to Hogwarts, we need to discuss a few things,” he began, his tone so grave that for a second, Ginny wondered if he was going to ask her what she knew about Horcruxes. “I have been speaking with Moody and Snape. For now, the Ministry will still hold. It appears You-Know-Who has not yet recovered from the battle on the twenty-sixth. Snape isn’t sure what curse Dumbledore used, but it was a nasty one and it gives us a bit more time,” he said.

“That’s good, right?” Ginny said. Dad nodded.

“That said, we still suspect the Ministry’s fall is a matter of months. And with Dumbledore gone, that means Hogwarts will not be safe either. If it falls while you’re still at school, please keep your head down. You-Know-Who’s more moderate advisors have convinced him to spare the school. At least the Purebloods and Halfbloods.”

How twisted it was that such advice was to be considered moderate.

“So if a Death Eater is installed as headmaster, I just go along with it?” she asked, incredulously.

“That is exactly what we’re asking from you, yes,” Dad admitted. “Even if the Ministry falls, we’ll keep fighting. And I can’t promise we’ll send you back for your sixth year. But until then, do whatever is necessary to make sure you make it back to us safely.”

Ginny shifted in her seat, a hundred awful visions flashing before her eyes.

“Promise me you will, Ginny,” Dad pressed.

“Fine. I promise,” she said, looking away.

“Thank you,” he said, kissing her on the top of her head.

Liar, Tom hissed as her father left her room. It had been sensible advice, but Dad didn’t know about Horcruxes and immortal tyrants.

***

Bill sought her out as well, a gentle knock on her door late at night when Ginny couldn’t sleep and every shadow looked like Dolohov.

“Ginny, you’re awake?” he whispered.

“Come in,” she said and watched as her brother shuffled in, his face ghostly in the light of his Lumos.

“I wanted to talk with you before you left tomorrow,” he said, sitting down at the end of her bed.

For a moment, she felt like she was six again, Bill consoling her after Fred and George had made her cry and then teaching her how to get even. He’d taken being a big brother just as seriously as Percy, but he’d interpreted it very differently.

“What, to tell me to be careful?” she asked, resisting the urge to roll with her eyes.

“Would that help?” he asked, crooking an eyebrow and despite herself, Ginny smiled for the first time ever since that dial had fallen down.

“Not really.”

“I thought as much. No, you were right on New Year’s Eve. This is everyone’s war. It’s the only way we can win. You know what to do at Hogwarts?”

“Tear Dumbledore’s office apart for clues,” she said promptly.

“Exactly,” he nodded. “And if you want, tell your Slytherin friend.”

“Astoria? You trust her?”

“That’s not the question is it? It’s whether you trust her. All I know is that this is too big to face alone. You need an ally at Hogwarts. If not her, McGonagall.”

McGonagall, who had been so kind and courageous when she talked to Ginny in her office. It was tempting to tell her, even more tempting than it had been to tell Scrimgeour. But she already had the burden of a whole school to bear now and she couldn’t help but think that maybe Dumbledore had been right in withholding this particular piece of information.

“I’ll tell Astoria,” she said and Bill nodded.

“Good. If you find a Horcrux, write to me and Fleur. Don’t go after it alone,” he said.

“I won’t,” she promised and this time she meant it. She had already held one Horcrux in her hand and it had fooled her easily. Now, with its whispers still lodged in her, there was no telling what the next would do.

“And please, please be as careful as you can be. This family can't afford to lose anyone anymore,” Bill said. “Hogwarts is probably still safe for now, but it won’t last. Snape says-“

“Dad told me,” she interrupted him. “I know.”

“Alright, best of luck little sister,” he said, pulling her in a hug.

“You too big brother.”

HOGWARTS MUGGLE STUDIES PROFESSOR MISSING

Her family was one of the first on Platform Nine and Three Quarters, at Ginny’s own insistence. They didn’t say much as they parted, everything had already been said at home, but when Mum hugged her, it was a hug as fierce as she’d ever received.

“Please come home safe,” she whispered in her ear.

“Please be still here,” Ginny said back.

“Always, my sweetheart. Always,” Mum told her, eyes blazing in a way she knew all too well from looking in the mirror. “We’re done losing the people we love.”

An impossible declaration, but it was all they could give each other there and then. Ginny hugged her again, then fell into Dad’s arms.

“Remember what I said,” he told her. Ginny just nodded, unable to lie to his face again.

She found a compartment watching over the entrance. Even accounting for those who had stayed at Hogwarts, and hadn’t that been a minuscule number this year, fewer people trickled in than usual. Not the Slytherins though, most of them buoyant and loud. The only ones not unnerved by the Aurors on the Platform, the only ones not looking around as if death lurked around the corner. But the other houses were diminished. She spotted the Creeveys, but few other Muggleborns. With their greatest champion fallen in the Ministry’s atrium, she could hardly fault them.

Even the D.A. was reduced in numbers. Chang and Corner stepped through the barrier, as did Katie, Lavender and Seamus, but not Justin Finch-Fletchely, Anthony Goldstein or Dean Thomas. Susan Bones, Ernie Macmillan and Zacharias Smith entered together and looked rather lost without Justin. The Patils only arrived five minutes before the train left, still arguing with their parents until the conductor blew his whistle and they leapt on the train. Of their new recruits, only Demelza and Astoria returned, the latter entering her compartment slightly out of breath.

“Sorry for being late. Our breakfast philosophising got out of hand,” she said, throwing down her trunk with slightly more force than necessary. Ginny knew better than to ask. “What’s the headcount?” she asked.

“Diminished,” Ginny admitted and then, barely daring to voice the question. “Did anyone-“

“Die?” Astoria interrupted. “Not as far as I know. Apart from that one assault on the Ministry, the Dark Lord’s been quiet. I suppose he’s satisfied for now. Everyone is just terrified and I can’t blame them.”

“The Dark Lord?” Ginny echoed, hearing that particular term for the first time from the mouth of Astoria.

“Merlin, sorry,” she said, slapping her forehead. “It’s just, well, my parents insisted I use that term. At least since Dumbledore…” Her voice trailed off. “They didn’t want me to draw even more attention to myself than I did by being friends with you. At least they haven’t told me to cut ties yet with you.”

“And would you?” Ginny asked cautiously.

“Ginny, I’m here, aren’t I? And that’s not changing,” she declared. “I’ve already painted a bullseye on my forehead last semester and I’m quite happy with the look. Let them come.”

“That sounded almost like an invitation,” Nott said as he entered their compartment, smirking. “I’m sorry my Christmas gift was so late, Weasley.”

Astoria had her wand out in a second, but Nott just looked at it contemptuously.

“As if you’d dare. You should take a page from your sister’s book - she almost threw herself in my arms just now. She knows who has won, and who has lost,” he said.

The scars on his face had faded, but were still visible if you knew where to look. Ginny didn’t draw her wand yet, if only because she knew she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from using the Transmogrifian torture again.

“Leave, Nott,” she warned, not in the mood for any games.

“I just wanted to make sure you got my Christmas gift. I’m sorry it was late, but Greyback was never very punctual. Did your brother’s scars match yours or-“

BANG.

Ginny was pulling out her wand, a thousand horrible curses on her mind and damn the consequences when Astoria’s stunner hit Nott with such force that he slammed into the door with a loud crash that made Ginny grateful there were no teachers on the train.

 “Thank you.”

“He had it coming. Fucking bastard,” Astoria said as she marched to the stunned Nott and kicked him in the face, breaking his nose with a satisfying crunch. “He’s getting off lucky all things considered,” she added, dragging him into the hall and tossing him down face first. Ginny could hear something else crack and she doubted it was the floor.

Only then Astoria cast the reviving spell on him. Nott came to, coughing, clutching his nose and with murder in his eyes.

“You’ll regret that, Greengrass,” he warned her, blood dripping down his chin and on his hand. My father-“

“Will hear about this? Sorry darling, Malfoy’s already got that line. Crawl back to your compartment, maybe Daphne will kiss it better for you.”

“You’ve chosen the wrong side, bitch,” Nott muttered as he stalked off, still clutching his nose.

“I doubt it,” Astoria replied before slamming the compartment door shut, the glass shaking in its frame. “So. With that out of the way, how about exchanging gifts?” she said, beginning to rummage through her trunk.

Ginny decided she could trust Astoria with Horcruxes. Or anything, really. No matter how much her family had her speak of Dark Lords and Mudbloods, this was who she was at the end of the day, the girl unafraid of breaking a Death Eater’s son’s nose.

“Can you meet me in the Room tonight? There is something you need to know.”

Astoria looked up from her trunk and blinked. Something in Ginny’s tone must have told her how important it was.

 “Of course,” Astoria nodded. “If you’re sure. I’d understand if-“

“Tori, shut up. I trust you,” Ginny said and how good it felt to say those words.

“Thank you,” she said seriously, before an impish grin passed across her face. “Now, how about gifts?”

***

Astoria took it all in with grim-faced seriousness as Ginny told her of a man who wanted to live forever and thus tore his soul in seven pieces and then hid six of them. She paled when Ginny told her of a diary that had come to Hogwarts in their first year and found that for a while, her body could do with two souls, at least until it had grown weary of playing with a Basilisk and the castle’s inhabitants. She didn’t tell her of the Tom she could still hear inside her head, but she did tell her of a ritual of resurrection in a graveyard, and a secret organisation under the banner of a phoenix.

Finally, she told her of a hunt for six objects, now down to four. A cup, a locket and two more and why that meant they would need to break into their late headmaster’s office and hope that McGonagall hadn’t cleaned it out already.

Through it all, Astoria’s green eyes grew as wide as saucers as Ginny’s story progressed. But she didn’t run away or left Ginny wondering if she’d have to learn the memory charm. Instead, she nodded throughout, looking just as determined as she had when she’d cursed Nott.

“All right,” she said finally. “You take the name Dumbledore’s Army rather literally, don’t you.”

“I’d understand if this is-“ Ginny began, but before she could decide what ‘this’ really was, Astoria interrupted her.

“Ginny, shut up,” Astoria said. “We’re in this together.”

Weasley and Greengrass. It wasn’t the same as Potter, Weasley and Granger. That she knew all too well. But it still gave her hope.

