Chapter 17: A Day in the Life of Ginny Weasley

Ginny maneuvered through the bustling corridors of Hogwarts. It was just another ordinary day in her remarkably extraordinary life. She hummed a childhood tune to herself as she passed through packs of students and the occasional lone wolf like herself. She wondered if they weren't among friends by choice, by circumstance, or for some less pleasant reason. She could sympathize with that, as she saw a lonely looking First Year apprehensively pass her by. She'd been him, once, Sorted into the last House that anyone had expected, with no friends and seemingly no hope of her family ever understanding why she had become a Slytherin in a family of Gryffindors, or indeed ever coming to terms with it long enough to forgive her. It had never really been that bad, she knew now, but as a lost, frightened little mouse in this vast castle, in this strange new world she had dreamt of, coveted a place in, placed so many of her hopes and dreams upon, it had been easy to give in to despair.

That year felt like several lifetimes ago, and yet some of the events of the year were etched into her memory as if they had happened yesterday. Most of them were not the pleasant sort. And even those that were…well, Harry was a part of most of them.

Her Harry, she thought wistfully, allowing herself just a moment of self-pity. But no more.

In that terrible moment where Ginny's resolve and restraint had finally failed her, she had cast a spark into a volatile seething cauldron of grief, anger, horror, betrayal, and just a dash of hopeful nostalgia. She did not regret what she said. Her only remorse was that she had waited so long.

Ginny tried not to let tears well up in her eyes, tried to focus on the rhythm of her feet hitting the smoothed stone floor of the castle, on her winding, twisting path towards Sibil Trelawney's Divination class. It felt like another part of her innocence had died that terrible day, killed on impact when the back of her head met the dungeon wall. Her first year at Hogwarts had certainly forced her to grow up a lot faster than she might have wanted. It had been that night in the Forest, that battle for life and limb under the moonlit skies, when the results of the damage to Daphne's twisted and shattered psyche had been made known to her, that her childhood had really ended. Molly Weasley had always been sure to warn her daughter that not everybody out in the world was a nice person, that for all the good people she would meet in her life, she would meet some that she had to stay well away from. Yet Ginny had on some level persisted in her belief that there was no evil, just the people who didn't care enough about everyone else. Riddle and the Diary had been an exception. But an exception extreme enough from her everyday experience that could still hold out hope in the fundamental decency of every person, without struggling to reconcile her belief with what she saw to be true.

What had happened in those impassioned and horrible moments between her and Harry were of no less importance. Ginny was not fool enough to assume that she had made the painful and complex transition to adulthood at the age of fourteen by a series of traumatic experiences. But at that moment, another of her childhood beliefs, her conviction in the reality of heroes, or special individuals that walked uncorrupted by the evil around them to work good, had been shattered. It was not that she hadn't grown out of her youthful idealization of Harry Potter, she had, but at the same time, that troubled, frighteningly powerful, scarred but somehow fundamentally good young man had still been a hero to her, a larger-than-life figure even though she could see his ugly failings and shortcomings straight in front of her. Her Hero. No longer.

Reaching the base of the North Tower, still lost in her thoughts and feeling rather alone, and more than a little pathetic, she nearly walked directly into Professor Trelawney, who was standing at the base of the ladder leading to the Divination classroom, looking quizzically at one of the moving portraits. Stopping short, she muttered a brief apology.

As if she had only then registered Ginny's presence, the willowy professor turned to her, searching her with eyes tucked behind thick spectacles. "Oh, Miss Weasley. Heavens, it's just you."

Ginny blinked. "Were you expecting someone else, Professor?"

"I have been feeling dark presences. There is danger in this castle. Threats yet unseen." She squinted, furrowing her brow in intense concentration. "Oh, it is just beyond my Sight," she said, sounding frustrated yet somehow resigned. A cynical part of Ginny wondered if she had gotten used to her complete lack of true prophetic ability. Ginny understood why Hermione couldn't stand Divination, or indeed Trelawney herself. Ginny did not terribly mind her; she was a kind woman, if clearly a bit off her rocker, and the class was interesting and pretty easy, if not terribly applicable to the real world. And who knew? Her Mum had once said something about a Seer in the Prewett family. Not that the youngest Weasley had manifested any prescient talents.

"Are you concerned, Professor?" Ginny asked. Somehow the idea of 'dark presences' prowling Hogwarts did not seem nearly as frightened as it ought to have been. Probably something to do with the number of times I or people close to me could have died these last few years.

"Well, of course I am a bit, dear." She smiled brightly. "That's why I've been sending some of the portraits near my classroom to keep an eye on things. Nothing to report, but I'm still waiting on Sir Cadogan to report back. He's been away longer than expected, but goodness am I glad to have him near my office these days."

Cadogan was a bit of a laughingstock, a wandering knight-errant with the wisdom of Don Quixote and the courage of Sipak the Spineless, the (in)famous goblin warlord who had surrendered his rebellious army upon seeing an arrow fly through the window of his command hut. Somehow, Ginny thought, Cadogan was still the perfect partner for Trelawney. Both well-intentioned. Both rather incompetent.

Ginny also realized that class had technically already started, although she could hardly be marked as tardy when the professor was standing in front of her. "Have you discussed these suspicions with the Headmaster?"

"Go to Dumbledore…oh no, I can't do that. What if I'm misreading the signs, and there is no danger. I almost lost my job a little while ago. I can't afford to be crying wolf." She spoke softly, hesitantly, with a candidness that really was not to be expected given that Ginny hardly knew the woman, many years her senior and an academic instructor. But why would Sybil Trelawney ever be expected to conform to common expectations of social relations?

