Chapter Twenty-Six

The Very Late, Really Long Chapter From Hell

 

Author’s Notes:  No, we don’t know when Chapter Twenty-Seven will be posted.  J

 

 

Fleur hadn’t seen Bill Weasley since Halloween.  He sat across from her now, at the low end of a big conference table in one of the Gringotts meeting rooms, taking detailed notes on a piece of parchment in front of him as Barknap, their goblin project manager, outlined the various types of charms he might expect on vaults number 687 to 712.  Barknap and several of his assistants were seated on a platform at the high end of the table – a typical goblin-like attempt at appearing powerful.

 

There was no need for Fleur to take notes.  Unless Bill or one of the goblins managed to break the charms that she had set, she was free to leave London and Gringotts at the end of the week. Not only that, but she’d also be leaving Charismatics Spellcraft International and be free to work where she wanted, not that she had a clear idea of where that was for the long term.  At any rate, she couldn’t leave soon enough.  She had put in tireless hours reconstructing charms on the bank vaults, and in the evenings had taken to spending most of her time in the flat she had let, reading books and practicing more charms.  Walking home through Diagon Alley each evening was a test of patience, as it usually happened that at least one wizard on the street would prove to be unaccustomed to seeing a quarter-veela, and would try to follow her home.  Never had Fleur tried so hard to be unattractive – she was getting very little sleep, yet circles refused to appear under her eyes.  She’d stopped brushing her hair for a whole week, and yet it refused to tangle.  She’d never had this problem at home – but then again, at home she had often welcomed the attention.

 

Bill had attempted his second apology at Halloween.  After talking with Professor McGonagall and Neville Longbottom at the celebration, Fleur had decided to take a walk around the grounds, to try to get a feel for what types of charms might assist in protecting the castle.   No one had been able to determine exactly how Albus Dumbledore had managed to keep the school secure for so long, but Professor McGonagall had explained to her that since Voldemort was no longer a threat, it was not necessary to have the strongest charms – ones that might take years to perfect – in place before the school opened the following September.  The Headmistress was more interested in restoring basic boundary charms – enough to give parents a sense of security.

 

Fleur was grateful that Professor McGonagall had accepted her offer of help.  It had been a lucky guess that Hogwarts might be in need of assistance with charm reconstruction, and Fleur had sent a blind letter to the school in early October, searching for any opportunity to stay away from France.  Her parents were upset that she wasn’t returning home right away, although she’d promised to come back for Christmas.  She just didn’t want to go back yet.  Too many things in Mont Ste. Mireille reminded her of Gabrielle.   Her parents were having a difficult time of it, but at least they had each other.  Fleur was very much alone.

 

“I’m sorry?” Bill looked up from his notes and addressed Barknap.  “Look, it might help me a bit if you tell me who some of the patrons are for these vaults.  If I’m expected to think like a criminal, then I’ll need to know what I’m supposed to be stealing, won’t I?”

 

“Mr. Weasley, we’ve discussed this before – we cannot breach Gringotts’ security by telling you what’s in each vault!”

 

The two continued to bicker back and forth for a few minutes, and Fleur held up her hand under the pretense of inspecting her nails.  In truth, she was inspecting Bill instead.  He wasn’t handsome in a conventional sense – not handsome like her tall, dark-haired father or the Quidditch player who had accompanied her to the Yule Ball during the Triwizard Tournament.  She could almost hear Clara, her school mate at Beauxbatons, sniffing something disdainful about the way his nose was a trifle too long, or how his build was a bit on the slender side.   Of course, it didn’t matter what Clara might have thought – Fleur had caught a glimpse of the Culparrat transfer lists while working at Azkaban and had seen Clara’s name on the list of prisoners. 

 

Bill was… interesting looking.  The arms that emerged past the rolled-up sleeves of his robes were very freckled, but his face, in comparison, was unblemished.  The hair that was pulled back into that ponytail was thick and slightly wavy, and very, very red. Fleur often received envious stares and compliments on her own hair, which fell to her waist and shimmered as though enchanted, but somehow she liked Bill's better.

 

“Miss Delacour? Miss Delacour?” Fleur put down her hand and stopped a blush before it could start.  She might not look tired, but she felt exhausted.  Barknap was speaking to her.  “Could you assist me up here with some of the charts?”

 

Rising from her seat, Fleur mounted the platform where the Goblins were sitting and, pulling out her wand, levitated the piece of parchment that Barknap had just unfurled so that Bill could read what it said.

 

“This is a map of the vault area that you will be inspecting,” said Barknap, nodding at Fleur to point to the parchment.  “There are twenty-six vaults, each protected by a different type of charm.  Some are low security – standard Gringotts spells for those who can’t afford more custom enhancements – and some are highly complex.  There are some that you would be expected to be able to enter with little effort, however, there is not much worth stealing in those vaults, so it is of little consequence.”

 

“I know,” said Bill, “My family’s vault is 687.”

 

Fleur looked at him.  He’d been writing as he spoke and she couldn’t see his face, but the tips of his ears were quite pink.  She’d always assumed that since his father was the Minister of Magic that his family must be quite well off.

 

Barknap consulted his own notes. “That is the vault of the Minister of Magic – I assure you that special charms are in place there.”

 

Bill pushed his chair back from the table and walked up to the map.  He squinted and leaned in close, so as to get a better look.  Fleur took a step back, because as he neared, her heart had begun to race, just as it had done at Halloween.  This only made her angry.  Taking a deep breath, Fleur asked, “Do you have a problem with seeing, Mr. Weasley?”

 

He looked at her and shrugged.  “Sometimes.”

 

“Why are you not wearing glasses?”

 

He didn’t answer immediately, but after a moment, muttered, “I used to – in school.” He turned and walked back down to his seat.

 

Barknap nodded and Fleur also sat down. She was grateful, for she suddenly felt lightheaded.  Bill Weasley always seemed to have that effect on her, despite her attempts to fight it.

 

On Halloween, she’d wandered down to the lake, feeling a need to see it again.  It looked quite different from the way it had the day of the second task.  Voldemort’s attack on the school the year after the Triwizard Tournament had turned the banks of the Hogwarts lake into a sort of muddy wasteland.  Though she’d only seen it surface once during her time at Hogwarts, the absence of the giant squid seemed to fill the lake with an emptiness that was almost overwhelming. Now, a new Mer-community was forming at the far end, and Fleur had caught a hint of their shrill voices as they’d floated to the surface, looking for building materials.  She’d shivered at the sound, but had still knelt down by the water, peering in, as though trying to see to the bottom in the night.  She wondered if any Grindylows had made their way into the lake.  She hadn’t thought that anything could be worse than thinking that Gabrielle might have died because of her own stupidity.  But she’d been wrong.  Nothing could fill the emptiness of not knowing what had become of her sister.

 

Fleur gave her head a hard, quick shake.  She wouldn’t cry.  She’d done enough of that already.  She was strong, and capable, and sure of herself.  She’d just decided to ask Professor McGonagall if she could start spending her off hours from Gringotts researching Water Charms in the Hogwarts library, when she’d heard footsteps behind her.

 

“Fleur?”

 

“Oui? I mean, yes? Who is it?” she’d asked, though she’d already recognized the voice. She turned around, and could see a familiar tall figure with a pale face in front of her.

 

His face had broken into a half-hearted smile.  “I don’t know if it’s such a good idea to be alone out here,” he’d said. 

 

She’d stood taller and tossed her head.  “I am very good alone,” she’d said, wondering if he’d catch her double-meaning.  Instead, he took a step closer.

 

“Look,” he’d said, digging into the muddy ground with his foot, “I know you’re upset with me.  I’m sorry that I …” he seemed to be grasping for words, “accused you.”

 

“I am not upset with you, Monsieur Weasley.  I do not think of you,” she had replied, holding her chin up high.  He’d looked upset, and she was glad.  At least he had believed her lie.  He was silent for a moment, and then said, “I haven’t seen you around Gringotts much.”

 

“No, there is quite a lot of work, and you are not the only curse breaker employed 'ere.” She’d known he wasn’t talking about work, but she refused to show any indication.  It seemed to irritate him.

 

“I meant, I haven’t seen you in general, except for that time in Madam Malkin’s with my brother.”  His eyes had narrowed.  “He’s got a girlfriend, by the way.”

 

This had made Fleur laugh until she was almost hysterical.  Bill had stared at her with a mixture of confusion and worry, but she’d continued to laugh, eventually holding onto her side as she gasped for air. “But he is just a boy!” she’d said.  “A grown man like you, jealous of a little boy? I am sorry, it is too funny.”

 

The skin along his jawline had gone ruddy and the muscles in his face went tight. “I’m just telling you that you’d better direct your charms elsewhere.”  

 

She still shivered, thinking how cold his voice had been.  She’d stopped laughing and studied him, feeling suddenly desperate, wanting a glimpse of the person she had met in the dragon trenches - the one who had made her feel so immediately safe, and had known everything about her without even having to ask.  But that Bill seemed to have disappeared along with the war.  Or perhaps he had only been a dream to begin with.

 

“You do not know me at all,” she’d said quietly, and brushed past him back to the castle. 

 

He’d hurt her feelings more than he’d ever know.  But, Fleur reflected, pulling her plait from behind her back and inspecting the ends as Barknap continued to drone on, at least he’d taught her a valuable lesson.  She had always wondered if she’d ever be able to have a normal relationship with a man, and now she knew the answer.  Her mother had been extraordinarily lucky to find her father. 

 

“If there are no further questions,” Barknap’s voice interrupted her thoughts, “you may begin working on the vaults this afternoon.  Miss Delacour,” he turned to address Fleur, “if the charms on these last vaults are in order, then your employment at Gringotts is finished.”

 

Fleur heard Bill draw a sharp, soft breath.  “What?”

 

She drew herself up straight. 

 

“You have worked very hard here,” Barknap went on, “and we thank you.  Please report to the main office before you leave to turn in your badge and sign your paperwork.”  With as close to a smile as a goblin could muster, he nodded and wobbled out of the room, his assistants following him.  Fleur waited until the door shut, then dared a glance at Bill.

 

He was staring at her with his mouth open.

 

~*~

 

“Well.”  Fleur lowered her wand and took a deep breath.  “I believe that's finished.”  She put a hand on her hip and struck a very self-satisfied pose.

