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SIYE Time:10:39 on 29th March 2024
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New Year, New Hope
By Arnel

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Category: Post-OotP, Buried Gems
Characters:Harry/Ginny
Genres: Angst, Drama, Fluff, General
Warnings: None
Story is Complete
Rating: PG-13
Reviews: 117
Summary: It's Harry's sixth year and Ginny Weasley's "Harry-Watching" has paid off. In this sequel to "You're Still You" the two teens explore their new relationship while dealing with the challenges of life threatened by war.
Hitcount: Story Total: 89229; Chapter Total: 5158





Author's Notes:
A/N: The posting of this chapter should have taken place three weeks ago. Unfortunately, due to some computer problems which resulted in my husband having to completely strip our hard drive and rebuild it from scratch, you, my readers, have had to wait quite patiently for what happens to Ginny and Harry. Thank you for being patient. Your reviews are always appreciated and help keep me going when writer’s block threatens to derail the advancement of the story.




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New Year, New Hope

Part Twelve

Ron came bounding into the ward the next afternoon, a grin lighting up his face. There was no need for Ginny to guess what his good mood was about. The change in his demeanour from what it had been since her diagnosis was striking; just seeing her brother happy again made all her ruminations over accepting Harry’s offer worthwhile.

“Hi, Ron. What’s up?”

“Oi, Ginny,” Ron greeted her as he came to stand next to her bed. “Mum and Dad will be here in a few minutes. They sent Hedwig with a note. She made record time, too. You know how Mum got into the habit of time-dating her letters when Errol started taking longer than usual to deliver the mail.”

Ginny smiled at her brother. “That’s great, but how did Hedwig get to The Burrow?”

Shaking his head, Ron said, “She flew.”

“I know that,” Ginny said impatiently. “Did you send her home with a note to Mum and Dad yesterday?”

Ron shook his head again. “No. Harry did. He sent her as soon as he left you. His note told Mum that Hedwig knew to stay at our house and keep Errol company until there was any news I needed to know. I’m really glad he thought to send her.”

“Poor Errol,” Ginny sighed, grinning. She was just about to elaborate on her comment when Mr. and Mrs. Weasley entered the hospital wing.

“We have wonderful news, darling,” Mrs. Weasley exclaimed as she walked, no, nearly skipped, to her daughter’s bedside. Ginny hadn’t seen her mother in such good spirits in a very long time.

“Professor Dumbledore found a source of financial aid,” Mr. Weasley told her, a genuine smile lighting up his tired face.

Ginny grinned back. “That’s wonderful!” Then, she asked tentatively, “Erm, is this financial aid as in a loan of some sort that you’ll have to repay or is it like a scholarship? Please, be honest with me.”

Mr. Weasley shook his head. “Eighty years ago someone set up an endowment for students injured on the Quidditch pitch and no one has used the money in all those years. Dumbledore received permission from the school Governors to access the account at Gringotts. As long as you’re a Hogwarts student and you have not completed your seventh year we don’t need to repay the money.” He reached for his daughter’s hand. “You’re a very lucky young lady,” he told her, smiling broadly.

Looking at her parents, Ginny was suddenly overcome with gratitude for Harry’s generosity. What he had done, what she had done by accepting his offer, was bringing a great sense of relief to the two adults who meant the most to her. He had taken a grievous burden from their shoulders and allowed them a moment of true happiness. That they believed Dumbledore’s story was a gift in and of itself, and Ginny knew that she would never reveal the real source of her recovery money to them. She thought she now understood why Harry wanted his gift to remain secret; the lines of worry, fear, and responsibility would just be etched deeper into her parents’ faces if they knew the truth and that was something she really did not want to see.

She also knew she couldn't bear her parents’ disappointment in her if they discovered her part in Harry’s big-hearted scheme. No matter what form it took, charity was something her parents refused to accept and, like Ron, they would rather go without than be beholden to someone else. Her mother believed, too, and her father agreed, that accepting a highly-priced gift from one’s boyfriend made a girl a “kept woman”: Ginny thought the out-dated idea ludicrous, but at the same time knew her mother meant to use that particular notion as a means of guiding her only daughter. It was one of those pearls of wisdom which had been part of her life for as long as she could remember. For that matter, even Ron knew that too expensive a gift would somehow besmirch a girl’s reputation. Secrecy, therefore, was imperative if Harry was to get away with paying her medical bills.

Ginny glanced at Ron (who didn’t yet know about Harry’s offer) and studied his face. As happy as he was at the moment, he seemed older than his seventeen years; his worry over her and his two best friends was engraved upon his features, aging his appearance prematurely. She wondered idly, if the times and their circumstances had been different, whether Ron would still have the somewhat baby-faced appearance that still clung to Neville Longbottom. Not that that was bad, mind you; Neville was a fine young man with huge problems and burdens of his own. He was lucky, too, that he had adults in his life who tried their best to shelter him and make certain that his new-found success in the Herbology lab brought out the best in him. Clearly, that would have been the answer, for Ginny knew that Ron still did not have a real direction for his life, did not yet know what his life’s work would be beyond helping Harry defeat Voldemort. Even with all the career counselling in the world, her youngest brother seemed lost regarding what he really wanted to work at for the rest of his life.

She wondered, too, how much last year’s brain attack was responsible for the changes in Ron. Whenever he rolled up his sleeves–which nowadays wasn’t often even on the hottest of days–his scars were visible. Ginny had overheard Madam Pomfrey speaking via fireplace to her mother: the matron was still quite concerned that the brain’s tentacles had invaded Ron’s body and had been keeping a critical eye on him all year. The changes in Ron were subtle, manifesting themselves in the mature way he now regarded his homework, how he seemed to enjoy the responsibility of being a Prefect this year, and how he regarded his relationship with Hermione. To Ginny, the changes seemed a good thing, but maybe so mature an attitude in someone so young was what had Madam Pomfrey’s knickers in a twist. Then, again, she wondered if his time in Professor Dumbledore’s office was having a subtle effect on how her brother approached life now; maybe some of the battle strategies he was learning over the chess board were helping him cope with his own private battles. There was something to ponder in the wee hours of the morning...

A comment from her mother brought Ginny back to reality. She gave the older witch a searching look.