***

Dumbledore’s funeral the next day was everything that Charlie’s hadn’t been. A grand open casket service, well-attended, except for the Order members who had conducted a separate ceremony for their leader and mentor, and utterly impersonal. Wizards and witches told the mass of black dress robes of wisdom, power and, in Scrimgeour’s case, sacrifice. While Dumbledore had been all that, she couldn’t help but feel it hardly encapsulated him. Perhaps if they would have spoken of school songs, brightly coloured robes and cauldron cakes, it might have felt more like the dotty headmaster the school had known. Something told her, he’d have much preferred being remembered like that.

Then again, what did she know? She wasn’t even sure if she mourned Dumbledore himself, or the loss of the one man who could have shouldered the burden of this war. The loss of an easy solution. Did that make her a bad person?

Only at the end, something changed. A wizard, so old he looked closer to death than life, all grey hair and wrinkles, was droning on about Grindelwald and the war until a Phoenix’s cry pierced the silence. A single tone that spoke of unending grief, held far longer than any normal voice could bear, before it morphed into a requiem. Up there in the cold sky, Fawkes flew and sang and sang and sang until Ginny could feel the grief inside her. And though she had been sure there were no tears left to cry this time, that the war had finally left her numb, she still cried. The lament told her it was alright. And as her eyes slid down from the sky to the tomb, she saw all were just as moved as she was.

The song ended on a last mournful note, held even longer than the first, as Fawkes landed next to the coffin, all eyes on the remarkable companion of this remarkable man. Slowly, flames spread across the coffin, not burning but caressing until they had risen so high Dumbledore and Fawkes were obscured from sight. When they retreated, both were gone, leaving a shining white tomb in its stead, without inscriptions except for the carving of a phoenix.

Ginny was sure the old man in the front hadn’t been finished yet, nor were the other officials still lurking at the front, but none dared to speak after that display. Instead, people slowly rose, drifting back to Hogwarts or Hogsmeade. Hagrid could be seen sobbing still on three chairs, even as the Professors led their houses back to the castle. Before she could walk inside, however, McGonagall stopped her.

“Would you walk with me, Miss Weasley?” she asked, her face still glazed with tears.

“Of course, Professor,” she said, after some hesitation about whether to address her as ‘headmistress’. But on today of all days, that felt wrong. Judging by McGonagall’s lack of reaction, she felt the same. They set off around the lake and the edge of the forest as people milled around the tomb, studying it with an awe that bordered on the disrespectful.

“I was sorry to hear about Charlie. He was a fine man and I feel blessed for having had him in my house,” she said.

“Thank you, Professor,” Ginny said.

“I understood you met with the headmaster several times this year?” McGonagall asked.

“That’s correct.”

“Professor Dumbledore was with me when the call came on the twenty-sixth. We were going over budgets,” she said, her voice betraying just how asinine a way she considered that to have spent her last moments with the greatest wizard of their time. “And before he left, he wrote down a quick letter for you.” She reached into her pocket and produced a thin envelope. “He recommended you read it in his office. The password hasn’t changed,” she said as she handed her the envelope.

Chapter Text

Twenty-eight: Trinkets of the past

It was light as a feather. Somehow, that seemed wrong. She held the weight of a life, of a war in her hand, and still it weighed no more than any other letter. At least the location lent gravity to the occasion, here in the headmaster’s office with all of Dumbledore’s predecessors looking down on her. A frame for Dumbledore was already in place too, but he himself remained conspicuously absent. As if it would be possible to forget him, the shining white tomb visible from the window.

Just a pristine white envelope with her first name scrawled on it, in death they had finally moved beyond Miss Weasley. She wondered if that meant she should call him Albus from now on as well. As inappropriate as it was, she almost giggled at the thought.

Afraid to open it? Tom asked and for once she couldn’t entirely disagree. A quick letter, McGonagall had said. It made her wonder what he had written down before striding into a battle he must have known he might not survive. What had been so important to warrant a letter to her of all people? It had to be about Horcruxes and even then she wondered why he had chosen her and not Bill or Fleur.

If only Harry had been able to write a letter as well before he died.

“Nice work, Gin. I’m glad you’re here.”

Had Dumbledore been glad she’d been there and survived? Is that why he had chosen her? Or had he solely sought to replace his star pupil by the best alternative on hand? A pawn to replace his bishop? Ginny had not been able to figure out their relationship before he died and now she feared she never would. The only thing she feared more was that this letter would settle it.

She ran her hands across her scars and wondered why she was even afraid of it. Why it mattered if Dumbledore had believed in her, or sought to use her as a convenient tool. There was a terrifying task ahead of them and she would confront it. If this letter helped her, so the better. If it didn’t, she’d tear this office apart until she found something that could help her.

With a single clean cut, she sliced open the envelope, shredding the white paper. A letter comes tumbling out.

Dear Ginny,

If you receive this letter, that means I have failed yet again and I died before my work was finished. For that, I must apologise my dear girl, for the burden I leave you and the rest of wizarding Britain is an unfair one.

At the time of writing this, four Horcruxes remain. I uncovered the hiding place of one more, only to discover an enterprising youngster had beaten me to it long ago. A rather fetching facsimile of Slytherin’s locket, as well as the note that came with it, lie in the upper drawer of my desk. Whether the original was destroyed, I do not yet know. I encourage you to find an answer to that question in the house of the Ancient and Noble House of Black.

The three others I have not yet found. In the cabinet you will find my, admittedly sparse, research on the topic, as well as several vials containing memories. They are all yours, as is my Pensieve. The two marked with notes in black ink will, I hope, prove useful on your journey. The three indicated with red ink are to be used in times of despair, in hope that a memory of happier days can bolster your resolve. The two with green ink are sealed by a spell. The counterspell will come to you in due time.

Do not wander this route alone, but are careful who you share these secrets with. I think Miss Greengrass has earned our trust, and I have also been so free as to take two other people in confidence, your brother Bill and his fiancée Fleur. They are conducting their own search. Include others as you see fit, but please, be careful. Honest souls are hard to find and even then can be broken.

I wish you the best of luck, Ginny. I am very proud of the strength you have shown in face of horrors unparalleled. I am sure Harry would share my opinion.

Yours,

A.P.W.B.D.

Ginny let out a long breath she hadn’t noticed she’d been holding when she reached the last letters. There it was, the incontestable proof that the fate of the war had been entrusted to her of all people. She almost had to laugh, remembering Bill’s horrified look on New Year’s Eve when he discovered she knew of Horcruxes. This was so much worse. It made her wonder if Dumbledore had been expecting her to survive what was to come, or if it had been a final daring gambit. To that, the letter offered no answer. Nor did it matter, no matter what Tom’s whispers were trying to tell her. She had to try.

As promised, she found Slytherin’s Locket inside the drawer. Or something not quite unlike it. As she held it, Ginny knew why Dumbledore had pointed her to Grimmauld Place 12. He probably hadn’t known it, but she’d seen it there before, as they fought a house that breathed resentment for their kind. It had been oppressive days of gloom, but Harry had been there. Harry who had radiated as much gloom and despair as the house on the surface, but if you looked at him long enough, you could still see the same light as always shining underneath, the light Ginny had never tired of seeing. And one day, he'd held a locket just like this one, one they had never managed to open. One, she realised with dawning horror, they had thrown away, still undestroyed.

The one thought that stopped her from succumbing to despair and combing the landfills of London, was that Horcruxes did not enjoy being discarded. The diary had slumbered in Malfoy Manor, but when awakened, it had never returned to the darkness. Ginny had sought to destroy and then discard it, but it had first found Harry and then her again. Slytherin’s Locket would have been the same. It would have reached out to a vulnerable soul and filled its head with whispers.

There had been two of those at Grimmauld Place, trapped in both their own mind and the past. And while one had hated everything in green and silver, another had been more receptive to stories of blood pure and traditions old. Kreacher. The only problem was, the only person who could force him to cooperate, if he still lived, was that other broken soul. Sirius Black.

“This is going to be difficult,” she whispered.

“I told Dumbledore, you know,” Phineas Nigellus said, who had clearly been ready to pounce. “Told him he was a fool for putting his hope in a girl of such a family of delinquents.”

“Yes, thank you,” Ginny said, massaging her temples.

She would study the memories tomorrow, she decided. Astoria could come along then.

“No grit, the kids of today. Or of old really, it was just the same when I was headmaster. Not even the strictest punishments can make up for poor breeding.”

With a bit of luck, Phineas Nigellus would be asleep then as well.

***

When she returned the next day, Phineas Nigellus Black was sadly still awake. Spite might have inspired him to stay awake, just to make sure he wouldn’t miss them. Dumbledore, however, remained absent.

“Oooooh,” Astoria said, standing in the middle of the room and unsure where to look first. Her eyes jumped from the portraits to the silver instruments to Fawkes’ empty perch, a sight that still pulled on Ginny’s heartstring.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” she said, feeling a bit like a tour guide or a proud homeowner as she dropped down in Dumbledore’s chair. She doubted he’d mind and that way, she’d at least done one thing at Hogwarts that no Weasley had ever done before.

“That’s not your chair!” Phineas Nigellus was quick to shout. “Get out of it this instance, young lady.”

“Is that-“ Astoria began.

“The headmaster’s chair, yes. Surprisingly uncomfortable, really,” Ginny said.

Astoria raised an eyebrow, amused by her casual disrespect. It dawned on Ginny her robes were of even finer cloth than usual and those emerald earrings looked suspiciously new. She also didn’t look quite as pale as usual.

“Did you dress up for the occasion?” Ginny asked.

“Well, yes.” Astoria looked a bit shamefaced. “I thought, with the portraits and all that,” she added with a vague wave of her hand that was somehow intended to explain everything.

“Good to see at least Slytherin house still has some manners,” Phineas Nigellus sniped.

“Oh Tori,” Ginny said, struggling not to laugh at her friend. “You even got the portrait from the last millennium agreeing with you.”

 “Yes, yes, hilarious. How about the memories?” Astoria said.

“I’ll have you know, young lady, that I lived well into the twentieth century. But I suppose your kind could never quite stay awake during History of Magic,” Phineas Nigellus muttered in the meantime.

