The Search For Life and Death

THE SEARCH FOR LIFE AND DEATH

XXVIII

The Lie

The voices persisted.

They were rarely silent for long. They were constant, stubborn in how they returned, whispering in her mind. Bill's voice had not returned, but she had heard all of her brothers' and her father's. Each tried to tell her to go back. Ron had tried to convince her that he agreed they were being foolish. She had ignored all of them. They were merely voices. She hadn't seen anyone, and it just didn't seem right that they try to make her stop.

"So Buckbeak was never killed?"

"That's not certain," Hermione said, "which is why we could change it. If we had known for certain that he was killed, like we had seen it, then we wouldn't have been able to change it. Doing so would have created a paradox."

Hermione and Ginny were tucked in Hermione's hidden corner of the library. They had skipped back to early morning and had planned to do some research. Hermione had decided to explain the rules of time travel to Ginny, since she would be joining her on her temporal excursions.

"Yeah, you've mentioned paradoxes before. What happens if you cause one accidentally?"

Hermione exhaled slowly, fighting down a sudden sensation of panic at the thought. "Well, creating a paradox is really difficult to do on accident. Time automatically tries to correct itself, so even if you managed to affect something that didn't want to be changed, things can orient themselves so that it happens anyway. For instance, if Harry, Ron, and I had seen Buckbeak killed but we went back in time to try and save him anyway, it's possible something would have happened to have him killed later. Like Professor Lupin might have attacked him in his werewolf form or the Dementors might have gotten to him. That would have corrected the paradox.

"If it hadn't corrected, though… that connects back to why we don't age faster using the time turner."

"Oh, right. You'd said something… locks you?"

"Your body is quantum-locked," Hermione explained. "The moment that you use the time turner, your body is locked into the age you are at the moment in time when you've used it. Once time has progressed, when you reach that moment again, time restarts for your aging process. It's like pausing a video but going back…" She noticed Ginny's look of confusion at the muggle reference. "Nevermind.

"Anyway, if you created a paradox, it interrupts the quantum-locking process. Time has been scrambled so it won't unlock properly and you'll remain trapped at the age you were when you used the time turner."

"For how long?" Ginny asked.

"Forever. Or until you find a way to fix the paradox, if that's even possible."

"Oh," Ginny whispered. Her eyes were wide and her complexion had paled a little.

Hermione had tried to soften the knowledge without holding anything back. She remembered when she had been told the rules and the consequences of a paradox. Professor McGonagall had been very blunt and Hermione hadn't been able to sleep those first two nights back to the school. Every time she fell asleep, she would dream about being locked at thirteen years old forever as everyone around her died and the world burned up to dust.

"So we have to be careful," Hermione said softly, trying to coax Ginny out of the horror. "But I've been using it since third year and I haven't had any problems."

It took a moment, but Ginny nodded. "Okay." She promised herself to be extremely careful. She could have chosen not to go along with Hermione in her jaunts through time, but the prospect of having so much extra time to get things done, and the idea of being free to research what she wanted, made resisting impossible. "How do you keep everything straight?"

"Well, I have a very good memory," Hermione admitted. It wasn't eidetic, much to her consternation, but her memory was quite good and very useful for keeping track of everything as she moved back and forth through time. "To be honest, though, I've been thinking about trying to find a way to keep a journal, without having to be concerned about someone else reading it."

"I can ask Bill when I send him a letter on Saturday. I bet he knows some good charms to keep information to yourself."

Bill, the eldest of the Weasley children, had always been Ginny's favorite brother, when she admitted she was allowed to have a favorite. Even though he was the eldest and had moved out of the house years ago, he still made time for all of his younger siblings. He had been something of a hero to Ginny when she was younger, her brother who went off on grand adventures, sneaking into tombs and liberating artifacts while fighting off nasty beasts and destroying traps. When she was little, Bill would write letters home talking about his latest conquest, and her father would read her the letters like they were a story (leaving out all the really scary parts, of course), detailing her adventures like Bill Weasley and the Golden Sphinx, Bill Weasley the Lost City of Mithril, and her personal favorite, Bill Weasley and the Word of the Thu'um. Her father had kept all of the letters, bundled up and tucked away in a box, and Ginny liked to spend her summers rereading old adventures that she remembered safer versions of as a child.

When she was ten and alone at home without any of her brothers, Ginny had tried to write to Ron and Percy and the twins, but they had been so busy. Even Ron, who had always been close with her because they were the two youngest and close in age, had struggled to write her as often as she would like. He did send letters now and then, of course, but for a ten-year-old girl stuck in an unnaturally quiet house, it wasn't enough.

It was difficult to get mail to Charlie. Working on the dragon preserve, Charlie and his fellows knew how to handle themselves, but the same couldn't be said for any owls swooping in to deliver mail. Poor Errol wouldn't have survived a trip, although now and then, Charlie sent letters home that they were able to reply to.

Despite his busy schedule as a cursebreaker and tomb raider, as he liked to call himself, Bill always made time to write letters to Ginny. She was fairly sure that he was the reason she didn't blow up the Burrow with accidental magic after her mother tried to get her take up knitting once again. And, she admitted quietly in her heart, it was probably her letters with Bill, never filled with the right information on her part, that had kept her from giving up her fight against Tom in her first year.

More than once, she looked back wishing she had just told Bill what was going on. She'd not heard from him after the events were all over with and she'd been terrified that he was so disappointed in her he planned to refuse to write her anymore letters. And then he simply appeared at the Burrow a couple days after they got home, saying he'd gotten an international portkey as fast as he could. Ginny remembered how he swept her up into his arms and how he'd begged her to tell him why she hadn't just told him, because he'd have come right home, by broom if he'd had to, and torn that stupid diary to pieces himself. Ginny had burst into tears, babbling out an explanation she couldn't remember and he probably couldn't half understand, but it had been such a relief to have him there. Her father was a great man and yes, he worked with cursed muggle objects, but Bill was a cursebreaker and Ginny knew that if there was anything still left in her that wasn't her, Bill would know and he would fix it.

"Are you all right, Ginny?"

Ginny shook herself from her memories, looking up at Hermione, who appeared concerned. "Just thinking," she said, smiling.

Hermione nodded but she looked unsure.

"Hermione?"

The older girl hesitated a moment, then spoke in a tone quieter than she had used before. "Are you okay… in your dormitory by yourself?"

Ginny opened her mouth to say she was fine, the immediate, instinctive response, and hesitated.

