Chapter 4. Questions, Questions?    (September 1, 1997)

The next morning, as Harry and Ginny stepped out around dawn for their morning run, the magic-saturated halls of Hogwarts seemed to tingle in anticipation. This was the day on which the students would be returning. If one listened closely enough, one could hear the statues and suits whispering and buzzing. The portraits were awake early, with their occupants coming and going across the various frames; some of the more vain subjects were trying to freshen themselves and their surroundings for the returning masses of prying eyes, while the less self-conscious personalities simply kibitzed or gossipped. Somewhere in the castle, Harry supposed, Peeves would be swooping around, cackling in delight over a new batch of pranks and a new crop of unsuspecting victims.

The run around the grounds was misty and chill, in sad contrast to the spectacular weather that had greeted them the previous day. Harry hoped that things might clear up by evening so that the incoming students would be treated to spectacular glimpses of the luminous castle as the train wove its way through mountain and glen on approach to Hogsmeade Station. He had once considered such moments as some of the most thrilling and happy in his young magical life. Of course happiness had taken on an entirely new meaning in the past year .... the person who defined happiness for Harry Potter was just a few strides behind him along the mountain path.

Harry reflected that there were certainly some muggle girls who would leave Ginny (and also undoubtedly him) in their dust in fitness challenges, but he was willing to bet Ginny could outrun, outjump, and out-tough just about any witch in Britain right now. Given how his own endurance had continued to improve over the summer, and given the fact that Ginny had been able to close the fitness gap admirably, Harry now felt empowered to try new challenges with the workout. Rather than simply beat down the same old path along the lake and onto the quidditch grounds, he chose a less traveled trail that skirted the forbidden forest and made its way up the steep hillsides that flanked the north shore of the lake. He wasn't certain exactly where the path headed, but he would not have been surprised to find it lead all the way to one of the mountaintops. Of course they would not be quite so ambitious today, as there was still so much to do before the students arrived. Happily, unlike yesterday afternoon's labors, today's goals would involve a lot more of one-on-one time with Ginny.

Speaking of whom .... Harry stopped at the crest of a steep rise and estimated no more than five seconds before she would join him. His legs were burning, his breath ragged, and he had little doubt that she too must be feeling the strain of at least a mile of continuous uphill. The exertion clearly showed in her face, but she wasn't about to admit any complaint. He briefly wondered how much farther up the increasingly steep slope she would have been willing to tough it out before hexing him. Once in July he'd gotten a bit too far out in front and was suddenly blinded by his own droopy, four-inch thick eyebrows. When he had stopped to try to coax them back to size, he found that his shoes had become stuck to the ground. When Ginny had come sauntering along thirty seconds later, she'd professed no idea what he was yammering about .... because in fact his eyebrows were a perfectly normal configuration .... and his shoes weren't stuck to anything.

Her concernedly innocent Fred/George facial affectation had withstood a full minute of intense scrutiny before cracking. And then they had both discovered just how fast she really could run!

Despite Harry's heavy breathing, the memory elicited a heady grin. Ginny, having reached his landing, doubled over for a moment to catch her breath, but then raised her head to flash him a big collateral smile. She took several more deep breaths, straightened up again and closed the last few feet to where he stood. He took her hand and they gazed out over the valley. They had ascended above the heavy mist and were treated to the sight of high hills and rocky crags suspended on a rolling sea of white aetherial fluff. He scanned across the pale puffs and pointed out a single sharp spire: the top of the astronomy tower was just barely piecing the fog. After another moment to catch their breath, they both started to make their way back down again, for breakfast, to be followed by an entire morning of unstructured discovery. In the midst of the last frenzied month, the two of them had both learned so much; it was now time for them both to catch up with each other again and ponder .... how were they going to move forward together to meet all of these interesting new challenges in their life?

Ginny led Harry up from their light breakfast in the Great Hall to the Room of Requirement. This would normally be the time they would devote to mobility and combat related training, but they had both agreed that the pressure to begin mapping out Ginny's research activities was paramount, so she had devised a three hour brainstorming session, the details of which Harry would soon learn.

What greeted them inside the room was rather intriguing. Levitating in the middle of the room was a chalk board similar to the one Snape would use to display his potions instructions. Harry supposed that it would record their ideas automatically as the session progressed. Nothing else in the room looked even the slightest bit like a classroom, however. There were trees, hills, walls and streams with jumping stones. Everything was in a state of slow-motion flux: hills and walls would drift around, streams would change course, disappear, reappear somewhere else, trees would grow, disappear and grow anew. And, to complicate things, Ginny had set up training dummies that moved about randomly, vanishing and reappearing, and apparently set to ....

Pop!

.... fire soft but fairly hefty foam projectiles at them, one of which Harry just barely sidestepped as it bounced past, and found itself bobbing in a nearby stream.

Pop pop pop!

The second volley caught Harry in the chest with a foam ball. Ginny scooped up one of the recently unleashed projectiles and winged it, quaffle-like at the firing dummy, catching it on the head. The dummy gave a little shriek and vanished.

"Cute!" Harry smiled. "So I assumed we walk, talk, and .... deal with our little adversaries?"

"You catch on quickly, professor." Ginny winked at him. "But one more ground rule to start with. No answers, we just keep asking questions until we run out of things to ask."

"Why?"

"Exactly, you're off to a great start!" She smirked.

"No ...." he huffed at her. "I mean, why only ask questions?"

