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SIYE Time:10:38 on 29th March 2024
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Fighting Harry
By Fey Falyyn

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Category: Post-OotP, Post-HBP
Characters:All, All
Genres: Drama
Warnings: None
Story is Complete
Rating: PG
Reviews: 112
Summary: When Harry decides the time is ripe to search for the remaining Horcruxes, Ginny demands to accompany him. Harry refuses, and leaves with Ron and Hermione the day after his seventeenth birthday. But Ginny's not the sort of girl to wait at home. She'll do anything to prove that she can survive without Harry...even join Voldemort. When Harry's turned away, what will save her from the Dark? And what will Harry do, when he realizes his mistake?
Hitcount: Story Total: 59711; Chapter Total: 4501





Author's Notes:
This is a frustrating chapter. In it, Fred and George are a bit hard on Harry, because at first they only see him hurting their baby sister. Then as the conversation progresses, they begin to realize where they're going wrong. Oh, and Snape, by the way, is keeping things from Ginny. His reasons become evident, as do Dumbledore's for not letting Harry include her in his confidence.




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Chapter Five: New Problems



Ginny looked at the wall of dementors in front of her with growing desperation. There were far to many. She'd only ever conjured her patronus in the D.A. How could she deal with upward of ten of them now? She'd never driven away one!

Well, the best time to learn is now, she told herself diplomatically. “Expecto Patronum!”

A fine mist poured from her wand. The horrors paused.

But the mist wasn’t enough to make the dementors hold off for more than a second. They hesitated, and then began to advance once more, their slimy, skeletal hands reaching out for her and the screaming people behind her.

She was in muggle London, on her way back from Knockturn Alley, where she had been picking up potions ingredients. Deciding to take a walk, she had been intending to go by a muggle museum and look at the medieval collection, because the museum in question had been alluded to in reference to several wizarding artifacts.

Now, only a half-block from the museum entrance, she had been attacked by dementors. Well, maybe ‘attack’ was the wrong word. They were there terrorizing the muggles, and she didn’t approve of that. So then they went for her.

She backed up, giving herself more space to maneuver. Then one came up behind her, and she was overwhelmed with memory.



“Gideon!”

“Go, Molly! We’ll handle this!” The brave voice paused, and there were yells and sounds of a fight. “Get out of here!”

A baby Ginny felt her mother running. They entered some kind of building, because a three-month-old Ginny suddenly became aware that the sky was not so blue anymore.

There was someone else inside the building, another voice. “Care to join me?” the voice said, and the baby Ginny felt her mother crumple beneath her.

The person was tall and dark. The details were fuzzy, but as a baby Ginny had been wide-eyed and aware. He picked her up from her mother’s arms, and carried her to the window. Ginny suddenly realized that he was wearing a cloak and hood, and that was why he seemed dark. Underneath the hood, he was as pale as snow.

“Avada Kedavra!” he called, and a jet of green light shot out the window to where her uncles were fighting. “They’ll never know,” he said softly, watching and waiting.

When he saw it, he smirked, and looked down at her. There was nothing in his eyes, nothing besides darkness. Then he said something, words she didn’t know, and suddenly some alien power flooded her body.

As she cried, he turned to Molly. “Obliviate,” he said quietly. “This, Ginevra, is where I take my leave. I daresay our paths will cross sooner or later.”

The baby-Ginny only cried as he placed her back in her mother’s arms…




Ginny leapt into action as a skeletal hand came down on her shoulder. “EXPECTO PATRONUM!” she roared, pointing her wand straight up in the air.

A phoenix, greatly resembling Fawkes, burst forth with a battle cry that filled the streets. The people stopped running, and all of the dementors flinched and began to withdraw, as her phoenix-patronus began to sing of hope and joy and courage.

She didn’t see the black-haired boy come rushing out of the museum.

But she did see the Death Eaters flood the street. Curse it! Snape hadn’t told her about an attack here today! It must have been either an impromptu thing, or–hopefully–it was too small for the Order to unsuspiciously worry about.

Before Ginny knew it, she’d ducked a Stunner and sent out one of her own. A Death Eater fell.
Three more closed in on her, and she sent a hex at the one in the middle, as the one on the left sent a jinx that grazed her hair. Strangely, their pal on the right fell, seemingly of his own accord.