Ginny paid him no mind, instead unstoppering the first vial and pouring it in the Pensieve.

“And that’s an actual Pensieve and it’s yours now,” Astoria said, running her finger along the runes.

“Apparently,” Ginny shrugged. “Guess it’s true what they say about being nice to old people. These are rare, right?”

“Incredibly rare,” Astoria agreed. “I’m not sure if anyone in Britain has another.”

“The Unspeakables,” Ginny said flatly.

A room with no floor or ceiling, walls or doors, not even the one they had come through. Just an endless white mist and at the centre of it, if this place even had a thing such as a centre, stone basin with odd markings on the side. Something she’d only ever seen in textbooks. A Pensieve.

“Where are we?” she says, her voice surprisingly loud in the void.

“In a memory? Or the memory, perhaps,” Luna says in her usual airy tone that seems better suited to this place.

“After a fashion,” a voice says, echoing from all sides. Impossibly loud, enough to make her teeth rattle. “This is the room devoted to the study of memories. I used to work here, you know.”

She and Luna look around, but can’t see anyone. They take a few more steps through the vast whiteness.

“Is that-“ she begins but before she can complete her sentence, the voice beats her to it.

“The name is Augustus Rookwood, former Unspeakable and now Death Eater extraordinaire. I see the prophecy is not here, nor the Boy Who Lived, so I cannot tarry. I will, however, leave you with a memory of my own to keep you occupied.”

The room is black and cold. The smell of salty air, the howling of the wind. The cold gets harsher and the dark darker. She’ll never be happy again. Dementors, she thinks before a voice drifts to the surface. A voice telling her that he’ll be her friend. Her only friend.

“Ginny?” She could hear her name, coming from far away. She tried to latch onto it, but failed.

The whispers turn darker and no longer promise friendship. They call her stupid, vain and lovesick. But she need not worry, he’ll make sure her death will matter more than her life ever did. Besides, why be sad? It’s not as if Harry Potter would ever love her. Who could love a stupid, silly girl like her? No, better to embrace death. That way, it will at least end. Don’t you want it to end, Ginny?

An incorporeal mist drifts past her and the back of her mind briefly screams Dementor. But Tom is screaming louder.

And suddenly, the darkness is gone. A clatter and the Pensieve lies on the floor, silver memories dripping from it. Next to it stands Neville, shrouded in an incorporeal Patronus. Whatever magic operated the room has been disturbed. Now it’s just a small square with a drain in the middle, a drain happily devouring the memory. It must have been Rookwood’s memory, she realises. Rookwood’s memory of Azkaban.

“Are you alright Ginny?” Neville asks, holding her. In his eyes there is so much love that she can forget the feeling of the Dementor. But Tom’s voice, she still hears, even as she nods. Neville moves to an equally pale Luna, who has sunken to the floor, crying and whispering ‘Mum’ over and over again.

“Ginny? Are you alright?”

For a second, she expected Neville to shake her shoulders, but it was only Tori, standing before her. At her feet lay the Pensieve, fallen but mercifully undamaged as her hands shook and shook and shook.

“I’m fine. Just a memory. A memory,” she repeated as she wondered whether she could rid herself of those particular memories with the Pensieve.

“Here, sit down,” Astoria said, guiding her back to the headmaster’s chair. A hundred eyes from fifty portraits studied her with concern as she breathed in and out.

“Weak,” she could hear Phineas Nigellus mutter, followed by a strangled cry. When she looked at his frame, she could see a witch and wizard wrestling Hogwarts’ least popular headmaster to the floor.

“Shall I bring you back to Gryffindor Tower?” Astoria suggested, pressing her palm against Ginny’s head. She didn’t need her friend to tell her it felt clammy. “We can do this another time.”

“No, I’ll be fine. It’s just been a while since I had one of those,” she said. “It took me a bit by surprise.”

“Hmm,” Astoria said, pressing her finger against her carotid artery. “Rather quick. Especially for a sportswoman such as you.”

“It’s fine, really,” Ginny said. “Or maybe it’s not fine, but I’m learning to live with it.”

“Dolohov’s curse?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Ginny said, relieved that Astoria at least didn’t speak of psychiatrists. Then again, she wasn’t sure an insular pureblood such as her even knew what that was. “Just, give me another minute and I’ll be fine. Can you-“

“Get the Pensieve? Yeah,” Astoria said, handling it with such care and reverence Ginny felt even worse about dropping it. With a flick of her wand, the vial labelled ‘1968’ uncorked itself and poured its contents inside. “So these are memories,” Astoria mused.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Ginny said, leaning closer. Somehow, this particular memory seemed to shimmer in the light more than those that had become before. “Shall we?”

“What do I do?” Astoria asked, looking very clueless.

Ginny thought of Fred and George and dunked Astoria’s face into the bowl, before diving after her.

She landed in the exact same office she had just left, only with one portrait less, a fallen Astoria scrambling up from the floor and – her breath caught in her throat – Dumbledore. Alive with two healthy hands and much less exhausted than he had looked during the last year.

“Oh, you’re just hilarious,” Astoria complained as she got up and dusted off her clothes, though what she was trying to brush off, Ginny wasn’t sure. Memory dust maybe? “At first I thought I’d missed the bowl and then I saw him.”

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Ginny said, taking a step closer to Dumbledore.

“It is. And they can’t see us?”

“No,” she said. “I think it’s his memory though.”

“Enter,” Dumbledore said and Ginny couldn’t suppress a gasp as Tom walked in.

No, not Tom. What stood in the office wasn’t fully Tom anymore. Perhaps not quite Voldemort either, but something in transition. His eyes weren't slits of scarlet yet, but they were turning red. His pale skin had gone paler, his hair thinner.

The price of power, Tom whispered. Maybe that’s how you’ll end up looking too. You’ll have to if you ever wish to defeat me.

The Tom of the memory’s eyes swept the office and passed over her before landing on Dumbledore. It felt like he had seen her, impossible as it was.

“Is that-“

“Voldemort, yes,” Ginny said, not wanting to share the nuances of Tom Riddle with her friend.

I’d almost think you’re ashamed of me, Ginny. I thought we were best friends.

She ignored him and focused on the memory, wondering what was so special about this particular one that Dumbledore had deemed it worth sharing with her. And still, as Voldemort and Dumbledore spoke and danced around each other, her heart skipping a beat when Dolohov was mentioned. Yet whatever she was waiting for, never came. Refused, Voldemort slammed the door shut behind him and the memory ended, throwing them back into present day’s office.

“Merlin”, Astoria whispered, looking ashen. It dawned on Ginny that Astoria had never seen Voldemort in the flesh before. “Did he really want to teach DADA?”

“That’s the question you choose to lead with?” Ginny asked, incredulous.

“Yeah, of course, I mean, imagine a worse teacher than Snape.”

“Fair,” Ginny chuckled. “I’m not sure what that memory was supposed to convey though.”

“That You-Know-Who’s a creep?” Astoria said, biting her lip in the same way she’d seen Daphne do.

“Maybe,” she sighed, returning the memory to its container.

“Do you want to see the other one as well?”

“Sure, maybe that will leave us with two mysteries to ponder,” Ginny muttered as Astoria retrieved the second memory, this one labelled ‘1996’.

Once again, they landed in the same office, with Dumbledore seated in his usual chair. Opposite him, leaning against the wall, was Snape, twirling his wand between his fingers.

“You seem annoyed with me, Severus,” Dumbledore said.

“Do not take too much credit, Dumbledore,” Snape replied and Ginny was feeling mildly vindicated that even the headmaster did not receive much respect from Snape. “I find myself subject to the Cruciatus curse on a regular basis, Lily Evans’ son is dead and we are losing the war. Not at all helped by the fact that you got yourself cursed and at most have a year to live,” Snape said and then scrunched up his face. “So yes, I suppose I am irritated with you as well.”

“And deservedly so, I confess to it being a mistake.”

“Why did you even try it on?” Snape asked, waving at a cracked ring Ginny knew all too well. Next to it lay the sword of Gryffindor.

“I wondered-“ Dumbledore started and then began anew. “Let us call it an old man’s foolishness.”

“Foolishness we can ill afford with our prophesised saviour buried at Godric’s Hollow. How are you going to defeat the Dark Lord like that?” he snapped.

“I suppose it will fall to others. I can only try to even the path.”

“Others? What others? Moody? Shacklebolt? Me? We might last a minute. Two if he feels like toying with his food. Merlin, Dumbledore-“

“Have you seen Nagini lately?” Dumbledore asked mildly, interrupting Snape’s diatribe.

“The snake?” Snape echoed in confusion.

“Do we know any other Naginis?” he asked.

“The Dark Lord keeps her close most of the time. He has taken to feeding those who displease him to her.”

“Charming,” Dumbledore said. “If the time comes, use that sword on her, will you?” He  gestured at the sword of Gryffindor.

“And why would I?” Snap crossed his arms.

“Maybe I will tell you next week,” Dumbledore replied, inspecting his watch. “Now, I have an appointment with the Minister.”

The memory ended abruptly, throwing them back into the office. That memory had been clear at least. But before she could share her conclusions, Astoria spoke up.

“Snape’s on our side?!” she stammered.

“Oh, right, yes. He’s a spy. Been for years, apparently. Please keep that to yourself,” Ginny said, grimacing. Snape was going to kill her if he found out she’d let that particular secret out. Then again, technically Dumbledore had.

“But he’s awful,” Astoria said, shaking her head in shock.

“I’d say it’s part of his act, but honestly, I think he’s just a jerk,” Ginny said, returning the memory to the vial. “Now, that wasn’t really the point of the memory.”

“Maybe not to you. Snape is a spy. Snape,” Astoria repeated, still in disbelief.

“The ring you saw, that was a Horcrux. And I suspect the sword of Gryffindor was used to destroy it. Which means, we’ll be liberating that,” she said with a gesture at the display case in the corner.

“Shouldn’t it be retrieved under circumstances of peril and in a display of great valour?” Astoria remarked. Ginny gave her a look. “Hey, I can’t help it if most of Dad’s bedtime stories came from an encyclopaedia.”