"Yes, Harry, you've really got the hang of this. You're doing much better than I am!"

Pop!

She jumped out of the path of another projectile, caught it in mid-air and winged it back at their assailant to knock it out of the action. "Why did that dummy deliberately target me?" Ginny asked, rhetorically. "Was it because I made a statement rather than a question? Should we assume that's the case?"

"Should we assume that you're a certified nut?" He asked, with a twinkle in his eye.

She glared at him. "Maybe this is some way to open our minds? What if we had to think before we spoke? What if we always questioned and never assumed? Would that help us brainstorm? Do you wonder if booksmart people like Hermione might limit their perspective by seeking only answers? Would it open new horizons if we just kept asking more and more questions? Would questions, questions, questions ever lead us to the one question that perfectly captures our interests and concerns?"

"Could that be the most brilliant suggestion I've heard in ages?" He beamed at her. "Have I ever told you how amazing you are?"

"Can you stop trying to make me blush and think of more important questions you've been dying to ask?" She countered, grinning as she climbed a short knoll and surveyed the room for roving attack dummies.

"Okay, how can death eaters set up anti-portkey wards and still portkey themselves out?"

Ginny turned to look at him as she pondered his question. She nodded, and gestured at the floating chalkboard, which dutifully transcribed his question. "How could death eaters portkey me out of Hogwarts last June with all the anti-portkey wards in place here?" she asked, gesturing for this question to also record on the board.

"When it happened, were you holding anything that felt like a portkey? Why have I been unable to summon any portkeys from death eaters since last spring?" Harry volleyed.

"Why did Lucius expect to capture you, not me?" Ginny wondered. "Was I holding anything of yours that day?"

"Why was Draco messing with us at lunch right before that? Harry asked with a note of suspicion in his voice.

"Hey, could it had made any difference that I drank your pumpkin juice that day?" Ginny recollected with a frown.

"So, maybe Draco put anything in my juice and you drank it? Can you drink a portkey?" Harry wondered.

"A potion maybe? Can a potion make you susceptible to ....?" Ginny trailed off.

"Can a portion maybe even turn you into a portkey? If so, would accio portkey recognize a person?"

"Should we deposit our memories from that lunch into the pensieve and revisit them?" Ginny suggested.

"Should be get corroboration? Who else was at the table who might have seen something? Neville? Ron?" Harry recalled.

"Can you get their memories too? Would they be willing?" Ginny suggested.

"I think so." Harry paused, as he sought to come up with an angle with which to approach them.

Pop pop!

Two dummies ambushed them to punish Harry for his non-question. One ball caught Harry on the leg, but Ginny grabbed the projectile as it ricocheted, then she winged it at the nearest dummy, causing it to squeak and vanish.

"So, we're thinking maybe portkeys?" Ginny asked. Harry nodded, so Ginny pointed her wand at the chalk board, saying "Creo transcript." The numerous questions written onto the board vanished, while a scroll with the full record materialized in Ginny's hand. She put it in her pocket.

"Hey, can you show me later how you set this all up?" Harry asked.

Ginny nodded as she gestured to the board to restart dictation. She turned to Harry, asking, "Okay, more questions?"

"Yes, what was Fawkes so eager to discuss with you yesterday?"

"Are phoenixes always so bloody abstract?"

"Was it like talking to Maharashi Mahesh Yogi, with cotton stuffed in your ears?" Harry joked.

"Maha .... who? What?"

"Wasn't he some muggle who decided he knew all of life's secrets?"

"Are you trying to confuse me, or do you want me to answer the Fawkes question?"

"Yes please .... Ow! That hurt!" A dummy had ambushed Harry from behind a tree, catching him with a direct hit to a sensitive location. Ginny's quick reflexes once again nailed the assailant before more damage could be done.

"Okay, does any of this make sense? Do we have wounds? Scars?" Ginny asked.

Harry tapped his forehead. "Does this count?"

Ginny nodded. "Now, do I have a wound that has been healed? Or do you have a wound that is still raw?" Ginny posed.

"Is that what Fawkes was showing you? Wounds and scars?"

"Does he always talk using memories? When you communicate with Fawkes, does it feel as strange for you as it did for me? Is that what you meant by Ma .... ma .... whatever Yogi and cotton ears?" Ginny wondered.

"Any more details from Fawkes?" Harry pried.

"Why would Fawkes care that you always hide your scar when you're disguised? Hey, for that matter why would he care that you tried to hide your devil's fire wounds last year? Could this be about the hiding of wounds, rather than just the wounds themselves? Did you try to hide any wound after the Chamber of Secrets? Did I try to hide anything? Was I even hurt in the Chamber?" Ginny mused. "Does psychological damage count? Have I recovered? Did you heal me? Did I fail to heal you from something?"

"Wow, you're good!" Harry said. "I had no idea anybody could be so inquisitive!"

Pop pop pop pop!

Harry and Ginny were subjected to a barrage from a cluster of dummies who had surrounded them along flanking hillsides. Harry grabbed several foam balls and charged into the onslaught, knocking out a pair of dummies while Ginny held her ground and managed to bring down two more, earning them a respite.

"Why can't Voldemort bother my scar when I'm with you?" Harry asked. "Why can he still irritate it when you're not with me? Is that my raw wound? Are you somehow hiding my wound from Voldemort? How?"

"When did you start to notice my effect on your scar?"

"Was it after we escaped from Malfoy's?" Harry guessed.