"Well, it's probably good of you to make sure that all is well," Ginny said helpfully, smiling. "Professor, is it not time for class to begin?"

"Oh goodness!" Trelawney exclaimed, glancing at the battered pocket watch she drew from somewhere under her shawl. "It is. Well, you first, dear," she said, gesturing at the ladder.

Ginny completed what was at times the silliest leg of any journey she took through the mad castle, and found her seat. Anne Grunitch sat to her left, to her right sat the only person in the world capable of making Sybil Trelawney appear entirely sane by comparison, Luna Lovegood. Ginny's on-and-off childhood friend was, at this moment, glancing furtively around the room, and then marking a number of symbols on a small piece of paper before her. Ginny decided she'd rather not know.

After another class full of questionable logic, rampant speculation disguised as foreknowledge, and some rather wonderful anecdotes from Professor Trelawney (she probably had it meant it to be, but her story about the prophetess who had been certain that he had no future with the man she was destined to marry was pretty amusing), they were released. Ginny came up to Luna as she packed up her things. "Hi Luna. How are you?"

"Well, I would be better without the Nargle Infestation, but we can't have everything," she said vaguely. "Besides, life wouldn't be very interesting without the unexpected."

Ginny waited for Luna to finish. "I'm going to lunch. Do you want to come as well?"

"I'd be delighted to," she said, with surprising simplicity.

Ginny smiled. "Nargles won't be a problem?"

"They are scared of the goblets," she explained. "Pumpkin juice is poisonous."

Ginny nodded in forced understanding, and moved to clamber down the ladder.

"Miss Weasley?" Trelawney's voice called out. Ginny gestured to Luna to go down first, looking over at her professor. "Yes?"

"I…I want you to make sure you watch your back today. Today, more than most days." She looked very perturbed, and Ginny gave her a quizzical look, expecting a further explanation. "That's all," she said, and returned to clearing up her desk.

She's either completely mad or just a bit mad, Ginny decided. But maybe she did see something this time.

She nodded towards the frail Seer, who was no longer looking at her, and descended the ladder. She found herself on the landing, face to face with Sir Cadogan. "Good day, my fair maid," he said, bowing. "Is there danger about?"

"Depends on who you ask," Ginny said, completely seriously, as she hurried to catch up with Luna, who had begun skipping down the halls as she hummed a faint tune to herself.

"Glamour Charms!" Professor Filius Flitwick exclaimed excitedly, his squeaky voice echoing forth from a miniature frame. "A most useful form of magic, and at once one of the most common and most misunderstood charms in our society. I'm sure any number of you have heard of their use by older women to regain the youth they have left behind, or older men…no need to discriminate, of course," he said brightly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I am certainly aware that this is one of the most anticipated lessons after the Levitation Charm from your first year, but I do warn you: take great care in using them, especially upon your own person."

He hopped down off the box he stood on so as to be visible to the entire class, causing a few sniggers, which he either did not hear (he did seem a bit deaf at times) or politely ignored. "Now!" he said, sounding as chipper as he had been in a while. "There are many uses of these charms. Obviously, one can use it to change one's own physical appearance, or that of others. Ah…there we go…" Flitwick placed his wand at his own temple, smiling brightly to reassure the students that nothing terrible was about to happen. To one who had seen as much as Ginny, it was oddly unnerving in and of itself. "Facio praestigia!"

Flitwick's figure became at once a blur, and then it extended upwards. The air cleared, and standing before them was an elongated and stretched Filius Flitwick, roughly anatomically proportional, standing about two meters high and looking quite pleased with himself. There were some bursts of applause from the students. Ginny, skepticism and cynicism almost second nature now, peered intently at the higher edges of Flitwick's form, and began to see ripples and colors washing in and out.

Flitwick found her instantly. "Miss Weasley, you appear to be rather intent on my new form. Care to explain what you have seen?"

Overcoming her surprise at being called upon, Ginny put her thoughts together. "The illusion is weaker at the edges. If I focus, I can see flaws in the glamour."

"Ah, excellent!" Flitwick said. He tapped his head again, and his figure grew even more. "Can any of you see anything now? Look carefully, use Miss Weasley's advice…yes, Mr. Corner?"

"I think I can see what Ginny was on about," the dark-haired Ravenclaw replied. "There's a…disruption, I suppose, for lack of a better word, visible if you focus your eyes on the edges of your profile. But if I look inwards, towards your face, for instance, the glamour appears quite strong."

"Well done both of you. Five points each to Slytherin and Ravenclaw," Flitwick said happily. Michael smiled in satisfaction, and Ginny felt a slight stirring of attraction. He was cute when he showed off his intelligence. Maybe, if she'd been a Gryffindor, that might have been enough for her, but though aesthetically appealing, he was not really her type.

Flitwick continued on, heedless of her girlish reflections. "Now, I suppose I need to restore a proper sense of proportion to this classroom. Alas." He tapped his forehead and his profile blurred once more, retracting down and fading out to reveal Flitwick at his normal stature. He jumped back onto his post. "Now, that was actually a rather poor use of a Glamour Charm, but I thought it would be a good introduction to what these charms can do. I could have, had I chosen, combined the incantation with a few other spells, or certain internal mantras that focus the mind and create a more lasting and convincing illusion. Nonetheless, it is likely that within a few minutes, the simple visual scrutiny that Miss Weasley subjected my new form to would have been sufficient to detect the flaws in the glamour."

He turned to the blackboard, waving his wand to write the incantation in large, looping letters, as well as a few basic facts. Ginny did not bother taking these down. "So, as I have just demonstrated, it is generally a poor idea to use a glamour to disguise space that is in fact unoccupied. Had I, for instance, tried to walk through the door to my office, my upper half would appear to have passed through a solid wall. Hardly convincing, don't you think?"