 

Bill stood behind her with his arms crossed, his eyes trained on the back of her silvery head, which managed to produce its own light even in the very dim glow of one lamp.  But her hair wasn't as perfect as usual; she had it tied up tightly so it wouldn't trouble her while she worked, and fine, gently-curling wisps had escaped at the nape of her neck and at her temples.  She was practically a mess; wandering around the depths of Gringotts in plain work robes and sturdy shoes, breathing hard from the exertion of difficult charm work, rolling up her sleeves just like everyone else.  Even her accent was greatly diminished - the “z”s that had made her sound exotic were lately under careful control, and she had adopted a deceptively British turn of phrase.  Her face was, of course, remarkable, but there was little else about her to demand Bill's total attention.

 

And yet she had it.  He couldn't take his eyes off her.  It was nearly too frustrating to bear.  He wrenched his gaze to the spot she'd just enchanted and glanced over it; a nest of small corridor-openings had been visible to the naked eye, just hours before, and now the openings were nowhere to be seen.  Bill raised his wand and muttered a few words to break the enchantment apart, but he was unable to destroy it - and that was a good thing, he reminded himself.  Every one of her charms had been watertight, and that was the only point in having her here.  He stuck his wand back in his belt.

 

“It's done,” he agreed, and studied the wall for as long as he could.  But without anything further to occupy him, he couldn't help it - his eyes strayed back to her and lingered.  There was one long lock of hair that had escaped entirely - it grazed Fleur's collar and continued all the way down to the small of her back.  Bill's fingers itched to put it back in place, and he sent a silent curse in her direction.

 

Fleur was apparently oblivious to his troubles.  “What's next?” she muttered to herself, pulling a scroll out of her robes and unrolling it to reveal a very complicated map, which she tapped with her wand.  “Assignment eighteen is complete,” she said clearly, and touched her wand to the map, exactly where they stood.  “This is my location, and I am facing south.  Directions to the next task, please.”

 

“Walk west, and turn left at the fourth corridor, which is located just past the medium-security vaults,” said the thin, papery voice of the map.  “Continue to the end.  On the left is a curse shield, which prohibits entry to all but our goblins.  It is invisible.  Take heed not to touch that shield under any circumstances.  On the right is a wide door in the wall, which was once a hidden entrance.  Please hide the door again, allowing it to appear only to Chief of Security Magda Crustus.  Thank you.”

 

Fleur tapped the map again and put it away.  Without turning around - indeed, as if she had forgot Bill's presence altogether - she walked quickly in the direction the map had indicated.  In seconds, she had been swallowed by the enormous darkness of Gringotts' underground tunnels.

 

“Lumos Splendidus,” Bill said quickly, and several lamps came to life in the corridor where Fleur stood.  The light was so much brighter than before that both of them winced and stood still for a moment. 

 

“Zat was unnecessary,” Fleur snapped under her breath. 

 

Bill wasn't sure why, but the sudden resurgence of her accent pleased him.  “Well, you won't find the right-turn in the dark,” he pointed out.

 

“I will light ze lamps.  I 'ave told you I don't want 'elp.”

 

He sighed.  “Fine.”  It had been like this ever since the first day she'd arrived - since he'd somehow angered her by speaking the truth.  “Nox Totalus.” He’d tried to apologize to her at Halloween, but it hadn’t worked.

 

The lights went out, leaving them in total blackness, and Fleur made a sound of annoyance.  “Lumos Splendidus,” she said, through obviously gritted teeth, and the lights came on again.  She continued forward, much more quickly, and took a sharp left after the vaults.

 

Bill followed, irritated, yet glad that Gringotts had assigned him to look after the strength of Fleur’s enchantments.  For weeks he’d been breaking down the last of the curses in Gringotts' underbelly, and he had been unable to find any legitimate excuse to see Fleur or talk to her.  And now, just as they were finally paired up together, she was leaving.  He wondered if she was returning to France, or some other exotic location, and he felt a stab of jealousy.  Of course, she hadn’t said anything to him – it wasn’t like her to actually tell him anything, was it?  He threw a disgusted look at her back as she disappeared into darkness again, down the next hallway.

 

“Planning to do these lamps,” Bill asked loudly, “or shall I -”

 

“Lumos Splendidus,” Fleur interrupted haughtily, and the corridor was flooded with lamplight.

 

Bill bristled at her tone - it wasn't fair.  She was part veela. She had no business getting so upset over his knowing it.  Her continuing defensiveness only convinced Bill further that her charms had been responsible for his inability to control himself on that long ago night in the dragon camp.  He had tried to get a further explanation out of her after their confrontation in his office - he'd even tried to apologize for the way in which he'd brought it all up - but she had barely been civil to him since her arrival.  And that stunt she'd pulled in Madam Malkin's, pretending that they didn't even know each other... Bill glared silently at her, and reminded himself that Ron still deserved a punch in the mouth for being an insufferable arse.

 

Fleur stopped where the corridor ended and peered left, her profile curious.  She leaned close to what looked to be a perfectly innocent opening in the wall, but they both knew very well that it was a curse shield - the map had been clear in its warning.

 

“Don't touch it,” Bill said curtly, stepping closer to her.  “It'll suck you to the other side, and I don't know what they've got back there, but they generally do serpents in the medium-security wards.”

 

Ignoring him entirely, Fleur continued to study the dangerously empty space.  She raised her hand towards it.

 

“I'm not kidding,” Bill said, his voice taking on a panicked note he could not quite hide.  “Get back from there.”  He wondered if he could grab her and successfully pull her back, but didn't try it.  He feared he would startle her into tripping forward.

 

Fleur looked over at him.  When she caught his eye, she threw back her head and, apparently for no reason at all, shot him a dazzling smile.  “Worried about me?” she cooed.

 

Bill immediately felt sick to his stomach.  “Get back from there,” he repeated sharply - then rashly added, “And quit it with that crap, it doesn't work.”

 

Fleur finally dropped her hand.  She stepped away from the curse shield and faced him fully, her eyes oddly bright.  “What doesn't work?” she asked quietly.

 

Bill swallowed.  She was so close.  And it was a damn private spot down here, really.  And when she wasn't giving him flashy looks, her face was so... sad.  For a moment, he thought he actually could detect bags under her eyes.  “The smiling thing,” he managed.

 

Fleur did smile, at that, but it wasn't the same thing at all.  The corners of her mouth barely turned up and her blue eyes crinkled a little.  Bill's heart lurched.  “It doesn't work?” she repeated.  “Are you quite sure?”  She gazed up at him and her expression changed entirely; she gave him another smile that showed all her teeth, and she tossed her head. 

 

Bill winced and stepped back.  Whatever repellent Charlie had put on him, it was certainly haphazard.  It failed about half the time but succeeded the other half, and it was working well at the moment.  “I'm sure,” he answered irritably, gesturing at the door in the right hand wall and hoping she'd turn around, do her work, and leave him alone. 

 

The brittle smile left Fleur's lips and the high-polish vanished from her eyes, which sank back into their strange, sad depths.  She studied his face for a long moment.  “Good,” she finally said, and turned away. 

 

Bill leaned back against the wall - he hardly had a choice; that last, long look had left him oddly weak in the knees - and watched her work.  The darkness, the proximity, his position with his back against rough stone - all of it reminded him of the night in the dragon camp.  He thought of Percy for a moment, going back through several memories of his brother and reliving them in his mind.  He also thought of Gabrielle, though he couldn't picture her exactly.  He imagined a miniature version of Fleur, and wondered if Percy had an eye on her, wherever they were.  He hoped so.  He was so lost in thought that, when another long strand of hair escaped from the knot at the back of Fleur's head and uncurled until it lay flat along her back, Bill moved forward, took up the strand in his fingers, and began to twist it up with all the rest.

 

Fleur spun at him so quickly that he nearly lost his footing.  Not wanting to fall backwards into the curse, he dropped her hair and grabbed hold of her arm for balance.  She stared from his face to his hand, her expression a mixture of alarm and - something else.  Her breathing sped up.  “What are you doing?” she demanded.

 

Bill got his balance and let her go at once.  “Sorry,” he said, lifting his hand as if to show her it was harmless.  “Didn't want to fall.”  He jabbed his thumb at the curse shield.

 

“But why was your 'and on my 'air?” She threw back her shoulders, and her voice was as French as it had been the first time they'd met.

 

Bill didn't have an answer.  He couldn't remember deciding to step up to her, or making the choice to touch her hair.  He must have been... compelled, somehow.  “Guess it works after all,” he mused, hardly realizing he was talking out loud. 

 

Fleur started.  Her eyes widened slightly and, when she comprehended his meaning, she let out a very bitter laugh.  “I am finished 'ere,” she muttered, turning back to the door - which Bill realized was no longer a door at all, but a smooth expanse of enchanted wall - and lifting her wand again.  “Concludere,” she said crisply, then tucked her wand into her belt and went quickly past Bill.  She was far away from him in seconds, rounding the corner before he could think clearly to stop her.  “Go on and test it,” she called back at him.  “It will not come down.”

 

“You'll get lost,” Bill called back, snapping to attention when he realized his mistake.  “Wait up.”  He'd just made another comment about her veela heritage without even meaning to do it.  For the first time, however, and for some reason he couldn't quite place, he thought that perhaps she had a right to her indignation.  He was struck by a desire to apologize, but Fleur had disappeared without bothering to answer.  Ignoring the instructions emanating from his map, Bill took off down the corridor until he caught up with Fleur around the corner.

 

“Fleur,” he said, stopping a few feet behind her.  She turned, and crossed her arms, but did not speak.

 

“Look,” Bill continued, not sure what it was exactly that he wanted to say, “Where’re you going, when you leave here?”

 

“I will be returning… to my flat in Diagon Alley,” she answered, looking a little pleased with herself.

 

“So, you’re staying in London?  You’re not going back to France?” 

 

“I am not returning to France,” she answered.  She looked unwilling to give any more information, although her eyes seemed to be studying him intently.  But when he caught her gaze, she looked away.  And suddenly, it was very, very important to Bill to know where she was headed.  But he was having a difficult time saying it.

 

“Can’t we be friends?” he asked, although, as soon as he said the words, he knew that wasn’t what he wanted.  “We could have dinner this evening, to celebrate your last day.”

 

But Fleur only shook her magnificent head.  “I would not want to injure you in any way, Mr. Weasley, with my excessive powers.  It is better for your digestion to eat without me.”

 

And with that, she seemed to vanish. 