"Wasn't that when you started hearing my thoughts when I got upset?" Ginny asked.

"Are there other effects tied in with this?" Harry suggested. "Hey — last night, how did you recreate my own memory of Godric's Hollow from when I was a baby? A memory I didn't even know I had?"

"Yes, how did I? Do I have some of your memories? Did something happen at Malfoy's to get our minds mixed up together?" Ginny mused.

"Do you feel mixed up too?" Harry wondered, pointing a finger at his head. "In wonder how part of me could get into you?"

"Honestly, Potter — this is supposed to be serious work!" Ginny said, turning to him with a wicked grin. "Is that all you boys ever think about?!"

"Erk! No no!" Harry stammered, gesturing frantically at his head. "I didn't mean .... ummm .... you see .... I was talking about our ...."

"Oh, not to worry, Harry dear." Ginny interrupted him, pressing his scandalized face between her two outstretched hands. "If you're really really nice, then some day we will consider it." She purred as her lips found his.

The Room of Requirement was just beginning to fade out of Harry's conscious mind when he flinched .... pop pop pop pop .... and they were pelted with another round of foam.

"Finite dummies." Ginny mumbled, and pulled him under the protective cover of a large and robust rhododendron.

On the bright side, it certainly was a lot easier to deliver one student to Platform 9 3/4 than five. And if you further subtract younger siblings, older siblings, friends, grouchy aurors, canine animagi .... Molly paused to look up the station clock. Yes, removing all of those logistical complications, it stood to reason that they find themselves standing in front of the train 25 minutes early.

For Molly, the more melancholy side of the equation was that, for the first time in the sixteen years that the Weasley family had been making its annual pilgrimage to Kings Cross, they composed a party of .... two. Not seven or eight, not fourteen. Just two: her and her lanky teenaged son Ron. Arthur was tied up in a nearly endless series of meetings as the ministry attempted to deal with a leadership crisis in the manner to which it was most accustomed: bureaucratic paralysis. Bill was tied up in meetings by a Gringotts leadership growing increasingly anxious over the issue of Ministry paralysis. The twins were busy researching some important new business opportunity. Charlie and Percy were, as usual, off being Charlie and Percy. And Ginny was already at Hogwarts, doubtlessly wrapped up right now in serious meetings of her own, hopefully working on some exciting new research.

Molly regarded her tallest, youngest son with wistful fondness. Ron deserved more. He deserved a festive send-off for his final year of schooling. He was a good young man, a prefect, a quidditch captain. If he had a weakness, it was aim and focus, or, more to the point, a deficiency thereof. He had been slower than the others to make his mark and carve his niche. Bill, Charlie and Percy: three absolute straight-arrows; she'd always known where they were headed. The twins: deep down she had long ago resigned herself to them striking out in a direction diametrically opposed to any recommendations she might ever offered, and she had always assumed that they would nonetheless succeed brilliantly .... if only just to get the last laugh. Ginny: she had always been a natural ally to the twins growing up, so Molly now realized that it was only natural that she too would find some unexpected, unconventional way to dazzle. And that left Ron. Standing on the platform looking endearingly clueless, as he so often did. What would become of him?

Ron scowled at the platform in all its unnatural quietude and lack of frenzy. He scowled to think of all those childhood years that he'd been trundled out to wish Bill, Charlie, Percy and the twins off to school, and now here he was and they were nowhere to be seen. He scowled about his younger sister who'd snuck off and graduated a year ahead of him. He scowled to think of the extra twenty minutes of sleep he ought to have had, rather than being prodded and pushed into an artificial frenzy by his overly zealous mother. He scowled at the thought of his mother herself, if only because he had spent just a bit too much time cooped up her this past summer. It crossed his mind that maybe she too had grown a little tired of the company and might be happy enough to bid farewell twenty minutes early. He took the scowl off his face in order to emulate a mature, civilized human being for a minute or two.

"Mum, you don't have to stay if you don't want to. I can get on the train easy enough now, go down to the prefects car and wait for the others."

"I understand dear!" she said, forcibly turning him to face her. She looked him up and down, checking his hair, collar and shirt before wrapping him in her powerful hug. "You don't have to wait by me if you don't want to, but I would still like to stay here until the train leaves."

He looked at her quizzically as he extricated himself from her grip. "Okay." he said. "Suit yourself. I'll wait with you."

They stood there, awkwardly for several minutes. Molly wanted to stay there because she knew that in her old age she would regret it if she turned her back on her son at this uncertain time in his life. She also wanted, however awkward it might prove, to be there to see Hermione off for the start of the last year of her illustrious Hogwarts career. She had decided that she would not discuss the letter, even if Hermione brought it up (which Molly hoped she wouldn't). George had convinced her that the letter was a mistake; convinced Molly of the validity of her own initial assumption that Hermione must be experiencing a tremendous amount of angst and pressure and might be lacking a solid confidante who could comfort her and gently persuade her of the more basic, innocent explanations. Maybe she, Molly, would start owling the girl on a regular basis, be a girlfriend for a while until Hermione adapted to the apparent fact that Harry and Ginny had both chosen to grow up so quickly and drift apart from her.