“...gave me a list of specialists she’d like us to interview, dear,” she said looking pointedly at Ginny. “She thinks it best if we interview them all at once instead of having them come in on different days. That way, we can choose a treatment method right away. The sooner you start treatment, the better your chances for a full recovery.” She handed Ginny the list of names.

Ginny stared at the list: many of the names were identified as ‘Head’ of various Departments at St. Mungo’s. She couldn’t believe what she saw. “You...you want me to choose who helps me?” she asked, dumbfounded.

Her mother smiled at her. “Yes, Ginny. For once we have a choice rather than having to take what we can afford.”

Ginny began to protest, but Ron interrupted. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Ginny. This is about your health and getting you back into Gryffindor Tower where you belong. Be happy that you don’t have to take second best for once!”

“All right,” she said slowly after a moment. “When do we start the interviews?”

Mr. Weasley answered her. “I’d like to send out the owls right away so that we can schedule everyone without tiring you.”

“Hermione’s already made up a chart, much like my revising schedule from last year. It’s colour-coded and everything,” Ron interjected enthusiastically. “She’s allowed for twenty minutes rest/discussion time between interviews.”

“That’s so thoughtful,” Mrs. Weasley said. “And so helpful, too. It’s going to make for a long day tomorrow, but we might as well use it. What do you think, Ginny?”

Shaking her head, Ginny smiled at her brother. “Please thank Hermione for me. Did she send the chart with you?”

Grinning smugly, Ron reached into his robes and pulled out the piece of parchment Hermione had enchanted. When he unrolled it across Ginny’s legs, the individual squares flashed when tapped with a wand, just as they had for the revising schedule Ron had grumbled about so much last year and Ginny was using this year. This time, however, a Healer’s name occupied each of the squares instead of a revising subject.

Ginny heard a note of pride in his voice as Ron said, “It’s all done for us: a list of questions–approved by Madam Pomfrey–for us to ask, a rating sheet to use for comparison, even the letters. A couple of quick spells and everything was ready for sending. All we have to do is send the owls.”

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

Three days later, Ginny lay on her stomach staring out the window. She ached everywhere: not just her back and hips, but her arms and good leg as well. It had been an agonizing day filled with activities that never seemed to end. Healer Alexander had appeared at half past eight, just as the first bell was sounding, and had begun Ginny’s day with something she said Muggles called deep tissue massage. This painful pushing and kneading were followed by an hour of exercises after which Healer Rodkey took over. Healer Rodkey had made Ginny turn over on her stomach without assistance and then had cast several spells over her spine and bad leg. The spells hurt, causing a burning sensation throughout the injured area that brought tears to Ginny’s eyes and making her wonder why she had agreed to subject herself to this daily torture.

Ginny was then allowed a fifteen minute break. She hadn’t moved from where she lay, so she could only hear what was happening around her. She chose to ignore all but the most unusual sounds closest to her bed and wondered absentmindedly if they had anything to do with what she would be doing next.

At the end of her rest period, Ginny felt two sets of hands turning her onto her back and assisting her into a sitting position. She wondered absently why it hadn’t been done using magic, but decided that her caregivers didn’t want to startle her. Healer Rodkey and Madam Pomfrey were now standing on either side of her bed.

“Ginny, I’ve done everything I can do for now,” Healer Rodkey began. “Now it’s up to you.”

Ginny frowned. “How do you mean?”

“Well, it’s time to get you out of bed. I need to evaluate whether or not you’ve made any progress.” Healer Rodkey stepped aside to reveal a metal contraption which looked like a small tubular fence. “This is a walking frame, Ginny. Elderly Muggles use them to lean on when they walk, much like a wizard uses a walking staff. I’d like you to have a go at using it. If nothing else, it will get you out of bed and hopefully on your feet.”

Ginny looked at Madam Pomfrey, who smiled encouragingly at her. She took a deep breath and asked, “What are you waiting for? Let’s get a move on!”

The two older witches helped Ginny manoeuvre her body so that she was sitting with her legs dangling over the edge of the bed.

“Carpet slippers?” Ginny inquired eying the stone floor.

“Not today,” Healer Rodkey told her. “Part of this little test is to see whether or not you can feel what’s under your feet. If you can, I’ll know my spells and other therapies are working. If you can’t feel the cold floor with your left foot I have to find a way to stimulate or repair the right set of nerves so you can. Does that make sense?”

Ginny nodded, suddenly wishing that Hogwarts offered an anatomy course. If it did, and she’d taken it, she’d know for certain what Healer Rodkey was talking about. Well, if it’s any consolation, she thought, all I’ll have to do is ask Hermione for her help and tomorrow there’ll be a stack of Muggle books as tall as I am sitting on my bedside table. She stared at the walking frame, picturing the battered round one she had seen in the attic at home that she and her brothers had used as babies. What goes around comes around, she thought ironically and slid quickly off the bed before her healers could offer their assistance.

It was very strange putting weight on her feet after so long without standing up. The first thing she noticed was not how cold the floor was, but how weak and wobbly her legs felt. She grabbed the side of the bed for support as her knees buckled.

“Not so fast, young lady,” Madam Pomfrey warned coming around the side of the bed. “I know you’re eager to be back on your feet, but…” She let her voice trail off in quite the effective warning.

Ginny stood where she was, subtly shifting her weight from one foot to the other and getting used to the sensation of standing again. It was weird; the muscles in her right leg had taken only about thirty seconds to remember what their primary function was whereas her brain was still deciding what to tell the muscles in her left leg to do two minutes later. The floor is cold! she thought as she curled the toes of her right foot. The automatic acknowledgement of the sensation made her very aware that she could barely feel the temperature of the stone beneath her left foot and that she had to concentrate very hard on keeping her left knee from collapsing. Tears of frustration began to spill over as a wave of intense pain suddenly engulfed the left side of her lower body.

“Ginny, what is it?” Healer Rodkey inquired calmly. Only her eyes showed that Ginny’s reaction to being on her feet was causing any alarm or concern.

“It hurts,” was all Ginny could gasp out. She struggled to get back onto the bed.

Madam Pomfrey drew her wand and gently levitated Ginny onto the bed and magically flipped her over onto her stomach. “What part of you hurts, Ginny?” she asked. “It’s is important for us to know so we can help you.”