 

Bill stood rooted to the spot for a few moments, wondering how in the world she’d managed to Disapparate from the depths of the Gringotts vaults.  But a moment later, he caught a glimpse of golden hair disappear around a corner at the far end of the hall.  For a long while he was unable to gather his thoughts, and finally, with a frustrated Damn!, he turned back down the hall to the hidden door and tried to make it show itself.  It remained hidden on his first attempt, but Bill wasn't satisfied with that - this time, he would truly test her.  Beginning with the simplest and working up to the most dangerous, Bill used every Breaking, Fracturing, and Splitting Charm in his arsenal.  He conjured every Dividing spell he knew, and called on every destructive curse that he thought he could get away with in such a small space.  He would feel better if he could only find a flaw in her work - there had to be a flaw - and he spent nearly as long trying to obliterate the charm as Fleur had spent building it up. 

 

Nearly an hour later, the seal was still perfect.  Bill gave up, panting and cursing, and this time the curses had nothing to do with magic.  He stormed back to his office in a fury and, after hastily completing the day's paperwork, blew angrily out of the bank and into Diagon Alley.  The sun had just set and the sky was purple - stars were beginning to appear, though very few were visible with the city lights so near - and there was a wonderful, taut November wind rushing down the narrow wizarding street.  Bill barely noticed any of it.  He didn't even stop for the groceries that he, Charlie and Mick desperately needed.  He usually took the necessities upon himself, but he wasn't in the mood tonight.  Briefly he considered stopping into the pub and taking out his anger on a pint, but Flourish and Blotts was closer, and Bill charged into the bookshop, quite on a mission.  He had put this off long enough, pretending that it didn't matter, but the situation was entirely out of hand.  He had never had so little ability to manage his emotions - even his actions - she was driving him out of his mind.  He found the section on magical creatures and came to a halt.

 

Veela ~ The Definitive Guide to the Undefinable Goddess.  Bill pulled it from the shelf, read the back, and began piling other books into his arms.  Women with Wings (And Beaks and Claws, so Watch It) went into the stack, along with Siren or Sweetheart? A Study of the Natural Enchantress and How to Tell if You're Under Her Spell.  It wasn't until he reached the counter and the salesgirl behind it gave him a funny, half-smiling look that he realized how obviously his purchases revealed his problem.  Bill's face burned.

 

“Doing research?” the girl asked tactfully, putting all his books into a bag.  “Looks interesting.  That's going to be ten Galleons.”

 

Bill nodded.  “Research,” he agreed, thankful for the excuse.  And it was true, really. 

 

“Are you a Weasley, by any chance?” the girl asked, handing him his change.  “You have the same hair as Ron Weasley.  And you both clear out whole sections,” she added with a grin.  “He bought a copy of every single Quidditch tabloid we had, after the opening match.”

 

“Ron's my brother - why, do you know him?” Bill asked, taking his bag.

 

“Oh no, not really.”  The girl blushed.  “But I was at school with him, a year older, and I just heard of him, you know - everyone has - all those things he did with Harry Potter.  And going about with Sirius Black.  And being, you know, related to the Minister - like you are - that sort of thing - anyway, it was rather exciting to meet him...” The girl trailed off and blushed darker, as if suddenly sensible of having babbled.

 

Bill nearly gaped at her.  He knew Ron had a girlfriend, knew he'd somehow invited Fleur on a date at one point, and knew, ultimately, that his brother was well and grown up.  Still it was odd, seeing girls blush after him.  His eyes darted to the salesgirl's name tag.  Laurel.  He'd have to remember to needle Ron about it later - he owed him at least that much of a jab.  “Well, I hope he didn't clear you out entirely,” Bill said lightly, trying to be tactful for her in return.  “Though you'd better stock up - if the Cannons keep winning, then he'll definitely be back for more.”

 

“Oh, okay,” Laurel said, looking pleased at the prospect.

 

Bill left the shop, forgetting Ron, feeling well and truly armed.  He would figure Fleur out, with or without her help, in the way he had always figured things out in school.  Thorough reading, intense study - and if that failed, he'd ask a professional.

 

“Long day?” Mick asked with a grin, when Bill pushed his way into the flat and dumped his cloak on the hall table.

 

“No longer than yours, I'm sure.”  Bill glanced around the flat and raised his eyebrows.  “It's clean in here,” he pointed out.  “Is everything all right?”

 

Mick laughed and straightened the collar of his dress robes.

 

Bill's jaw dropped.  “You're wearing dress robes,” he said. 

 

“Charlie always said you were observant.”  Mick strode across the front room to a small mirror that hung above the wireless.  He ran both hands through his hair, and worked a little bit on his part. 

 

“Why... wait, who's all this for?” Bill asked, shrewdly changing the question as he realized half the answer. 

 

“You wouldn't believe me if I told you,” Mick answered, turning around from the mirror and heading for the door.  But he stopped in mid-stride and shook his head.  “No no,” he said to himself.  “Not done, you prat.”  He spun round and walked out, disappearing into his bedroom.

 

“Try me,” Bill called after him.

 

“Nah,” Mick called back.  “She's worried about her reputation.”

 

Bill snorted.  “No offense, but she can't be too worried, can she?”

 

“What, going out with me?”  Mick reappeared, smelling distinctly - but not overwhelmingly - of cologne.  “She's damn well worried.”  He grinned again.  “Because she's damn well smart.”

 

Bill was intrigued, but not enough to pursue his line of questioning; Charlie had been secretive about Cho Chang, and now Mick was being secretive about whatever tart he'd lined up for the evening.  It hardly mattered to Bill, who had research to do.  He sat down on the sofa and pulled the most technically informational of the books from his shopping bag. 

 

“The definitive guide to veela - what? - Weasley, you're not honestly going to sit there and read that?” Mick asked, pointing at the spine of Bill's book.

 

Bill glanced warily up at him.  “Why?”

 

“Don't tell me you spent money on it - oh, blimey, Flourish and Blotts?”  Mick shook his head at the shopping bag.

 

Bill shot him an aggravated look.  “I need it,” he said shortly, and returned his attention to the table of contents.

 

“What for, when I know all about it?”  Mick laughed.  “Ask me a question about veela, and see if I can't answer better than that book.”

 

Bill looked back up at him, shocked at his own stupidity.  He had entirely forgotten that he lived with a species specialist.  “What's the difference between a full-blood veela,” he asked immediately, “and one that's one-quarter?”

 

Mick whistled low.  “Huge, gaping, cavernous differences,” he answered cheerfully, reaching for his cloak.  He threw it on and grabbed his muffler and gloves from hooks near the door.

 

“How huge?  What differences?”

 

“Can't get into it now.  Got to go.”

 

“But -”

 

“It's Fleur, isn't it?”  Mick looked over his shoulder and gave Bill an appraising glance.  “Charlie and me were wondering when it'd start getting to you.  I'll tell you everything you need to know later on - read all you like, but I wouldn't waste my time.  There's a game on in an hour, listen to that and forget the books.”

 

“You're willing enough to miss the game,” Bill grumbled.  He had an opportunity to get some straight answers, and he hated waiting. 

 

“Yeah, I'm willing,” Mick said, opening the door and letting in a blast of cold air.  “But I don't have to miss it.  We're trading off.   I take her out, and then she takes me in.”  He gave Bill a wicked look.  “Come to think of it, I bet I do miss the game.”  He pulled the door shut against the wind with a slam, and was gone.

 

~*~

 

Remus absently drummed his fingers on the arm of his late father's favorite chair, watching Ginny brew the Wolfsbane Potion in the study fireplace.  Her hair was snapped tightly into a barrette at the back of her neck, and her sleeves had been pushed up past her elbows.   She hummed to herself as she stirred, but Remus only half-listened to the tune.  The Daily Prophet lay abandoned in his lap; he was now thinking about tonight, and the sort of transformation it would be.  Simple.  Gentle.  Remus wasn't sure if he was imagining it, but Ginny seemed to make the potion better than anyone ever had.  It was more than effective - it almost seemed to put him in good spirits, while the wolf inhabited his body, and he had been waking up much less exhausted after full moons.  He even thought that his hair looked a little browner than usual.  He certainly felt younger.

 

Sirius had looked younger, too, ever since Ron had begun to give the Ministry his full attention.  Perhaps the Weasley presence had natural restorative effects, Remus reflected with a smile, listening to Sirius and Ron discuss law in the front room.  Or perhaps it was the fact that Sirius had successfully spoken with Harry; he had come home from their walk with incredible energy, and his happiness on that subject had now lasted for nearly two weeks.

 

But most likely, Remus thought, it was simply becoming obvious to all of them that life was beginning again.  Voldemort wasn't coming back, and though the injuries he had left were far from healed, Remus had high hopes that none of them would see another Dark Lord in their lifetime.  His mind unmercifully suggested that if evil like Grindelwald and Voldemort had appeared within a space of sixty years, then the rest of them were likely to see another uprising of evil before they died, but he pushed the thought as far down as it would go. 

 

“Next one,” Sirius said, and his voice traveled clearly into the study.  “Bedimere Bradley.”

 

There was a rustling of papers and then Ron cleared his throat.  “Right.  Blackmail and money laundering - and he's also the one that tried to bribe Moody, just before he got Stunned.  It says in his file that he's willing to trade information for his freedom.”

 

“That's not the way I work,” Sirius said grimly. 

 

“But let's put him on trial next,” Ron suggested.  “He might slip up, we might get something useful out of him - evidence against someone else.”

 

“True.  Put him at the top of the pile. Next one.” 

 

Remus half-smiled at the door, amazed at how much things could change in a short time.  Sirius had hardly noticed that tonight would be the full moon.  He hadn't hovered or worried, and the afternoon sun continued to mellow as the clock crept towards moonrise.

 

“Next one's Turika Hudu.   Accused of harboring Death Eaters, and of providing her home as a prison for war captives.”  Ron gave a loud snort of a laugh. 

 

“What?” Sirius asked.

 

“She played for Africa in the World Cup, when I was a kid.  Incredible Beater.  Her bat probably came in handy when she was torturing people.”

 

“We don't know that she tortured -”

 

“I know.”  Ron was quiet for a moment and so was Sirius.  There was another loud rustling of paper.   “But they're not all bad,” Ron said, after a while.  “Marty Gudgeon's a real surprise - he's been a reserve Seeker for the Cannons for about seven years, and no one knew he could hit a Bludger 'til Oliver came along and stuck a bat in his hand. Harry and I had a great time watching him kick arse last night.”

 

“It's good that Harry went with you,” Sirius said at once.  “How did he seem?”

 

Ginny looked up from the cauldron and turned her face to the door, and Remus watched her. 