Molly recalled her own school days, her own very young marriage to Arthur, and remembered the abrasive responses from long-time friends that had come as a result. In this light, she could understand Hermione's rift with Harry and Ginny. What puzzled her was Ron. Why had he had not corresponded at all with Hermione over the entire summer? Hermione had owled Ron at least twice and Ron had just skimmed the letters and tossed them aside. Molly's instincts had told her for years that, despite a bit of an intellectual mismatch between the two, they nonetheless seemed destined for a long future together in some capacity of another. Molly could not quite bring herself to believe that she had been mistaken. Conversely, she also wanted to make certain that nobody thought she was interfering in anything sensitive. Which is why she had not specifically suggested to Ron that he try to patch things up with the brainy brunette. What she didn't realize, as she stood on the platform watching Ron, was that at least one other person had been having similar thoughts on the topic and had been a bit more unabashed in approaching it.

Standing on the platform next to his mother, boredom beginning to gnaw on Ron, so he pulled a letter out of his pocket. He had skimmed it last week and had actually decided that it deserved another glance and some thought before eventually getting filed into one of those drawers of his from which nothing ever seemed to re-emerge. He unrolled it and re-read.

August 26, 1997

Dear Ron,

I can't believe that the summer is nearly over and I haven't written to you yet. My most sincere apologies, mate! Please don't take it personally — it's been a bit of a whirlwind! I will tell you about it either when Ginny and I next visit the Burrow (we will likely do so in a few days) or when we're back at school.

Anyway, if you don't mind, I would like Hedwig to hang out with you for a few days to await some Hogwarts correspondence that will arrive at the Burrow for Ginny and myself. If you could hand them off to Hedwig when you get the chance, it would be greatly appreciated.

The content of the letters isn't private or sensitive as far as Ginny and I are concerned, and you may have already been tipped off by your parents, so here's the scoop: if all goes according to plan, the letters will say that Ginny and I have successfully completed the matriculation requirements for Hogwarts and are being appointed to graduate positions at the school. Yes, I know that sounds completely daft! Believe me after all of the long days and nights of NEWT studying this past month I have frequently questioned our sanity, but from the informal comments we got back from our examiners, it seems to have been worth it.

So, in the aftermath of all this craziness, I have had to take a little time to think about the implications on our lives, friendships and such. I just wanted to let you know that Ginny and I sincerely hope you can find some time to hang out with us and do some fun things together this year at school. Yes, we had a pressing need to move along a bit faster with our own schoolwork and get it over with, but please don't hold that against us. We were sincerely touched by the effort that you made this past summer to patch things up. We owe you for that, and will be happy to repay. And, though I hope I don't sound too much like Hermione, I know that Ginny and I would be more than happy to help you with NEWT revision. Well, everything except your Divination NEWT, because the external examiner is unlikely to accept "Harry Potter is going to die" as the answer to every question. Sorry, I'm certain to be of absolutely no help on that one, mate!

So, have you given much thought to what your final year at Hogwarts will be like? What it will be like to be the Mr. Big in Gryffindor Tower? Prefect, quidditch captain, older and more experienced than everyone else? A part of me feels like I'm really missing out on having that one year to strut around. Please consider doing me a favor? Strut around, enjoy it, and tell me all about it so that I can live vicariously. I think I too will be having some fun this year, especially in starting an advanced HA class, but from my vantage on the lowliest rung of the faculty pecking order, I suspect I will envy you.

Sincerely,

Harry

P.S. I was thinking about the old saying that 'old friends are best friends'. On Ginny's birthday it was great to kick back with you, just like old times. It got us thinking about Hermione, though, and how much we regret still being on the outs with Hermione. I think we might try to work things out with her when school starts and things settle down a bit, but I was wondering if you might be the one person she would respond to most readily? You never really said how you and she got off-track this spring, but I bet that if you tried to patch things up with her you might be pleasantly surprised. No teasing intended, but I think she still fancies you a little!

It was a strange letter to receive from Harry — a lot more touchy-feely than any of his old letters. Maybe having a girlfriend could make a bloke's head go a bit soft, or, on the complete opposite end of the spectrum, maybe it came from having one too many brushes with death. But when Ron thought about it, regardless of what Harry's state of mind might have been to write stuff like that, the letter was actually .... well .... kind of nice. Yes, it was nice to be reminded that he, Ron Weasley, was about to be a big shot at the school: someone who had earned lots of respect because he'd put in the long years and had lived up to some big challenges. It was nice to be told that there was nothing wrong with taking that last year of his student life to enjoy it, and to not be ashamed that Harry and Ginny had (for whatever reasons) felt a need to rush past it prematurely. No, there was nothing wrong with being normal. And, Ron reflected, there was something nice about the suggestion that Hermione might need his help right now more than he needed hers. He wasn't certain that was really true, but he had decided that he was going to give the idea a little test drive to find out. And, regardless of that, he was also pretty certain that he was ready to .... strut.

Hermione pushed her cart through the barrier between platforms 9 and 10 alone, except for a rather grumpy Crookshanks who was glaring at her from behind the bars of his cage. The way things are going, that might be the least of the dirty looks I get today, she thought bitterly.

Once onto the platform, she straightened up and examined the busy scene in front of her. Many new faces. The new arrivals seemed to look tinier every year, while the little students from years past now seemed to be filling out into real, recognizable human beings. Despite Hermione's generally sour mood, she managed a smile as a sampling from six years of memories drifted past.