When she had been Sorted in her first year, she had expected there to be smaller dorms, like there had been in recent years. Not like when her parents were in school and the Houses received fifty or sixty new kids each year. The war had diminished the population and things were only struggling back up, hesitantly and with a lot of uncertainty for their future.

But Ginny had expected a small group of girls to share a dorm with. What had not expected was being the only girl Sorted into Gryffindor in her year. She hadn't realized at the Sorting or the feast, but when she'd gotten to the dorm and there had only been one bed, it had hit her. And then all that year… things might have been different if she had had some dorm mates there to keep an eye on her, but Ginny had been all alone, and she knew Tom had used that. He was good at using every little thing.

"It can get lonely," Ginny said quietly. "And at night, it's really quiet." Not like at home where there's a house full of people, a ghoul that rattles pipes in the attic when he's bored, brothers that snore and a pair of twins that like to blow stuff up.

Hermione had a pensive look on her face and she kept opening her mouth like she wanted to say something but was afraid to. Finally, she seemed to gather up that Gryffindor courage.

"Would you mind if I asked Professor McGonagall if I could room with you?"

Ginny stared at the older girl, startled. Then she thought for a moment. "Hermione, are you okay in your dorm?"

Hermione shrugged. "I make due." She winced at the look on Ginny's face. "I don't really get along with the other girls. Lavender and Parvati like to gossip so much and sometimes… they can be a little mean. I'm used to it, of course," she added the last part quickly. "But it does get tiresome after a while."

"What about Fay?" Ginny asked. Fay Dunbar was a short, stocky blonde girl with amber eyes and a love of Quidditch that rivaled Ron's. Ginny wasn't really friends with the girl but they had spoken a few times. She seemed nice.

"She's nice," Hermione said, "but we don't talk. We don't really have anything in common. She hasn't been spending a lot of time in the dormitory, anyway."

"What? Not even at nights?"

Hermione shook her head. "Not unless she come back in after I've fallen asleep, but I'm usually up pretty late. I don't know where she goes."

"There's some rumors floating around she has a boyfriend in Slytherin," Ginny said, then shrugged at Hermione surprised look. "Trust me, I know Lavender and Parvati gossip. They always seem to pick a table near me when I'm trying to do homework. I never knew the love lives of Hogwarts students were so interesting to people."

"Only when you have nothing better to do." Hermione picked up one of the books in her lap to give herself something to do with her hands. "Anyway, it seems silly to have you all alone and I wouldn't mind moving in with you, I mean, if you wanted…"

"Hermione, stop worrying." Ginny grinned at her. "That'd be really great. Besides, it will probably make all of this a lot easier." She waved her hand around their general area, indicating the time traveling and all that that entailed. "Do you think Professor McGonagall would allow it?"

"She might check with the other girls to see if they'd mind, but I don't see why they would." Hermione started packing up her books and supplies and putting the books she was going to return into a stack to give to Madam Pince. You did not try to reshelve books in Madam Pince's library.

"What? Now?" Ginny asked. "But we're at breakfast!" She remembered that the two of them had gotten up early and gone down to breakfast together, skipping back halfway through the day. She was actually starting to get a little hungry for lunch, but really, it was only about seven o'clock.

"Professor McGonagall should just be able to head down to the Great Hall. We can ask her on the way."

"What if she realizes?"

"Honestly, I think she already knows," Hermione admitted. She'd been thinking about this for a few years, after all. "Professor McGonagall isn't the type of person to let things slip by her, even if there is a lot going on. I suspect she keeps lists." Hermione certainly would if she was both a teacher and the Deputy Headmistress of a school like Hogwarts.

"Well, let's not bring it up, just in case."

"Of course not."

McGonagall allowed the move without any fuss. She made a point to ask the other girls in Hermione''s year if anyone were against the idea, but Hermione suspected it was mostly for show. McGonagall had that soft upturn in the corner of her mouth which usually meant she was pleased with them. Hermione loved that look.

Before she even went to breakfast, McGonagall went to Gryffindor Tower with them to check with the other girls and determine if there was anything else they needed. When it was clear they just needed to move Hermione's bed and trunk to the lower dormitory, McGonagall mentioned calling a house elf.

Hermione gasped. "Winky!"

There was a pop and a little house elf appeared before the three of them, dressed in a ratty, stained tea cozy, her bulbous eyes moist and her ears drooping.

Hermione could have smacked herself. After all the fuss she put up the previous year, she'd completely forgotten about the house elves, and especially about Winky. How could she?

"Hello, Winky," Hermione said politely.

"Miss called Winky," the house elf slurred softly, then hiccuped, sending her ears flopping. "What can Winky be doing?"

"Oh dear," McGonagall murmured, then louder, said, "Winky, if you could please move Miss Granger's four poster and personal items down into this room and then see about tidying up a bit." She pursed her lips a moment, but rather than look stern, Hermione thought she looked concerned. "In fact, I would appreciate it if you would continue to assist Miss Granger and Miss Weasley through all their time here."

Winky looked up quickly, a startled and hopeful look on her face. "Winky is being made Missy Granger's and Missy Wheezy's own elf?"

Hermione's eyes widened and she looked at McGonagall, ready to put up a fight. McGonagall was apparently prepared for this, because she raised a hand in a clear motion for Hermione to be silent. Her temper warming, Hermione closed her mouth.

"You may consider yourself, from this point on, locked to Miss Granger and Miss Weasley in joint care." She hesitated a moment. "Until such a time as both have graduated Hogwarts, or Headmaster Dumbledore releases you from those duties."

Winky started jumping up and down in excitement, her eyes brightening and the slur fading from her voice. "Winky is to be having a family!" she cried in delight. "Winky is so happy! Winky must be telling Dobby!" She disappeared with a pop.

A moment later, she reappeared with another pop. "Winky is forgetting." With a snap of her long fingers, Hermione four poster bed appeared. It slid to the back right corner of the room and Ginny's slid back to the left corner. The curtains flapped, shaking off dust, which sparked and disappeared into thin air. The beds remade themselves, the pillows fluffed to colossal proportions, Hermione trunk appeared and sat neatly at the foot of her bed. The floor gained a thick red circular rug, trimmed in gold, that covered the floor between the two beds. A wardrobe appeared against the wall between their beds and their clothes flew out of their trunks, hanging themselves neatly in the wardrobe. The stone walls and floor shone with suddenly cleanliness and there was the scent of fresh cut grass in the air, like summer.