There were some noises of assent, and Flitwick took that as his cue to continue. "Now, as I intimated earlier, the most common everyday use of these charms is to cover up or conceal unwanted features. As the illusion is less demanding and covers a smaller area, it is thus stronger. Also, few might scrutinize what they suspect might be a mole to the extent that they would yours truly if I was to suddenly rival Professor Dumbledore in stature."

Flitwick turned back to them. "Alright then, I suppose it is time to let you have a try of your own. Careful now. There is no particular wand movement required for this charm — though it would certainly be more effective to aim your wand in the proper direction. Now, to insure that any misfortune you encounter is none but your own doing, I would like each of you to practise on some of the objects on your desks, and then, if you feel so daring, your own limbs. We'll spare your faces to begin with…no need to send any of you to the Hospital Wing just yet," he chuckled merrily.

They began by changing the appearance of small objects, though some, including Ginny, had quickly graduated to more complex objects and effects. There was only so many times that turning a button into a coin (at least in appearance) or something similar could be that enthralling. The myriad uses of Glamour Charms were beginning to become apparent to her; such an effect was obviously a poor substitute for actual Transfiguration, but at long as the intended viewer was only looking, not touching, a good one could be just as effective. Finally bored with inanimate objects, about half-way through the class, as Flitwick circulated through their seats, checking their progress and offering suggestions, Ginny stuck out her own hand, then looked over to Luna, who was sitting beside her, either fascinated by the entire undertaking or doing an excellent job of acting interested. As she glanced over, it suddenly dawned on her that the face looking ever so curiously back at her was her own. Well…roughly.

"What do you think, Ginevra?" the faux Ginny asked, in a sing-song amusement that could only belong to one individual. I realize that it isn't perfect. Nose is too long. And I couldn't quite copy the Nargles…"

"Do I have nargles?" Ginny asked.

"We all do. There's one poking out, right next to your ear." She pointed, and Ginny, deciding to humor her, reached in the area. She pulled out some kind of green thread that had gotten tangled in her hair.

"This doesn't really look like anything but a loose thread, Luna. Probably from my scarf."

Luna shrugged, unconcerned. "Sometimes they look like that. Reckon they cast Glamours of their own?"

"Maybe they do," Ginny replied, wishing Luna would change the subject. Harry believe that Luna put up her eccentricities and belief in imaginary creatures as a front, to hide what was in fact a jumbled, complex mind, constantly receiving input from her rare telepathic or empathic (Harry wasn't sure which) senses. Ginny was not entirely sure what to believe.

"He isn't always right, you know," she said casually. "He's all jumbled as well."

Trying to act unsurprised that Luna had just read her thoughts, Ginny made a non-committal noise.

"It's a game, Ginevra," she said solemnly. "It's all a game." Following that cryptic statement, she cancelled the Glamour on her own face, her ragged blonde hair and dazed blue eyes returning.

"I didn't even notice the glasses," Ginny admitted.

"Well, you weren't supposed to. That is the point of a Glamour, after all."

She paused, looking thoughtful. "Too bad I'm not related to you."

Ginny blinked. "Sorry?"

"Well, it makes the Glamour stronger. Blood Magic. You ought to be familiar with it. Well, if he told you. He would know, of course"

"He did," Ginny said uncertainly. "So it's easier to assume the form of a relative with a Glamour? I suppose that makes sense."

Luna stared. "If you say so." She glanced down at her bag, and then, seemingly uncaring if any one was watching her, put it onto her desk. She began searching through it, then pulled out a battered looking text. "Ah. The Moce didn't get to it."

"Don't you mean 'mice'?"

Luna looked back as if the connection had never occurred to her. "No, Ginevra."

Ginny glanced up. Flitwick was on the other side of the room, helping a couple of Slytherin boys that seemed to have botched their spell-casting, warping their own features in the process. Henry Harper and Dean Acheson. She was not terribly familiar with either of them.

Luna had opened the text now, and was tracing lines with her fingers. The text was not English, she realized as she tried to read it, but it had Roman Letters. "Is that Latin?"

Luna nodded, flipping another page forward. "You read Latin?" She nodded again. "Father insisted. One day when the Wrackspurts destabilize the world, we will live in a primitive society and have to resort to a universal language. Because all knowledge prior to the 1700s will be destroyed, it will be Latin."

Unconcerned that just about nothing she had just said made the slightest bit of sense, Luna kept flipping through the book. "Oh, this one. Oh yes, this will be a good one."

"A good one for what?" Ginny asked.

"A bedtime story for Peter," she explained. "He is afraid of the history of wizards. So I found this. It is about Merlin. It's all rather fanciful, but very informative."

"Merlin," Ginny breathed.

"It is extraordinary, yes," Luna said, not looking up.

"No, I mean, it's an old book about the life of Merlin? Written in Latin?"

Luna nodded. "Galfridus Monemutensis wrote it."

Ginny frowned. "Sorry, who?"

There was a squeaky clearing of the throat behind them.

"Miss Weasley. Miss Lovegood. While I am sure that what you are doing is all very interesting, might I remind you that you are in class, and should be engaged only in activities relating to your instruction," Flitwick said, seeming to materialize out of nowhere. He did not look cross so much as exasperated.

"Sorry sir, Luna was just showing me a book she had out from the Library."

"Yes, I see that. Hmm…looks quite old. My curiosity overwhelms me, Miss Lovegood. What is it?"

"Well, it purports to be a compilation of medieval tales about Merlin," Luna said matter-of-factly.

"Purports to be?"