“Well, in that case,” Ginny said as she put a chair underneath the display case and stepped on it. “Phineas Nigellus! Black!” she shouted until a rather ruffled looking Phineas surfaced from underneath an overturned desk.

“Yes?” he asked, sounding distinctly worried and looking around his frame as if expecting his assailants to return any moment.

“I’m about to steal a priceless artefact from the headmaster’s office. Any comment?”

“How droll. Would that be an example of Muggle humour?” he asked.

Ginny reached for the case and his eyes widened.

“Wait, you’re serious? Do not touch that! That is a priceless artefact of one of our founders, admittedly the most insipid and boorish of the four, but treasured nonetheless and-“

“That should cover the peril. And this,” Ginny said, hurling the case to the floor, sending glass and splinters of wood flying. “Should cover the valour,” she declared.

Astoria looked at her slack jawed and then began to laugh.

Chapter Text

Twenty-nine: Army without a name

With a jump from, the chair she landed amidst the shards and lifted the sword. It felt lighter than she’d expected. Hard to imagine this had killed a Basilisk.  Then again, it had been Harry wielding it. Impossible, undefeatable Harry who had beaten all the odds. Until he hadn’t. She crushed the thought and cut the air with the sword, even as Phineas Nigellus continued to mutter about reprobates in the background.

“We’re keeping this,” she declared.

“Isn’t Snape supposed to use that on Nagini?” Astoria asked.

“He’ll find something else to kill her with. A specialist in the dark arts-“ she began, then paused. “Oh, Merlin. Dumbledore must have thought she was a Horcrux,” Ginny said as the even greater importance of the memory struck her.

“The massive, venomous snake You-Know-Who keeps close,” Astoria deadpanned.

“Yeah,” Ginny said, not thinking of the snake but of her dad. A night around a kitchen table, waiting for news. Fearing he would not survive the night. Followed by weeks in a hospital bed. Melting stitches, gaping wounds, scars she’d glimpsed since then. And the thing responsible for that, they had to kill.

“At least it’s not a Basilisk,” she murmured, gripping the sword a bit tighter.

“Is it too late to bail and suggest Zacharias Smith takes my place?” Astoria asked.

“Locket, cup, snake and something we don’t know yet,” Ginny said, putting the sword on Dumbledore’s desk.

“What will we be doing about the locket anyway?” Astoria asked, moving over towards the desk.

“I owled Bill last night and told him we needed Sirius Black.”

“And will that work? He didn’t look very approachable last time. Or sane,” she added.

“I don’t know, Tori, but what else can we do? I just feel so stupid. We had a Horcrux in our hands and tossed it out with the trash.”

“You could hardly know something like that would be hidden inside a house,” Astoria reassured her.

“You only say that because you’ve never been to Grimmauld Place,” Ginny said.

“Will we be telling the D.A. about this?”

“Horcruxes? No,” Ginny said decisively. “I’m sure they all have the heart in the right place, but as Marietta Edgecombe taught us last year, that’s not always enough,” she mused, massaging her temples. “We’ll have to tell them something though.”

***

HEAD OF AURORS MURDERED IN HIS HOME

MINISTER - ‘WE WILL NEVER SURRENDER’

Most of the D.A. was still there. So why did the absentees stand out so much? Hannah hadn’t returned for this year, and now Dean, Anthony and Terry were gone as well, together with most of their recent recruits, all having left Hogwarts and possibly even Britain for safer grounds.

It didn’t stop there. Even those that had stayed looked hesitant, shifting from one foot onto the other as if they would have much rather been somewhere else. No one had refused the invitation outright, but many were having second thoughts. The writing was on the wall. Not in messages in red paint decrying the return of the Heir, but in the doubt in Corner’s eyes, Smith’s position so close to the door and the absence of most of her lieutenants. Parvati and Lavender had hidden among the crowd, with only Padma still at her side.

Ginny could not fault them for it. They were an army without its eponymous leader, children in a war for adults rather than a plucky rebellion against authority. Hogwarts didn’t feel safe anymore and it translated to empty gaps.

But they couldn’t stop here. Harry may have been reluctant to lead wide-eyed children, but Ginny knew the alternative and it scared her far more. When the Ministry fell, she would make sure they at least knew how to defend themselves. So she sought out the eyes that were still free of doubt in the audience. Astoria, for once not in a corner but on the front row. Colin, fighting for his right to exist. Seamus, somewhat lost without Dean but still as determined.

“Hello everyone, welcome to the first meeting of this semester,” she began. “In light of recent events, I think it’s time we focused on expanding our repertoire of spells-“ she began, Padma nodding along with her, but she was one of the few.

“Are we still continuing?” someone interrupted her and of course it was Zacharias Smith again.

“Why wouldn’t we?” she threw back.

“Well,” Zacharias said, clearing his throat. He looked ashamed, impossible as it seemed. “Is there still a point in fighting? Dumbledore’s dead, so whose army are we now? The Ministry? Although I’m not sure how long that will last either,” he said, earning him a round of assenting murmurs.

She may have underestimated what the loss of Dumbledore had meant to all of them. This trusted mentor, the man who had promised to keep them safe at the start of the year. For them, just returning here had already been an act of defiance and courage.

 “The thing is,” Chang jumped in. “It’s gotten awfully real. People are dying out there and we’re still children. Is this our fight?” Though Ginny could see the loss of Harry and Cedric reflected in her eyes, it was difficult to feel sorry for her.

“Yeah, Dumbledore is gone. Dead,” she replied, voice low. “And that is terrible. This is our world we’re fighting for.”

“But can we still win?” Corner challenged, Chang nodding along with his question.

As she hesitated, she could feel herself losing them. Harry may have been able to inspire them, speaking of courage and necessity, reminding them of what this world of theirs was worth. But Ginny couldn’t. When they looked at her, they saw a scarred, broken girl who had lost two brothers; a cautionary tale, rather than an inspiration.

All alone. I told you I was your only friend.

The words were slipping through her fingers as she cursed herself for not having expected this. To her, it had been obvious they would still fight. To the rest of them, it had been obvious to stop. And slowly, they edged closer to the door and away from her. Astoria hadn’t moved, but around her, everyone had. Even Padma was wanting to leave. She could tell it from the tension in her shoulders.

She was still looking for an answer when Susan Bones pushed to the front. Susan who had been orphaned twice now by Voldemort. Ginny realised she didn’t know where Susan lived these days. From what she’d heard, she’d been one of the few who had stayed during the Christmas break. Ginny hardly dared to hope, but she looked too furious for someone who was going to deliver the finishing blow to Dumbledore’s Army.

“What’s the alternative to fighting?” Susan asked the crowd. “Rolling over? Handing over the Muggleborns? Anyone want to tell Colin and Dennis that?” she said with a wave of her hand, trembling with passion or nerves. Ginny couldn’t tell for sure, all she knew was that she hoped Susan would keep going. “Or Dean and Justin? Maybe that’s why they didn’t come back. Because they knew their friends wouldn’t fight for them.”

“That’s not fair, Susan, people are dying out there,” Corner protested heatedly.

“I know!” she screamed. “Most of my family was butchered during the first war. My aunt was killed this summer. And I’m still here,” she said, voice catching. “Look at Ginny. She’s lost two brothers and four friends. She almost lost herself. And she’s still here. Maybe that means the two of us are going to die, together with so many more. But I ask again, what’s the alternative?”

“Surviving,” Smith muttered.

“Oh yes, surviving in You-Know-Who’s world. That’s going to be great,” Susan sneered. “A Pureblood like you will get off well. A Halfblood like me might end up with a decent Ministry job as well. But the rest?”

The silence was oppressive, with people looking everywhere but each other. Susan glanced at Ginny, as if seeking permission. Ginny nodded, unsure what Susan was asking from her, but she realised that for all her skills, this was a battle more suited to Susan.

Susan took out her wand and looked so mutinous, Ginny wondered – hoped, really – that she was going to hex Smith, Corner and all the other naysayers. Instead, she pointed it downwards.

“Flagrate.” A fiery line was drawn on the floor, running from one end of the room to the other end. “I read this book once,” she began, haltingly. “It was my mum’s favourite, auntie told me. It was about this war and a line.” Susan took another deep breath as she stared at her feet. When she looked up, her eyes were blazing.

“We know what’s happening out there. And it will come here too. And that means… that means some of us are going to die. If you step over this line, you’re in. If you don’t, best of luck to you, but there’s the door. Dumbledore wouldn’t have forced anyone, nor will I. But we need to know where you stand.”

Astoria was over it in an instant, as were Colin and Denis. After some more hesitation, Seamus and Ernie followed. Ginny could feel Padma glare at Parvati on the other end of the line until her twin joined them as well, together with Lavender. Chang and Corner were conducting a whole discussion in hushed tones and angry looks, until Chang crossed it alone.

Smith, Corner and Terry Boot lingered, but so did Katie Bell and Demelza. One by one, they left until only Demelza was still there, looking at the line, unable to meet her eyes.

“Demelza?” Ginny asked.

 “I’m sorry, Ginny… But I made promises to my family as well,” she said.

“You said you’d fight for your birth right, once,” Ginny said, thinking of starry nights on the Astronomy Tower.

“Fight, yes, but not die,” she said sadly and then left as well, leaving just eleven in the Room of Requirement.

It hadn’t dawned on Ginny yet, filled as her head had been with Horcruxes, but Demelza hadn’t sought her out once since the start of the new term. Now she knew why. Whatever friendship they had shared, it had not been enough. She took a deep breath and told herself it didn’t matter. That she had ten by her side, even if Chang was glaring at her. A small army perhaps, but an army still. There had been only six when they went to the Department of Mysteries.

“Sorry for stealing your show, Ginny,” Susan said, smiling wryly.

“Thank you for stepping in,” Ginny said, wrestling the admission from her lips. She was grateful for what Susan had done, for saving ten. But a part of her wished she’d been able to do it herself.

“So, where do we go from here?” Padma asked.

“We keep training and practicing. I hope we’ll never need it, but, well, it isn’t looking likely,” she said to murmurs of assent all around. “That said, I think this was enough for one day, don’t you think?”