Among those drifting past were Dean Thomas, the Patil twins, and Lavender Brown. The latter was guiding a miniature version of herself along by the hand: hair a bit longer than Lavender's, face looking much more excited than Hermione had ever remembered Lavender being, but otherwise very reminiscent of the visual recollection Hermione had of her dorm-mate on the occasion of their first encounter, six years ago to this day. Lavender bent down to speak to her sister over the din; as Lavender turned, her eyes met Hermione's. They exchanged polite smiles; from across the platform Lavender pointed Hermione out to her sister. Hermione effected a somewhat warmer greeting for the younger girl, who responded with a small, shy smile and looked away.

Hermione had begun to walk toward the nearest train car when she felt a warm but firm hand grasp her hand. As she turned, Molly Weasley swept her into a firm, motherly embrace.

"You look well!" Molly lied enthusiastically. In fact, Hermione was pale, and strain was showing beneath the glowing smile she was attempting to project for Molly's sake.

"Thank you!" Hermione said. She peered from side to side around Molly, with a look of puzzlement. "Where is everyone?" she wondered aloud.

"Ron should be back in a moment, dear." Molly told her. "He's gone to leave his things in the prefect car, but said he'd stop back here before the train leaves. The others ...." Molly shrugged regretfully, "were all too busy to make it .... I'm afraid it just doesn't feel quite the same without a unruly mob in tow."

Hermione laughed sympathetically.

"Are your parents here?" Molly inquired eagerly.

It was Hermione's turn to adopt a wistful expression. "No." she said. "I saw them off from Heathrow early this morning. They're going to spend the year abroad .... Professor Dumbledore's suggestion."

"Oh dear!" Molly said, tightening her grip on Hermione's arm. "Has it come to that? Yes, I suppose it has, hasn't it? Such a frightful summer with all of the attacks! I'm only relieved that there were so few .... tragedies."

"Yes." Hermione shivered. "We all have so much to thank the Order for!" Molly appeared to be on the verge of interjecting a comment but quickly stifled herself. Hermione gave a quick quizzical glance, but then changed tracks. "Are things okay at the Ministry?"

"No." Molly admitted. "Arthur is there to all hours these days, but he almost never talks about it. Except at Grimmauld Place when they ask him to report.... But dear, let's not dwell on such grim matters. Let's look at you with your Head Girl badge! Oh, congratulations!"

Hermione smiled awkwardly. "Thank you!" she said softly. Six years ago, it would have met one of Hermione's most treasured dreams to wear this badge. Several years on, it had become her presumptive eventual honor, but seemed a bit of a frivolous distraction in the face of the grave matters she, Harry and Ron always found themselves enmeshed in every year. Now, in a state of nearly open warfare, it seemed almost embarrassing to think of this shiny little badge as a meritorious distinction.

Molly was saying things. Hermione was offering practiced nods and exclamations, but her mind had completely wandered off into its own conversation.

Yes, after this past summer, the shiny little Head Girl badge actually seemed pretty lame. The summer had not been a kind one to Hermione. The first few weeks had been fine: the reading she had done last school year on wards had proven worthwhile, as she had invested a fair bit of effort safeguarding her parents' home. Once that project had been taken care of, however, things seemed to sag. Old friends didn't write. Real, believable news was thin. Her stockpile of unread books was running low. What she did read, frequently didn't make her feel better. She was stuck in a rut. And then there was that whole Dumbledore/Harry thing.

Finally, with just a few days left in the summer, Hermione realized what was at the core of her discontent: boredom. It had been more than a year since she had done anything big or exciting that had really made a difference. She had been safe for too long; she needed to be in there in the thick of things, helping to save and safeguard lives, helping to bring down Voldemort before things got much worse. But crouching oppressively over all of those desires was the overarching frustration of still being a student; knowing that to most adults this effectively disqualified her as a serious, meaningful contributor. Of course if Harry suddenly emerged to whisk her off again to some exciting adventure then .... No. She shook her head to clear that ridiculous thought. Things were just so messed up with Harry now — their days of great, perilous deeds together were over. The only good thing about all of that was that Harry had unwittingly inspired her onto her own important quest. Yes, she was finally going to act! Do what was right! She now had the nascent makings of a plan. For starters, she was going to ....

"Oi beautiful! Better get moving or you'll miss the train."

Hermione was jarred from her inner deliberations by a familiar, but unusually gruff voice beside her.

"Ron!" she exclaimed in surprise. Her eyes gradually made their way up to his face. "Won't you ever stop growing?"

Molly smiled at both of them. "I will let you two board." she said, a little relieved to call an end to the halting and slightly disconcerting conversation with Hermione. "Please do take good care of yourselves .... and please keep an eye on Ginny and Harry for me." Tears were starting to come; she pulled Hermione and Ron together into a fierce hug, but then quickly released them. "Go! All those little students need their role models!"

Hermione and Ron both gave Molly another smile, and turned together toward the train. Hands free, Ron took a page from Harry's conduct of the previous year and grabbed the handle of Hermione's trunk. Blimey, girls trunks are heavy! he thought to himself as he pulled it off the cart, but did his best to disguise the strain from his face as he lugged it toward the prefect's car.

Carrying Crookshanks' cage, Hermione allowed herself to be swept along in her friend's wake, albeit in a bit of a state of some confusion. Who was he to be butting back into her life so abruptly and presumptuously? Calling her 'beautiful' and carrying her trunk? Who was she to be just passively letting him do all that? A part of her felt that she should be patently annoyed by all of this, but for some reason she .... was not.