Ginny concentrated on finding the source of her pain. “My left hip mostly. There are shooting pains… going up and… down my left leg, too,” she gasped out as a particularly bad spasm caused her to try to draw her injured leg up toward her body. To her dismay the leg barely moved.

Healer Rodkey cast several spells that Ginny couldn’t feel, then added a final one that suffused Ginny’s lower back and legs in soothing warmth. “I think I know how to help you now, Ginny,” she said coming around the bed and conjuring a stool so she could meet her patient’s eye. “There’s more damage than I expected, but less than there could be. Will you trust me to use what I know even if you get discouraged? You’re in for a long, painful recovery, but now I can hope you’ll be walking short distances with assistance by July, possibly the middle of June.”

Ginny exhaled slowly and managed a weak smile. “Yes, I trust you,” she said quietly. “I know you can help me.”

“Good. I think you’ve had enough excitement for one day. We’ll have another go at standing in the walking frame tomorrow. Now get some sleep, Ginny. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Ginny closed her eyes murmuring, “’morrow.” She was asleep before Healer Rodkey could levitate the walking frame to its cupboard.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

The next few weeks were virtual torture for Ginny as she worked with Healers Rodkey and Alexander. She was so sore and tired sometimes when her friends came to visit after lessons let out for the day that she could hardly keep her eyes open. However, she could see and feel the improvement in strength, balance and stamina the treatments were bringing about which was encouragement in itself.

Personally, though, Ginny thought her progress wasn’t good enough; she wanted very much to make her left leg move independently like the right one did. She wanted to feel the chill of the stone beneath both feet equally; she wanted to support her weight on both legs so she could stand tall; and, most of all, she wanted to walk with quick assurance down the seventh floor corridor and greet the Fat Lady with the password like every other student living in Gryffindor Tower. She stubbornly refused to accept that no one had so far found the spell or the potion that would stimulate the severed nerves that Healer Rodkey was trying so desperately to repair with her painful nerve stretching spells. So, day in and day out, Ginny bravely endured the pain and said nothing as she hobbled behind the walking frame and cried herself to sleep every night.

Through it all, Harry stayed at her bedside whenever he could manage it. Hermione and Ron were often with him and the four of them continuously talked about what they would do first when Ginny was released to come back to Gryffindor Tower. When training and Quidditch required him and Ron to be elsewhere, though, Hermione would often tutor Ginny in Transfiguration or Charms, having been given permission from their teachers to use the materials or animals Ginny’s classmates were practicing on. They had a particularly giggly session one afternoon when Ginny’s frog began to squeal like a pig when she tried to silence it.

Other visitors joined the parade of students entering and exiting the hospital wing as Ginny became stronger and the OWL exams neared. Luna convinced their study group to stop meeting in the library so Ginny could join in. The girls quizzed each other on set subjects each evening using the revising schedule Hermione had set up for Ginny earlier in the year. In fact, Hermione often came to visit after dinner and, while not formally participating in the revising session, was available for consultation whenever anyone was stuck and needed help. On more than one occasion Madam Pomfrey had to stop the group from becoming too aggressive with their Defence spells, since, as one of the members of last year’s DA who had attained a near-perfect score in that subject on the written exam, Hermione was the expert and could easily demonstrate the spells and supervise the group’s practice session.

Gryffindor’s Quidditch team would sometimes come in after practice, everyone still clutching their brooms and, more often than not, spattering the pristine stone floor of the ward with mud and rain water. One afternoon after a particularly frustrating and arduous practice, Katie Bell joined Ginny for tea and sympathy, practically begging the younger witch to get well enough to sit in the stands and coach the Chasers from the sidelines. Not knowing what to say to sooth her captain’s frustrations, Ginny volunteered to talk to the team.

“I knew you’d find a way to help us,” Katie smiled. “The few practices you helped me coach the reserve players made a difference. You have a knack for explaining what needs to be done during a move better than I do. I’ll bring my extra copy of the playbook next time I come to visit. It’ll be a helpful reference for you the next time there’s a dispute like we had today.”

Shortly after this conversation Ginny again found herself involved in the sport with which she seemed to have developed a love-hate relationship since her accident. True to her word, Katie sent the younger members in to see Ginny when she needed someone to patiently explain game strategies or rules. It was a bitter-sweet experience for Ginny as she answered all their questions and settled their arguments; she longed to be zooming around the pitch with them, but at the same time, she was grateful her bed-ridden condition kept her firmly on the ground. In short, she was too scared at the moment to mount her broom and try to fly.

One Saturday afternoon soon after the Easter holiday, Jimmy Peaks, Richie Coote and all six Chasers raced into the hospital wing, brooms in hand, laughing and praising Ginny at the top of their voices. The Gryffindor team had just won its match against Ravenclaw and was now tied for first place with Hufflepuff. An impromptu party ensued as first Ron, and then Harry appeared with food and cold butterbeer. As dinner time approached Ginny noticed Madam Pomfrey lurking about the entrance to her office and pretending to stifle a yawn. The others finally took the hint and one by one thanked Ginny for her help before they gathered up the remains of the party and went upstairs to finish celebrating.

Harry remained behind to finish cleaning up. “I missed you out there today,” he said diffidently as he Banished a couple of the butterbeer bottles. “The match didn’t feel quite right without you somewhere on the pitch.”

“That’s really sweet of you to say, Harry.” Ginny Summoned a broom and dustpan from the cupboard her walking frame was stored in and set the implements sweeping up crumbs and bits of butterbeer labels. “I missed being out there, too. I could hear the commentary, but it just wasn’t the same, you know?”

“Yah, I do.” Harry sat down in the chair next to Ginny’s bed. He seemed nervous all of a sudden.

“What’s on your mind, Harry?”

“It’s nothing,” he said vaguely, not looking at her and twisting his wand between his fingers.

“That’s not what your wand is telling me,” Ginny pressed, looking pointedly at the battered wooden cylinder which was now emitting red and gold sparks.

Harry harrumphed. “I can’t keep anything from you, can I?” he joked tensely, still avoiding her eyes. Finally, he got up and began pacing. “I don’t know why this has bothered me for so long but it has.”