Her hex had hit the middle Death Eater, but the one on the left was still going strong. He sent a Stunner at her–since when did Death Eaters aim to Stun, not to kill?–and it missed her by a fraction of an inch as she swerved to the left, sending a nasty hex right back at him. He fell, howling as wildly bleeding cuts appeared all over his body. All right, so that one wasn’t Ministry Approved. She wouldn’t tell if he wouldn’t.

There was only one left, that she could see. She started for one, but he too fell before she could reach him. Puzzled, she turned and jumped out of the way of another Stunner.

Then she saw him, and her stomach dropped.

Harry.

There he was, battling two at once like a hero, and winning. The first one fell to his Stunner after a few moments; a second later, the other one was down, to an overly powerful disarming charm that knocked his head against the pavement, rendering him unconscious.

He turned, and his eyes met hers from across the street.

She froze.

He hesitated, and then made as if to walk over to her.

Aurors started Apparating from all over the place. They arrived with their wands out, shouting, before they realized that all of the Death Eaters were on the ground. Then they saw Harry and Ginny, both panting and looking the worse for wear, and they began converging on the two of them.

With a last look at Ginny, Harry Disapparated.

Ginny dropped some Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, and then followed suit.


* * * *


“Harry!” Hermione exclaimed, when he appeared in their apartment. “What happened? You look horrible.”

“It was a fight,” he answered grimly, glancing down at bloody hands and a ripped shirt. “There were Death Eaters and dementors in muggle London.”

“No!” his friend looked shocked. “Do you think they’ve been tracking you?”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t see how they could have. I Apparated to right near the museum, told no one where I would be, and wore my cloak inside.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Ron commented. “How many were there, Harry? Did you leave them, or did you stay and fight it out?”


“I don’t think I was the target of their attack,” Harry said thoughtfully. “There were seven Death Eaters, and…I think there were twelve dementors. But the dementors had already been taken care of by the time I got there.” He hesitated, and then reluctantly added. “Ron, I didn’t know Ginny’s Patronus was a phoenix.”

Ron frowned. “I didn’t know that, either. Are you sure? I mean–wait. Ginny was there?”

He had leapt to his feet, but Harry, who was staring dejectedly at the floor, didn’t notice. “Yeah. She was dressed like a muggle, in blue jeans and a t-shirt. I thought–thought she was in trouble when I got there, the dementors had surrounded her, and she was all alone, but then she just sort of erupted with her Patronus, and they all scattered.”

He didn’t mention that she’d looked like some sort of warrior queen, with her hair and eyes blazing and her wand held up to the sun as nightmares closed in on her.

“That’s impressive,” Hermione commented, shooting a significant look at Ron for some reason. “Twelve dementors?

Harry nodded. “She didn’t see me at first, and the Death Eaters didn’t either. They just all started corning her. And then they were casting stunners, instead of curses–the next time one of us go out, we really need to tell someone to talk to her about walking around in London alone–or anywhere, for that matter.”

Ron was still shocked by the news. “She was in London? Walking about? Was she hurt? Did you talk to her?”

“She was there. She wasn’t hurt,” Harry replied. “They weren’t aiming to kill, for some reason, but she was doing really well, dodging stuff. But there were so many. I took out four of them, and she got the rest. We didn’t get a chance to talk; there were Aurors Apparating everywhere right as the last one fell. I knew she’d be safe after that, so I Disapparated.”

Hermione agreed, knowledgeably. “That’s good. The Aurors probably would have hauled you in for questioning, Scrimgeour’s orders. But you needn’t have worried about Ginny. It sounds like she was doing a good job of taking care of herself.”

“She was,” he admitted. “She hit this one Death Eater with some curse–I dunno what it was, but there was blood everywhere. They stopped being so gentle after that.”

“Did she seem angry?” Hermione asked, hesitantly, in a soft voice.

Harry’s shoulders slumped. “At first, when the Dementor laid its hand on her shoulder, it was like she came out a trance, and she was furious. After that, when the Death Eaters were down…she only looked sad.”