 

“Really good,” Ron said, sounding as if he were surprised about it.  “Really good.  Normal - for Harry, you know.  Quiet and all, but it's like he's got his sense of humor back.  He only seemed upset towards the end of the match.”

 

“Why?”  Sirius's voice was anxious. 

 

“Oh, it was nothing.”  Ron laughed.  “Just Seeker rivalry.  Knight missed the Snitch twice, and Harry kept tearing at his hair.  He finally left his seat, and when he came back, he had a Butterbeer Extra in each hand.  I tried to grab one, but he said they were both for him, and I'd have to go and get my own.” 

 

Ginny snickered and turned back to her cauldron, looking satisfied.

 

“Knight caught the Snitch in the end, of course,” Ron continued.  “Bloody great Seeker.  Oliver did his usual routine - tried to throw his arms around her as soon as they'd won, but she just kicked him off and told him to go to hell.”  He laughed.  “Saved it on my Omnioculars, if you want to see.  Saved her catch, too - it was brilliant.  Oliver's lucky he found someone to replace what he lost in Harry -”

 

“RePLACE?” Ginny yelled out so loudly that Remus jumped.  She yanked her stirring rod out of the cauldron.  “Replace?  I hardly think so.”

 

“Oh, SORRY,” Ron yelled back.  “Far be it from me to criticize him in front of his fan club -”

 

“Shut UP,” Ginny warned, pushing a stray bit of hair out of her eyes.

 

“Shut u-up,” Ron mocked in a high voice.

 

Remus laughed. He had got used to Ron and Ginny being around, behaving like siblings.  It was somehow a comfort to hear their playful bickering. “Is that ready?” he asked Ginny, and pointed to the cauldron.

 

She nodded, and ladled a perfect serving into a goblet.  It steamed and frothed as she carefully carried it to Remus's desk.  “Here.”

 

“Thanks.”  Remus took a deep breath, pinched his nose, and swallowed the dose in one gulp.  It was disgusting.  He fought his gag reflex, clapped the goblet onto the desk and moved his hand to his pocket for a Peppermint Imp, but Ginny was ahead of him.  She held out an imp and dropped it into his palm.  “Thanks again,” he said, and popped it into his mouth. 

 

“That's you taken care of,” Ginny muttered to herself, and returned to her cauldron with a confident swirl of her work robes, to put out the fire and clean up the tools.  Remus watched her work, still listening to Ron. 

 

“And then Cole Kerry got the Quaffle and took off for the far end of the pitch - she's something else, the other teams do nothing but foul her - Burt Fuller flew straight at her, but he just pitched the ball to Newland and CLANG - another ten points!  And then Oliver -”

 

“Ron,” Sirius impatiently cut in.  “Quidditch later.  We have to finish this.”

 

Ron heaved a sigh.  “Next is Francis Coldwater.”

 

“Male or female?” Sirius asked, and Remus could hear the furious scratching of a quill against parchment.  He shivered a little at the enhanced sound.  The wolf was coming.

 

“Female,” Ron replied.  “Geoffrey Coldwater's wife.  Their files should go together, they're accused of the same thing.”

 

“Which is?”

 

“Setting curse traps.  There's evidence that they set traps outside of Hogwarts, and in Hogsmeade… and around individual homes.  Apparently, they targeted the homes of Muggle-borns.”  Ron laughed harshly.  “I take it back.  Let's put them on trial next.”

 

“They're being so morbid out there,” Ginny said softly.  She had put out the fire and was standing beside Remus, scanning the bookshelves which stood against the wall at his left. 

 

Remus looked up at her, but her face was turned away.  “Not deliberately,” he answered.  “What book are you looking for?”

 

Ginny shrugged.  “Just looking.”  She kept her back to him and ran a finger across a row of spines.

 

“If you're that bored, you might want to get a head start on your N.E.W.T.s,” Remus advised.  “Home-schooled students will still have to take them.  Start studying early or you'll be in a world of trouble - just ask Sirius.”

 

“I'll be fine.”  Ginny didn't turn around, but she dropped her hand to her side.

 

Remus wasn't certain, but he thought he felt something strange in the air around Ginny.  He was no Healer, but his senses were heightened as moonrise approached, and he felt as if his space were being… invaded.  As if someone were tampering with his energy.  He frowned at Ginny's back.

 

“What are you doing?” he demanded. 

 

Ginny didn't answer. 

 

Remus scanned her posture, and his eyes came to rest on her hands; they were turned towards him, palms facing his chair.  “Ginny?  What is it?”

 

“Looking for a book,” she attempted, but she moved her hands a little, and Remus felt a definite charge in the air between them.   

 

“Stop it,” he ordered.  “Turn your hands around, Ginny.  You're not practicing on me.”

 

Ginny turned around and met his gaze, making no attempt to deny what she was doing.  “Please?” she asked.  “I need to work on someone, and -”

 

“No.  Absolutely not.  You'll hurt yourself.”  Remus shook his head.  “You're still working on animals,” he reminded her.  “You promised not to rush -”

 

“Please.”  Ginny held out her hands in appeal.  “You have to let me practice.  I have to build up a tolerance or I'll never...” She colored, but didn't look away.   “It's not fair,” she added quietly.  “You know it's not.”

 

Remus knew.  It wasn't fair that she was barred from the person she cared for most.  It wasn't fair that she had been gifted and burdened with a talent she could not control.  But there was nothing to be done about it.  “Practicing on me isn't going to help you,” he answered truthfully.  “I've got - issues.  And I don't say that lightly.” 

 

Ginny looked gravely at his face.  “I know that, but -”

 

“No, listen.”  Remus laughed a little.  “You don't know.  You would certainly injure yourself, on my… energies.”

 

“What, because it's a full moon?   Too much wolf to get past?”  She smiled a little, and Remus smiled back.  She had been making the potion for so long now that he didn't mind her questions about the werewolf. 

 

“No,” he answered.  “Under any circumstances, I would be difficult to work on.  You'll have to wait.  And don't even think of trying to work on Sirius.  It would kill you.”

 

Ginny made an impatient, whining noise.  “What am I supposed to do?” she pleaded, and Remus knew that she was thinking of Harry.  “I can't even stand near him,” she said hotly.  “He can't even come over - it's ridiculous.”  She marched over to her cauldron, snatching up her tools and wrapping them haphazardly in their various soft cloths.  “I can't get next to him,” she muttered, obviously too worked up to be embarrassed about what she was saying.  “You just don't know what that's like.”

 

Remus cocked an eyebrow, wondering how old he must look to her.  “Don't I?”

 

“If you did,” Ginny returned, cleaning her cauldron with a snap of her wand and yanking it out of the fireplace, “then you'd let me practice.”  She put her tools into the cauldron and gave Remus a meaningful look.  “I'm ready to practice.  I have to.  I wanted to clear it with you, but if you're going to hold me back, then -”

 

“Ginny.”  Remus looked steadily at her, and the wind seemed to go out of her sails.

 

“What?” she sighed. 

 

“Do you honestly think I'm trying to hold you back?”

 

She looked at the floor.  “No.”

 

“I understand what you're feeling,” he told her, and he couldn't help a smile when she looked skeptically up at him.  “I do,” he repeated.  “But the fact remains that if you open yourself up to me, or to Sirius, then you'll get badly hurt.”  Remus paused, and carefully considered his next words.  “We're off limits.  And so is Harry.”

 

Ginny's eyes clouded for a moment, and then realization dawned in them.  “Are you saying…” she began slowly, “…that I can work with someone else, if I want to?”

 

Remus narrowed his eyes at her.  “Someone very simple, Ginny - someone with little depth.  No real complexity of nature - perhaps a child, or a childish person -”

 

Ginny was ahead of him again.  “RON!” she yelled.  “RON!  I have to talk to you!”

 

“No, not Ron,” Remus whispered.  “I was thinking that you might want to work with your new nephew, or -”

 

“You said someone childish and simple,” Ginny replied quickly, her eyes alight with excitement.  “That's Ron.  And I've so wanted to tell him that I'm a Healer - I just didn't want to say anything before I could really do something.  RON!”

 

“I'M WORKING,” he shouted back.  “No respect for my professional life,” he muttered to Sirius.

 

“Actually, we're finished for now.”  Sirius sounded amused.  “Go and see what your sister wants.  I'll see you at the office in the morning.”

 

There was a long silence, an enormous shuffling of paper, and then the sound of heavy, reluctant footsteps.  Ron appeared in the doorway of the study, looking put-upon. 

 

“What?” he demanded.

 

“I'm walking you home,” Ginny said breathlessly.  She Banished her cauldron up to her room, forcing Ron to flatten himself against one side of the doorway as it sailed past.  “I've finished with Remus,” Ginny continued, “and there's something I want to tell you.  I've got -” she paused, and grinned.  “I've got some news.”

 

Remus caught her eye and smiled.  He could practically feel her enthusiasm, and though he was worried for her safety, he couldn't bear to hold her back any longer.  He wondered briefly about his teacher's ethics, then decided not to think about it.

 

Ron eyed Ginny warily.  “News?” he asked, looking a bit frightened.  “What kind of news?  It's… it's nothing to do with Harry, is it?”

 

“Oh, for the love of Merlin.”  Ginny glanced over her shoulder, and rolled her eyes at Remus.  “News about me, Ron,” she shot back.  “Not some sensational story about my love child, or something.”

 

“Stop!” Ron protested, putting his hands over his ears.  “Sick.”

 

Ginny nearly ran to him, and grabbed his arm.  “Come on, let's go,” she said eagerly. 

 

“Be very, very careful,” Remus called after her, as she and Ron disappeared down the corridor.  “Tell Ron to contact Sirius right away if there are any problems.  I won't be able to help tonight, but he'll know what to do.”

 

“All right,” Ginny called back.  Remus heard the front door swing open.

 

“What problems?” Ron demanded.  The door slammed. 

 

Quiet filled the house for two luxurious seconds and Remus reveled in it.  The light in the study was orange, and the moon was well on its way.  It was nice to sit still in his own body and know that there would be no real problems when the other body came to claim him.   It was wonderful to be - if not at peace, then as close to it as Remus imagined he could come.

 

There was a sudden noise of claws on hard wood floorboards, and a short, happy bark signaled to Remus that he was about to be assailed.  Sure enough, a massive dog bounded into the study and jumped halfway onto Remus's desk, putting his messy paws on all of the papers, and knocking the goblet to the floor. 

 

“Do you think you could possibly control that drooling?” Remus asked, looking from the dog's feral grin to the twin puddles that were gathering on his desktop.  “Truly unattractive,” he murmured. 