"Winky is being telling Dobby now." She popped away.

She popped back. "Missy Granger and Missy Wheezy be calling Winky if they's be needing anything." She popped away.

She popped back.

"It's okay, Winky," Professor McGonagall reassured the excited house elf before she could continue in the same fashion. "We have everything settled here for the moment. Go tell Dobby you have a new family. Miss Granger and Miss Weasley will call you when they need something."

Winky gave an excited hop and skip and popped away.

The three of them waited a moment to see if she popped back.

"Thank goodness," Professor McGonagall murmured.

"Professor," Hermione said, whirling on her favorite teacher, "I do not want a house elf!"

"Too bad," McGonagall said.

Hermione's mouth clicked shut, stunned.

"Miss Granger…" She sighed. "Hermione. Had I not done something, Winky would not have survived until the end of the year. Did you see her?"

"Of course I did, but she's been like that since Crouch sacked her last year. I've been trying to get her to realize she's better now than she was. He certainly didn't care about her."

"No, I suspect he didn't," McGonagall said, with a sound like resignation in her voice. "I hadn't realized she was here and in this state last year or I would have done something sooner. Hermione, I suspect you're taking your knowledge of house elves from what you know of Mister Potter's Dobby."

Hermione blinked at hearing Dobby referred to as Harry's. "You know Dobby?"

"Miss Granger, every professor in this school knows Dobby. And everyone knows what Dobby thinks of Mister Potter."

Ginny clapped her hands over her mouth but couldn't stifle her giggling.

"Yes, Miss Weasley, what you're thinking has most certainly come to pass."

"What?" Hermione asked, looking at Ginny.

The younger girl snickered behind her fingers, then whispered, "Snape."

The mental image that followed nearly brought Hermione to her knees with laughter. This was not helped at all by Ginny's ridiculous giggling, nor McGonagall's self-satisfied expression. For some reason, Hermione could imagine her sending Dobby on an errand that required him to encounter Professor Snape, and required him to recount precisely how he felt about how Harry Potter is the greatest wizard ever.

Their mirth eased down.

"Miss Granger, some house elves, like Dobby, can manage well enough without a family. For a creature who has suffered at the hands of people meant to be their family, this is understandable, and even a relief. Dobby and those like him never had a family, only masters. He learned how to live without the first, and did not require the second.

"Other house elves, however, cannot handle life without someone to guide them. They require the structure of a life of assisting, to be given tasks. They can survive in a house where they have a master, and for them it is better than being alone, but what they desire most of all is a family. This is where house elves like Winky thrive.

"I suspect Crouch may have once been family to Winky. Or at least he was not cruel to her. Her reaction to her lack of a family suggests she did not suffer as Dobby did while caring for him. She is not, as you are thinking, a slave, and only those who do not care for the life a house elf will treat them as such. Many witches and wizards simply treat them as a member of the family or, perhaps, as something of a butler or steward."

She gave Hermione a stern look. "I will not rescind my order to have Winky take care of you. She obviously requires a family to take care of and assisting Hogwarts as a whole will not help a house elf that requires a personal connection. She will be assigned to you until the both of you graduate. To release her would most certainly be a death sentence and, I suspect," she added, with a careful look at Hermione, "that you could use the help more than you're willing to admit." Her expression softened. "How you treat her is up to you, Hermione, although giving her tasks to do will certainly make her happier than ignoring her."

"You said only Professor Dumbledore could release her," Hermione said.

"Yes. So don't try and give her clothes. It won't work."

Hermione looked mutinous. "It isn't fair!"

"Why? Because you don't understand it?" She pursed her lips. "House elves are not human, Hermione, and even among humans, we have many differing cultures. The magic we use here at Hogwarts is very different from the magic used at the Hi Kaze Academy in Kyoto, and the culture of the Japanese Magical Society differs, as well. If you're interested, perhaps you should take some time to study the different cultures of magical society around the world. Or talk to Professor Morely. The magic she uses is different from ours, as well, having been taught in Greece."

Hermione was silent, thinking through it. Ron and Harry and some others had tried to talk her out of assisting the house elves last year, but no one had really given her any reason beyond "that's what house elves do." Hearing McGonagall admonish her over it, while slightly unpleasant (okay, more than slightly), was shocking enough to make Hermione really stop and think about it. It still seemed wrong, though.

"Why are they like that, Professor?" Hermione asked softly.

McGonagall sighed. "No one knows, Miss Granger. Although many people have tried to find out, no one has come up with anything." She smiled. "Perhaps you'll find out in your extra studying. If you do, I daresay the discovery would be worth its own journal. And you'd have the answers you're looking for."

Hermione nodded slowly. "Professor, about the-"

McGonagall shook her head. "Miss Granger, there are reasons I have refrained from mentioning anything to you about the amount of time you spend in the library. It's not my concern what you do with your free time, provided you're not causing harm to your fellow students or disrupting the school, but I understand that drawing too much attention to your extracurricular activities can cause people to pay more attention to you."

Hermione frowned. Her meaning was clear. For whatever reason, Hermione was to keep as quiet about the time turner as she could manage, even around Professor McGonagall.

"Can you tell me why, at least?"

"I would be happy to, Miss Granger, if in fact I knew. This was not my choice. If you really want answers, you'll have to talk to Hermes, and good luck finding him."

She walked on.

The world of white had begun to take on some color. There was ground beneath her feet – high, green grass weaved and waved in a breeze that whipped at her back and swept her hair over her face. It pressed her onward, and onward Ginny walked.

"Ginny!"

Ginny's head snapped up. "Harry?"

"Ginny!"

She spun in a circle, looking all around her. She didn't see him, but she could hear his voice clearly. Clearer, it seemed to her, than all of the others that she had heard before. She listened.

"Ginny?"

It sounded like his voice was coming from just over the hill she had been walking up. Ginny tore off up the hill, legs carrying her quickly through the grass. She puffed for breath as she neared the top, the hill growing steeper, but she didn't slow.

His voice had quieted, but she kept going. "Ha-Harry?" she gasped, as she reached the top, hands on her knees as she caught her breath.

There was no one there.

Ginny stared out over the hilltop. The ground dropped off in front of her. The cliff must have been a few hundred feet high, the drop deadly. Ginny stared over it.

"Miss Weasley."

Ginny spun. The voice of Professor Dumbledore in her ears, her heart raced. Her eyes scanned down the hill, but she saw no one.