“Tell me,” Ginny prompted.

“Do you–areyouattractedtoMalfoy?” The words came out in a rush as Harry strode over to an open window. If he hadn’t been so serious about the question, Ginny would have laughed.

“What makes you think I’m attracted to Draco Malfoy?” she asked carefully.

Harry turned to face her. “The Valentine’s Ball. You said some things to him and danced with him an awfully long time that night. If I’ve got... erm... competition for your feelings, I want to know so I can win you back.”

Ginny held out her arms, her voice and smile as warm as she could make them. “Come here, Harry, and let me tell you a little secret.” He came over and hesitantly sat on the edge of the bed letting Ginny take his hands in hers. “You, Harry James Potter, are my one and only. You have had my heart since I was a little girl; I’ve never had eyes for anyone else–not Colin, not Neville and certainly not Draco Malfoy. So get that silly notion that you have competition for my affections out of your head. Do you understand me?”

Grinning, Harry leaned forward and took her in his arms. “Yes, Ginny, I do.”

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

The last bell had rung a few minutes earlier and Ginny was anticipating Hermione’s visit while their boyfriends were at Quidditch practice. She could hear the myriad voices and the thunder of feet echoing through the castle corridors as the majority of the students raced outside to catch the last remnants of the early May sunshine. Ginny had been enjoying it too as it filtered in through the hospital wing windows. She was listening for the Gryffindor Quidditch team to pass by on their way to the pitch when Hermione burst through the heavy doors, clearly upset over something.

Ginny looked up, startled. “Hermione, what’s the matter?”

Hermione dropped her bag on the nearest bed and began pacing at the foot of Ginny’s, her face betraying the turmoil she seemed to be feeling. “Ginny,” she began, “I just overheard the most disturbing conversation and I don’t know how ask you about it without it hurting our friendship.”

Ginny pulled herself up straighter in bed. “Hermione, what have you heard? And how could it hurt our friendship?” she asked, wondering what could be so awful Hermione wouldn’t want to be her friend any more.

“Your Healers were strolling in the corridor just now—I’d stopped in the alcove behind that statue of Florence the Healer to repack my bag so they couldn’t see me. Anyway, they were saying how lucky you were to have a rich boyfriend to finance your care, that you must have coerced him into helping you somehow,” Hermione told her, stopping to face Ginny over the length of the bedcovers. She began worrying the end of her scarf as she nearly whispered, “If what they said is true, Ron’s going to be so embarrassed, so angry, so hurt, and then I’ll have to choose between being your friend or Ron’s and I don’t want to have to do that.”

Stung by Hermione’s words Ginny said softly, “You may not need to choose.”

“Why not? If you’ve coerced Harry into paying for your treatment, then I’ll have to choose because Ron sees most situations in black and white with no shades of grey to allow for unseen circumstances. He’ll want me to choose between the two of you; the traitor or the boyfriend. Please, tell me what I heard is untrue!”

“What you heard is not entirely true,” Ginny said slowly, trying to assess the situation. Hermione wasn’t one who usually jumped to such ridiculous conclusions and that was what was causing Ginny the most concern. Does she honestly think I’d act the gold-digger just to secure the treatment I need? I mean, we’ve been friends since her second year! And what about Harry? She’s known him longer than she’s known me, so she ought to know better than to think he’s stupid enough to be coerced into paying for something that’s not his idea in the first place! No, I don’t think that’s what’s bothering her. There’s something more to it... She buried her hurt feelings quickly, knowing that Hermione would demand her entire attention.

“I hope not, because if it is you’re lower than a Slytherin!” Hermione burst out in an uncharacteristic bit of name-calling.

Ginny nearly giggled. “Hermione,” she said quietly when she had control of her imagination again. “The only valid part of what you overheard is that Harry is paying for my Healers.”

At this the older girl gasped. “But the money…”

“Hermione, listen. Harry’s paying for my treatment because he offered to; he wants to, he’s volunteered to.” She felt her ears growing pink as she admitted, “He’s doing it as much for himself as for me. He loves me, Hermione, and like you and Ron, can’t stand to see me depressed and unhappy, so he found a way to try to make me happy again.”

Hermione eyed her dubiously.

“Do you remember the afternoon Madam Pomfrey told us I was paralysed? Well, after everyone left I just broke down and cried because I was feeling so sorry for myself. Harry caught me crying and told me about the idea he wanted to carry out. Please believe me when I say that I resisted his help a long as I could.” When Hermione continued to look sceptical, Ginny said, “I’m a Weasley just as much as Ron is: we’re a proud family when it comes to money and it really hurts to not have the financial resources some of our friends do. Harry could see how desperately I wanted to make a full recovery, not just a partial one that would never make me whole again.”

“I understand that, Ginny. But why is he doing this for himself?”

“It has something to do with wanting to make others as happy as our family has made him. Mum and Dad accepted Harry without question at a time when he needed it most. But you already know that. He now sees that our family needs him and he has the capital to make things happen for us.”

“But how–”

“A couple of summers ago Harry watched Mum search the corners of our Gringotts vault for stray coins to pay for five sets of Lockhart books. At the time Harry wanted nothing more than to share the money in his own vault with Mum and Dad; he was truly embarrassed that we saw the piles of gold and silver in his vault that day. Ever since, Harry has been looking for an opportunity to help our family. Making us happy makes him happy!”

“All right,” Hermione said slowly. “What does making your parents happy have to do with you?”

“Think about it, Hermione. Did you see how happy Ron was when he brought me the news that Professor Dumbledore had found the grant money for injured Quidditch players? It was as if a huge weight had been taken off his shoulders. Mum and Dad reacted just as my brother did. Just seeing Ron and my parents happy again was enough for both Harry and me to know we’d done the right thing.”

Hermione sighed. “I remember… I was worried as much about Ron as I was about you, Ginny. Everyone was so scared we’d lose you and when you woke up and couldn’t walk, Ron could hardly stand it. I’ve never seen him so miserable and never want to again,” she admitted.

“I know,” Ginny agreed. “Harry and I could see how much my paralysis was hurting Ron, especially when my recovery prospects looked so bleak. Harry told me that afternoon how worried Ron was and how much he wanted to see his friend smile again; he set up the fund with Dumbledore’s assistance that afternoon.”