 

Sirius appeared before him at once, tall and offended.  “I can't help it,” he protested, sounding hurt.  “I have trouble with loose gums.”

 

“A sign of old age,” Remus observed dryly.

 

“Padfoot's getting old,” Sirius growled.  “Dog years.”  He pulled his wand, and cleared all evidence of Padfoot's oral incontinence from Remus's desk.  “Better?” he asked, in an obnoxious voice that meant he didn't care whether or not it was better.

 

“Much,” replied Remus, holding in a smile.  “And amazingly, I still have an appetite.  I think I'd like a steak, as a matter of fact.  Helps to control the cravings.”

 

Sirius's joking expression faded.  “You took the last dose?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And it's fine?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And you're fine?”

 

“I will be, when I've had a steak.” 

 

Sirius's pale eyes glinted.  “I happen to make a damn good steak,” he said, peering out the window.  “And there's just enough time for it.”

 

Remus left his desk.  He spent the final hour before moonrise in the kitchen, eating and talking with Sirius, and feeling that his life could hardly be improved.

 

~*~

 

Thrilling with anticipation, Ginny shut the door and looked up at Ron.  She had never had anything so important to reveal.  Ron had; she remembered how he had come home from his first year at Hogwarts, bursting with pride and excitement over all he'd done.  The only time she had told her family a secret, it had been dark and awful, and it had disappointed everyone.

 

Not this time.

 

“What problems?” Ron repeated, sounding torn between annoyance and anxiety.  “He made it sound like you're going to raise the spirits of the dead.  Contact Sirius if there are any problems and he'll know what to do?  What's going on?”

 

“Well if you'd stop talking,” Ginny said, hurrying to keep up with Ron's long strides as they walked away from Lupin Lodge and down towards the Notch.  “And slow down.”

 

Ron slowed his pace.  Late afternoon shadows fell around them and a cold wind cut down the street, giving all the leaves in sight a furious ruffle and making Ginny shiver.  She had forgot her cloak. 

 

“Well?” Ron prompted, when she didn't begin. 

 

Ginny hesitated.  She had imagined, many times, telling everyone about her gift.  She hadn't been able to tell anyone for herself yet - Remus had informed her that she was a Healer, and he must have spoken with Sirius.  Harry had found out in the worst possible way.  She wanted someone to be happy for her. 

 

“It's about what I'm studying with Remus,” she began.  “I've been… taking an extra class.”

 

Ron laughed.  “Did Hermione trick you into it?”

 

“Hermione doesn't know about it.  No one knows except for Remus and Sirius - and Harry.”  Ginny glanced sideways at her brother to gauge his reaction.  Ron looked intrigued.

 

“What's the mystery class?” he asked.

 

Ginny searched herself for a dramatic, important way to say it, but it came out very simply: “Healing.”

 

Ron's eyebrows shot up.  “Oh - really?  I didn't know you wanted to be a mediwitch, Ginny.  That's cool.  You could take over for Madam Pomfrey, or work at St. Mungo's - no!  I know what you should do - work with Quidditch players and -”

 

“No, wait!” Ginny laughed.  “Not medicinal magic.”  She took a breath and slowed down to watch Ron's face.  “Empathic magic.  I'm a Healer.”

 

Ron's face was blank for a long moment, and then his eyes widened, his mouth gaped, and he tripped over a stone in the road.  “You're joking,” he whispered, when he had regained his balance. “Not a real Healer, like - like Gunhilda of Gorsemoor?”

 

“Oooh, someone passed his History of Magic exams,” Ginny teased, tingling all over.  Ron was impressed with her.   She couldn't remember his ever having looked at her with such respect, not even during the war. 

 

“No, be serious,” Ron demanded, coming to a full stop and turning to face her.  “A Healer?  But that's almost - they're so rare.”  He stared at her.  “The Ministry could use one now, couldn't they?  There used to be some that worked for… I think the Department of Mysteries?  But no one knows for sure, of course - and then -”

 

“And then they were killed.  And now there's me.”  Ginny felt, for the first time, a strange weight on her shoulders.  She had rarely thought of herself as a professional Healer, active in the world.  She had never imagined herself at the Ministry.  The only goal in her mind, for quite some time, had been making herself strong enough for Harry.

 

“How do you know you are one?”  Ron crossed his arms and peered into her face.  “Don't you need to be - I don't know - tested?”

 

“No.”  Another cold, brisk wind skittered down the road, scattering dead leaves and gravel, and Ginny hugged herself.  “Let's keep walking,” she said, through chattering teeth.

 

She and Ron hurried forward.  They turned onto the little path that crossed the garden of the Notch, and Ginny nearly ran to the door.   Once inside, she wasted no time in lighting a fire, and then continued to explain to Ron, who stood like a statue by the mantelpiece, frowning at her. 

 

“Remus worked it out,” she said, “after I made the Wolfsbane Potion.  I'd showed other signs - I knew things I couldn’t have known.  So he searched for a book on the subject, and I read it, and I just… knew.”  She sat in the corner of the sofa and cuddled into the cushions, basking in the warmth of the fire.   “The more I practice, the better I get.”

 

Ron was quiet.  A clock ticked, in the little kitchen, and Hedwig hooted softly from Harry's room.  Ginny made a clicking noise with her tongue, and the snowy owl flew out to perch on the arm of the sofa.  She rubbed her smooth head on Ginny's shoulder. 

 

“Good girl,” Ginny murmured, and gave Hedwig an affectionate buss on the feathers.  “You miss Harry when he's gone all day, don't you.”

 

Hedwig hooted.

 

“So you're saying you're a Healer,” Ron said flatly.  He was still frowning.  “Then… what can you do?”

 

Ginny shrugged.  “Loads of things.  Weird things.  For example -”  She turned to Hedwig and smiled.  “Sit still, please.”  Ginny raised her hands and held them over the owl's warm, feathery body.  Her eyes unfocused and she searched, with her extra sense, for any sign of distress.

 

But Hedwig was perfectly healthy, and Ginny had no work to do.  Ron cocked his head to one side. 

 

“What are you doing?” he asked. 

 

She shook her head.  “Nothing.  Hedwig's fine, so I'll have to work on you.  Come sit by me.”

 

Ron started.  “What - me?”

 

“Yes, you.”  She patted the cushion next to hers.  “Please, Ron.  I want to show you, and I could really use the practice.  I never get to practice on people.”

 

“Oh, great.  You're not going to damage me, are you?” Ron grumbled, but he had stopped frowning.  He looked interested, and oddly shy.  “I should just come sit over there?”

 

“Yes.”

 

He came to the sofa and sat gingerly beside Ginny.  Then, seeming to remember something, he sprang up and backed away from her, wide eyed.

 

“What?” Ginny asked, hurt.  “I'm not going to hurt you.  I promise.”

 

“No it's not that - it's -” Ron was red.  “I've read about Healers.  Can't you… feel feelings?  Other people's feelings?”

 

“Oh, that.”  Ginny laughed.  “Yes.  Come sit down.”

 

“No way.”  Ron walked around the sofa, still red in the face.  “No offense, Gin, but I don't really need you knowing all my - personal business.”

 

Ginny pursed her lips.  If he wasn't going to let her practice, then she was never going to get a chance to build up her strength.  “Ron, I already know how you feel about Hermione,” she said slowly.

 

But Ron had disappeared into the kitchen.  “You know, I'll bet you can practice on Hermione, when she comes home.  I had a letter from her this morning - she'll be home at the Winter Solstice -”

 

“Ron, don't change the subject,” Ginny begged, turning around and kneeling up on the sofa, to plead into the kitchen.  “There's nothing you can't tell me - I'm your sister.”

 

Ron kept his back to her, and dug in the cabinets.  “I know, and look, I'm massively proud of you and everything, don't get me wrong -”

 

“Please.” 

 

He turned around, pumpkin pasties in his hands, and met her eyes.  “Ginny…”

 

“I'll just do a physical sweep,” Ginny promised quickly.  “I won't have to touch you at all, and I won't interfere with your emotions if you don't want me to.  But you have to let me practice.  You don't understand what it's been like.”  She took a deep breath, and decided to be truthful.  “You remember the other week, when Harry and I weren't speaking, and you thought we were fighting - we weren't.  Not really.  It's just that when I get too near him, his presence overwhelms me and I - I pass out.”

 

“You pass out?” Ron repeated doubtfully.

 

“Yes - once, I did.  We had just started kissing -” Ginny stopped.  She had to smile at the slightly nauseated look on Ron's face.  “All right, sorry.  Let's just say that I opened up to him too much, and I wasn't strong enough to handle it.  He's been through a lot.”

 

“Then won't you pass out when you… open up to me?” Ron asked, sounding very uncomfortable.  “I mean, it's not like I haven't had my share of -”

 

“It's not the same,” Ginny assured him.  “It's not.  Harry had a horrible childhood, on top of the rest of it.  Also, I feel things for Harry that I don't - well.”  She giggled nervously. 

 

Ron pulled a face.  “Yeah, let's hope not.”

 

“So can't I just try?” Ginny pleaded.  “Won't you sit by me? I have to build up my strength, and I'd so much rather have you help me than anyone else.  You're my favorite brother, you know.”

 

Ron rolled his eyes.  “Flatterer,” he muttered.  But he looked pleased, in spite of himself.

 

“No, really, you are,” Ginny pressed, sensing how close he was to giving in.  “And if you won't help me, then I'll have to ask the twins.”  She put out her bottom lip.  “Don't make go to Fred and George.  Have a little pity.”

 

Sighing, Ron tossed the pasties onto the counter and came back around the sofa.  “You owe me,” he warned, and dropped onto the cushion beside her.

 

Ginny grinned, and threw her arms around him.  “Oh, thank you,” she said, squeezing him tight.

 

“All right, all right.”  Ron pulled out of her grasp.   “Just - do whatever it is.”

 

“Okay.  You just sit still and stay quiet…” Ginny breathed deeply and shut her eyes.  She held up her hands. 

 

The first thing she felt was heat.  Stronger than Harry's, stronger than Remus's - on par with Sirius's, perhaps.  She moved her hands slowly from side to side, dragging her palms and fingers through the air around her brother.  “Your energy's huge,” she murmured, pulling her hands away to measure how far the heat radiated from him.  “Wow.”

 

“What does that mean?” Ron demanded.  “Is it bad?”

 

“No - it's just you.”  Ginny smiled at the tension that had crept into his energy.  “Relax,” she said.  “I'm just going to see if you're injured anywhere.”