"Really, now, Miss Weasley, you must know you won't see me if I don't wish it."

"Professor Dumbledore?" Ginny took a step forward, still looking for him. Futile.

"Yes, Miss Weasley. I need you to do something for me."

"Yes, sir?"

"I need you to jump, Miss Weasley."

Ginny's eyes widened slightly. She swallowed. "Jump?"

"Yes."

She should do as the professor told her. After all, Albus Dumbledore was a well-respected man. Her parents trusted him explicitly. He was the head of the Wizengamot, the Supreme Mugwump, never mind that he presided over her school. And for how many years had he done that?

She should do what he said.

Dumbledore was a wise man from years of living and learning, from having fought in the last war with Voldemort, and before that, when he defeated the Dark Wizard Grindelwald. He was strong and powerful; Voldemort feared him and everyone looked up to him. He took care of his students. He would never do anything to harm them. Never.

He was the headmaster, and surely he knew what he was doing when he told her to jump. She should do as he said. He must have a good reason for it. She should-

"No."

Ginny's breath came heavily. The effort in defying the voice echoing in her head was physically exhausting, but no. No, she would not jump off the cliff. No matter who demanded it of her.

The whispers of other voices that had begun to rise up in her head faltered.

No matter who told her to.

The voices went silent.

Ginny sighed.

"Anything you want me to."

Ginny turned, startled by the voice. It lacked the echoing quality she hadn't realized the ones she had just been hearing had. It sounded very present, and when she turned to look, she realized it was. There was a woman walking up the hill.

Her hair was deep violet and spiky, her eyes golden and gleaming. She was wearing black robes and had her wand drawn, but she seemed distracted.

"If that's what you want me to do," she said. The woman crested the hill and stood right next to Ginny, but she didn't seem to notice her. She stared over the edge, and Ginny blinked in surprise when the woman's hair changed from violet to bright green.

"Anything, of course."

"Um…"

"Anything you want."

"Hello?" Ginny reached forward, taking a step closer to the strange woman, but aborted the action before she touched her. The woman didn't even look her way, completely oblivious to her presence. Ginny might have thought she was invisible, but the woman didn't react to her voice, either. Were the voices echoing in her mind, as well?

"If that's what you want."

It didn't sound like she was fighting them.

The woman took a step closer to the edge, her hair curling thickly, blossoming bright blue.

"Excuse me…"

"For you."

Years later, Ginny would look back on this moment with a greater understanding of the world in which they had spent their slumbering hours. She would recall the confusion that filled her, the uncertainty, and the lingering belief of the child-minded that adults should know what to do and not falter. They should not need the help of children.

Ginny would look back and she would see that the entirety of the experience had been little more than a dream, and there was no guilt to be found in dreams you have only half-control over.

Years later.

But at the moment the woman stepped forward, beyond the event horizon, the knowledge of her own hesitation sent a guilt-swathed dagger into Ginny's chest, and she felt herself unable to look away as the woman tumbled over the edge of the cliff and fell, smiling, into the abyss.

The Common Room was crowded with at least a third of Gryffindor Tower, students spread out in groups, talking or doing homework. Ginny sat at a small table, her Arithmancy book open in front of her, her quill scratching across a piece of parchment.

"I thought you finished your homework already, Gin." Ron dropped into a chair across from her. Ginny glanced over toward the corner of the room where Ron had been playing Chess with one of the seventh years.

"Did you win?"

"Of course." He grinned, then poked her Arithmancy book. "You're not turning into Hermione, are you?"

Ginny gave her brother a mischievous grin and leaned forward to whisper, "Polyjuice."

Ron's eyes went wide. "Again?"

"Ha!" Ginny sat back in her seat. "So you three did make Polyjuice before. I knew it." She had thought about Snape's tirades, how they sometimes mentioned the consequences of stealing from his stores, how Hermione occasionally mentioned the Polyjuice Potion, or a book that contained the recipe for it that she wished she could find in Flourish and Blotts. She'd thought they might have but Hermione would never say. She did love when Ron gave her opportunities like this. Though it was a little disturbing how easily he thought Hermione would be impersonating her. She should probably be a little concerned about that. She actually should probably be a little surprised, but after the Time Turner revelation, well… letting her guard down around Hermione seemed a dangerous idea. Next thing, she'd find out the girl wasn't even human but some time traveling alien from a distant planet with red grass or some such nonsense such as that.

Oh, she'd been listening too closely to Luna lately.

"When?" she asked Ron, giggling as the look of realization on his face turned into a narrow-eyed glare that had nothing on their mother's.

"Cheater."

"You're just mad you fell for one of Fred and George's tricks." She poked him in the arm repeatedly until he pulled out of her reach. "Tell."

He hesitated a moment. "Second year, over Christmas." He glanced away from her widening eyes as the grin slid from her face. "We thought Malfoy was the Heir of Slytherin. Snuck into their Common Room to find out what he knew."

"Oh."

"Gin, I'm sorry."

She blinked quickly for a few minutes, then shook her head. "It's not your fault, Ron."

"Yes it is."

"Well, you've apologized enough for a thousand times." And he had. After the whole year was over and it turned out that Ginny had been possessed, Ron had apologized so many times he might have only stopped for losing his voice. Her other brothers had apologized for not being there, too, but none so much as Ron. The two of them had always been close and Ginny supposed he blamed himself extra hard for not dragging her into their group from the start of the year. Ginny had been hurt by her omission from their triad, of course, but it might have been easier to pull her in if she hadn't been so disgustingly shy, turning into a gibbering fangirl every time Harry even entered the same room.

"Well, you can make it up to me now if you want."

Ron instantly looked wary. Probably had something to do with her already using one of Fred and George's tricks on him. "How's that?"

"I need someone to test my new spell on." She waved her hand vaguely at the parchment in front of her. "Do you have a second?"

"You know what, I think Kevin wants another game," Ron said quickly, easing out of the chair. "How about you try Colin, eh, Gin?" He bolted.

Ginny, her wand already in hand, flicked it at her brother's retreating as she half-sang the spell. There was a flash of bright blue light and a yell.

"Oh, oops." Ginny glanced down at her notes. "I can't believe I missed that."

"GINNY!"

"Don't worry, Ron," Ginny said, looking back at him and trying not to laugh. "It should wear off in a day or two."

"My, my, Ginny, that is an interesting spell."

"Do you think you might be willing to share?"

Fred and George appeared out of the woodwork, as they were wont to do, gazing in interest at Ron's hair.