Ron looked up. “At least she’s all right,” he forced out.
Harry nodded, again. “Yeah.”


* * * *


“Hermione.”

Someone was shaking her awake. Hermione opened her eyes. She had always been a light sleeper.

It was Ron. “Ron, what is it?” she asked, groggily. “It’s seven in the morning.”
“It’s Harry,” Ron told her. “He’s not in his bed.”

She sat up, unconscious of the fact that she was only wearing a low-cut silk camisole and her favorite pajama bottoms. It was too dark for her to see Ron’s ears turn red. “Great. Just great. But I bet he’ll be back before breakfast.”

“Huh?” Ron asked.

Throwing the blankets off, Hermione made her way to the kitchen. She wanted coffee. It was a muggle thing, but she had some. And right now, she wanted it.

“Whatever he’s doing, we can’t do anything about at the moment,” she said practically. “So we might as well be comfortable while we wait for him to return.”

Ron only nodded, and sat down at the table, rubbing his eyes.

Five minutes later, she handed him a cup. He sniffed it, warily. “What is it?”

Hermione smiled. “It’s a muggle invention. We call it coffee. But trust me, it’ll make you feel a lot better in a minute. It’s actually getting pretty popular in the wizarding world, but I’ve never seen it at the Burrow.”

He took the cup, and took a large drink, gagging as it went down. “That’s disgusting!”

“You’re not supposed to drink it black,” she said primly, adding liberal amounts of sugar and cream to hers. “Go on, add cream.”

Ron did so, and was thereafter much more satisfied with his coffee. He was significantly more awake, too.

“At least now we know Ginny’s not a Death Eater,” Hermione commented between sips. “If she was then she wouldn’t have been fighting them.”

He shuddered. “Yeah, but they were only casting Stunners. What if she had, I dunno, an agreement with them?”

“To bring down Harry? I don’t think so,” she scoffed. “Besides, Harry said she hit that one with a slicing curse. That’s not something you do to an ally. Not to mention that she took out all of the dementors and half the Death Eaters herself. That argues such friendship.”

“Point,” he acknowledged. “It’s just…I don’t know, anymore. I thought I knew Ginny, and now I have you and the twins and Ginny herself telling me I know nothing about her. I don’t know what to think. She’s my baby sister. And now she’s out there fighting dementors and Death Eaters and doing Merlin knows what.”

Hermione felt a rush of sympathy. “People grow up, Ron. She's still Ginny. She’s just not a baby Ginny anymore.”

“I know,” he said, with an uncharacteristic sigh. “Otherwise she wouldn’t be dating Harry.”

She sighed, too. That was at least three-fourths of the problem.

Harry.


* * * *


“Harry, what’re you doing here?”

“One would almost think he was unwelcome at home.”

“But we don’t think that, do we, George?”

“No. We know he just adores being in our presence. ‘Not the rose, but near the rose,’ you know.”

“Still, there’s plenty of time to smell the roses after seven in the morning, lad.”

“Oh, bless him. He’s dressed and everything!”

Harry didn’t smile at the twins' efforts. “Sorry for waking you, guys. I wanted to talk before the shop opened.”

Fred grinned. “We figured. I mean, surely you know that even geniuses such as we can’t develop a whole new line in less than a day.”

“You’ll have to forgive his modesty,” George quipped. “Been busy, have you? Mum was in hysterics about yesterday’s little antics.”

“But you’re not here about yesterday or about our products, are you, Harry?”

“No, you’re here about Ginny,” the twins chorused together.

Harry rubbed his eyes. “How did you know?”

Fred shrugged. “I don’t know. How did we know, George?”

“The forlorn expression on his face, twin of mine. And we might have noticed that Ginny’s not the sort to like being left behind, mighten’d we? It was bound to cause problems sooner or later.”

“Don’t start,” Harry told them. He sat down. “I think might’ve made a mistake.”

Might’ve?” George was incredulous. “Harry, if you haven’t figured out that leaving Ginny was a bad decision by now, then I’m afraid there’s little we can do to help.”

Fred was kinder. “You’re our benefactor, and our friend, so we won’t hold it against you. But surely you had to have realized that Ginny’s far too special to sit around.”