Hermione considered this news. “So the Galleons…”

“Aren’t just for me,” Ginny said smiling. “Harry made sure there is enough in the endowment vault for several seriously injured players from any house; even the Slytherins can access the endowment if they need the money. Also, Dumbledore added a clause to the bank’s contract which stipulates all the interest plus a certain amount from Harry’s vault will be added to the main fund every quarter. That way whoever accesses the endowment can be assured of payment in full.”

Hermione groped for the nearest chair and sank into it looking stunned. “Ginny, I apologize,” she finally murmured. “I jumped to conclusions too fast for my own good. Can–can you forgive me for doubting your integrity?”

Ginny lay back on her pillows before answering. Finally she said, “Yes. I forgive you. But tell me one thing…”

“What’s that?”

“Did you mean it when you said I was lower than a Slytherin?”

Hermione blushed as she answered, “At the time, yes, but not any more.”

“Good, because if you call me that again I just may have to hex you,” Ginny teased, fingering her wand.

Hermione threw her hands in front of her face crying, “Oh, no! Not the Bat Bogies!”

“Oh, yes, Hermione. Bat Bogies plus a few new nasties I’ve learned recently from Harry and Professor Dumbledore!”

“Oh, don’t go dragging them into this,” Hermione cried in mock agitation. “I’ll never stand an ice cube’s chance in hell against their wand work!” She sobered a little, but just the same, an awed smile played about the corners of her mouth as she said, “You should see how fast Harry’s becoming at non-verbal spells. It’s positively frightening.”

“How so?”

“I can’t compete with him any more and neither can Ron. There’s a new determination to how Harry duels that is so focused on defeating his opponent that no one has a chance to survive the exercise. It’s as if he’s fighting for someone’s life other than his own …” Hermione trailed off looking thoughtfully at Ginny.

Ginny’s eyebrows shot toward her hairline. She lay back on her pillows fingering her angel pendant. I think she means...ME! Harry’s fighting for me? She had to find out.

“Hermione,” she asked tentatively, “do you–do you think Harry’s fighting for me?”

Hermione looked at her in wide-eyed realization. “Ginny, I think you’re right! It makes sense, it really does. And it would explain a lot of what’s been going on with him.”

“What makes sense?”

“Well, both Ron and Harry were tremendously upset after the Quidditch match,” she mused thoughtfully. “Ron withdrew and became predictably moody, but Harry, after Professor Dumbledore physically dragged him away from your bedside, began driving himself. You know how he gets every once in a while when he obsesses over something.”

“Yes, but hasn’t he tended to brood alone, somewhere away from everyone, in the past?”

“Uh-huh, but this time it was very different. This time, he focused his energy on improving his duelling instead of becoming tetchy and depressed. I’m almost certain Harry’s wand-work began improving right about then, especially his non-verbal spell-casting. I don’t know when he found the time, though.” She frowned, a puzzled expression flitting over her face.

“Hermione, how was Harry sleeping right after my accident?”

“Not very well. Ron said he hardly spent any time in his bed. Would you know anything about that?”

“I think,” Ginny said pondering aloud, “I think he went to the Room of Requirement under his invisibility cloak and worked off his pent-up energy there. It’s not like he would be allowed to jinx all the furniture in the Gryffindor common room every night, right? And if he was making a lot of noise an empty classroom wouldn’t be acceptable because Mr. Filch or Mrs. Norris would be sure to discover him. The Room seems to be the one place Harry can escape to when he doesn’t want anyone to find him.”

Hermione smiled. “I think you’ve solved that little mystery, Ginny. But what, other than his concern for you, would motivate Harry to go to such lengths to practice his duelling at all hours of the night?”

Don’t be daft, Hermione! You know as well as I do that everything boils down to Harry’s involvement with the prophecy. “I need to think on that,” Ginny said vaguely, unwilling to share her thoughts just yet.

“There’s one more question I need an answer to,” Hermione stated almost hesitantly. Ginny looked expectantly at her friend. “If Harry’s fund is paying for your treatment, what sort of reparation or punishment is being levelled on those responsible for your fall? Shouldn’t their families be at least partially responsible for the financial burden of your recovery?”

Ginny sighed. “I wish it were that simple, Hermione. The truth is, none of the families is paying a thing: Mr Vaisey actually said he wished I’d died in that fall–good riddance and all that–and Mr Pritchard laughed in Dumbledore’s face and told him that he’d pay for a Gryffindor’s medical bills when hell froze over. The Beaters’ parents said much the same thing.”

Hermione’s eyes were round as she asked, “They had the audacity to say that to Professor Dumbledore? Isn’t there some sort of legal recourse your family could pursue?”

“If there is, Dad and Mum haven’t discussed it with me. And with that sort of attitude, it would be rather hard to recover what I’m owed without a lengthy court battle.”

Hermione looked scandalized. “Are you certain your parents won’t fight for your rights?”

Ginny frowned at her blankets. “I think they would if they had the money,” she admitted quietly. She felt sick as she added, “It always comes down to cold, hard Galleons and the fact that we haven’t got any. It’s not fair!”

“Ginny Weasley, stop feeling sorry for yourself! You’re beginning to sound like Ron! I don’t like his attitude sometimes and I certainly don’t like yours at the moment!” Hermione scolded.

Hermione’s words made Ginny think. “Sorry. I can’t help it sometimes. It’s a hard habit to break.

“I wonder,” she mused aloud, “if there’s a clause in the endowment contract that discourages litigation. It would be just like the goblins to stipulate that if there is any sort of legal battle between the parties involved they won’t allow the recipient to receive the money.”

Hermione frowned thoughtfully at this. “Have you spoken to Bill about your idea?”

“No, but I remember him saying once that whenever they can, the goblins will sneak language into a contract that will enable them to manipulate the wizarding population to their satisfaction; they like to keep their hands on our Galleons! According to Bill, it seems a clause like the one I’m thinking about is standard procedure in all endowment contracts. But would Dumbledore allow such a clause?”

“I don’t know, Ginny. But I do understand about that sort of prejudice, especially when it comes to those tight-fisted goblins. But this still puzzles me: wouldn’t Dumbledore have levelled some sort of punishment on Vaisey and Pritchard for causing your accident in the first place?”