Luna looked back at the diminutive but veteran man. "Surely, Professor, you know that nothing is ever exactly what it seems to be. Especially books."

"Hmmm…yes, I have certainly learned that lesson over the years," Flitwick said, scratching thoughtfully at his beard. "But as fascinating as that is, I do insist you put it away."

Luna looked somewhat crestfallen, but did so.

Flitwick tapped Ginny on the shoulder with his wand. "Miss Weasley, if you could demonstrate your proficiency with Glamour Charms, I promise not to assume that you found my lesson to be unimportant, and thus unworthy of your attention, and not to apply the proper penalties for that sort of behavior."

"Thank you, Professor," Ginny said with real gratitude. She hardly needed detention on top of all her other problems. "Let me start with this quill…"

There were days where living in a converted dungeon, however furnished, made being a Slytherin just a rather depressing experience. Not that she would be in any other house, but Ginny had to admit that she liked the daylight that streamed through the great windows of Ravenclaw Tower and the twisting heights of Gryffindor Tower. The Slytherin Common Room really wasn't that objectionable at all; it was often a very nice place to be, with polished marble walls, rich green and silver tapestries and carpets, comfortable furniture, and a great fireplace. But the rest of the dungeons were dank tunnels smelling of mildew and a few far worse things. She supposed it was all part of the ambience of the Slytherin dwelling-place — the forbidding, dark passages that would dissuade students from other Houses from actually exploring the dungeons long enough to find the entrance to the Slytherin dormitory. But unless you preferred cold, damp, and dark, it really was not one of the more enjoyable strolls through the great castle.

Ginny knew she had about an hour before dinner. Then she needed to write a letter to her parents, and another to Bill, sit down and finish her Transfiguration homework, study Potions with Anne and Melissa, and get herself a good night's sleep, allowing for the inevitable distractions that happened upon every student as he or she tried to have a productive evening. After Charms, she had decided to head back to he room to lie down for a bit. She had been feeling a bit lightheaded. That tended to happen when she was stressed and did not eat as much as she should. As she walked through the underground corridors, her shoes slapping softly against the unyielding floor, she spied a figure ahead of her as she entered into a wide junction which divided two routes, one to the Slytherin Common Room, one to the lower dungeons. He was dressed in bright red, tall and athletic in build. Before she could begin to wonder why an Auror was wandering around the dungeons, she saw a shimmer to her left, and what had appeared to be a solid wall seemed to fade and dematerialize, as someone took advantage of the hidden staircase it concealed. The new figure stepped through the hazy image of the wall and into her view. It was Harry. Ginny's heart immediately sped up, to her annoyance. "Hi," she said, without thinking.

Harry glanced at her, surprise in those brilliant green eyes tucked behind slender frames. "Hi. Ginny," he said, almost as if he had just realized who was standing before him. He sucked in a deep breath. "How are you?"

"Been better," she admitted, stopping now to look at him. This was not the first time they had talked since it had happened. But this was possibly the first time they had been alone when they interacted. It was horrendously awkward, as Ginny tried to figure out what she should be feeling, and Harry tried to decide what he should say. "And yourself?"

"Alright, all things considered…I suppose," he corrected himself, as if not to give her the impression that his life was going well at all after what he had done to her. Stupid prat, she thought. "I…um, well, what are you doing down here?"

"Going back to my room. I'm feeling a bit peakish," she admitted. "Just need a lie-down."

"Sounds like a good idea. I was…I was just going to retrieve a few books I need to work with. Um…Ginny?" If it were possible, he now looked even more uncomfortable.

"Yes, Harry?" she answered, keeping her voice level and relatively emotionless, just as the boy standing in front of her had taught her. It definitely had the effect of unnerving him. Amazingly, this future leader of the wizarding world was reduced to a hesitant mess before a red-headed girl a year and several inches his junior. Okay, now I'm being unfair, she thought. It's me that Harry's struggling to find words for, and that's because of what he put me through. He's an arrogant prat, but he's got a conscience. Stop Torturing Him.

Harry eventually got himself together. "Do you want…do you want to meet up at Hogsmeade, at some point. Just…have a butterbeer. Talk about things. Try…well, try to understand one another. Just once, if you are willing…"

Ginny's sense of charity was beaten by sarcasm that was more than a little protective in nature. "Are you asking me out on a date?"

Harry stared for a moment. "No…well, I suppose, if you want to put it that way. I don't…I don't know what I want, or what is right for me…right now. I don't…I don't want to…"

"Harry," she said softly, taking a few steps toward him. "I would like a chance to talk to you. That sounds like a very good idea." She wasn't entirely sure of what she was saying, or how comfortable she was with the idea, but enough of her wanted it that it came out anyway.

Harry gave her a small smile, and for that moment, all of the expectations, trauma, anxiety, and pressure that weighed so heavily on both of them melted away. For that short moment, they were just a fifteen-year old boy and a fourteen-year old girl, awkwardly dancing the dance of young romance. Well, after a fashion.

Then Ginny saw something, and her instincts kicked in. "Down!" she cried, running forward and pushing Harry to the side. A curse flashed between them, right where Harry's head had been, nicking her right shoulder, though she scarcely realized it at the time. Harry dropped and rolled, wand sailing free of its holster into his right hand, and Ginny drew hers from her robes. Another curse lashed out from the darkness, shattering stone a few inches from Harry's left leg. And it was darkness; a 10 square meter section of corridor was completely blacked out, and more than would have been the case if the torches had simply been extinguished. The effect was clearly magical.