“Quite,” Seamus laughed and the rest chimed in. Some dallied for a little while, but eventually they left, until it was just Chang, Astoria and the burning line.

“Just know I didn’t do this for you, but for Harry and Cedric,” Chang said before walking out.

“Guess she’s still sour about your catch last year,” Astoria remarked as soon as the door had fallen shut behind her.

“Yeah, it’s definitely that,” Ginny said before dropping down in a fauteil. “Merlin, I didn’t expect that.”

“They’re cowards,” Astoria spat.

“Just afraid,” Ginny said.

“Please don’t defend people like Smith and Corner,” Astoria said, kneeling next to the line. “I didn’t know Bones could get so dramatic. Never thought a Hufflepuff would have it in them.”

“Guess this war brings out the best in some people.”

“And the worst in others,” Astoria mused.

***

KINGSLEY SHACKLEBOLT APPOINTED AS HEAD AUROR AD INTERIM

CORBAN YAXLEY TIPPED FOR PERMANENT APPOINTMENT

At the next meeting, there were still eleven of them. Now when they practiced, there was a ferocity to them that Ginny had only seen in Neville last year, after the Lestranges broke free. But this time, they all possessed it, that same feeling that something out there was coming for them.

Susan’s shield withstood all of Ernie’s assaults and Ginny could see he was giving it all, and that wasn’t little either. Chang practiced with an air of finality to it all, every wand movement measured, every cutting curse clinical. Padma and Parvati were a mirror image, every jinx as perfect as its parry.

And Astoria, she finally got her Patronus to work. A beautiful silver crane that flew through the room and then landed next to her, haughty and dignified. That at least broke everyone’s concentration and they gathered around it to admire the beautiful bird.

“I thought of breaking Nott’s nose,” Astoria deadpanned, and then added in a low voicer only Ginny could hear. “Still beat Corner".

And as proud as she was, still her heart tugged whenever she saw Colin and his little brother Dennis practice. They were all children growing up too fast, losing too much and fighting too hard, but in Dennis’ case, it was the worst. She wished he at least hadn’t crossed Susan’s line – because that was what it had become, Dumbledore’s Army, Susan’s line and Ginny’s leadership.

You’re leading him to his death, Tom whispered and that she could not refute; all of them maybe. Was that how Harry had felt last year when they all marched towards the Department of Mysteries. Was that how it had felt when they all went down one by one, a nightmare turned real?

Malfoy does not interfere in the other two duels. He simply sits down next to the smouldering… to her brother’s body. He catches her eye and winks. Ginny pushes herself upright and raises a trembling wand at him. Malfoy watches her and places a hand on his chest, as if saying, ‘what, me?’ Ginny wants to curse him then. She wants to kill him. But before she can push a spell past her lips that still feel so numb, she collapses again.

Meanwhile, Hermione battles Rookwood with a mad fury born of grief. The former Unspeakable blocks spell after spell, a laugh on his pockmarked face. He’s older than the other Death Eaters, his movements slower and more measured as he parries spell after spell.

“You could have been quite something, girl. With the right tutor,” he says, his voice barely more than a whisper, yet somehow it carries all the way across the chamber.

Hermione doesn’t answer him, instead hurling another spell at him. Rookwood sidesteps it casually, not at all bothered by the fire reaching for him.

“But instead you chose opposition. And now you’ll die as nothing. Like dust,” he says, jumping on a bench, one hand on his heart, the other pointing the wand at Hermione. “Pulvis Astris.”

It almost looks like the spell has failed, just a barely visible gust of wind that bursts from his wand and then sweeps past Hermione. She doesn’t even need to dodge it. But then it turns back. Winds itself around her. It swirls faster and faster, like a cloud of dust surrounding her. Through it, Ginny can see Hermione mouth a scream. Then she fades from sight.

When the spell ends and grains of sand sink to the floor, she is gone.

Chapter Text

Thirty: Sins of old

St. Mungo’s struggling to keep up with inflow of patients as struggle intensifies

It hit her at two in the night on a Friday, technically Saturday by then. It had just been another night of tossing and turning and trying not to see the Death Eaters that lurked behind her eyelids. Until she saw something she did wanted to see. It had been staring her in the face, really. Dumbledore had even drawn her attention to it in the memory. Tom hadn’t come for the DADA position that time, but for something else. He’d said as much. And what else could it be than a Horcrux?

One was here at Hogwarts. She knew it. The memory proved it, as did what she knew of Tom. It had been one of the few times he hadn’t lied to her, when he’d told her how much he loved this castle. How it had been his home, and how he could make it hers as well. Of course, he would have stored a piece of his soul here, so part of him would always linger here. And she thought she knew what place he’d have chosen.

Tempting as it was to put on her cloak and starting running through Hogwarts’ halls, she told herself it was better to wait for the morning. To bring Astoria, yes, but also in the hope that during the day, a piece of Tom Riddle’s soul would be just a bit less frightening.

She tossed and turned again, too excited to sleep. Sirius might still elude them, but finally, finally they had a different lead.

Minister deploys Dementors as Auror numbers dwindle

Ginny wolfed down her breakfast and dragged Astoria away from the Slytherin table as soon as her friend looked mostly finished. The days of Astoria sleeping in on a Saturday were long gone, the combination of impending O.W.L.’s and their hunt taking its toll. She could hear Nott and his friends guffaw as they hurried away, but she didn’t care. Let them mock her all they want, she was taking a step towards winning the war today.

“Merlin, Ginny, what’s going on?” Astoria asked, finally breaking free from her grip about three hallways further. Ginny looked around to see if anyone was around, tossed the cloak over them and pulled her friend into an abandoned classroom.

“I think I know where another Horcrux is,” she said, unable to contain her excitement.

Astoria’s eyes lit up underneath the cloak. Her friend too had been getting demoralised by the lack of progress. They told each other that even Dumbledore hadn’t instantly found a Horcrux, but with the Prophet headlines bearing down on them each day with more bad news, they could feel time was running out.

“You sure?” she asked tentatively.

“Well, not sure, but I have strong suspicions. I think there’s one here at Hogwarts. That’s what the first memory was about,” she whispered and was rewarded by Astoria nodding in agreement.

“Of course, you’re right,” she agreed. “It’s the only reason why I can imagine Dumbledore including that memory. But where?”

“I think it may be hidden in the Chamber of Secrets,” Ginny said. “Almost impossible to find, guarded by a basilisk and I’m sure the grandeur of it all would have appealed to him as well.”

“Hmm, makes sense. Did you see anything there last time?” Astoria asked.

“We weren’t really that concerned with searching the place,” Ginny admitted. “On account of the giant snake and the other Horcrux. But it’s worth checking out, right?” she said.

“And how do we get there?” Astoria asked and Ginny hesitated.

“I only remember flashes,” she admitted. “Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. Him - me hissing at a tap. Maybe we can get in with a blasting curse?”

“Can’t we just speak to it as well?” Astoria suggested

“I don’t speak Parseltongue anymore,” Ginny admitted.

“Can’t we just try hissing at it? I mean, Parseltongue never really struck me as a particularly poetic language,” Astoria suggested and Ginny grinned. She could feel Tom’s derision, but it couldn’t hurt to try.

To return to Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom felt strange. It was like any other Hogwarts bathroom, especially today with Myrtle absent. Cracked tiles, mirrors, sinks and a layer of dust that told her it had been a while since a House Elf or Filch had passed by here. But when she looked in the mirror, she could see Tom lurking behind her eyes. From the walls, she could hear hisses coming, promising to Rip… Tear… Kill…  It was like walking over her grave.

“You alright, Ginny?” Astoria asked. “You look pale.”

“I’m fine, it’s just, I haven’t been here since my first year,” she admitted, coming to a stop in front of a sink; The sink. She ran her finger along the tap with the snake scratched on the side.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Astoria asked. “We could get Bill and Fleur?”

“No, not until we’re sure. If they show up at Hogwarts, people are bound to talk and ask questions we don’t want answered,” she said, staring at the snake on the tap. She tried to imagine it moving and wiggling and hissed.

Nothing happened.

“Maybe in a different pitch?” Astoria suggested.

Ginny hissed at it, soft and loud, long and short, high and low. Nothing happened. Astoria joined in as well, the two of them sounding more like a kettle on the fire than a snake. She could hear Tom laughing at their performance. That dislodged the memory. He’d laughed at her before when she was trying to fight him even as he guided her to the Chamber of Secrets. She’d hissed too then and could hear it in her head again, feel it on her lips.

She hissed. The tap glowed and turned, the sink sank into the floor and before them appeared a tunnel, large enough for a man. Or a snake. Ginny stared into the darkness, thinking of everything she’d lost to it.

“Do we slide down this?” Astoria asked. “And if so, what will it do to my robes? I dressed for a Saturday, not spelunking.”

“Nothing good, I’m afraid,” Ginny said, feeling like she was missing something. She could hardly imagine Tom riddle sliding down this like a kid on a playground.

Quite right, would you like a hint? He asked. She ignored him.

“And how do we get back? This looks deep,” Astoria said, peering down.

“That’s what I’m mostly worried about, yes,” Ginny admitted. “Last time, Fawkes carried us back up but I haven’t seen him since… since Dumbledore died.”

“Hmm,” Astoria said and then sighed. “Well, if flying works, go get your broom. I’ll stay here and make sure no first year falls down the pipe or something.”

***

She returned at a run, finding that Myrtle had surfaced in the meantime and was carrying on a conversation with Astoria. Myrtle seemed to do most of the talking, but Astoria nodded along with a serious expression on her face, emitting noises of assent at just the right time.

“Ah, there you are,” Astoria said. “Well, sorry Myrtle, but we got business down there,” Astoria said.

“If you die, just know this is already my place to haunt,” Myrtle warned them.

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Astoria said with a light grin as she sat on the broom behind Ginny. One hand around Ginny’s midriff, the other holding her wand as she cast a Lumos that only barely penetrated the darkness.

“Making friends with Myrtle already?”

“She suddenly came zipping out of one of the bathroom stalls and I could hardly ignore her.”

“Why not? People do it all the time,” Ginny said.

“Well, yes, but her histrionics would have drawn attention.”