Rather than the wavy red mess it usually was on his head, Ron's hair had straightened completely, but in the wrong direction. It stood at attention on his head, every piece looking as though it were falling upward.

"Hey, Ron, wiggle a little around, would you?"

"What?" Ron shrieked, and Fred snickered at the high pitch of his cry.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Move around a little. I want to see if it's stiff."

Glaring at her, Ron started walking in a circle. At every step, his hair moved, bouncing and swinging as it would have naturally, had it not been straightened the wrong way.

"Huh. Thanks, Ron." Ginny turned back to her notes.

A moment later, Fred and George slid into the chairs at either side of the table, gazing at her curiously. They were silent for a while and Ginny ignored them while she read through her Arithmancy calculations, trying to figure out where she could add the intent for the hair to obey gravity without having to rework all of her calculations.

"We notice that Ron seems considerably less angry than he would have had we been the one to do that to him," Fred finally said.

"It makes one wonder if he might have done something to deserve being used as a test subject," George added.

Ginny made a note in the margin of her parchment to add in a line for the spell to obey gravity. She frowned. Just adding Πτώση in at the end wouldn't work. It invoked the Uncertainty Principle. If the spell worked at all it would have half a chance of blowing someone's head clean off their shoulders. Not something she cared to do to one of her brothers.

She scratched out some of calculations and made some notes in the margins.

"We were talking about my first year," she said quietly to the twins, crossing out ισιώσει τα μαλλιά. Obviously that didn't work quite right, though maybe she'd share it with the twins later for a prank. It would be funny to see Dumbledore with his beard all falling the wrong way.

She glanced up at her brothers, their long silence unnerving, to see that their grins had faded into serious looks. Ginny sighed and reached into her bag, pulling out an English to Greek language dictionary. "I'm not going to fall apart, you know." She opened the book, scanning through the translations.

There was silence for a minute from the two of them. "Maybe it's not you we're worried about," George said quietly.

She looked back up at them, curious, but both of them had gotten up from their seats. "If not me, then who are you worried for?" They looked back at her. "If it's Ron, then why not say something to him?"

"It's not Ron," Fred said. "He's here and we can keep an eye on him."

"And while we're a little worried about Harry, he's here, too."

"We're worried about another brother of ours."

"One that's slipped loose and is getting into who-knows-what without his brothers there to watch over him."

Percy. They were talking about Percy.

Ginny growled a little under her breath, her quill almost tearing a hole in her parchment as she scratched Ίσια μαλλιά πτώση in too-big letters at the bottom of the page.

Ginny didn't know what to think about their wayward brother. On the one hand, Percy had been a complete berk last year during the TriWizard Tournament, taking the Ministry's side with Harry and being rude even to his family. Maybe especially to his family, talking down to them when they tried to defend Harry and Dumbledore. And now, he rarely spoke to them, and when he did it was always reluctantly, and callously.

But Ginny still loved her brother. They had never been close, of course. Percy had been close with Bill, who was also one who studied a lot, but once Bill moved out, Percy was something of a loner. Charlie had been more interested in hanging out with Hagrid at school and learning about all the dangerous animals in the Forbidden Forest, and bonding over a mutual obsession with dragons. Fred and George spoke for themselves in their pranking and rule-breaking. They had little in common with Percy, who spent most of his time in their presence lecturing them or being generally disapproving. Fred and George had learned to avoid him when they could and, when they couldn't, to pick and tease him until they got a violent reaction. It was an endless loop of growing frustration for both of them.

Ron, the youngest of the boys, had always been a little left out from the others. He was young when Bill and Charlie left and Percy had little time for his youngest brother. Fred and George spent most of their time together, joined at the hip as they were, so Ron spent the majority of his time with their dad or with Ginny. She, as the youngest and the only girl, spent the majority of her time with Ron or her mother. When she was doing something she deemed fun, it usually involved pranking Fred and George or sneaking out to the broom shed to steal one of her brother's brooms - both things that Percy would have disapproved of. She'd learned to avoid his lectures by watching her brothers' mistakes, but because of that, she'd also mostly avoided connecting with him, which was unfortunate. Ginny didn't see rules the same as Percy. As the youngest and only girl in the Weasley family, if she wanted to do anything, it involved breaking the rules more often than not. Else, her family would keep her wrapped up and smother her. As someone who enjoyed studying and who had excelled in spell creation even prior to going to Hogwarts, as seen by her infamous Bat Bogey Hex, she might have gotten on rather well with Percy when it concerned schooling and grades. His inability to let anything slide, however, and locking himself up alone in his room had prevented that.

Ginny was disappointed by the missed opportunities, and disappointed in Percy for being so rigid. She wished Bill had been around more, but as someone who had already graduated school and who worked a job that involved breaking into tombs and battling traps, it probably wouldn't have seemed to her other brothers like he was following the rules.

She tapped the tip of her quill on the tabletop, ignoring the ink that spattered across the wood and vaguely noting that Fred and George had wandered off, probably to try and sell their latest potioned candy to some unsuspecting firsties. She wondered what Percy was doing now, how things in the Ministry were going, and felt a ball of worry find the pit of her stomach and start chewing on the lining. The minister made her nervous. She knew from listening in on her father's discussions with her mother that the Minister pandered to Lucius Malfoy, and Lucius Malfoy is the one that gave her Tom's diary.

Ginny clamped her teeth down on the tip of her quill's feather and gnawed on it agitatedly. Maybe it was time she sent another letter to Cameron. That would probably make her feel better. And she could ask the woman if maybe she knew who Aceso was, because despite all this extra time she had to look, Ginny still had no idea.

"Ginny."

She was back at the cliff edge, staring down into the abyss. There was a churning in her stomach, like bile, unprepared to rise but considering it nonetheless.

"Ginny."

It was Harry's voice again, only it seemed strange. It lacked something, though she couldn't place it. It was less like a voice calling her name than a word her mind was calling out. Or something her mind wished to hear.

"Ginny."

In that voice.

Which probably made a lot of sense, really, if you thought about it. It was something she wanted, she could admit to herself. It was something she dreamed of, from time to time, in her own slumbering fantasies. What better place for such a fantasy to come to pass than in the Realm of Dreams? After all, didn't they always come here, every night, when they left consciousness behind? Phoenix had done nothing more than to give them a semblance of control over themselves within the world, and the knowledge of where they were. Nothing more than that.