As she glanced quickly at Harry, her eyes asking what she should do, a screaming red-robed figure raced out of the darkness, firing curses wildly. Harry deflected a couple that came too close, firing back his own Blasting and Stunning hexes, and Ginny added a few of her own. They were on target, but absorbed by the bluish-purple sheen of a powerful Servos shield. The return fire nearly took Harry's legs off, blasting a crater in the wall behind them. Another spell came her way, which she partially deflected while sidestepping, so that the force that got through only pushed her back a few steps. Harry had begun another attack, trying to overwhelm the Servos shield with a barrage of low-powered hexes, which would weaken the barrier while giving it little energy to feed a retaliatory spell. "Incarcerous!" she cried.

On its own, such a spell would have been easily defended, but since their attacker was sufficiently occupied by Harry's attacks, he had no choice but to dodge physically. That did not quite work, as a rope caught his left ankle, wrecking his balance and sending him spinning towards the floor. His concentration broken, he took Harry's next curse right in the center of mass, and was hurled backwards into the unnatural darkness. Harry and Ginny both hurried forward, as they heard a raspy "Avada…kedavra…" and saw a flash of sickly green light.

"Disperso!" Harry cried, and the darkness glowed white before it began to dissipate. Ginny could hear footsteps approaching as she cast an Illumination Charm. She braced herself, expecting to see a dead body, as the Killing Curse had certainly appeared to be self-directed. It was worse.

A middle-aged man sat staring out at them with glassy eyes, drooling, mumbling and limply holding an ebony wand, as if he'd never seen anything like it in his life.

"Expelliarmus." The wand flew from their attacker's unresisting grasp and into Harry's left hand. "Oh Merlin," he breathed.

"Who is it?" Ginny asked, cautiously approaching. The man had strange dark blotches all over his face, which was otherwise deathly pale. His eyes stared out blindly, his quivering mouth spewing words incoherently.

"I obey…o Merlin…I'm…what's this now? Amelia, Amelia, where are you? I…I'm lost…I did…what you said…where…what am…you…stop there…no you," he babbled.

"His name is James Dawlish, and he used to be one of Fudge's top Aurors," Harry said quietly.

The source of the approaching footsteps arrived. "Who is there?" Snape's cold voice demanded. "What is going on? Tell me. Now!"

"We've dealt with it, Professor," Harry said, raising his voice a bit. "It's over."

Snape came up alongside them, looking down at the quaking mess on the floor. "Dawlish?" he exclaimed in disbelief.

"What's left of him," Harry breathed.

Snape turned to him and Ginny. "Explain."

"He attacked us. We fought him off, and took him down, and then I think he tried to kill himself," Harry explained, still breathing heavily.

"How?"

"Killing Curse. It went wrong."

"Poor bastard," Snape said, sounding almost genuine.

Ginny shook her head. "I don't understand. Why is he like this? What's happened to him?"

More footsteps were coming. Dawlish continued to mumble words, still unmoving. Snape looked at her, a darkness in his eyes she'd scarcely seen. "Do you understand what the Killing Curse is meant to do, Miss Weasley. How it achieves its purpose, when properly executed?"

Ginny shook her head.

"It destroys the magical core," Harry explained. "And when it's done that, it rips out…well, what can best be described as the victim witch or wizard's soul…it destroys what makes each of us who we are, and leaves the body an empty shell. You know that saying, 'the eyes are the window to the soul?' Well, there might be some truth to it, but it originated from the effects of the Killing Curse. Those glassy, lifeless eyes. Portals into a void where the soul once was."

"How…artistic, Potter," Snape said. "But essentially accurate. Miss Weasley, the most dangerous thing a wizard can do is attempt to kill himself with his own magic. The effect of magic, especially the effect of magic of the sort of the Unforgivable Curses, is about conviction. At some fundamental, visceral level, we always want to survive. It is rare that a wizard or witch has the conviction to end his or her life by magical means. When such conviction is lacking, but the spell is successful, well…only part of the process is accomplished."

"He destroyed part of his own soul," Ginny realized in horror. "But only part. And some of him is still in there." Horror overwhelmed her mind as she contemplated the ramifications of such an occurrence."

"In some ways, his fate is almost worse than one that has been Kissed by a Dementor," Snape said coldly. "Almost."

Harry nodded in sudden understanding. "Because his magical core has also been damaged - He's going to die, isn't he?"

"Very soon," Snape said. "He's got an hour at most. Move him to my office. Hurry."

Harry looked at Ginny, and she nodded. He cast a Levitation Spell, a sick reflection of the first time either of them had learned it in Charms class First Year. Snape turned on his heels and led the way, Ginny following, Harry moving behind the still whispering Dawlish.

Snape opened his door with a complex wand movement and Summoned a blanket, on which Harry laid their attacker. Ginny stood at the doorway, uncomprehending, as Snape began to select ingredients. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"Putting him out of his misery, in the kindest way I can. A Killing Curse won't even work on him now. Short of bodily trauma, there is nothing I can do to speed this up."

There was a knock on the door. "Go away!" Snape hissed.

"Severus?" the voice of Albus Dumbledore answered.

"Enter," Snape called out, returning to his work. The door swung inward, nearly hitting Ginny, who stared up blankly at the Headmaster as he ducked to enter the office. He stared at the scene before him.

"It is as I feared, then?"

"I'm preparing a Draft of Release as we speak. It's the best thing we can do at this point," Snape told him.

Dumbledore turned to Ginny, then Harry. "You are uninjured?"

"Fine," Harry breathed. "Just fine. I wasn't expecting that."

"No, I daresay you would not have been," Dumbledore said softly. "And you, Miss Weasley?"

Ginny didn't answer for a moment. "Ginny?" Harry asked.

"I'm alright," she said in a small voice. "Just…well…"

The Headmaster nodded, giving her a pat on the shoulder as he moved past. He looked down at the dying man. "It should not have been like this, James. It should never have come to this."