Ginny chuckled quietly. “Apparently, Professor McGonagall has taken care of that. I heard that she and Dumbledore let a week go by while they gathered their facts and then descended on the Slytherin common room to announce that from that day until the end of the school year, all four Slytherins would be spending their Saturdays in Professor McGonagall’s office. Doing what, I don’t know, but it’s got to be unpleasant whatever it is. I’ve heard grumbling from the other Slytherins who came in here for various maladies that it isn’t fair that their team is being punished for poor sportsmanship.”

“That’s a rather light charge for what it’s cost you,” Hermione remarked, “but if it affects the Slytherin’s ability to play in the last few matches of the season with their established team it might just affect their standing in the Cup race.”

Ginny grinned evilly. “There’s no time to completely train four new players before their next match, even if they have reserves like Gryffindor does. Harry said Slytherin isn’t slated to play a match again until the end of this month: they’ve got less than three weeks and that’s not enough time to learn all the moves, even by Slytherin’s belligerent standards. And you know Harry and Ron are just beside themselves that Slytherin will probably finish at the bottom of the table this year.”

“Good! It serves them right for what they did to you,” Hermione stated righteously. “I’m glad something is being done to make those four accept responsibility for their actions even if the parents won’t!”

Ginny had to agree. “Me, too, Hermione. Me, too.”

The girls fell silent. As she lay on her bed staring blankly over Hermione’s head, the words of the prophecy tumbled around Ginny’s mind. They still scared her, but knowing that there were preparations in place which would increase Harry’s chances of survival and victory tempered her negative feelings enough so that she could think rationally. Is love what is fuelling Harry’s determination to fight better? Can there be a connection between Harry’s love for me and his resolve to defeat Voldemort? What about how much he cares for Ron and Hermione? He knows he has their support and that of Luna and Neville. Does that kind of love count, too? Is Harry so focused because he’s fighting to preserve the part of the Wizarding world that makes him happy, the part that gives him a reason to fight and live? She hoped whatever answers she eventually came up with would reflect her own desire to give Harry the life he truly deserved.

At length, Hermione brought out her latest rune translation and set to work while Ginny tried to concentrate on a book she was supposed to read for Charms. Harry and Ron found them still reading the same paragraphs over and over, too lost in thought to realize they hadn’t made any progress on their homework.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

Less ons had barely begun for the day and the hospital wing was quiet except for the soft humming coming from Madam Pomfrey’s office where she was busy making up multiple batches of Pepper-Up Potion. The wet, rainy, early May weather of the last week had produced a steady parade of sneezy, runny-nosed students amongst whom Ginny had recognized Harry, Jimmy Peaks, Demelza Robins, Ron, and Katie Bell as well as most of the fifth years from every house. Between all the extracurricular activities and the frantic hours of revising everyone was doing for their end-of-term tests no one seemed to be getting enough sleep: Hence, the increased number of students dragging themselves through the hospital wing doors.

The humming stopped as the door to the corridor opened for the nineteenth time that morning. Madam Pomfrey called to the newcomer, “I’ll be with you in a moment. Take a seat in the waiting area, please.”

But the person didn’t take a seat as instructed. Instead, he continued past the chairs and literally ran into the office.

“What’s the meaning of this, Neville, bursting into this office at such speed?” the matron snapped as she turned from her stirring.

“Madam Pomfrey!” Neville exclaimed breathlessly. “I think I’ve discovered something.” He held up a small bottle filled with something olive green in colour. “The compound I’ve been extracting from the Stinksap seems to be working!”

Madam Pomfrey finished wiping her hands on her apron. “You’re certain, Neville? What evidence do you have?”

Neville extended the hand clutching the bottle toward Madam Pomfrey. “Have a look. I brought you one.” He performed a charm of some sort which caused the office to glow green for a moment. Madam Pomfrey peered at what he was showing her.

“And you say there are more samples, that the compound has caused this change?” she inquired in a voice almost as excited as Neville’s.

“All of them, Madam Pomfrey,” he said flushing excitedly. “All the samples except the controls show signs of nerve regeneration. Professor Sprout thinks we may have found a way to help people like Ginny!”

Ginny’s head snapped up at the mention of her name. She knew Neville was learning about Medicinal Herbology as his contribution to Harry’s war effort, but to have become the subject of one of Neville’s experiments was truly a surprise. She listened intently for more information. Apparently, Neville thought it prudent for Madam Pomfrey to see his experiments for the two left the ward as soon as the Pepper-Up Potion had been securely bottled and set aside to cool down.

Half an hour later, Healer Rodkey came in for their session. She and Ginny had just begun Ginny’s strengthening exercises when an owl flew into the ward.

“Catch it, Ginny!” Healer Rodkey called over her shoulder as she rummaged in her bag for her spectacles.

Ginny held out her arm for the bird to land on, but when it refused to act like a proper post owl, she stood up and reached for the flighty little thing. It swooped playfully about her head, just out of reach, and in exasperation, Ginny let go of her bed and took several steps forward until she could snatch the bird out of the air like Ron sometimes had to do with Pig.

“Got it!” Ginny cried, then let out a surprised, “Oh my!” for she suddenly realized she was standing in the aisle between the two rows of beds. She looked up to see Healer Rodkey beaming at her.

“Another milestone,” the healer said smiling. “You did that without thinking. Now how about taking our little messenger back to your bed so we can relieve it of its burden?”

Ginny scowled at Healer Rodkey. “You tricked me!” she exclaimed.

“No, I gave you a purpose.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Just the fact that you wanted to catch that owl more than you had reservations about pursuing it. If I had tricked you, you probably would not still be standing there looking smug and triumphant! Now, please go back to bed.”

Ginny thought about the three D’s of Apparation, not that she could do it, but because it was something to focus on other than how hard the floor would be if she fell. With that thought her courage failed her, so she summoned her walking frame and made it to her bed with the owl safely clutched in her fist.

There were two scrolls tied to the bird’s leg; one addressed to her, the other addressed to Healer Rodkey. When Ginny saw her note was from Neville, she eagerly unfurled the parchment and began to read.