Conversation snippets on the way into the Great Hall were more disjointed than usual, even considering the usual level of excitement that preceded the Start of Term Feast. The incoherence of the two Slytherin third years was fairly innocuous:

".... and after we let Ainsley out of the basement, he comes running out and .... what the blazes?!"

"Eh, what blazes? What are you looking .... oh!"

While others, such as a rather attractive Hufflepuff fifth year (".... and then he rolls over onto his side, stares deep into my eyes and tells me that I am his .... sweet Merlin's armpit!!") were probably grateful how few people were actually paying attention to dialogue at that moment.

Seating arrangements for the feast had remained almost invariant for the last several centuries: four long house tables arranged parallel to the length of the hall, with the one elevated staff table situated perpendicularly at the far end. Not so on September 1, 1997. As many students entered the hall, they were treated to the site of another table being levitated into a position in front of the staff table. Early arrivals who had the misfortune of having claimed some of the best seats in front were uncomfortably finding themselves (along with their seats) spatially transfigured as the hall expanded and the four house tables moved and shrank a little to accommodate the new furniture.

As Ginny mingled with the new arrivals, she smiled as she overheard Ernie MacMillan confidently pronouncing that the new table seat house aurors whom he claimed would be stationed around the clock in the school this year. Good try, but no cigar, Head Boy! The smile remained on Ginny's face as she exchanged quick greetings and hugs with Stephanie and Nate as they made their way to the Gryffindor table. She was not yet about to sit, however. She had spied Neville standing near the end of the Hufflepuff table, apparently having wandered over to greet Hannah Abbott. Picking her way through the crowd, Ginny came up behind him and poked him in the ribs.

"Hey!" he growled, but upon discovering the source of the mischief, his face broke into a smile that spread quickly, infectiously to Hannah. "Hey." he said again, this time more softly and with affection. Ginny embraced him fiercely, wordlessly, for ten very meaningful seconds. Neville's face emitted the uniquely 'Nevillish' look of being both awkwardly happy and pleasantly embarrassed at the same time.

"Hi Ginny!" Hannah greeted her warmly from her seat at the end of the table. Several other Hufflepuffs nodded or waved.

"Hi all!" Ginny beamed, releasing Neville. "So nice to see everyone again!" before rolling her eyes at the sound of Millicent Bulstrode in the background barking about how the new table was going to be dedicated to the soon-to-be-reinstated Inquisitorial Squad. "Ugh .... so nice to see almost everyone, I mean." Ginny growled.

Neville laughed then asked, "So Ginny, do you know what the new table is all about?"

Ginny could suddenly feel a dozen or so eyes zoom in on her. "Mmmmm ... mmmmm!" she proclaimed, pointing to a tight-lipped smile as she shrugged her shoulders.

"She knows!" Hannah decided. "The only people not making ridiculous speculations are the people who know." she added with a self-satisfied smirk.

"You're going to leave us hanging?" Neville asked, in a playfully hurt tone.

"Mmmmm ... mmmmmm...??" Ginny whimpered to him, but then opened her mouth to smile and say, "Seats are filling up Neville, you better grab one before you're stuck with Nearly Headless Nick."

Neville scanned the Gryffindor table. "There are two seats over there, Ginny. Would you like to grab them?"

"Thanks but no thanks Neville, but let's get seats together later this week and catch up on things." she responded with a smile. "You too, Hannah!" Ginny added mysteriously. She started to walk away, but out of the corner of her eye she caught a pensive glance from Hannah as the girl began analyzing the last statement.

Ever the sharp one, Hannah was not particularly surprised when she saw Ginny make her way toward the mysterious and otherwise unoccupied fifth table. From their own respective seats, Neville, Hannah, Hermione, and indeed quite a few people, watched the small redhead's progress through the crowded hall with a bit of curiousity. Rumors had started circulating on the train earlier today about Hogwart's newest, and rather precocious, graduate.

These rumors had not yet circulated to Draco Malfoy by the time he entered the Great Hall. He had not been on the Express earlier today. He had had important things to do, and they had not involved sitting on a train full of gossipping juveniles. He had fully outgrown this unpleasant zoo and was not the least bit excited to be back at Hogwarts this year. He made had made his way self-importantly past much of the Great Hall before he noticed the change in landscape. What was with the new table? And why was that infuriatingly attractive little blood traitor taking her seat there, rather than with her usual batch of fur-ball Gryffindor ilk?

"Sitting with all your friends, Weaselette?" he sneered, glancing down the empty table.

"Not yet." she said, smiling sweetly. Without really intending to do so, her eyes casually, unblinkingly engaged his meanest glare. Though she carefully suppressed any overt reaction before it crossed her face, she was shocked at what she saw. Beneath the sneering Malfoy bravado, Draco looked very stressed, and his face was pasty with unhealthy splotches.

Draco scowled at this unexpectedly brazen scrutiny and quickly turned his attention to the east end of the Slytherin table, searching for a seat. Pansy Parkinson, Crabbe and Goyle were seated together near the middle of the table, hemmed in on all sides by a lively mixture of fourth, fifth and sixth year students. Draco came up behind them and cleared his thoat. "Somebody move!" he demanded.

Nothing happened. Pansy raised an eyebrow, but otherwise continued to hold court among the younger students, with Goyle making the occasional stupid laugh. Crabbe seemed to be nearly asleep, with no tangible interest in anything taking place around him.