"Amelia…" Dawlish gasped. "Amelia…"

"Who's Amelia?" Ginny asked.

"His late wife. She died, four years ago. An accident."

Ginny's heart sank. "He doesn't remember, does he?"

Dumbledore shook his head, and then knelt by the stricken man. "James, boy, it's Albus. You are going to be fine. It will all be well in time."

Ginny tore herself away from the scene before her. It was too much. She felt a hand on her shoulder. It was Harry, was now standing closer, looking at her with great concern. "You're hurt."

"No, I'm…" she stopped, seeing the crimson slick on Harry's hand as he pulled it away. "Oh."

"It's alright," Harry said. "I…I've been practicing some basic healing spells. Only done cuts and bruises at this point. It doesn't look that deep."

It occurred to Ginny that she could just go to Madam Pomfrey, but there was something very appropriate about this.

Harry took a deep breath. "Do you trust me?"

Oh Gods. What a question, she thought. But she said:

"Yes."

Harry gave her a quick smile, and whispered a few words. She felt her shoulder flash hot, stinging a bit, and winced. Then it was gone. She dabbed at the blood with the fabric of her torn robes. The wound was pinkish, but otherwise gone. "Good job," she said.

"Thank you for getting me out of the way back there," he said.

"You're welcome."

She suddenly became aware that her hand was in his, and she stared back into those twin pools of emerald green, unsure of how she'd gotten here, or what she should, or could, do now.

There was a rattling cough from Dawlish that shattered the moment. They both turned back. Snape was kneeling over him, a partially empty bottle of something in his hand, some of the contents pooling on Dawlish's chin and speckling his stubble. On the other side, Dumbledore's wand was against the man's temple. A small bowl sat to the side, its contents a shining milky grey. Memories. Dawlish's memories, taken from him at the moment of his death. Dawlish went limp, his breathing slowing. Harry's arm was now around her shoulders. She really didn't mind.

Dumbledore finished his gruesome task, the lines on his face making him look positively ancient. "I know, Miss Weasley," he said, not looking at her. "It is a terrible thing to do. But the least we can do is understand what happened. I do not do what I do lightly."

"I understand," she said quietly.

"He's almost gone, Headmaster," Snape said gravely. "A minute at most."

"Then he shall have a minute of peace, Severus."

The four of them waited, silent, with only their soft exhalations, the bubbling of a cauldron, and the shaking, gasping Dawlish breaking the silence. Finally, with a death rattle, he was gone.

Ginny felt a squeeze from Harry's arm, and decided at once that she liked it very much. She buried herself in her friend's chest, sobbing raggedly. His arms closed around her with comforting warmth. Despite everything, she felt safe at last.

Ginny took a deep breath as she took in her surroundings. She had not been in Dumbledore's Office before, although she had heard stories from Harry and Hermione. A multi-level cross between a library, a sitting room, and a laboratory, with a large oaken desk at the center, it was filled with all manner or trinkets, magical objects, books, and papers, in a disorganized yet somehow elegant disarray. Then there was the spectacular plumage of Dumbledore's Phoenix, Fawkes, who was perched on a stand behind the desk, imperiously surveying the intruders, the light of dozens of candles glinting off him in a dazzling display of light and color. And to top off the visual extravaganza, the walls were lined with portraits — former headmasters and headmistresses (there had been a few, she understood). All of them seemed to be looking right at her, even though a second glance showed they hardly noticed her presence, or if they did, it did not concern them.

So overwhelmed was she that she did not at first realize that Dumbledore had spoken. He was now looking at her, concern in his kind eyes. Ginny felt very small, in a way she had not since she had gone with her father to the Ministry at the age of eight. She had been so overwhelmed by the bustling of the Muggle city, and then awestruck by the routine wonder of the Ministry building itself. She felt anything but a Slytherin at that moment.

"I…I'm sorry, I didn't hear you," Ginny said haltingly.

"I merely asked if you wished to remain here for what may be a discussion of a…rather heavy sort," Dumbledore told her. "Harry has given his permission for you to remain."

Ginny was surprised, and glanced over at her…friend, she decided she would call him for now. Her friend, standing a few feet from where she was sitting on a worn wooden chair, gave her a look that was probably meant to be reassuring, but there was so little emotion in it that Ginny nearly felt more uneasy. What she thought she saw in those eyes, though, was the sentiment: I trust you. Trusted her with what was the question. She braced herself, deciding that she would not feel apart any further, and nodded. "Yes. Yes, I want to stay."

Dumbledore was silent for a moment. Snape was looking at her with something that might have been a glimmer of concern. Maybe. His face was more impassive than Harry's. Ginny felt herself tensing, waiting what felt like an eternity for the Headmaster's reply. "Very well," he said at last.

He turned toward Harry, his gaze finally leaving her as he sat down behind his desk, laying his hands on his before him on the desk. "I would ask how you were, if I expected to get an honest response. It has been some time since we spoke, Harry, and I am concerned that you no longer trust me as you once did."

Ginny saw Harry bristle ever so slightly at the insinuation. "I'm not sure I understand, Professor."

Dumbledore sighed slightly. "Harry, I'm quite certain you understand just fine. I know that you have been involved in certain affairs that are, strictly speaking, none of my concern. But it is rather distressing to learn of your involvement in a coup by top members of the Ministry from less direct and personal sources."

"I'm…I didn't think you would approve."

"You thought correctly," Dumbledore said. "However, my approval and the actions I might choose to take are rather different things. I have lived a long time, Harry, and on many occasions I have had to do things I might find…distasteful in order to…to serve the greater good," he finished. There was something about the way he said those last five words, Ginny thought. A sort of wistful echo, as if he was quoting someone else, and at the same time wishing that he was not.