 

“Well, I think I twisted my -”

“Shh!  Don't tell me.  Let me work it out.” 

 

Ron went quiet and his tension abated; Ginny opened her eyes a little and moved to sit on the little table in front of the sofa, where she could face him.  She held her hands over the center of his chest, passed them across his shoulders, and felt her way down both arms, through an unbroken shield of warm, magnetizing energy.  When she came to his left wrist, there was a bump in the air - hot and tightly knotted - and she shut her eyes to feel it more fully. 

 

“You twisted your wrist,” she said, gently pushing her thumb against the knot.

 

“Right…” Ron sounded dazed.  “Can you really tell?”

 

“Yes.”  Happiness flooded Ginny, and she had to wait and calm down before she could continue to work on him.  She brought her fingertips to either side of the knot at his wrist, and began to knead it, taking care not to rush herself.  She wasn't sure of what to do, but her reading had told her to trust her instincts, and her instincts told her to massage the pain and dissolve it into air. 

 

Several minutes later, the knot was gone. Ron's energy was once again unbroken. 

 

“Move your wrist,” Ginny said, opening her eyes. 

 

Ron bent his wrist back and forth, then stared at her.  “It's better,” he said, sounding as though he couldn't quite believe it.  “That's amazing.”

 

She grinned and blushed, not sure what to do with the compliment.  It wasn't the way that she and Ron usually talked to each other.  “Thanks.  Oh - and there's a bit of a bruised patch here -” she let her hand hover just above his leg, and pointed to his knee.  “But it's not in pain anymore.  It's an old injury, isn't it?”

 

“That's exactly where Sirius broke it, third year,” Ron said, still staring at her.  “Ginny… do you have any idea what this means?  Do you know how - how valuable you are?”

 

She shrugged, delighted.  “I can't do much yet,” she said, as modestly as she could.

 

“Do Mum and Dad know?”

 

“No -”

 

Ron's eyes flew wide.  “No?” he nearly yelled.  “Don't you want them to know?  Dad should know!”

 

“Oh, don't tell them,” Ginny pleaded.  “I want to tell them myself, when I'm ready.”

 

“Well, when's that going to be?”

 

“When I've practiced a bit more,” Ginny said, biting her lip.  “Can I practice a bit more?” she asked, and held up her hands.  Ron nodded, and Ginny happily shut her eyes and brought her palms closer to his shoulders.  She swept them up the sides of his neck, and brought them to hover in front of his face.

 

Ron began to laugh.  “What the hell are you doing?” he said, and Ginny felt the vibration of his voice against her hands. 

 

“Checking your face,” she protested. 

 

“My face is perfect, if you couldn't tell,” Ron joked.  “Get your hands out of it.”

 

But Ginny's fingers were sensitive, and Ron's forehead was blistering with knots.  They weren't hot - they were old and faded - but they were there.  “Oh, you got hurt…” she breathed, and brought her hands higher up.  The crown of his head was also riddled with knots - dark, bruised - no longer in pain - indicative of something that had happened.  Recently.  His temple positively throbbed.

 

“Well, Malfoy punched me there,” Ron said matter-of-factly.  “That's probably it.”

 

“Yes… partly.”  Worried, Ginny worked her fingertips through the throbbing energy at his temple, and brought them back through the minefield of little knots that covered his forehead and skull.  “But that's not all of it.  You hurt your head.  Repeatedly.  Someone must've hit you, or -”

 

Ron's energy went cold all over, and Ginny felt it against her skin.  Something frightening touched her heart.

 

“Probably a Bludger or something,” he said tightly.  “You're really good at this.  That's about enough practice, don't you think?”

 

He was lying.  His aura thrilled with fear - he was hiding something - the great warmth around him contracted, making the space around him feel empty and dead.  Ginny opened her eyes and searched his.  “What happened to you?” she whispered.  “That's not normal -”

“Oh, come on, I've tripped and hit my head loads of times,” Ron said, and gave a false laugh.  “Get your hands down.”

 

Ginny did not lower her hands; she felt around the sides of his head, and reached over his shoulders to test his back. 

 

“I said, get your hands down.”  Ron was not joking.  His voice was hard and flat.  “Now.”

 

“They hurt you,” Ginny heard herself say, not knowing what she was talking about at first.  “When they took you.  Tell me what happened.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

But she couldn't.  Something dark and ugly had happened to her brother, and he had kept it tight within himself for nearly a year.  “Tell me,” she repeated, bringing her hands to hover just above his heart.  “I need to know.”

 

“You don't want to know,” Ron said quietly.  “And I don’t want to talk about it.”

 

It was more than he had ever said to her, about his abduction, and Ginny's eyes filled with tears.  Just hearing him acknowledge that it had happened made it feel real again, and immediate, and she had a strong urge to sob.  Her head began to hurt.  His energy, which had been simple and straightforward just a moment ago, was now deep and draining.  She felt dizzy. 

 

“You look sick,” Ron said, after a moment.

 

“I'm fine,” Ginny said automatically, shaking herself.  If she could hear him out - if he would tell her what had happened - and if she could stay close to him while he did it… Remus would never allow her to try this, but she wasn't going to ask his permission.  She needed more than practice, now.  She needed to know what had happened to Ron.  “Why haven't you ever told any of us about what they did?” she asked, meeting his eyes.  “You didn't even tell Hermione or Harry, did you?  Or Mum and Dad?”

 

Ron gave a quiet, bitter laugh, so unlike his usual one that Ginny felt a stab of nausea.  “Tell Hermione?” he said softly.  “What, after what they did to her parents?  So she could imagine it in detail?  I don't think so.  And if you think I'd tell Mum what it's like to -” Ron stopped himself.  “She'd go crazy thinking about how it was for Percy,” he finished.

 

“But Harry?” Ginny pressed.

 

“Harry thought it was his fault.”  Ron sat back against the sofa cushions and leveled Ginny with his gaze.  “He thought everything was always his fault.  He still does.  I'm not going to add to that.”

 

Ginny's tears spilled over, and she bent double, burying her face in her knees.  She didn't want to cry - she wanted to stay strong, and to build her endurance - but it was too much.  Ron had never inflicted the details of his experience on anyone; they were all buried close to his chest, and now that she had opened up to him, she could feel all of it.  It pressed on her, and she ached. 

 

Ron patted her head.  “It's all right,” he muttered.  “It’s over.  I'm fine.”

 

“No, you're not,” Ginny sobbed.  “I can feel it.”

 

“You said you weren't going to do that!” Ron protested, but he kept patting her head. 

 

“I - can't - help it,” she managed.  “I want you to - tell me - what happened.”

 

She felt a very soft, brotherly kiss on the top of her head, and Ron sighed.  “No.  It's no good to bring it all up.”

 

Ginny lifted her head and swiped at her eyes.  “But you - have to,” she choked, trying to regulate her breathing again.  “Or it'll just - stay in you.  Forever.”

 

“There's no way around that,” Ron said, with a wry smile. 

 

“I know,” Ginny said, squaring her shoulders and sniffling back the last of her tears.  “But you can make it less horrible to remember.  I can help.”

 

Ron put his hands on his knees and looked at the floor.  For a long time, he didn't answer.  And then: “Can you?” he said abruptly.

 

“Yes.” 

 

“Do you know what you're doing?”

 

Ginny hesitated.  “I'll know,” she finally said.

 

Ron nodded.  “What do I have to do?”

 

“Just talk.”

 

He nodded again, and set his jaw.  “It was Lestrange,” he said distinctly, though his voice was very far away and he kept his eyes on the floor.  “She bashed me over the head.  Bone Crushing Curse.  Not enough to knock me out, though.  They needed me awake.”

 

Ginny stayed very still.  “They?” she asked quietly.

 

“Her.  Her husband.  Crabbe, Goyle - their dads, not Vincent and whatever.”

 

“Gregory,” Ginny supplied.  “Where were you?”

 

“You know that,” Ron said sharply.

 

“Just tell me everything again.  Start from school.  How did they - take you?”

 

“You know that,” Ron repeated, turning angry eyes on her.  “Can't I just -”

 

“No.”  Ginny touched his shoulder, and to her surprise, his posture relaxed.  “From the beginning,” she said, as gently and professionally as she could manage.  Ron gave her a weary look, and returned his gaze to his feet.  He propped his elbows on his knees and ran his hands through his hair, making it stick up nearly as badly as Harry's.

 

“Right,” he began.  “Well, for starters, I was knackered.  Hadn't slept in two days, what with Head Boy business, studying for the N.E.W.T.s, looking after Harry, and trying to catch time with Hermione -” he laughed “ - not like that ever happened.  Anyway, it was two days before Christmas holidays, at lunch, when this little third year comes up and whispers to me that she's scared to go outside for Care of Magical Creatures, because she heard that there were creatures coming out of the trees.”  Ron rubbed his eyes.  “I said, creatures?  What do you mean?  And she said that a Hufflepuff boy in her Herbology class had told her that he'd seen hooded creatures coming out of the Whomping Willow and going back in again.  Of course she didn't know about the passageway, so I told her that it was a load of rubbish, and she had nothing to fear as long as she kept her eyes open and her wand ready.”  Ron sighed.  “Then I took Hermione aside and told her that, at the first opportunity, we had to go out there and check that passageway all the way down to the Shrieking Shack, to make sure no one had found a way into Hogwarts again.”

 

“And you didn't go to Professor McGonagall,” Ginny mused. 

 

Ron shrugged.  “We never went to Dumbledore when he was alive.  Why would we go to McGonagall?”

 

“All right.  Go on.”

 

“I wanted to tell Harry, but Hermione wouldn't hear about it.  Hermione practically had kittens when I said we should go and get him to come with us.  She said we'd wait till after classes, get you to stand in for us, and duck out of school before dinner to check the tree.  So we lied to you. Hermione told you we really wanted to have a walk together, and you felt sorry for us and agreed to keep an eye on things, and we left the common room.”  Ron narrowed his eyes at his feet.  “In the corridor, right outside the portrait hole, I said I had a bad feeling that someone was around.  Hermione got out her wand and did a Tracking Charm, and you know that's just impossible in school.  Too many footsteps everywhere, and we had no way of narrowing it down, so we just kept going.

 

“We got down about three flights of stairs when we heard shouting from right outside the Charms classroom.  A Ravenclaw seventh year had a Slytherin sixth year up against the wall - it looked like they'd been dueling, although now that I look back, it seemed… staged.  Hermione froze them both in about two seconds, and gave them a furious lecture, and then hauled them off to McGonagall.”  Ron shook his head.  “But first, she told me I wasn't to do anything without her.  She told me to go upstairs and wait for her to come back.”