Ginny,

I have something wonderful to discuss with you about a discovery I’ve made. I’m meeting with your healers from St. Mungo’s and Madam Pomfrey and Professor Sprout at ten o’clock. I should be done by eleven. May I come visit you then?

Neville


Healer Rodkey tapped Ginny on the shoulder. “I have to go. If this is what I think it is, the day is about to become very exciting,” she said and, grabbing her cloak, swept out the door and into the hall.

Silence descended on the cavernous room. Ginny, too excited to sit and study, grabbed her walking frame and dragged herself out into the aisle between the rows of beds. She practiced her walking until shortly before eleven when Neville was due to arrive. She had just Banished the walking frame to its store cupboard when the main door banged open and Neville nearly fell into the ward clutching his bag and trying to straighten his robes at the same time.

“Madam Pomfrey said I could tell you the news because I did most of the research,” he panted, collapsing into the chair beside Ginny’s bed.

“What is it, Neville?” Ginny prompted. “You were so excited earlier and Healer Rodkey left in such a hurry no one would tell me anything!”

In answer, Neville withdrew a very familiar-looking book from his bag. He looked up, startled, when Ginny gasped softly.

“You’ve used it, too?” he asked tremulously, holding up Uncommon Uses for Everyday Potions.

Ginny nodded, still too surprised to say much. She concentrated on easing herself onto her bed and hoisting her legs up manually so that she could lie down: She could not lift her left leg without magic or her hands and as tired as she was, her muscles were twitching like crazy. Neville watched her efforts from his chair, but did not offer assistance; for that she was grateful.

At length she said, “That book helped me with a project that was near and dear to my heart.”

Neville took this as her prompt for his face turned serious. “Ginny,” he began softly, “I felt just awful when Professor McGonagall told us that Madam Pomfrey thought you had been paralyzed in your fall. She said you were in a coma and no one knew when you would wake up.” He stopped as if remembering and drew in a shuddering breath which told Ginny that what he was about to say was hard for him to articulate. She waited patiently sensing that he needed time to gather his thoughts. “Everyone was so worried,” he continued eventually, his hands twisting in his lap. “You’ve always been such a good friend to me and the other Gryffindors that I felt–I felt compelled to find a way to help you. That night I couldn’t sleep, so I searched through the research materials I’d been studying with Professor Sprout. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find what I was looking for. The next morning I went to her with my idea and she agreed to help me. I knew that if you were truly paralyzed, you needed a specialized nerve restorative potion and I wanted to be the one to develop it using the medicinal plants I was growing and researching.” He stopped and scrubbed his palms on his knees before looking up at her.

“Don’t the healers at St. Mungo’s have such things at their disposal?” Ginny interrupted, puzzled.

Neville shook his head. “According to Madam Pomfrey, no. And if they did, they’d be so exorbitantly expensive no one would be able to use them,” he said matter-of-factly. “If something had been available, your healers would have prescribed them to you when you began your treatment.”

“Oh.”

“Anyway, Professor Sprout sent me to the library to gather information.” He stopped again, looking thoroughly disheartened. “There was nothing in the books I went through. Not a clue. I knew I had read about the potion I wanted to make somewhere in one of the books, but I couldn’t find what I was looking for. I got so discouraged culling through the Medicinal Herbology, the Medical Potions and even the regular Potions sections that I nearly gave up.” He levelled his gaze at her, his expression hopeful. “Was it… was it that way with you?”

Ginny nodded, fascinated by the similarities in their stories. “Yeah, I was frustrated, too, Neville. The library had never failed me before,” she said with a wry smile.

Neville smiled back. “Madam Pince was no help, either,” he continued with a shake of his head. “All she cared about was keeping her precious books from suffering any damage. The books I needed were on the top two shelves of the Potions section and she told me to re-shelve any books I took down by climbing a twenty-foot ladder and putting them back by hand! Do you know how heavy a six-inch thick book is that high up? Blimey!”

Ginny smiled and looked down at her where her feet stuck up under the blankets. “I must have climbed that bloody stepladder all the way to the top seventeen times!”

“I’m glad I’m not the only one,” Neville chuckled. “Anyway, I was running out of books when I found this one.” He tapped Uncommon Uses for Everyday Potions, grinning from ear to ear. “This little gem is a goldmine of information, Ginny. I could hardly believe that after all those other books this little thing had what I had been searching for all along; the information I needed to begin my experiments. I was so excited that after Madam Pince chased me out of the library I stayed up all night taking notes.”

“Did she give you a warning about how dangerous that book is?” Ginny asked.

“Yeah, she did,” he admitted sheepishly. “And she scared me with how she said it, too.”

“Did you know that if two people with two different purposes read that book it will show different things on each half of the book?” Ginny asked.

Neville looked fascinated. “It does? Can I see?”

“Give it here.” Ginny held out a hand, concentrating on what she wanted to read about and opened the book when he gave it to her. “Okay. Let’s see if it works like it did when Hermione and I read it together,” she said beckoning Neville to the bed. The two of them watched the pages carefully. Just as it had last time, Ginny’s side showed variations of the Draught of Peace while Neville’s page changed rapidly to show a very complicated potion containing ingredients Ginny had never heard of before. Neville’s eyes widened as he breathed, “Whoa! Two different subjects in the same book! No wonder she said it was dangerous!” He looked curiously at Ginny. “Do you mind my asking what type of potion Hermione was thinking about?”

Ginny grinned devilishly. “Love potions!”

Neville’s eyes widened. “You mean she wanted to seduce Ron?”

“Who else would she want as her boyfriend? I mean, this was right after we got back from the Christmas holidays when Ron was still hemming and hawing around trying to drum up the courage to formally ask her out. Poor Hermione was going spare with the frustration of it all. I mean, Ron wasn’t arguing with her so much any more, but he hadn’t gotten around to kissing her yet. So when we looked in this book together it gave her recipes for what she desired most. You should have seen the look on her face!” She shook her head as she closed the book and handed it back to Neville.

“Well, did she make any of the potions it showed her?” he asked expectantly.

“She didn’t need to. Ron asked her to the Valentine Ball and put an end to both of their frustrations!”