So here, within the Realm of Dreams where she often dreamed of Harry, and had before dreamed of the Boy Who Lived, she could have her fantasy.

"Ginny."

She turned around at the voice. The world behind her, once white, had been painted with a gorgeous landscape of tall grasses, wildflowers twisting through them. There were trees, too, reaching toward the skies, coating with a thick head of leaves. All of them but one.

The one tree was nearly barren, twisted branches of varying sizes, some weak and fragile, so prone to break should any force be placed upon them. The bark had been stripped away in places, but in others it remained, holding fast. It was a stubborn tree, refusing to give up despite the obvious fact that it had been rotting for a while.

It had potential, though. She could see that. It was stubborn enough, she thought, that it might even be able to fight the rot. Given enough time, if it struggled through, it could be a beautiful tree. It'd need to be helped along. It couldn't do it alone, but Ginny could help it. She wasn't sure how yet, but she knew she could.

Ginny stepped over to the tree, studying each weak limb, every spot on the trunk where the bark had been torn away and shredded, as though by claws.

She reached out toward the tree.

"Ginny."

Startled, she turned again before she'd touched the trunk. There was a cave behind her, tucked against the mountains that bordered the grassy field. Harry stood in the entrance, watching her. She gaped at him, speechless in her surprise. What was he doing here?

"Ginny."

"You should be looking for your artifact."

His green eyes were piercing as he stared at her. Ginny swallowed as she took him in, surprised by his clothing. He was shirtless, his chest and abs showing the muscles of a well-practiced Quidditch player, his body undeniably that of a Seeker with his thin frame, long, muscular arms.

He was wearing pants that seemed to be made of gold. They sparkled in the sunlight, like ground up galleons and diamonds, clinging to his legs and showing every muscled curve. He was barefoot and his hair seemed to hang a little looser around his face.

"Your glasses are missing," she realized.

Harry glanced to the side, away from her. "I came to find you."

Ginny swallowed the saliva that had gathered in her mouth. She watched as he turned and looked at the cave behind him for a moment, before turning back and meeting her eyes again. He smiled at her, a sly little grin that she had never seen on his face before. He waved a hand, motioning her toward him, toward the cave.

Ginny licked her lips.

She'd had dreams like this before. Never ones with Harry dressed in gold and diamond-encrusted trousers, but she remembered one where he had been a pirate. He'd been bare-chested in that one, too, although his skin had been covered in a variety of tattoos and he'd had a sword clipped to his belt.

Ginny looked down. There was a sword clipped to this Harry's belt, too. She stared at it.

"Do you like it?" he asked, grabbing the hilt and lifting the sword from its scabbard. It reflected the sunlight and sent his trousers glittering again. Ginny blushed crimson as her eyes skittered across his diamond-encrusted crotch.

Harry chuckled a low, deep laugh that rumbled down her spine and settled somewhere at the her center. Ginny found herself swallowing again, a river pouring down her throat.

"Is that… your mask?" she asked, stumbling over the question. He was very distracting in that outfit… trousers. Could it be called an outfit if it was just trousers?

"I thought you'd like them."

Oh, she liked. Very much.

"We should be… searching," she murmured. She was standing much closer to Harry than she had been a moment ago, she thought. She could smell something on him. Something like cloves and summer grass.

"We could look inside the cave," he said quietly, his every word breathing up against her mouth. Ginny's breath hitched in her throat. She licked her lips, tasting his breath on her tongue.

Oh, she'd dreamed so many things like this. She'd always thought he was attractive, ever since her first year and waking up to see him covered in blood, a sword in his hand, having slain a dragon for her. Well, or close to a dragon. She'd thought he was attractive then, but it was only recently that she'd really begun to grow into her eyes and see him. It was only recently that she'd let her dreams escalate into something more than adventures where he saved her from the dragon and they ended the night with a lover's kiss. This past year especially, Ginny would sometimes think of him as her hand found that wet heat between her legs, and she'd whisper his name…

"Harry…"

"Ginny."

They were dreaming right now. They were here in the Realm of Dreams and that meant they were all dreaming, only this time, she and Harry were dreaming together. And there was no dragon to face, no Basilisk to slay. There was just Harry… and Ginny… and a cave full of possibilities… and all the time you had in a dream. A lifetime with him, the whole world, in a night's sleep.

"Ginny." His breath ghosted across her lips.

Ginny surged forward, her mouth crashing into his. His lips were soft and warm and wet and they grabbed hers and squeezed. Ginny felt her body press up against his, his chest harder than she would have imagined against her growing breasts, and she gasped into his mouth.

"Harry," she whispered, felt the flush of heat across her face and down her neck. She owed Phoenix everything for this one moment, this dream more vivid than any she'd had about him before. She kissed him as hard as she could, until her lips ached and she had to pull away, breathing hard.

He was staring at her again, his green eyes so large, so vivid they seemed to glow. His lips were swollen and hers throbbed in response.

"Ginny," he whispered, pressing his lips against her ear. He used his hand on her elbow to turn her until she was looking at the cave, the dark front of it a realm of impossibilities stretched out before them.

Anything was possible in a dream, and what could it hurt if they spent just one night ignoring the calls of the artifacts? Instead, they'd focus on a different call.

She sighed his name.

"Ginny."

They entered the cave.

There was no bed in the cave, just a pile of blankets on the floor that made a mound of pleasure. Ginny lay down among the blankets, Harry bent over her, his lips finding hers again. She moaned into his mouth, her hands crawling across his bare back, his skin smooth under her fingertips.

"Harry," she murmured as he pulled back from her lips.

"Yes, Ginny?" He bent forward, his tongue licking the side of her neck and then his lips kissing her skin. She felt him suck at the skin.

"This doesn't feel like a dream." It felt good. So good. Too good.

Her nipped her skin with his teeth, making her jump and giggle nervously. "Maybe it's not." He moved over her again until they were face-to-face. "Not a nightmare, is it?"

"Oh, no." She smiled at her, her lips pulling back from her teeth in a grin that was maybe a little too wide. "Definitely not a nightmare."

"But you're scared." He flopped down into the blankets next to her, leaning his chin on his arm. Ginny rolled over so they were facing each other. She ran her fingers lightly over his bare chest.

"This is new. It's not…" She felt her face heat up and looked away from his chest, then gasped when she realized her eyes had moved to his crotch again. She forced herself to look at his face. He was smiling softly at her.