“You’re her brothers,” Harry protested. “Of course you’re going to say that.” In a much softer voice he added “Is she really so angry at me?”

George shrugged. “Dunno, do we? She’s not exactly come to us to talk.”

“George.” That was all Fred said, but his eyes were narrowed.
“Yes, Fred?”

“Come and help me figure out what to tell Verity about the Hair-Raising Shampoo–screeches like a ghoul when you open it, bit of a gag gift, comes in seven different odors,” he told Harry, and pulled his twin out of the room, leaving a bewildered and tired Harry behind.

“George, is it possible that Hermione convinced Ron not to tell Harry about our darling sister’s disappearing act?”

George’s jaw dropped. “That’s low, even for Hermione. I can’t believe Ron would agree.”

“But when Ginny was seen yesterday…why worry Harry, if Ginny’s obviously not hurt and not a Death Eater?”

George nodded emphatically. “I see what you speak of. That’s right up Hermione’s alley, particularly if she already suspected that Ginny would ‘disappear.’ Well, shall we break the news to our Harry boy then?”

“Not at all. It’s the children’s problem, and it’s not our way to meddle,” Fred expostulated, as he pulled George back into the sitting room. “Well, not much, anyway. But let’s go easy on the kid. He’s got to save the world, remember.”

Harry looked annoyed. “Now that you’ve decided you’re not going to kill me,” he began, but George waved him off.

“It was a business matter, Harry, truly it was. Now, how did seeing Ginny yesterday make you feel?”

“Like the world’s biggest git,” he admitted. “She looked right at home in muggle clothes, but her face when she saw me...you would have thought she’d seen an Acromantula.”

“Guilt, then?” Fred asked, pretending to scribble on a notepad like a muggle psychiatrist.

Harry laughed, but it was strangled. “Kind of. Yes. What if I hadn’t been there yesterday? There were twelve dementors, and seven Death Eaters. They weren’t going for the muggles, either. It was like Ginny was a target, almost.”

Fred made a note on the notepad, and then passed it over the table as if asking George’s opinion on his analysis.

Our little sister’s made herself a target. Let’s not tell Harry.

George nodded, diplomatically. “Worry for her. It’s perfectly natural.”

“Well, if she’d just stayed at home or not gone out alone, it wouldn’t have happened at all!” Harry exclaimed.

“Come now, do you really expect that of her?” Fred asked. “I mean, this is the girl who went to Snape for private lessons.”

“What?!” the Boy-Who-Lived exclaimed. “Private lessons from Snape? What for?”

George shrugged. “Dunno. Legilimency, I expect. I could have sworn she read my mind in our sixth year when we tried to make Hermione’s book bag flash ‘Mrs. Ron Weasley,’ because someone put a reflective hex on the bag in question, so when we charmed it–”

“And probably advanced Potions and theory,” Fred cut in smoothly. “She’s always been good at Potions, our Gin. That and Transfiguration. It took her less years than it did the Marauders to–”

“Find the secret passage to Dumbledore’s office from McGonagall’s,” George filled in, well aware that his twin had been about to divulge the interesting theory they had recently developed about a black snake that they had seen once or twice around Order meetings. He shot Fred a severe look.

Harry shook his head. “You’re sure?” he asked, disbelieving. “Oh, man. Why haven’t I been poisoned yet, then?”

“Probably because you haven’t been around to poison,” Fred remarked blandly. “Keep it up, by the way, if you want to hold onto your health. We'll be having a word with our dear sister about that, she can't go around poisoning The Chosen One. It's bad for the human race at large. But you haven't been around, so it's not really an issue.”

“But I want to be around,” Harry said, in a low voice. Fred and George looked at each other. Harry continued.

“I miss seeing her at breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and laughing and talking and studying and–and snogging. It’s been hard to focus on Voldemort, and when I do, I’m fine. But the second I’m finished with whatever particular mission or project I was working on, she’s back. These last few weeks, I haven’t been able to get her out of my mind; it’s driving me mad. Only now I see her looking at me like I’ve killed a kitten or something.”

Fred passed the notepad to George again.

Uh-oh.

George passed it back.