“Or… you were being friendly to a lonely ghost.”

“Hardly, I’m a Slytherin,” Astoria said and Ginny could picture her rolling her eyes behind her.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” she said.

The pipe seemed to go off forever, branching off far too often to be reassuring. But she just followed the large pipe as it twisted and turned, reasoning that was the only way she’d ever find a way back. The darkness was oppressive, the sounds distorted. Rats scattered in the distance, their feet going tip-tap and the sound carrying much further than it had any right to.

“How far does this go?” Astoria asked eventually.

“I don’t know. I think we might be under the lake by now,” Ginny replied, flying at a pace that would never allow her to catch a Snitch, or even a Quaffle, but did prevent them from crashing.

And still the ever-winding pipe continued. It made her wonder if there would ever be an end to it, or if they’d spend the rest of their lives flying down here in the dark. To think that Harry and Ron had glided down here once, hot on the heels of Gilderoy Lockhart. Would he still be in St. Mungo’s?

Eventually, the pipe levelled out and led into a dark stone tunnel, the air damp and the floor covered with the bones of small animals. Ginny decided to stay on the broom as they flew past puddles, bones and the rubble Ron had once moved aside after Lockhart brought down half the tunnel.

Two great green emeralds met them, the eyes of two serpents entwined and carved into the stone. By now she knew what to do and got the hiss right from the first time. The walls parted; she slid off the broom and drew her wand. After four years, she had returned to the Chamber of Secrets.

It all washed over her at once. Nights running through the castle, hissing at a snake in the pipes. Scrawling horrible messages on the walls. Killing roosters. Scribbling in the diary. Tom pulling her strings until they got so tight she choked. And then Harry had cut through it all with nothing but a phoenix song and a sword. Back then, he’d still been just a hero, and heroes didn't fail. It only had started to go wrong when he had become her friend. Friends were fallible

This time, it was up to her to be the hero. To face down Tom Riddle’s scattered souls and somehow come out on top. At least she already had the sword.

The Chamber hadn’t changed much. Towering stone pillars adorned with more snake carvings that reached farther than the dim glow from Astoria’s wand could reveal. The damaged statue of Salazar Slytherin. The remnants of a massive basilisk, teeth still gleaming with eternal poison. It all spoke of a time long gone, when the Founders still walked the land and creatures such as a basilisk could still be controlled. To think she’d lain here once, almost but not quite dead as Tom Riddle clawed his way back to life. If her guess was right, the diary hadn’t even been the only Horcrux there that night.

“It’s massive,” Astoria breathed, staring at the basilisk with horrified fascination. “Harry killed that?”

“With only the sword of Gryffindor and Fawkes,” Ginny said, walking past the snake’s remains. “Stay away from the teeth. They’re poisonous.”

“I don’t intend to walk into its mouth,” Astoria reassured her. “That’s more of a Gryffindor thing.”

“Sure,” Ginny muttered, moving her wand in an arc to so her wand-lighting arc covered a larger area. The place somehow seemed smaller than she remembered.

They searched for more than an hour, looking in every nook and cranny, even going as far as to dismantle the statue of Slytherin with a few well-placed Reductor curses. That at least felt satisfying. But no matter how, hard they looked, they couldn’t find anything and slowly the realisation began to sink in that she may have been wrong.

You don’t understand me quite as well as you think, it seems, Tom mocked her and while at any other time, that would have been a relief to hear, now it just drove her up the walls. She blew holes in walls and sifted through the rubble. She hissed at suspicious carvings. She jumped back on her broom and flew high enough that she could see the ceiling. Still, she found nothing. She’d been wrong.

Head in her hands, she sat down at the feet of Slytherin’s by now even more damaged statue. Astoria dropped down next to her and sighed, looking equally despondent.

“I do wonder what Dumbledore was thinking,” Astoria muttered. “All of this, it just feels like a bit much sometimes for two witches who still have to take their O.W.L.’s.”

“You don’t have to do this, Tori,” Ginny replied, perhaps a bit shorter than called for, but Merlin after searching for more than an hour and finding nothing, after more than an hour of nothing but darkness and walls from her oldest memories, she was done.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Ginny,” Astoria snapped back. “Of course I’m not backing out. Because then it’s you versus the world. Because that’s what this is about,” Astoria said and Ginny could hear her breathing quicken. “If we don’t succeed, we lose and You Know Who takes over and we can’t even hope for him to die of old age. If we fail now, Wizarding Britain as we know it is done! Done!” she repeated, eye twitching and hands shaking.

“Shh, Tori,” Ginny said, taking her friend’s hands, but Astoria just pulled her hands free.

“Don’t shush me! We’re never going to find them, the Horcruxes. We’ll look and look and-” Astoria said, but whatever else she meant to say got lost as she took a sharp breath and kept repeating the action, like a drowning girl desperate for air. Her wand clattered to the ground, taking its light with them.

“Tori, shh, I’m here, take a deep breath, calm down,” Ginny said, only now seeing how clammy her friend’s skin was, the sweat glistening in the nigh darkness. “Listen to my voice. Breathe in… breathe out,” she said, unsure whether it was actually helpful.

What were you supposed to do when someone had a panic attack? She just held her friend’s hand and whispered reassurances to her. And then she remembered a tale Astoria had once told her, of how Luna had found her in her first year when she’d been having a panic attack as well.

“Hey, Tori, have I told you about Blibbering Humdingers yet?” Ginny began and launched into an explanation, drawing on every memory she had of Luna dazzling them all with stories of crazy creatures.

She talked and talked and talked until it was almost as if Luna was in the chamber with them and Ginny missed her more than ever. Eventually Astoria’s breathing began to slow down until it was almost normal again. Her skin was still slick with sweat.

“Hey, it’s alright, I’m here,” Ginny said.

“I’m sorry Ginny, it just – was a bit much,” she whispered.

“It’s a lot, I agree,” Ginny said, thinking of nights awake and despair that threatened to drown her.

Somehow, it had never occurred to her that Astoria might have  been going through the same. For that, her poise was too perfect, too Slytherin. But here in the Chamber, still slightly out of breath and pale even by her standards, the mask had come off. It reminded her of that night with Malfoy on the Astronomy Tower.

“I’m not abandoning you though,” Astoria promised.

“I know. You’re my friend.”

“And I crossed Susan’s stupid line,” Astoria chuckled, though Ginny could tell it was a forced attempt at mirth. “I just don’t get how it ended up being the two of us.”

“It’s not just us, though,” Ginny said, squeezing her friend’s shoulder.

Astoria sighed and looked at the dark chamber. “Sure feels like it though.”

Chapter Text

Thirty-one: Perfectly normal

Twenty Muggles killed in ‘gas leak’

To play Quidditch amidst it all, Ginny wasn’t sure if it felt wrong, or liberating. Yet at the end of the day, there she was, tossing Quaffles like nothing had happened. Like Katie and Demelza hadn’t walked out of the Room and the D.A.. Like that tiny second year wasn’t flying in Dean’s stead. Like the Cup still mattered as the Prophet reported incident after incident.

Yet somehow, by March the Ministry still stood and so Gryffindor played Hufflepuff. An endless back and forth as they tried to build a lead that could withstand their Seeker’s inexperience. Ginny’s arm didn’t shake a single time as she scored goal after goal with a single minded obsession. In the end, they lost 150 to 180. While the rest of the team looked rather disappointed, Ginny mostly worried how bad they’d get annihilated by Chang’s Ravenclaw.

Then, the next week Jimmy Peakes was called down by McGonagall during training and didn’t return, shattering that illusion of normalcy as well. After that, she mostly took to the skies to feel oblivion.

Peakes family murdered in their home

In the meantime, the Slug Club had restarted, though in reduced numbers. Eddie Carmichael had disappeared during the Christmas break, alongside his family. Nine O.WL.’s or not, he had still been a Muggleborn and that had been far more decisive.

That left her only Astoria to talk with. And Slughorn of course, who, after he had concluded she was not upset with for the memory, treated her more and more like his star pupil.

Body of Eddie Carmichael found in London alley

D.A. meetings continued, their mock duels more and more tense. Ernie ended most practices black and blue all over as Susan ate up each spell they taught. Dennis finally nailed a solid shield charm and Ginny hoped, hoped it would be enough. Parvati had to go to madam Pomfrey after Padma accidentally blew her into a wall with an overpowered Ventus. After that, Parvati paired up with Lavender, but she kept coming. Eleven remained eleven.

At least until my Death Eaters get here, Tom mused.

Minister narrowly escapes assassination attempts

Scrimgeour kept sending her owls, requesting an audience, begging her to share what she knew. The parchment breathed out his desperation. She knew he was trying to do what was right. She also knew that she couldn’t risk the news spreading. Scrimgeour, she might trust with the tale of Horcruxes, but he’d upend Wizarding Britain looking for them. Perhaps that way they’d find the locket, but they’d lose whatever chance they had at the others.

So she burned his letters and sent back polite notes of refusal, wondering if Scrimgeour’s lack of pressure were a testament to his character, or the fact that he had too many urgent problems to spend too much thought on Dumbledore’s legacy.

Three Aurors, seven Death Eaters dead after confrontation in Hogsmeade

She and Astoria racked their brains thinking about Horcruxes, even as she waited each day for Bill’s reassuring missive that they had found Sirius Black. They watched the first two memories over and over, McGonagall more than content to leave the Headmaster’s Office and its ghosts to them. Again and again, Ginny practiced with the sword, determined to end whatever Horcrux she stumbled across, animate or inanimate.

You want to fence with me, girl? How very Muggle of you, Tom mocked.

It just spurred her on to search more and more, even as she longed for those easy days in the Room of Requirement with Astoria and her collection of records. Her friend showed no more hint of vulnerability like she had in the Chamber of Secrets, but Ginny was quite sure the walls her friend had erected were brittle to say the least.

Vikram Patil killed in duel with Rodolphus Lestrange

Padma and Parvati missed the next week of classes after their father died. They didn’t miss the next meeting of the D.A. There was desperation in their eyes, grief in their smiles and hate in their spells, but they kept coming. Eleven remained eleven.