“I remember,” Neville said as he went back to his chair and put the little book back in his bag. He sat down and looked directly at Ginny. “Anyway, back to my findings. There are three plants that could be used to make up the base for my potion. When I asked Professor Sprout about them she said we only had two of the three in the greenhouses. I was thrilled that one of them was…”

“Mimbulus mimbletonia?” Ginny interjected, beginning to share his excitement.

“Actually, it’s the Stinksap the plant produces that I have to use!”

“You mean that slimy, stinking green stuff you squirted all over the train compartment that time?”

“That’s the stuff! The plant is so rare that no one knows much about it other than the Medieval Assyrian Healers used it for potions and poultices to cure grievous ailments.”

“Do you know what those were?” Ginny inquired.

“There’s only one reference to a specific nerve healing potion in a very old book Madam Pomfrey found in the Ministry library in London. A couple of other books from the St. Mungo’s library mentioned a calming draught and a blood restorative of some sort. The Uncommon Uses book describes how, among other things, boiled Stink Sap was used for healing war horses in the fifteenth century and that three hundred years later the American colonials soaked rags in a concoction of boiled Stink Sap, juniper berries, chaparral, and goldenseal and used them to cure deep bayonet wounds by stuffing the rags into the holes.”

“That’s rather revolting,” Ginny commented. Then she said, “I thought the American colonies didn’t have the kind of weather to successfully raise plants like the Mimbulus mimbletonia.

Neville grinned. “The Salem witches who brewed the bayonet potion were ingenious herbologists. They had spells for creating all sorts of specific growing conditions and were highly successful in growing rare plants like the mimbletonia. They left valuable parchments detailing the brewing of their potions and one had a footnote in it about an experiment someone started for healing wounds that caused loss of feeling.

“Those were the ones Madam Pomfrey and I were most interested in. We experimented with several healing remedies and discovered that they really did work.”

“Do I dare ask how the two of you tested these remedies?” Ginny asked with a hint of trepidation in her voice.

“No, Ginny, don’t ask,” Neville told her with a shake of his head. “I’ve heard rumours of how Fred and George test their products and our method was similar.” Ginny shuddered at this. “Anyway, Madam Pomfrey is having me write up our findings for the English Healers Journal and from that we hope someone will be willing to fund further research into my work,” Neville finished proudly sitting up a little straighter.

“That’s wonderful, Neville,” Ginny exclaimed genuinely excited for him, “but what’s that have to do with me?”

“I’m getting to that,” he told her pulling a well-used notebook out of his bag. He leafed through it until he found the page he wanted. “I guess it was three weeks ago that it happened. I was working on three potions at once and lost track of time while I was boiling down a batch of sap. When I finally looked back at the cauldron the liquid inside had separated into three different layers, so I called Professor Sprout. She showed me how to save the separate liquids to use in our experiments. One trial led to another and three days ago I started the experiment that excited me so much this morning.” Neville stopped and puffed out his chest, the big grin spreading across his face changing his entire countenance. “Ginny, Madam Pomfrey, Professor Sprout and your healers think I’ve replicated an ancient, long-forgotten nerve restorative used during Merlin’s time! Whatever I did to the recipe is showing signs of certain modern healing properties which promotes nerve regrowth.”

Ginny was stunned. “Do you… do they… think I’ll get better if I take your restorative?” she breathed. This news was too good to be true and she hardly dared hope for a positive answer. “Will I… will I walk normally again?”

Neville came to stand at her bedside. “If all goes well with the replication of my experiment, your recovery will be accelerated enough that Madam Pomfrey and your healers think you’ll be walking unaided to the Hogwarts Express from the coaches in June. Is that the kind of news you were hoping for?”

Ginny’s heart swelled with emotion. “To be honest, Neville, I haven’t had much hope of ever walking normally again, even with everything that Healer Alexander and Healer Rodkey have been doing. They say that most of the nerves leading to my left leg were severed when the Bludgers broke my back and hips, so I’ve resigned myself to a life of very limited mobility,” she told him truthfully. “As it is, I’m overwhelmed that you wanted to help me. I really don’t know what to say except ‘thank you’.”

“You’re welcome, Ginny.”

She looked away out the window. “Tell me something… if the potion gives me my mobility back will others benefit from your research?”

“Yes, Ginny, they will.”

“I’m really glad.” She swiped at her eyes as she reached for his hand. “We’re lucky to have you, Neville, all of us who need your potion. You must be really proud of yourself.”

Neville studied their clasped hands, his grin sliding from his face to be replaced by the look of uncertainty Ginny had often seen there. “I guess it’s my turn to be honest,” he said. “Pride is a feeling I’ve rarely known. My Gran… she says… she tells everybody…”

“That you’re not like your father?”

“Yeah. That I’ll never be like him or Mum… that I’m a disappointment to her.”

“Look at me, Neville. You don’t have to be like your parents. You have talents that are uniquely yours. Tell me; at sixteen did they make a major medical discovery that could help thousands? No? Then you have done something that they never accomplished and you should be proud of that. You’ve found an area of interest that you can turn into your life’s work if you really want it to.”

“Professor Sprout said that, too. It’s what I want to do.”

“Good. I’m glad for you, Neville, and I hope your Gran will come to understand how important your experiments are.”

“I think she will once my article gets published.” He slipped a hand from hers and held it up before his face. “I can just see the title page, ‘Sixteen-year-old Develops Life-Changing Potion’.”

“That’ll get her attention.”

“I hope so. I’m getting really tired of having Gran tell people I’ll never measure up to my father.”

“Well, if your potion really does help me, she’ll have to change what she tells people,” Ginny said bracingly, “because I’m going to see that the wizarding community knows it was you who helped me. Now, when can I take this miracle cure?”

“Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall have owled your parents for their permission to use you as my test subject. Their replication experiments will be done in a day or two. If the results are what I expect them to be, I’ll let you know what they say.” Neville looked at his watch. “Hey, my lunchtime’s up, so I need to go.”

“Thank you, Neville. You have no idea how hopeful you’ve made me.”

Neville picked up his bag. “On the contrary, Ginny, I think I do because you’ve made me happy, too.”

“Good. Now off with you before your teacher gives you detention for being tardy.”

Neville hefted his bag and strode out the door, his head up and shoulders confidently back, as Ginny lay back on her pillows thinking, Walking, not dragging my body, is just one giant step away.


End of Part Twelve





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