 

“But you went.”  He was getting to the part of the story that no one had ever heard before.  Ginny straightened her spine and tried to clear her mind of everything.

 

“I was worried about what that girl had said at lunch.  It was dark, and it had been hours since I'd heard the rumor, and no one had made an attempt on Harry in months.  It was all too dodgy.  I went outside and jogged towards the tree.  I heard Fang barking his head off, which only made me run faster.  I got to the Willow and didn't see anyone around- I did Revealing Charms and stuff to be sure that no one was standing right beside me in an Invisibility Cloak, and then I did the stupidest thing I've ever done.”  He smiled slightly.  “And that's saying something.  I picked up a stick, prodded the knot, and got into the tunnel.  I felt so sure that I could handle…” He stopped, shook his head, and stood up.

 

“Where are you going?” Ginny demanded.

 

“To get something to drink.”

 

“No- sit down.”  Ginny pulled her wand, concentrated hard, and circled it above the table.  Instantly there appeared a glass of water.

 

“Hey.”  Ron raised an eyebrow.  “Materialization.”

 

“Well, I am studying for the N.E.W.T's,” Ginny reminded him, and because it had worked before, she touched his shoulder.  “Please - keep going.”

 

Ron gave her an apprehensive glance, then sat back against the sofa cushions and turned his face away.  “I don't remember what happened in the tunnel,” he said stiffly.

 

“None of it?”

 

“Someone shouting Stupefy, and when I woke up, I couldn't move.  Or see.” 

 

Ginny braced herself.  “Why not?”

 

“Blindfolded.  Strapped to a - not a chair, really.  More of a throne.  They'd rolled up my sleeves and it was cold on my arms, I think it was made of pewter or something.  I saw it later.” 

 

If Ron's voice had been distant before, now it was so far away that it was no longer his own voice at all. He spoke slowly and softly, as if in a dream.  Ginny reached out her hands to feel the air around him.  It was no longer dead and empty; the natural heat of his energy radiated around him again, but patches of it were cold and hard Ginny found one with her hands and let her intuition guide her.  Carefully, she began to massage the tension only she could feel.  “Who was it that Stunned you?” she prompted, trying to keep the fury out of her voice.

 

“I don't know for sure,” Ron went on, still sounding dazed.  “But I'm betting on Crabbe, because it was him they were threatening when I woke up.  Him and Goyle. The Lestranges kept ranting on about how they were supposed to come back with Harry Potter, not me.  I was useless, they kept saying, and when the Dark Lord arrived, he'd do to Crabbe and Goyle what he'd planned to do to Harry.”  Ron gave a disgusted snort.  “They had Goyle blubbering.  Crabbe just kept saying that it wasn't his fault - and he said I wasn't useless at all.  I was bait for Potter.  Crabbe sounded pretty desperate, but he convinced the Lestranges to wait for Harry's arrival.  I could tell by Crabbe's tone that he was bluffing - he didn't think Harry'd show up.  He was just buying time.  The Lestranges were smarter.  They thought Harry would come.”

 

“And you?” Ginny moved her hands to another cold spot, and began to work it as if she were untying a very complicated knot. 

 

Ron turned and looked her in the eyes.  “I knew he'd come,” he said simply.  “And Hermione.” 

 

Ginny moved her hands again, and Ron watched her fingers.

 

“What's that you're doing?”

 

“Helping,” she replied.  “Don't ask me to explain it.  Just tell me what happened next.”

 

Ron reached for his water and took a long drink.  “I need something stronger,” he muttered, when he set the glass down.  “What happened next?”  He gave a laugh that was half sigh.  “Truthfully, it's a little pathetic.  I had to sneeze.  I couldn't hold it in - I tried.  They realized I was awake, they stopped talking, and Mr. Lestrange got right up in my ear and started - bribing me.”

 

The heat began to drain from around Ron, and Ginny didn't know where to put her hands; it seemed the whole room was suddenly tight and cold.  A wave of nausea rolled through her, and she felt her heart speed up to twice its normal rate.  “How?” she asked, pressing her eyes shut.

 

Ron didn't notice her distress.  “Money,” he said.  “Everything.  Anything I wanted, he said.  He knew I was poor, knew I felt it, knew where I was vulnerable.  The Lestranges knew everything about me.  Everything.  They must've picked Wormtail's brain and studied Crouch's notes -”

 

“Notes?”

 

“Well, there were just things they couldn't've known.  My academic weaknesses.  And Wormtail - well.”

 

“He knew everything about all of us,” Ginny said, trying to keep from slumping.  Ron's emotions were growing rawer by the second, and his voice was speeding back to normal, as if now that he'd consented to talk, he couldn't stop.

 

“Everything, from how jealous I was of Harry, down to what I saw in the Mirror of Erised.  Because I told him.”  Ron laughed coldly.  “I used to talk to him, you know?  The way kids talk to pets.  Not realizing that he was listening.  So Lestrange got up to my ear and fed it all back to me.  You know you want this, he said, you know how you really feel about Potter.  It's all right.  It's natural.  You've worked hard, and you'll always have to work hard, because you were born into your family.  And what do you have to show for all you've done?  How are you celebrated?  You know what you're known as, don't you?  Potter's sidekick.  His tagalong.  Your work is in his shadow, and you'll never have the recognition you deserve - not without help.  Not while you're next to him.  What makes you care about him - really?  What did he do to deserve you?  Or any of what he has, for that matter?  Potter was born, that's all he ever did to get what he has.  We're trying to set things right.  You have to understand that our Lord only wants justice.  Justice for people like us, who didn't get it easy and need a leg up in the world.”

 

Ron was breathing heavily, and his face was flushed.  His eyes had fallen shut, as if he were blindfolded again, hearing it all happen again.  Ginny held her stomach with both hands, unable to help him any longer, hoping that she could stay alert long enough to hear him out, now that he had begun.

 

“He talked and talked. It felt like forever.  I didn't move or make a sound but I hated myself for that hour because he was saying all the things I'd tried so hard to hide from everyone.  He was right about me.”

 

“No -”

 

“Yes.”  Ron's tone left no room for argument.  “Don't hate me, Gin - I didn't mean to be jealous of Harry, but you can only stand by and watch the glory for so long before you get resentful - and I never, never acted on it, not when it counted, but I felt it, and that was enough to let Lestrange under my skin.  And he knew it, and he kept on talking, telling me how undervalued I was, how talented and how brave, and what a pity it was that I was going to waste away as an extra at Potter's side, and how powerful I could be, and how wealthy I would be, and how much I was already valued by the Master and the Master's army, and how welcomed I'd be if I'd accept their help and give them mine.  And when I still didn't answer, the LeStranges woman started laughing, from across the room. I heard her footsteps come towards me, and felt her get behind me and put her - hands on my shoulders.”

 

Ginny opened her eyes - Ron's energy had changed again.  She thought he might throw up.  “What is it?” she managed.

 

“She just rubbed my shoulders,” Ron answered weakly, his eyes still shut.  “But God it was disgusting.  I'd rather have the Cruciatus.  Kept it up the whole time she talked.  And she was talking about Hermione, telling me that the only way I was going to protect her from death was to join them.  If money won't move you, she said, and if power's no object, then perhaps you'll give up your pride for your girlfriend's life.”

 

“What did you say?”

 

“Nothing.  I wanted to.  But all I had going for me was that they didn't know what was going on in my head.  She kept going, saying things like 'It's too bad about her parents, isn't it?' and I kept wishing death on them and praying that Harry and Hermione wouldn't show up.  But I wouldn't speak, I never spoke a word, and finally she let go of my shoulders and bashed me over the head.  Hard.  I shouted bloody murder and she laughed at me, said she was surprised I wasn't a mute.  And then she did it again.”

 

Ginny could hardly breathe.  He was only telling her the things that words could describe, but she could feel the rest of it - his residual pain, the isolation and darkness he had felt, the helpless terror and the not knowing.  The sickening fear that he would lead his friends into a trap and that he would never see his family again.  A sob caught in her lungs and pressed against her ribs, and she shuddered.

 

Ron's eyes flickered to her and a guilty, worried look crossed his face.  He shook his head.  “You don't want to hear this.”

 

Ginny pulled her knees up under her chin, and hugged her legs.  “Talk.”

 

“Are you going to pass out?”

 

“No.”

 

Ron didn't look convinced, but he continued.  “Lestrange said she knew that Harry had a Secret-Keeper, and she knew that I knew who it was.  All I'd have to do to go free, she said, was name the person.  That was the first time I spoke.  I started laughing and asked her if she'd ever read anything about the Fidelius Charm, because if she had, then she might've noticed that it's dependent on absolute secrecy.  If Harry's got a Secret-Keeper, I told her, then I'd hardly know about it, would I?”  He gave a dry laugh.  “And that's when I found out what the Cruciatus feels like.” 

 

Ginny could tell that he was trying to smile, to make light of his memory; but he failed.  His face was very white.  And though her stomach was tight with nausea and her head felt light and achy, Ginny couldn't help but put out her hand and grope for Ron's.  He took hold of her fingers. 

 

“You've never felt it, have you?” he asked, glancing at her.  Ginny shook her head.  “Good.  It's as bad as they say it is.  Worse.  I screamed - begged her to stop - tried not to blubber, but it's not the sort of thing you can help.  She stopped, and asked me again for information.  I told her she could -” Ron said a few words that made Ginny glad that Hermione wasn't within earshot.  “And she put the Curse on me again.  Several times.  By the middle of the night - or early the next morning, I don't really know when - I was in so much pain that if I'd had any information to give, Harry might've been in danger.  But I knew nothing.”

 

“Harry never had a Secret-Keeper.”

 

“I didn't know that at the time and I'm glad I didn't.  By the next day - I think - all four of them were in on it.  Harry hadn't come, and they were starting to panic.  They even wasted Veritaserum on me, and got no thanks for it.  They had nothing to give Voldemort, not even information, just miserable useless me.”

 

“Ron.”

 

“Their words, not mine.  I had four Curses on me at once, and them all screaming at me - you're Potter's best mate, do you think we'll believe for a minute that you're this clueless?”  Ron rubbed his temples.  “But I was.  And finally the Lestrange woman stopped them and grabbed my face in her hands and got so close that I could smell her breath, and she said that the one they really needed to interrogate was the girlfriend with the brains.  She shouted at Crabbe to go and take any measures necessary to get Hermione, if Harry was still out of reach.  She said she'd take my blindfold off when my sweetheart arrived, so I could watch everything.  And her husband started laughing, and in this really sick voice he said everything.  And for a second I thought I was going to break the straps on my arms and legs, I was so angry.”