The next time Nott tried to corner Ginny, Parvati sent him to the Hospital Wing for a week. She accepted her detention with a smile and Ginny gave her a thumbs up. The look on Nott’s face just before Parvati’s spell exploded in his face was one she would treasure forever.

Explosion at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour kills owner, four clients

At least DADA was still perfectly normal, Snape drilling dark art after dark art in them, with such vehemence Ginny wasn’t sure if he wanted them to be able to survive whatever was thrown at them, or whether they’d be quick to adapt to a new Death Eater world order.

Until one day, Snape looked at her and told her he expected her in detention that night. While there had been many points losses, even more since the new year, this had been the first detention and for once, she had no idea what she could have done to provoke this.

“Must be having a particularly bad day,” Colin muttered under his breath.

“It has to be. I mean, I was even taking notes,” she said, gesturing at her parchment filled with notes on Fiendfyre.

***

The office was a mirror of the man. A dark room, curtains drawn shut and lit only by seven glass lanterns that cast as much shadow as light. Bookcase after bookcase, all of them trying to drown out the walls and filled with books that whispered to her in a way she had learned to distrust and loathe. Display cases like in his classroom filled up the rest of the emptiness, each containing an item she would rather die than touch. What had been shown in class had been curated carefully, no doubt at the insistence of Dumbledore that they weren’t exposed to anything too dark. The collection here had been carefully curated as well, but for a different purpose. The chalice in the nearest case gleamed with a green substance she knew was poison. The skull staring at her from underneath a glass jar seemed to hold something, if not life then something worse. The one book confined to a glass case rather than a bookcase seemed to be bleeding.

And amidst all that madness were a desk and a chair for her, with Snape lurking behind his own desk, never having looked more like a vampire. As Snape set her writing lines and corrected essays with gratuitous application of red ink, she kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. Had he found out she’d told Astoria of his tenuous position as a spy?

She was almost relieved when he put down his quill and looked at her with disdain. She stopped writing and stared back.

“I have been informed that you wish to find Sirius Black,” he said. “As I personally cannot imagine a single reason why anyone would wish to find that reprobate, I am dying to hear your explanation.”

“It's important for the war,” Ginny said. If Dumbledore hadn’t trusted Snape with the secret of Horcruxes, she saw no reason why she should.

“Important, and that is all you can offer? Would it by any chance be connected to all the time you and Miss Greengrass spend in the Headmaster’s office?”

“I really couldn’t say, Sir,” she said and she could see Snape’s eyes glimmer with hate.

“You are just like Potter. Rash, conceited and too deluded to realise you cannot win this war on your own. I wonder how come you two never got together. Perhaps if you had acquired those scars earlier, you would have caught his attention,” Snape drawled.

Ginny wanted to hex him. She wanted to curse him till he toppled off his chair and knocked over all those display cases with dark objects he gazed at so lovingly.

“Do you know where he is or not? Otherwise I'll just leave,” she threatened.

“You seem to have forgotten this is a detention. You may continue writing lines,” Snape said, returning to his essays.

Ginny looked at him in disbelief as he struck through a particularly offensive line. It looked like her essay on Fiendfyre.

I’ve killed people for less, you know, Tom whispered, sounding almost understanding. She gritted her teeth and continued writing. It was already late, long past the usual hours of detention when Snape spoke again.

“It will be impossible to locate Sirius Black. During one of his ill thought out assaults, he bit off more than he could chew and died. It was very tragic,” he said, his tone belying his words.

“Are you sure?” she asked, ignoring the gnawing feeling inside her stomach, the dreaded realisation that they may never find one Horcrux.

“Delightfully certain, yes.”

“What, did you kill him yourself?” she sneered.

“Yes,” Snape replied simply, one syllable carrying a lifetime of resentment.

Ginny dropped her quill.

“What? How? He was on our side!” she screamed, getting up and knocking over the inkwell, drowning hundreds of lines promising ‘I will not be reckless’.

“Black was on no one's side but his own, as has always been the case,” Snape replied in clipped tones. “But as to avoid you dragging me for a tribunal of your peers,” he sneered. “Allow me to enlighten you. The Dark Lord's confidence is not easily earned, nor retained. Regular sacrifices have been required of me. And this, this wasn’t even a sacrifice. It was a pleasure. And for him, a mercy really.”

Ginny just blinked and then began to pack up, shoving her belongings in her bag. They were done here. This vile, vengeful man had just made their task that much more difficult.

“What did you need Black for?” Snape pressed.

“None of your business,” she said, heading for the door.

“Ah, I see. An important secret, vital to the war that cannot be shared with me, but could be shared with a deranged murderer. How Gryffindorish.”

Ginny tried the door, only it wouldn’t open. Snape didn’t seem surprised.

“I’d like to leave,” she said.

“And I would like to be anywhere else than this wretched island. But we can’t always get what we want, now can we?” he said as he stood up and walked towards her. “I intend to win this war, but it cannot be done if you keep secrets from me.”

“They are not mine to share,” she said, trying the door again as Snape glided closer and closer.

“Aren’t they? Let me guess, they are Dumbledore’s. Secrets he shared with you on nights that I attended on the Dark Lord and risked my life and sanity. But of course, you are a much more reliable ally than I am. Because you are still so pure. Because you were oh so tearful about the death of your friends. Never mind I have fought this war for almost twenty years now,” he ranted, spittle flying from his mouth and his gestures wild and erratic.

“I’d like to leave,” Ginny repeated, reaching for her wand and wondering if she’d get detention or expulsion for cursing Snape pre-emptively, even as he loomed over her, his own wand dangling by his side and the room darker than ever. A different emotion rose to the front. Not the hate she had come to associate with him, but something else. Something that tended to cling to Death Eaters. Fear.

“As soon as you tell me the secrets Dumbledore shared with you. We are losing this war and you can’t change that, you foolish girl. But I might.”

“Sure, but for which side?” she spat back. Snape sighed.

“It boils down to that, always to that, doesn’t it? I am not to be trusted, only you and your noble friends, even if your mind is wide-open. So be it,” he sighed and suddenly his wand was in her face. “Legilimens!”

Chapter Text

Thirty-two: Of three minds

If Harry hadn’t complained so often and so empathically about Snape’s oOclumency, she would have had no idea what was happening. As it was, waves of terror still washed over her as she could feel Snape enter her mind and rifle through her thoughts.

This is pathetic, really. I’d mastered Occlumency by the age of fifteen, Tom said, even as she could feel any memories involving him slipping just past Snape, without him caring in the slightest.

Memories of her youth were just as easily discarded, Snape didn’t care for her happiness, her Quidditch victories, her first looks at Harry. Not even the Chamber of Secrets interested him, though she could almost feel his disdain at how easily she’d fallen for a diary. Their rebellion against Umbridge only bored him, as did the D.A. with Harry leading them with such passion.

And then, there was the Department of Mysteries.

Dolohov’s first spell is just him testing the waters. A gentle probe, it must have been in his mind. Yet the whip of purple flame that whizzes by almost takes off her head. As it is, her cheeks burn with the heat its passage leaves behind.

“So, you are a Weasley,” he says, the ‘W’ almost becoming a ‘V’ in his mouth. “Didn’t one of those marry a Prewett?” he asks as he throws another curse her way.

This one is dark and crackling, a sphere that slices the air itself and explodes in a thousand shards against her shield. They roll across the floor and burn when they reach her foot.

“I killed two Prewetts, you know. That’s what got me sent to Azkaban apparently. Goes to show just how little they know,” he says.

He places his wand against his lips. As he pulls it away, a cloud of frost springs forth and races towards Ginny. Her Incendio does nothing, it is too large to dodge and it moves straight through her shield. It leaves her numb, almost frozen, movements sluggish as she tries to remember what it was like to be warm.

“It was really but the tip of the iceberg. I killed Muggles and Mudbloods by the score,” he continues.

With a flick of his wand, a cut appears on her cheek. It stings and she can taste the blood all the way in her mouth. It makes her wonder just how deep the wound is. But no matter how hard she tries, her limbs still wouldn’t move.

“But the Prewetts were the most fun. Twins that screamed and screamed and screamed before I finally let them die.

Gideon and Fabian. It has to be. And anger does what pain could not, it frees her body. Dolohov is still deciding what curse to use next when Ginny’s cutting curse comes for him. He parries it, only just, deadly magic brimming just in front of his face. When he looks at her again, he is no longer playing, or at least what passes for play in his sick mind.

She doesn’t even see him move, but next she knows, she can’t move. But no stunner, nor a full body-bind. It almost feels like being petrified, only she is still aware.

Dolohov looks at her and grins. It is a foul sight, a smile borne of cruelty rather than joy. He waves his wand and the next moment, all she knows is pain. Sharp agony, spreading across the right side of her body, claws gliding over her until they dig into her face. Her mind screams, and she with it. Pain. Nothing but pain.

Ginny could feel herself shaking as Snape inspected memory after memory at the Department of Mysteries. Travers, Bellatrix Lestrange, Rookwood, Lucius Malfoy and Voldemort. Luna, Neville, Hermione, Ron and Harry.

I could keep him out, you know.

And still he kept going, edging ever closer to her conversations with Dumbledore. Ever closer to secrets so vital to this war, secrets she trusted few with. Least of all this man of dubious loyalty who was now tearing through her mind without an ounce of regret.

All you need to do is ask.

Sirius Black, alone in the cave and she could feel his exultation.

I am your friend.

She alone practising dark curses in the Room of Requirement.

It will be simple, really

Dumbledore inviting her in, with the word Horcruxes lingering just around the corner.

Yes, she thought back.

Stop.

It was a thought and a command. A ripple of power running through her brain. She wasn’t exactly sure what it was. All she knew was that one second, she was in her mind, and the next she was in his.

“You asked to meet with me Severus?” Charity Burbage asked, her Muggle Studies Professor who had been missing for months now.

Burbage and Snape were standing at the edge of Hogwarts’ grounds. You didn’t feel the cold in the memory, but you could see it nonetheless. The wind was howling, lifting up the snow from the ground and whipping it against their legs. Both were wrapped in cloaks that seemed to do little to protect them, judging by their shivering..

“Yes, thank you for coming Charity,” he said, sounding more courteous than Ginny had ever heard him. “I apologise for the setting, but I didn’t want to risk being overheard.”