"I've dreamed about you before," she admitted. "Lots of time. I've dreamed… stuff like this." Oh, she must be as red as a cherry! "But this seems… very real."

"Maybe it's the Realm," he said. "Everything has seemed really real to me. It's like we're awake here. Just living in another world."

"Maybe."

He reached out and brushed a hand through her hair. "The dreams you had of me before. Were they good?"

"Oh yes," she said emphatically, then looked away, embarrassed.

He moved closer to her. "What did I do that was so good?"

"You kissed me."

Harry leaned forward and pecked a quick kiss on the tip of her nose.

Ginny laughed. "Not like that!"

"No?"

"No, you… you really kissed me."

"I see. So, you mean… like this." He leaned forward then and pressed his mouth to hers. The kiss was slow and deep, and there was something in it that spoke more than he could have said with a hundred years and every language in the world.

It was probably years later that he pulled away and Ginny had to open her eyes to see him. He smiled softly at her. "Like that?"

"Yes," she whispered hoarsely.

Harry nodded. "What else did I do in these dreams?"

Ginny reached over and tentatively took one of his hands. His fingers curled around hers and she smiled. "You touched me," she whispered.

"Where?"

"Here." She pressed his hand against her right breast and let go. Harry's hand stayed there for a moment, and then he let his hand contort to the shape of her breast, rubbed it across her chest.

Ginny swallowed. He seemed so hesitant. It was like her dreams before and yet… better. More real. Like a waking dream.

Harry's hand ran down Ginny's side, then under her blouse. He caught her eyes as his fingers slipped under the edge of her shirt, but she made no move to pull away. With a tiny smile, his hand slid under her shirt, fingers gliding up her side again, over her ribs. Ginny shivered.

His hand found her breast again, fingers playing over the lace of the bra that covered them. He ran his hand over her chest, fingers squeezing, dancing around the fabric of her bra.

"Undress me."

He looked at her. "Hm?"

Ginny cleared her throat. "In the dream, you undress me." Usually, in her dreams, she was just abruptly naked when nakedness was required, but as that didn't seem to be happening now, he was going to have to do it. Right now.

Hand gliding back down over her stomach, Harry's fingers found the buttons on the front of her shirt. His other hand followed and he began to slowly undo them from the bottom. When he'd finished, he pushed her shirt to the side and trailed his fingers back up her side, hips to breast.

"You're so pretty, Ginny."

Ginny grabbed his hand and rolled over on her back, pulling Harry with her. He followed obediently, straddling her waist, and Ginny guided his hands to the clasp that bound her bra between her breasts. She was glad this dream hadn't forced her to wear a bra that caught in the back.

Harry undid the clasp with ease and pushed her bra to the sides as he had her shirt, staring down at her bare chest.

Ginny felt self-conscious, watching him stare at her, and felt heat creep down her neck.

"So pretty," Harry murmured again, his hands trailing up her sides, one hand finding her bare breast, the other curling behind her neck.

"H-Harry?" Ginny asked, as he leaned forward.

"Shh… kiss me, Ginny." His hand squeezed her breast tightly and she gasped. His lips clamped over hers tightly and then they were moving. Ginny didn't know who had started it, but they were chest to chest, his hand squeezing her, and their lips were in a battle for leadership. The kiss wasn't soft and deep like it had been before. It was cavernous, and it was strong, and it was furious. His teeth nipped her lips and it hurt and she kissed him back as hard as she could, her teeth scraping against his and then someone's tongue was in her mouth and her tongue was buried somewhere near his tonsils and there was a lot of groaning. His fingers pinched her nipple and she gasped, and then her hand found his hair and she pulled and he moaned into her mouth. She swallowed the sounds he made, made them a part of a song inside of her, and sang back.

When they finally did pull away from each other, both of them were gasping for breath. His forehead was covered in sweat and Ginny could feel beads rolling down her chest. She was hot and her hair was sticking to her forehead, the blankets clinging to her back.

"I win, I think," he said between gasping breaths, and Ginny grinned at him.

"I want a rematch," she hissed, and his mouth was on hers again and Ginny thought, maybe, that there was a dragon here, after all, and he was slaying it for her as he always had.

There were lips on hers and hands at her trousers and Ginny kicking her legs to free them as he pushed them down. She felt him pulling at her underwear and they broke the kiss as her fingers dug for the button on his own trousers, shoving them down his legs until he could kick them away. His underwear was bulging in the front and the sight of it made Ginny moan, the area between her legs flushing wet and warm. Then she was tearing at the band of his underwear, forcing them down until they were both free of clothing and she dragged him down against her, her lips crashing against his, or pulling his against hers, and they were battling again and one of them was a dragon and someone was a slayer and they were both winning and no one could lose here, in this.

They broke their kissing in desperation for air and as she greedily inhaled, his lips found her neck again, trailed down her collarbone, moved over her chest. She moaned when he licked her nipple and then swirled his tongue around it, before sucking harshly. She reached out, fingers claws, and trailed them over his shoulders, down his back, through his hair. He moaned as she tugged on messy raven lock of hair, then ran her hands down his bare back until she clamped them on his cheeks. He laughed against her skin, air puffing against her aching nipples and chilling them. Ginny shivered.

"So, so glad it's me here," he murmured, pressing a kiss against her throat. "So, so glad."

"Who else would it be?" Ginny ran her hands up his bare chest, admiring his muscles, then down, down. Her fingers found him there, danced uncertainly across sensitive skin, before she curled her fist around him.

Harry groaned.

"It was always you," Ginny whispered, pulling, fingers moving. "My Harry," she murmured. "It was you ever since you slayed the basilisk. You saved me."

"Basilisk," he groaned, and chuckled. "Who's slaying it now?"

Ginny laughed, squeezed her hand, pulled.

"Ginny."

"Does this mean I'm saving you this time, Mister Potter?"

"Ginny."

Harry groaned loudly. His own hands slid down her hips, between her legs. Ginny spread her legs, baring herself, gasped as he slid a finger inside of her and squeezed him tightly in response.

"Ginny, please."

"Harry," she gasped as she released him. He pressed himself against her, burying his face against her neck.

"Ginny."

"Please."

He slid inside her, eliciting a gasp that he swallowed as he kissed her. He rocked his hips forward against her and her body rose to meet him, the two of them moving together so seamlessly, it was like he had dreamed with her every dream she'd had before. He swallowed every noise she made as his lips clutched hers desperately and when she opened her eyes, she was startled to realize his were already open, staring at her, tears rolling down his cheeks.