Harry was looking more uncomfortable by the minute. "Perhaps I erred in not consulting you."

"Potter," hissed Snape. "For Merlin's sake, you are fifteen years old. Stop speaking like a lawyer."

Harry threw an annoyed glance at Snape. Dumbledore raised his hands. "While I share the sentiment of Severus' comment, they are your words, and it means a great deal for me to be hearing them."

"Are you asking me if I regret my decision?" Harry asked. "If I think that I made the wrong choice. Because I don't. I did what needed to be done. I did what I could to put needed things into motion, to unite a pair of mutual associates that might otherwise want nothing to do with one another."

"You speak of Rufus and Aiden, I presume." Harry nodded. "Strange bedfellows indeed, though both of the same House, ultimately. I am aware, to the best of my knowledge, of the extent and nature of your role. I am not without my sources of information within both parties, and those resources could be put at your disposal if you were to ask me for help."

"What's done is done. I think the Ministry's better off." Sometimes Harry sounded ridiculously older than his years, and not necessarily in a good way.

"Perhaps," Dumbledore said, sounding unconvinced. "There is a great deal of work left to be done, and not merely in doing what Cornelius had left neglected. Surely you understand that for Scrimgeour's actions to be acceptable, those of Cornelius must be brought to light. And while our former Minister had fewer allies than he would have liked, he was not lacking in that regard. You and your allies have cracked a dragon's egg, Harry, and I do wonder if you have properly contemplated what may emerge."

"I trust that those now in power will do what is needed," Harry replied evenly. Dumbledore might have been trying to provoke some sort of emotional response from him, but Harry was not giving him the satisfaction. At least, that's probably how Harry was thinking of it, Ginny mused. What in a paranoid state of mind Harry might have perceived as emotional manipulation, Ginny saw from where she was standing a effort to reach out, to communicate with Harry the person, not Harry the neophyte politician.

"Mmm," Dumbledore said non-commitally. "There is one further matter on this subject that I wish to discuss. You are probably not aware, but I did for a time consider severe disciplinary action against yourself, Miss Greengrass, Mr. Nott, and Miss Lovegood. In the end, I decided that, as much as I found your actions appalling and concerning, I would treat you as the children that you all try so hard not to be at times. That, and while I had a chance to stop you, I declined to do so. I will allow to live with the consequences of your actions."

Harry looked pained, and possibly a little embarrassed. "I regret not so much what we did as how we did it. Umbridge had to be dealt with. But…"

"But…?"

"Attacking her was unacceptable and inappropriate. As little respect as I have for the woman herself, she remains a figure of authority, and there were other ways to have her neutralized. I should not…I should have taken your presence there as a sign of approval."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "No, I daresay you shouldn't. If I had known what would ensue, I might not have stepped aside. Harry, those are perhaps not the words I might have chosen, but I appreciate the sentiment. And I am relieved that you have, upon further reflection, come to understand how reckless and dangerous your actions were. There have been three incidents in the history of this school in which pupils have magically assaulted staff, with the result of two deaths and two expulsions. Because of the extenuating circumstances, you will not join them. But I will not tolerate that manner of behavior, under any circumstances, in the future. Do you understand, Mr. Potter? I will be calling in the others in their turn, but I wished to discuss this with you first."

"You are far too kind, Headmaster," Snape said, anger pouring through his words. "There is arrogance and hubris. And then there is complete and utter disregard for order, authority, and the safety of everyone is this castle. Your actions, and those of your housemates, represent the latter. Do not doubt that I found Dolores as foul and loathsome a creature as you. But you are lucky not to have been arrested, let alone expelled, especially considering your actions when Fudge attempted to arrest Dressler. I'm sure it galled you and your compatriots to have your moment of glory taken by men like Scrimgeour and Greengrass. But that is no excuse to recreate a violent and disruptive political action within the walls of this castle for your own ego gratification."

"Professor, I…"

"Don't start, Potter," Snape hissed. "I don't want to hear your excuses, your groveling, or your rationalizing. I merely want to know that you will not do anything like this again. Certainly not without the knowledge of your Headmaster and Head of House. I understand your desire to prove yourself. But there are proper actions that can be taken in the service of that goal, and there are improper ones."

Harry took the withering rebuke fairly well, although his eyes were shining with tears and roiling emotion. Ginny had noticed a slight tremor throughout the room that had vibrated some of the glass instruments on Dumbledore's bookshelves. He was barely keeping it in.

"Severus, that was unnecessary-"

"I disagree," Snape bite back. "Your reluctance to hurt the boy's feelings may be laudable, but it is also dangerous and irresponsible."

"Leave him alone."

Snape swung around, glaring daggers into Ginny's soul. "Excuse me, Weasley?"

Ginny stood up straight, meeting his gaze with her own. "He's had enough. Leave him."

"Ginny, don't-" Harry began.

Ginny waved him off. "With all due respect, Professor, you have gotten your point across. Further abuse will serve no useful purpose."

Snape's eyebrow rose. Words pierced her mind. Stunning loyalty to an abusi…

"Severus! ENOUGH!" Dumbledore's voice thundered. "I will not have you intimidating your students, and certainly not in my office."

Snape took in a shuddering breath. "My apologies, Headmaster. I'm afraid I allowed my emotions to get the better of me."

"It is not to me that you should be apologizing, Severus."

Harry's eyes burned with rage as he realized what had happened, and he took a step closer to her.

"Mr. Potter. Professor Snape. You will stop this immediately," Dumbledore said, more softly but somehow with no less authority. "Miss Weasley, are you alright?"