 

“Ron.”  Ginny didn't know what else to say.  She squeezed her brother's fingers and kept listening.

 

“At the end of that day, Crabbe returned empty-handed.  Said he couldn't find Hermione or Harry, and it wasn't safe to trespass on Hogwarts' grounds at the moment.  All I heard in reply was a crack and a thud from the other end of the room, and Goyle started blubbering again.  Mr. Lestrange started muttering to his wife about letting Voldemort deal with me - the Master, he said, had ways of getting information out of people.  I felt hands on my wrist, felt the strap coming loose, and assumed they were taking me to Voldemort.  I thought, if only I hadn't just been Cruciatus Cursed to within an inch of my life, I could really fight right now - it seemed stupid of them to let my wrist go when there are ways of keeping a person bound and transporting them.  But I was too drained to think straight.  The hands on my wrist left the strap slightly loose and moved around to my other side.  I felt some sort of silky material between my skin and the fingers that were touching me - at first, I didn't know what to make of it, and then -”

 

Ron stopped and clenched Ginny's hand, and she felt a rush of love and gratitude so strong that it was nearly as overwhelming as the pain she had felt earlier, only its effects were quite the opposite.  Ginny found herself able to sit up straight again, without pain. 

 

“I felt that weird silky material on my ear,” Ron said quietly, his eyes shut.  “I felt breath.  And I heard her say 'It's me, Ron, don't move.'“

 

“Hermione,” Ginny murmured.

 

“She'd left Harry behind a tapestry - we were too big to get under the Invisibility Cloak all at once anymore.  I didn't know it at the time, but she'd practically had to cripple Harry to get him to stay in the corridor - she didn't want him coming into the room, didn't want him to be discovered for any reason.  And we might've been able to take them by surprise if it weren't for bloody Crouch and his Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons.  They knew I couldn't fight the Imperius.  They knew it.”

 

Ginny held his hand more tightly still.  His voice was harsh, and his shame and anger flooded the air.

 

“They put the Curse on me just as Hermione was loosening the last strap on my ankle, so that I'd go without a struggle.  Of course, they thought they'd still have to untie me, but I was already untied, so I pulled out of my bonds and stood right up to go with them.  I felt Hermione's hands grip my robes to stop me - which of course everyone could see - Lestrange started laughing, and then Hermione's hands were gone and I heard her struggling against him.  I could hear it.  I could have reached up and taken off my blindfold and helped her, but I just stood there and listened to her fighting - and losing.  And then the Lestrange woman pulled off my blindfold and told me to watch.  And I did.”  Ron began to shake.  “I just watched them pin her hands behind her back and force her into the same chair where I had just been - they didn't even bother strapping her in.  Lestrange got her wand and Goyle stepped up and shot the Cruciatus Curse at her before she even had a chance.  She was yelling for me - trying to get me to snap out of it - and then she'd start screaming again - and I did nothing.” 

 

Ron pulled his hand free of Ginny's, put his elbows on his knees, and buried his face in his hands. 

 

Ginny’s first instinct was to embrace her brother, but even as she reached out an arm, a large knot in the air in front of Ron stopped her.  There was something else. There was something more terrible than everything he had just told her.  Though her stomach was gurgling unpleasantly, and a small sweat had broken out across her skin, she knew that she was alert enough to carry on.  Ron’s shoulders heaved, and Ginny closed her eyes, holding both hands out in front of him, and pulled softly.   She felt the cushions on the sofa shift, and she knew that he was upright again.

 

“You must have done something, Ron,” she said, her eyes still closed.  “Because you’re here, and Hermione’s here, and Harry’s here.  What did you do?”

 

There was silence for several minutes, and Ginny continued to breathe deeply and pull at the air around Ron.  Then: “It was Harry.  He stopped it.”

 

“He gave up his hiding place?”

 

“Yes.” Ron was speaking very slowly now, as if he were once again experiencing the helplessness of the Imperius Curse.  “He’d been watching through the door.  He surprised them… disarmed Goyle and knocked out Crabbe.  I’m not sure how, exactly.  I was too busy arguing with the voice in my head.”  He laughed. “It was probably really funny to watch, actually.   All the time they were torturing Hermione, I would take one step toward her, and then one step back.  I was fighting with myself, deciding whether or not to get over there to help her.”

 

“So, did you snap out of it?”  The knot in the air had moved downwards, towards Ron’s heart, and Ginny felt something like panic. She’d never felt this much movement in an aura before – she knew how to deal with head and back injuries, but Ron was hiding a secret that was buried so deep that she felt as if she needed a mediwizard license just to uncover it.  Remus was going to kill her.  Why did she never listen to him?

 

“Harry threw me Hermione’s wand and I was able to catch it.   Mr. Lestrange was laughing – he started shooting little sparks and arrows in Harry’s direction.  Let’s have some fun with the great Harry Potter, he said.   They were so stupid - Harry could withstand just about anything at that point.  Then everything happened so quickly.  The Lestrange woman’s voice was in my head.  We can’t take everyone to see the Master, she said.  Why don’t you use that wand in your hand to help us?” 

 

Ginny snorted, despite herself, at the impression Ron was doing of the woman's sickly soft voice. 

 

“Yes, shut up,” Ron answered.  “She kept talking to me like that – bribing me some more and offering to spare my life if I would ….  Well, anyway.  She got tired of trying to persuade me and I saw her rolling up her sleeve and getting ready to touch the Dark Mark on her arm with her wand when I heard Hermione moving on the floor.  She said … she loved me ….  She’d never really said that before, I mean, we’d never…”  Ginny allowed herself a smile at her brother’s embarrassment, but still did not open her eyes. She could guess he was very red.  Recovering herself, she continued to dig with her fingers.  The knot seemed to be loosening.

 

“Kill Hermione.  That’s what the Lestrange woman wanted me to do.”

 

A soft wind blew around them.  Perhaps Ron was causing it, or perhaps they both were.  Ginny couldn’t tell if it was pain leaving Ron, or if she had naturally conjured up something to soothe him.  Her fingers seemed to move without permission; she had no control over them.  It frightened her for a moment, but “Give into your power”, she remembered reading.  “When it becomes second nature, give in.”  She did not stop her hands.

 

“Kill Hermione.  She kept repeating it.  Over and over and over again.”  Ron made a noise like pain.  “For a second it made sense in my head and I… She even gave me back my wand so that I could do it with greater force.  I raised it.  I - I actually pointed it.”  His voice was heavy and shaking - the knot of all his hidden emotion pulsed beneath Ginny's hands.

 

“But Hermione’s still alive,” Ginny said gently, and waited for Ron to answer.

 

“Yes,” said Ron, and suddenly, the knot went taut and hard - Ginny felt her lungs constrict.  She couldn't breathe or move, but her fingers pressed insistently against the anger and fear in the air as Ron continued.   “I pointed my wand at Mrs. Lestrange,” he said slowly.  “Ginny, I killed her.”

 

The knot snapped.  There was a wild unraveling, and warmth surrounded them; Ginny gasped for breath and fell forward into the empty space where the pain had been.  She hit her chin on Ron's shoulder and groaned, but he didn't help her up - she struggled to sit straight again and when she finally opened her eyes, Ron was looking at her, his face full of wonder.

 

“I killed someone,” he said, almost as if to himself.  Then, a bit louder, “I used the Killing Curse.  I didn’t even know I could do it.  I didn’t even know how to do it.  But there was a flash of green light just like…” He pressed his mouth shut and didn't open it for a long time.  “What kind of person am I that I can do that?” he finally said, looking into Ginny's face as if she were the only person who could help him.

 

Ginny felt as if her blood were running cold.  She could hardly move her mouth to speak; an exhaustion so complete had drugged her senses.  “Hermione and Harry saw?” she managed.

 

Ron nodded.  “But they've never mentioned it.”

 

“They love you.”

 

He didn't answer.  For a long time there was silence, and Ginny felt something new in the air between them.  A need for absolution. 

 

“Dad killed Malfoy,” she said thickly, fighting sleep.

 

Ron's face relaxed a little.  “I know.”

 

“Harry killed Voldemort.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“You saved Hermione.”  Ginny let her eyes fall shut, but not before seeing something good and clean dawn in her brother's face.  “You made the right choice,” she murmured.   Sleep swept around her in thick, dark, soundless waves - but the story wasn't over.  She wanted to ask Ron how they had made it out of that place - what had happened afterwards and how Hagrid had come to be there… she knew that Hagrid had died that night, but no one had ever told her how…

 

Distantly a clock struck, and to Ginny it seemed that every chime pushed her further into darkness.  With a long breath, she let her mind relax, and gave into the swirling comfort of sleep.

 

 “Harry should be home soon,” Ron said quietly.

 

Sleep vanished, but Ginny didn’t move.  Harry would Apparate into the room at any moment, and if she asked him to then he would hold her.  She wanted him to hold her. She deserved it. 

 

“Then I can't stay,” she made herself answer, and struggled to open her eyes and stand up.  She wasn't surprised to feel Ron's arm slip under her shoulders.

 

“I could carry you,” he offered.

 

“No, I can walk.  Just help.”

 

Ron supported her home.  He helped her through the dark and quiet house, into her room, where they both stopped and listened to a wolf's piercing howl, and a dog's returning bark.

 

“Want pyjamas?”

 

Ginny shook her head.  “Too tired to change.”  She fell into bed and let Ron tuck her blankets around her.

 

“Once upon a time, in a far off land,” he said quietly, in a voice startlingly like their father's, “there were six mighty wizards and a powerful witch.”

 

“Oh my God.”  Ginny giggled and shut her eyes.  “Not that old thing.”

 

“If the first five wizards were mighty, then the sixth one was absolutely brilliant,” Ron continued with a grin in his voice.  “And luckily for the witch, he was usually around to make sure she didn't pass out in the street.”

 

“Shut up,” Ginny mumbled, and curled on her side.

 

“He was so amazing, in fact, that every woman in the world was in love with him - he got loads of fan mail - so much that he just couldn't answer it all.  So he employed a rough looking kid with black hair and glasses to do it for him…”

 

Ginny would have laughed if she hadn't just dropped off the precipice of sleep and into her waiting dreams.  The last thing she heard was a quiet “Thank you” and in her dream, someone with a very large, warm hand was ruffling her hair.