“Overheard?” she echoed and Ginny could see something akin to hope begin to bloom in her eyes. Hope she knew all too well. “Why wouldn’t we want to be overheard? Merlin, it’s cold,” she said, taking a step closer to Snape.

 “You know how people talk. Especially about me. The whole staffroom is whispering behind my back,” he said.

“I never did,” Burbage replied softly, taking another step closer

Impossible, yet there it was, plain for Ginny to see. Their kind, gentle Muggle Studies Professor was in love with Snape.

“I know Charity, that is why I asked you here today. I can trust you,” Snape said, taking a step closer himself.

Is that what she was seeing? Professor Snape in love? Only, something felt off. Snape was almost too sincere. Too kind. Too vulnerable. Everything he simply wasn’t.

Something moved in the brushes and Burbage started, her wand out in a second as she peered into the snow-covered foliage. Briefly, the only noise they heard was the wind and Ginny hated how the war could distract even a woman in love.

“Probably just a bird,” she said, even as Snape raised his wand behind her. “But better make sure. Ever since… ever since Albus died, I haven’t felt safe anymore.”

“Quite,” Snape said and then his wand flared green.

She landed in the snow with a muffled thud. Moments later, two figures in black cloaks and white masks surfaced from the bushes.

“Why did you do that for? I was hoping we could play with her first,” a shrill voice said, one that Ginny knew well-enough. Bellatrix Lestrange.

“She was looking straight at you. If she’d seen you and drawn her wand-“

“I would still have killed the Mudblood in mere seconds,” Bellatrix said, prodding the corpse with her boot.

“Yes, with your usual style no doubt. And that would have drawn people’s attention. May I remind you that with Dumbledore gone, I am one old fool’s benevolent protection short? The rest of the staff never liked me,” he said.

“As if anyone would have seen in this weather,” Bellatrix muttered. “But fine, we’ll take her as it is. If Nagini complains her food is cold-“

“You may explain it was because you could not move silently through some bushes,” Snape interrupted.

“It was Rodolphus’ fault anyway,” Bellatrix said, looking at her tall companion.

“It was just a dead tree branch I stepped on. Mudblood must have had ears like a bat,” he muttered, then turned to Snape. “Say, Snape, it almost sounded like she was sweet on you. You really have a way with Mudbloods, don’t you-“

Get out!

The last was a command as powerful as Tom’s had been, though filled with more panic. One second, she was staring at a bright white landscape, the next she was back in the dark of Snape’s office. She stumbled and sank to her knees, head spinning.

Snape had fallen as well, rubbing his wrist, his wand having rolled away. When their eyes met, his were burning with fury.

“What did you do?” he hissed. “What did you see?

“Professor Burbage. You killed her,” she accused him. Strangely enough, he looked reassured by her accusation.

“Another necessary sacrifice,” he said coldly.

The door was still spelled shut, but at the end of the day, it was still just a door. She blew it open with a blasting curse and sprinted through it before Snape could pick up his wand again. She could hear him yelling at her, but she pressed her hands against her ears as she ran and ran and ran. She would have fled to McGonagall’s office, or even the Slytherin dorms to find Astoria, but at this hour, there would be no one to answer her. So instead she ran till she was behind the portrait in Gryffindor Tower and safe to collapse in front of the hearth. Her Common room, though everyone she could have confided in had left long ago.

The scars were alive. Burning, shifting pulsating as if she had been cursed anew. It was impossible to tell where the memory stopped and the current feeling began. She hugged herself and trembled so badly it hurt, teeth chattering as she lay on the high pile rug.

“I hate him,” she whispered.

He’d killed Professor Burbage. He’d killed Sirius. And still he claimed to be on their side. Harry had never trusted Snape and now she understood even better than before. Could anyone like that truly be on their side? Who murdered with regret, who tore through her mind and pulled up whatever memory caught his fancy, no matter what he disturbed? He had no right to glare at her with his righteous conviction, if it even was that and not just a Death Eater’s mad gambit who had grown tired of being a spy.

“I hate him,” she whispered.

The fire was blazing and still she felt so cold. Not the coldness of up in the sky, but the coldness of feeling so utterly empty. Alone. Afraid. Hurt.

Tomorrow, she would tell McGonagall. And if that didn’t suffice, she’d tell everyone in the Order. Snape could not be trusted. With Dumbledore gone, whatever restraints that had kept him in place were gone now. Tomorrow, he’d pay.

“I hate him,” she whispered.

But tonight, she was left with the feeling of a mind riffling through her own, tossing aside what didn’t interest him, like Tom Riddle once had.

What can I say? I teach my servants well, Tom drawled.

Tom, who had helped her tonight. At her explicit request. She’d let him back in. After years of ignoring him, of hating him, she’d let him back in. Because she’d been alone and afraid. Just like last time.

Mine.

It didn’t matter, she told herself. It had helped her keep Snape out. It had helped keep the secret of Horcruxes out of the hands of either a lunatic or a traitor. That was what mattered, not the means. And wasn’t that exactly the same justification Snape had offered her for his actions? A necessary sacrifice. Maybe that was the final price this war would ask of her. Not just her brothers, but her soul. She could not. She would not. But what if it was that, or lose? Would Harry make the same choices? Or would he have found a way to win the war, with both friends and soul intact?

“Nice work, Gin. I’m glad you’re here.”

But why aren’t you here, Harry? I need you.

Face pressed into the rug, she sobbed silently. Four Horcruxes and not a step closer, not after all these months.

Chapter Text

Thirty-three: Vae Victis

The only thing stopping her from running to McGonagall as soon as she entered the Great Hall that morning, was her Head of House’s absence. Of course. The first time that she needed her was the first time she was absent. Acting Headmistress or not, McGonagall had kept attending every morning, though her presence had never been more reassuring than Dumbledore’s absence the previous semester.

Snape, however, was there. She could feel his eyes on her as she forced down her food and kept glancing at the table, hoping, praying for McGonagall to appear. The last time she glanced up, Snape’s eyes met hers. For once, they weren’t contemptuous, but curious. Scrutinising. As if he was still trying to figure out how she’d managed to rebuff him that night. Or perhaps wondering what she’d do now, though he seemed too relaxed for that. Too at ease with his sins.  She rapidly looked away and after that, only cast looks from the corner of her eyes.

The breakfast dragged on, and still no sign of McGonagall. The first people were already preparing to leave, when a massive black owl swooped into the hall. Its wingspan so large that every beat of its wings carried it several meters, the displacement of air audible. All eyes followed it, as if instinctively realising this was an important messenger.

It landed in front of Snape and extended its leg. With a bored expression, he untied the letter and read it. Ginny could not look away, even though Snape’s face was as unreadable as always. He rolled up the letter, rose from his chair and drew his wand. The Hall was already falling silent, anticipating a speech. Instead, he flicked his wand and all doors slammed shut. They rattled in their hinges, Ginny could hear locks slide in place as the hall became silent.

When Snape spoke, it was in the tone that he used in class. Low, mesmerising and perfectly audible. He had never struggled to keep a class quiet. Today, it was the same with the Great Hall. Even the other Professors were looking at him, most in confusion though a few with rising unease that Ginny shared.

“I will not deny the perils of our time,” Snape began. “You all know the divide that has been turning brother against brother, witch against wizard, magic against magic. Those were the signs of our time for more than twenty years now. They are so no more. The resistance that has been poisoning our society for far too long has been eradicated. The war is over,” he said.

No words could have filled Ginny with greater dread than that. Their war had been far from over. The whole Hall must have felt it, not celebrating but listening, knowing such an announcement could only have come at the greatest price.

“Corban Yaxley has been appointed as the new Minister of Magic, ushering a new era of unity that we all must rally to. This will be a time of change and we can all choose how to act on it. Embrace it, or be swept aside by the tides of change. One of his first acts has been to address the void left by Albus Dumbledore. He has asked me to assume the position of headmaster and it is with great pleasure that I accept,” he said.

That absurdity finally broke the spell and sparked a wave of murmurs washing over the hall. Ginny didn’t speak, she just sought out Astoria and could see in her eyes that she understood as well. It lasted for maybe a minute, then a horrible wail silenced everyone, so high-pitched it had everyone reaching for their ears and groaning in discomfort.

“I was not finished,” Snape remarked finely. “While these are the early days, I can assure you that the tide of change will not spare Hogwarts. Rest assured, I have sufficient ideas for improvement. Some will take time, others will enter into effect immediately,” he said and no one missed the threat contained therein. As her eyes swept across the High Table, she found no more confusion there, only horror. Only Slughorn’s face was impassive as he gazed into the Great Hall and Ginny couldn’t shake the feeling he was staring straight at her.

“To assist with this transition, the Minister has lent us several of his most skilled employees,” Snape continued, just as someone banged on the door. “Indeed, I believe they are here already,” Snape said, and with another flick of his wand, the great castle door swung open again.

Five figures walked in, their footsteps the only sound. All were clad in black robes and wearing white masks she knew from her nightmares. Only the man in front wore no mask. A man with a pockmarked face and a greying beard, though unlike last time, it was carefully trimmed. It was a face she knew even better than the masks.

“May I introduce you to our new caretakers who will ensure the rules are respected, as well as our new Dark Arts professor, Augustus Rookwood?” Snape said. “They all have my confidence, as well as the Minister’s, and we should feel honoured by their presence. I trust you will all treat them with the appropriate respect,” Snape said, falling silent as if daring the hall to protest.

Ginny was already halfway on her feet, a cry of protest on her lips when her eyes met Slughorn’s. The old wizard shook his head gently, eyes pleading. Ginny thought of a terrified man at a Christmas party sharing her darkest secret with her. She dropped back in her seat. Snape surveyed the hall, his eyes lingering longer on her than anyone else. She could tell he hadn’t dared the hall to object, but her and her alone. She stared back and gave him his sweetest smile. Finally, Snape nodded.

“Good. That will be all for now. You are dismissed,” he said and smiled thinly. “Welcome into a new age.”

The Boy Who Lived No More will not return

Ginny Weasley will

Stay tuned for Book 2

Woe Unto the Conquered