Draco tapped his foot several times loudly. Still nothing. He reached out his boney fingers to pull a small fourth year girl out of her seat when a powerful hand flashed out from the side, seizing his wrist in a vice grip.

Draco whipped around, about to unleash a yell of pain and fury, but instead found himself gaping .... impaled by the smoldering eyes of Ryan Jenkins.

Ryan's other hand, the one not constricting all circulation in Malfoy's trembling forearm, gestured toward a cluster of empty seats at the end of the Slytherin table. Not exactly prime real estate, with the Bloody Baron brooding over a number of nervous and downtrodden second years.

Ryan flicked Draco's clammy wrist away. His eyes burned through Draco for another moment, then the dark haired boy resumed his casual conversation with Mary Jo Clark — telling her something about views from the top of Ben Nevis on a clear summer day.

Draco glared at the entire assembly, stamped furiously, seething specks of spittle over several of the nearest students .... then slouched over to sit under the brooding Baron.

Pansy had studiously tried to ignore the scene, but she stole a glance as Ryan rolled his eyes, and helpfully whisked his wand to remove traces of Draco venom from the backs and hair of several of their Slytherin colleagues. A strange expression crossed Pansy's face, as if there were several unspoken questions lurking just behind her lips.

Just as Professor MacGonagall began shepherding in the new crop of first years to stand before the sorting stool, Harry slipped into his new seat at the staff table, hoping not to bring attention to himself. It was unsuccessful: a buzz swept through the hall as people recognized Hogwarts' newest full time faculty member. Professor MacGonagall cleared her thoat to commandeer the audience's sole attention back to the old Sorting Hat who came to life and made several cursory nods to the audience and to the assembled first years, before commencing to croon in its customarily croaky voice.

Welcome all ye little ones
Eager to be Slytherins,
Gryffindors or Ravenclaws,
Hufflepuffs to great applause.

Have you not wonderered why we sort
You to these ancient houses four?
Especially if the houses fight
Just when dear Hogwarts must unite?

I wonder too, and so I say,
Regardless how I choose today,
That you consider table five,
A place where harmony will thrive,

A place for yearning to stand tall,
Together, proud that we are all,
Wizards, witches, good and hale,
Who will not let old Hogwarts fail!

Amidst a vibrant hum of comment and speculation, a recognition dawned and hundreds of eyes swept toward this mysterious new table five. As the sole occupant of this new and suddenly very prominent furnishing, Ginny willed herself to suppress or at least subdue a blush that threatened to overtake her cheeks.

Fortunately, she was saved by Professor MacGonagall who raised her wand, and expelled a flash and sharp crack to once again summon everyone's attention to the sorting ceremony.

Embarrassment forgotten, Ginny silently counted the little heads lined up before the sorting stool. She bit her lip: there were only twenty four new students — little more than half the number she had grown accustomed to seeing. She caught her breath as she recalled that two of the children who should be standing up there now in excited anticipation of their emerging magical education .... would never ever take a single class. They had been killed along with their families in the July attacks. At least two other new muggle-born students eligible to enroll had not done so; quite possibly the families had gone into hiding. She guessed that even some pureblood families and mixed families might have pulled out and moved abroad, intimidated by nine months of near-relentless attacks on the wizarding community. Britain was not a safe place to be magical these days, and Hogwarts was no exception.

But the fact of the matter was that if Britain fell to Riddle and the death eaters, the peril would almost certainly spread. No matter how dysfunctional wizarding institutions in this country always seemed, they had enjoyed nearly constant global preeminence since Merlin's day and if Britain's magical community could not resist the evil, what hope did other countries have?

Ginny's thoughts turned back to yesterday's stairwell conversation with Harry. It was imperative that they find a way to stop the horrors. While the Daily Prophet regularly emphasized that the death toll from terror campaign had been far lighter thus far than what the last wizarding war had produced, that seemed such a hollow consolation. Any deaths were still too many. And that did not even begin to account for the other costs. So many children were still alive, but scarred by grief, gripping nightmares and shattered dreams. Yes, she believed with all her heart in what she and Harry had concluded yesterday: they would end the suffering. Sooner rather than later. But how? That was really the critical question, wasn't it?

Harry watched the sorting with half an eye. The rest of his attention was turned somewhat guiltily on the new table where Ginny still sat alone. Not much longer now, Gin! The headmaster had made it clear to him that full time faculty members were expected to occupy seats at the head table during important ceremonies, and this was clearly one of them. That had produced an awkward situation for Ginny: she was not faculty, but was also no longer a student and thus would no longer be welcome to sit at a house table due to various arcane rules entrenched by staunch, immutable tradition. One wholly undesirable option would have been to eat at the Griffindor table as Ron's guest, but the last thing she wanted was to to be beholden to her brother and his schedule every time she needed a meal. Another marginal option was knowing that Dobby would be ecstatic for the opportunity to serve them private meals up in their quarters, but they had no desire to appear elitest at a time when they were trying to unite the school in opposition to the forces of darkness.

So what to do?

Play to one of Ginny's strengths, of course: her creativity! In this case, while the Hogwarts house charters had all the agility of an arthritic brachiosaur, she found a simple loophole: there was no proscription against setting up a new table that was independent of the houses. Furnishings in the Great Hall that did not belong to any of the houses could be changed with a simple signed approval from the headmaster. Knowing Dumbledore's growing impatience with house acrimony, all they had to do was phrase the idea as a gesture to foster cross-house friendship and cooperation. The idea had delighted the headmaster who had been more than happy to propose it in last week's faculty meeting and take credit for the innovation. Thus, much to the surprise of many of the arriving students, times had suddenly changed in the ancient hall, and Harry gazed fondly at his favorite enterprising redheaded instigator, reassuring himself that she would only have to sit alone for another little while.