You think he’s going to go talk to her? He needs to.

Fred returned it.

But she’s not there!

George slid it down.

I know.

Fred sighed.

“After much deliberation, we have determined that…you need to talk to her.” He heard his twin’s sharp intake of breath, and added. “As soon as this is all over.”

“Not sooner?” Harry asked.

George jumped in. “It’s your choice, Harry-boy, but I personally think that things will work out much better if your wait. You need time to work out what your going to say, and Ginny…needs time to sort out her feelings, I’m sure.”

Harry stared at the fire. “I think I love her,” he said, in a low voice.

The twins were rendered speechless by this information.

“I never told her,” he continued. “I could die tomorrow fighting Voldemort, and she’d never know. I thought I could live without her, for both of our sakes. But it’s not working. I don’t know if she still feels the same way; I don’t even know how much I can tell her. But I have to try.”

The notepad came back out.

This is bad.

It slid down the table.

Yeah, tell me about it! We’ve got to tell him now, don’t we?

The notepad flew.

What if it’s too late? What if Ginny doesn’t want to hear it, or if she’s sold her soul to Voldemort?

Fred winced.

What about Snape? Bet you anything that’s who she went running to.

“Guys?” Harry said loudly. “I just told you that I’m in love with your sister. You could stop planning my death for five seconds and give a poor bloke some peace of mind.”

What do we do now?

George threw the notepad down on the table and stood up, and Fred glanced at it.

I don’t know.

“You see, Harry, we’re in a bit of a difficult spot here,” George began. “You’re not just the bloke-who-loves-our-sister, you’re the bloke-who-must-destroy-Voldemort as well as the bloke-who-gave-us-money. You shouldn’t be distracted from your noble work, and I’m afraid our sister is distracting you.”

Harry’s eyes, though exceptionally tired, sharpened. “Cut to the chase, guys. First Hermione, and now you, and apparently Ginny as well. You knew from the beginning that I’d work better with Ginny around. What’s going on?”

Fred met his gaze calmly. “I don’t think we’re the right people to tell you that, Harry.”

“Is Ginny?”

George debated his answer. “Yes, but–look, just talk to Hermione. She probably knows more than we do anyway. She won’t betray Ginny’s trust, but she’ll explain what she can, and then refer you to Gin if at all possible.”

“What do you mean, ‘if at all possible?’” Harry inquired, well aware that there was something he wasn’t being told, and beginning to get angry about it.

“He means if at all possible,” Fred said flatly. “And now, benefactor of ours, it’s time for the shop to open. You’ve ruined our day with your sentiments, so go and fight Voldemort...or Gin. Personally, I’d take Voldie at the moment if I were you.”

Confused, and not a little angry, Harry stood up. But he was seventeen, and much better at controlling his temper than at fifteen. Furthermore, Fred and George both knew Occlumency, and had sent up well-worked walls, which Harry could have broken through if he chose.

But he was Harry, and he didn't choose, though he desperately wanted to. “Fine," he said, through gritted teeth. "Don’t tell me anything. It’s not as if I’m distracted from killing Voldemort, or anything.”

“Hey, mate, we’re sorry.” Fred shrugged, opening the door for him. “But there’s really nothing more we can do.”

George made no move to get up and open the store as they watched their hero walk away. “Well, I feel horrible,” he commented, after Harry had gone.

“I’ll say,” Fred agreed. “Where did this situation go wrong?”

“We have two issues here,” George said, glancing down at the notepad. “First, we have an issue of trust. Harry wouldn’t tell Ginny about what he’s doing or where he’s going, and so Ginny refused to tell Harry exactly how she could help, vowing to fight on her own. Then we have both of them trying to protect the other by keeping secrets, which gets in the way of their communication, which is probably the foremost problem.”

“Solution being?” Fred inquired.

George sighed. “Talking it out, which is currently impossible, seeing as both of them are MIA.”

“So…?”

“I don’t know,” his twin said flatly. “I hope Hermione has a way of getting in touch with Ginny, but I if I know our sister, I doubt it. Harry’s going to panic, and blame himself, when he realizes she’s missing. He’s also going to be angry with everyone for not telling him right away, particularly Hermione, who’s been in touch with Gin.”