"Fine," Ginny said, though she was more than a little shaken. She sat down, suddenly regretting her decision to stay for this.

Dumbledore breathed audibly. "We will return to this subject, later, Severus. When tempers have cooled…Mr. Potter, tell me about your dreams."

Harry seemed to jerk with surprise. "My…dreams, sir?" He reddened slightly.

Dumbledore's eyes showed a little bit of mirth. "Only those dreams that might be considered unusual for one of your age to be having, Mr. Potter. Dreams involving Lord Voldemort. He has reached out to you in the past months, has he not? Visions, words, emotions that are not yours?"

"Yes," Harry said. Ginny was startled. The time period described reached back to when they had been together, but she had heard nothing of this.

"On occasion. I've done my best to stop him. To be honest, I don't think he's really tried that hard," Harry said, with (in Ginny's opinion) astounding levity for someone whose thoughts were being probed by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

Snape looked like he was refraining from saying something rather nasty. Dumbledore gave him a look to encourage his restraint.

"And what has been the dominant thought or question? Why is he doing this, Harry?" Dumbledore asked slowly, carefully.

"Just…just one question, over and over, in different forms but it all boils down to: Who are you, Harry Potter?"

"Who indeed," Dumbledore replied. "I suspected as much, but as was the case before, it has been good to hear this from you. I am pleased you have spoken to Severus, who brought this to my attention. Though if I recall correctly, that was some time ago."

"About two months," Harry confirmed. "Things have been…complicated. I haven't actually been sleeping that much, and Voldemort has not really attempted to enter my mind while I have been conscious."

"Yes, I suspect he is avoiding excessive contact."

"Because he's opening a door, a door than can be stepped through in either direction." Harry looked like he had been aching to say that.

"Well put, although I would encourage you not to underestimate his mental capacities. Tom remains the most talented individual in mental magic that I have ever met. Nonetheless, he is cautious. You have continued your Occlumency exercises? Do you think it possible that further practice with Professor Snape would be helpful?"

"I have," Harry replied. "And with all due respect, I don't know. I'm fairly certain at this point I can keep Voldemort out of certain memories. But keeping out of my mind entirely is another matter."

"Yes, your connection," Dumbledore said, looking at Harry's scar. "It is possible that further Occlumency training will not be of use, but nonetheless, I would ask you to consider it. Severus, I hope you would be willing?"

Snape looked surprisingly acquiescent. "If Potter gives me his best efforts, I am willing to work further with him."

"Then I suggest that you investigate this, and try to keep personal matters outside of this."

Both nodded. While Harry and Snape certainly had their moments of antagonism, there was still a degree of respect and mutual appreciation within their relationship. Both knew what was at stake. Ginny imagined things would not have been so easy, even given the circumstances, if Harry wasn't also a member of Snape's House.

"Professor, you think that Dawlish was sent by him, don't you?" Harry asked after a pause. "You think he is testing me."

"As he was last year, Harry," Dumbledore replied. He smiled mirthlessly. "You are clearly as much of an enigma to him as you are to everyone else. He wants to know what you are capable of. He is still regaining his power. And you are still growing in power. You have noticed it, haven't you? That with your own physical maturation, your powers have become more focused, more…accessible."

Harry glanced a bit embarrassedly at Ginny. It was kind of adorable, she thought, his being bashful at discussing puberty in front of her when he was so willing to talk high politics as a fifteen-year old. "I…yes. Yes, they have, I've noticed. It has been…gradual, almost imperceptible at times."

"I daresay that we were spared a rather severe burst of accidental magic a short time ago because of it, for which I am grateful. Nothing in here is really irreplaceable. Well, perhaps nothing but Fawkes, my dear bird," he said, glancing affectionately at the Phoenix. "But that does not make it easy to reacquire."

"Thank goodness for small favors," Snape mumbled under his breath.

"Regardless, yes, you have ferreted out the connection that I suspect. You have seen James before, haven't you, Harry? How did your observations of him then compared to today."

"Dawlish was not a zealot. I never liked him. But I would not say that he was mad."

"Yes. I believe that to have been a recent development. Miss Weasley, since you have been so patient, I would like to ask you to describe James as you saw him."

Ginny started a bit, and summoned the memories. "He was…practically frothing at the mouth…his eyes," she whispered, looking back in her mind's eyes. "There was madness in them. Desperation. Fear."

Dumbledore nodded. "That confirms what I suspected."

"Which was, Headmaster?" Snape asked, though it seemed he might already have known the answer.

"His madness was induced. I cannot say for certain how, but there were burst blood vessels under his eyes."

"Signs of Cruciatus, then," Snape said.

"I suspect it was combined with some sort of illusion involving his wife, given what he said before he died. And his suicidal tendencies."

"Oh gods," Ginny said, her revulsion from earlier returning.

She felt a hand on her shoulder. Harry again. "It's over now," he said gravely. "For everyone. Is there any way to find out how this happened?"

"I can put out inquiries," Snape said. "But I would not expect much. It may be worth paying a visit to his home."

Dumbledore nodded. "Please, keep me informed." He sighed. "I believe that is quite enough for now, though do not be surprised if you hear from me in the near future. Miss Weasley, Mister Potter, you may go."

Harry nodded curtly. Ginny merely looked warily up at Dumbledore.

They both exited, taking the spiral staircase down to a hidden door, which opened as they approached. At once, they found themselves in a wood-lined corridor. Ginny realized she was shaking, and fought to control it. "I'm sorry you had to see that," Harry said.

"Don't be," she replied, not looking at him. She began walking, not caring if he followed. She badly needed that nap.

Just another day in the life…