Buoyed by her renewed optimism, Ginny found herself able to enjoy the sorting ceremony, beaming smiles toward each of the little faces whom she hoped she would get to know better as the school year went on. Lavender Brown's little sister Lilac was sorted into Ravenclaw (Ginny snickered -- guess who got the brains in that family?). The Greengrass twins, Edgar and Francesca, were excited to be joining their older sister Daphne in Slytherin. Then, right after Levis, Aurellio, had been sorted into Hufflepuff, Ginny finally saw the face of one particularly shy child whom she did not recognize until .... Lyon, Jonathon .... reluctantly raised his downcast head to accept the sorting hat.

Jonathon!

Ginny's heart collapsed into the pit of her stomach to watch the saddest, most vacant expression she had ever seen a child wear. She knew precisely why he was so sad. And it took every ounce of self-control she had not to rush over, embrace the poor little fellow and whisper to him, all over again, all of the things she had said this summer that she so dearly hoped he would come to understand. You are loved .... Your father has gone to a good place .... He is proud of you for being so brave .... He will always be with you.

As Jonathon took his seat at the end of the Gryffindor table, Hermione leaned across to Parvati and Neville, asking, "Does anybody know why that little boy is so sad?"

Parvati shook her head.

Neville said nothing; he knew the story, but it wasn't his to tell.

From the seat beside Hermione, Ron shrugged, saying, "Dunno, but the little blighter should be pretty chuffed. He's a Gryffindor!"

Immediately after Wright, Noel, had taken his seat at the Ravenclaw table, the headmaster raised his wand to capture the attention of the Hall. "Dear students!" he opened, "Once again I find myself standing in the way of the food and drink we are all eagerly awaiting. I promise now to be quite brief. Most of what I have to say can wait until you are all sated, happy, and in some cases ...." his eyes flickered briefly in the direction of Crabbe at the Slytherin table, "perhaps asleep. By that time, I should hope to remember most of what I have intended to say. But before then I must elaborate upon the suggestion of our dear friend the Sorting Hat." The hat nodded politely. "That is to say that while we continue to honor our four founders through the institutions that are our four Hogwarts houses, we are now also celebrating their original vision of collaboration. Dear students, please imagine collecting together a formidable corps blessed with the loyalty of Hufflepuff, the bravery of Gryffindor, the wisdom of Ravenclaw and the cunning of Slytherin! This new table we have placed before you is a garden of collaboration. Honor your house, but celebrate Hogwarts, through dedicated cooperation. Let us all work together to conquer the monumental challenges we face. As long as they come forward in a spirit of cooperation, anyone, be they faculty, visitor, guest or student of any house, is always welcome to sit at this new table. Beginning, right now!"

He waved his wand in the air and a shower of yellow, blue, red and green silk streamers shot forth, danced in the air in a maelstrom of color, then descended, assembling into a garlands that draped themselves over the table.

There was a brief moment of confused silence. Then several people stood up. Harry immediately began to make his way down from the staff table to Ginny's side. Blaise conferred with Daphne at the Slytherin table before proceeding over. Neville stopped briefly by the new Gryffindor first years to whisper congratulations to them before collecting Hannah and making their way together toward the front. Mary-Jo and Ryan could be seen quietly conferring; Ryan nodded and gave her a little fist bump. Ryan remained at the Slytherin table, but Mary-Jo rose, scanned over toward the Gryffindor tables to catch Nick Jones' eye before walking over. Luna collected Alex and followed suit, joined en route by Quinn Rasby. Numerous people watched the small migration take shape, wondering whether these daring pioneers were betraying their houses .... or honoring Hogwarts.

As Quinn took his seat, the food materialized in front of everyone's places and the feasting began all around the hall.

Harry looked not at his food, but around the table to the small assembly of faces, clustered around Ginny and himself. He shook his head with a shy smile on his face. "Wow — kudos to all of you for the willingness to stick your neck out in front of the whole Hall at a big feast. I'd thought maybe Dumbledore was going be more low-key and phase in the table tomorrow at breakfast, but apparently he likes the big splash. Anyway, I'm flattered that you're all here!"

"Don't be flattered, Potter." Zabini scolded as he began to serve himself some vegetables. "This is all about 'work together to conquer the monumental challenges blah blah blah', not about flattering some colossal Potter ego ...."

Mary-Jo chose that perfect moment to bump Zabini's elbow, sending a large spoonful of peas scattering over the table and into people's laps.

Ginny snorted as she scooped up a handful of green escapees and vanished them; she wasn't quite certain if the laugh was more over Zabini's ridiculous bluster or Mary-Jo's perfectly-timed prank, but what did that matter?

"I stand humbly and duly corrected." Harry dead-panned, "Now, could someone with better coordination than Blaise please pass the gravy?"

The small assembly of Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, Gryffindors and Slytherins burst into raucous laughter, earning many curious glances from the larger tables nearby. As the merriment began to settle, Quinn Rasby raised a goblet of pumpkin juice. Everyone paused and raised their glasses to face him.

"Here's to some of those monumental challenges, Harry, ...." Quinn began, "and to your thoughts on how we face them?"