“I guess we’re all guilty then,” Fred said. “Of trying to protect them, anyway. We can’t always protect them. They’re growing up, they have to fight their own battles.”

“Which is exactly where Ron and Harry went wrong,” George groaned.

Fred paused. “Yeah, but they were only trying to save Gin. We, dear brother, are trying to save the world.”

“True,” George nodded. “I feel a little better.”

His twin laughed, surprisingly. “You should.”


* * * *


Ginny looked at mirror miserably. It wouldn’t lie. The girl looking back at her was pale and drawn and scared, and looked closer to six than sixteen.

When she came out of the bathroom, she realized that she wasn’t alone. Ginny cast her magic out and, when she sensed Snape standing in the kitchen, breathed a sigh of relief.

“Don’t you breathe loudly, or something?” she asked irritably.

He smirked, but then caught sight of her expression. “Not sleeping well?” he asked. “I have Dreamless Sleep Potions on hand.”

She shook her head obstinately. “I don’t need them.”

“Then why the Slytherin-like countenance on your Gryffindor loving face?” he asked, and she detected true, uncle-like concern in his words.

Ginny frowned. “I was waylaid by dementors and Death Eaters today,” she said, and could feel him poking at her mind. She let her walls fall: she’d rather show him the memory of the dementors closing in than tell him about it. When his magic moved to examine the memory, she made no move to stop it.

Snape raised an eyebrow, and didn't answer her unspoken accusations about why he hadn; told her. “You have never been overwhelmed by dementors before?” he asked.

She could feel the worry lines etching themselves on her face. “Only once, in my second year on the train. I saw it then, too. Is it real?”

“Undoubtedly.” He watched her thoughtfully. “Your mother doesn’t know, and that’s probably for the better.”

“What did Voldemort do to me?” she asked, half-afraid. She kept checking for a scar somewhere, some hint or clue of what the Dark Lord had done.

Snape’s mouth curled. “Your potion is almost ready,” he said, acknowledging her question but not answering it. “I trust you are going to ask about the horcruxes, and not some ridiculous question about Potter?”

Ginny was insulted. “Of course. Would you think otherwise?”

The particular potion she had been brewing was designed to give information. It could only be used once in a person’s life, and the knowledge of how to make it was well guarded. Most were unaware that such a brew existed.

One of the main ingredients was the blood of the person wishing to have a question answered. It was crude, but a sacrifice was required, because the type of question that could be answered was the type to sell one’s soul for. And it was just about ready.

The potion had no name, Snape said, because it needed none. A name would indicate that it existed, and it did not, according to most people.

Ginny stood over it now, and added the griffin heart stone–the final ingredient. The fire went out of its own accord, and the mixture turned a deep purple.

“Well?” Snape asked.

She didn’t need to be told twice. She pulled out her wand, and touched it to the substance, sending out gold ripples. “What I seek, you may find.”

“This I know, that the wizard once called Tom Riddle split his soul into numerous pieces, to be manifested in other places. I know of a ring, a cup, a book, a snake, a locket, and the bit inside him. But I have reason to believe there is another. Show us his last Horcrux, that the world may be rid of his evil.”

“What I seek, you may find.”

She held her breath as potion turned a deep, bubbling red, the color of blood, and screams filled the air, before the water became perfectly clear. She looked into it.

And saw nothing.

Nothing, that is, besides her reflection.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked Snape.

“What do you see?” he asked, and there was an odd undertone to his voice.

“Look,” she told him. “It only shows your reflection.”

Snape stepped forward to look, and he closed his eyes briefly, and looked again.

He looked inside the cauldron for a long time.

“No, Ginny,” he said at last, and it was the first time he called her by her name. Before, he’d always called her ‘Ginevra,’ or ‘Miss Weasley.’

“It only shows your reflection.”

“What do you mean?” Ginny asked, filled with a panic she couldn’t explain.

He only looked at her, with a pity and sympathy that she couldn’t understand. “You don’t need me to tell you.”

“There must be some mistake,” she babbled, though in her heart she knew. There was no mistake.

Snape shook his head. “There is no mistake.”


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