She pulled away from his kiss.

"Harry, what?"

He shook his head, shut his eyes, more tears sliding down his cheeks. His hands fisted in the blankets on either side of her head and he sped up, not making a sound as his body rocked hers.

"What is it?" she asked, hands coming up to cup his face, wipe away the tears. He shook his head but she wouldn't let her hands drop. "Tell me."

"Do you love me?"

Ginny blinked, felt his movements slow, her own having stopped. He pressed against her, into her, curled his arms around her body and buried his face against her neck, hiding.

"Do you love me?"

She did, of course. She had loved him since that moment she woke up in the Chamber of Secrets with him leaning over her, sword in hand, bloody tear in his cloak and stubborn resignation in his eyes. He had been dying. She remembered that clearly. The basilisk had bitten him and he had been dying and still, his worries had all been for her. She'd loved the Boy-Who-Lived in the stories before that, but afterward, she'd fallen completely in love with him. Cameron had been concerned about that. It was part of the reason he wasn't invited over to the Burrow right away. They'd wanted there to be some space. Wanted her to come to terms with the events before they forced the two of them together. Didn't want Ginny to make Harry her Nightengale. Not that time had helped, but it wasn't hero worship anymore that made her love him. He'd been failing, losing, and still cared for her. Hero though he was, she'd seen Harry, and it was Harry who'd she'd loved then.

It was Harry who she loved now.

"Yes," she said quietly.

He exhaled a breath against her throat.

"Oh, you liar," he whispered.

Ginny frowned. There was a niggling in the back of her mind, a sense of something being off, being wrong. It was like something had shifted without anything moving, like the body over top of hers, inside of hers, had become something… different.

"I'm not," she promised, turning her head and pressing her lips against his blonde hair. "I love you."

She pulled back, staring at what she could see of his head, at the long blonde hair, nearly white, which fell over her neck and shoulders in waves. Her lips quivered and she turned, looked down the length of the body that was pressed tight against hers. Where the narrow runner's body had been before, all tanned skin and Quidditch muscles, there was a thinner body now, pale white, narrow hips. She could see the bump of every rib, see the shape of the… his pelvis. She could feel him, inside her.

She felt the hair brush against the underside of her chin as he moved his head. She looked down into thin green eyes like too-bright emeralds, glowing out of a narrow face. Where Harry's lips had been soft and pink, these were thin and pale-blue, the lips of the hypothermic dying, and they pulled back to reveal blackened teeth.

"Do you still love me, Ginny?"

Ginny shrieked and shoved him hard, but long slender fingers closed over her wrists, pinning her arms above her head. He smiled down at her, saliva dripping from the gaps between his needle-sharp teeth.

"Are we still dreaming, Ginny?"

"GET OFF ME!" she screamed, bucking her hips, kicking her legs, but he must have weighed a ton, his body never moving no matter what she tried. "GET OFF!"

"Shhhhh…" He pressed a kiss to her temple. "Hush now."

His hips moved then, rocking forward, and Ginny screamed as she felt him slide inside her. There was nothing romantic about it now, nothing sensual. His bony hips moved forward tentatively once, twice, and then he began to thrust quickly into her, her whole body rocking with his motions.

Ginny didn't move. Her legs were pushed to either side, just like the sides of her shirt had been tossed to the sides to bare her breasts, and he lay between them without a care. His hands were curled in the blankets on either side of her head as he moved inside of her. She felt like a doll, something that wasn't human, something to be used and then thrown away. She remembered feeling like this before once, when he was inside of her, but inside her mind. Not like this.

Ginny stared blankly at the ceiling of the cave as her body lay pliant beneath him. She could almost feel herself pulling away, peeled back from this doll-Ginny, floating somewhere high above herself. She looked down in disgust at the Ginny who lay there, tear tracks on her face, snot rolling over her lips from her nostrils. She could see her vacant brown eyes staring aimlessly upward, as though she were dead. She couldn't even feel him inside of her anymore, though she could see the rapid thrusting of his hips. It was like she was gone from it all, leaving him to fuck a cold corpse.

"None of that," he snarled, and Ginny cried out as his teeth clamped down on her neck. She felt hot blood roll down her neck and she gasped a sob. She was back in her body, back beneath him, and felt for a moment as though she had been so close to getting away, though she didn't understand how. Instead her breath surged in and out of her lungs as though she hadn't been breathing, but she must have been.

"Clever trick, Ginny, but we can't have you leaving the contract."

"What contract?" she cried. "I didn't agree to anything!"

"We called, you answered. We invited you into our cave and you came. We asked, you said yes. You said please. We delivered. Now, so will you."

He thrust into her a final time and something burst inside of her. Ginny cried out as she felt herself throbbing, squeezing around him, pulling his spilling seed into herself. A new wash of tears rolled down her cheeks, snot dripping from her nose.

"Why?" she whispered.

"We have needs, and you wanted. Wants are so easy to fill." He pulled himself out of her and Ginny shut her eyes at the sight of him dripping over her. "Anyone would have done, but your door has already been opened before. You were easy." He bent over her and pressed his lips to hers. Ginny didn't respond to the kiss, but it seemed to not matter to him. He took his time, sucking on her lips, swirling his tongue around inside her mouth, before he finally pulled away.

"Don't worry, my dear. You'll remember only the good things."

Still crouched over her prone body, he pressed the tips of his long fingers against her temples and her mind exploded with pain. Ginny's back arched as she screamed. Everything around her turned white, the memories burning away like parchment.

She convulsed on the mound of blankets, her body shaking, arms and legs locked as she seized. A Death Eater would have recognized the effects as someone undergoing a Cruciatus Curse. A muggle doctor would have recognized a grand mal seizure. It lasted for a few minutes as fire licked at the corners of Ginny's mind, burning away every memory of Harry that wasn't him.

Finally, Ginny stilled, sagging down into the blankets as the fire disappeared.

"No," she whispered brokenly, unsure of why she cried out, as something oily slid into her mind. It was cool, soothing the burn of the fire, filling every empty pocket of her mind with the memory of Harry's gentle smile, his tentative touch. She remembered the way their bodies met, how they moved together, how she cried out in joy when they came together. And she remembered him lying beside her afterward.

Her body is tired and sore, but there's a happy smile on her face and she can see how he smiles at her, so happy to be with her. They are side-by-side on the blankets, turned toward each other.

"I'm so glad we're together, Ginny," he whispers, and the two of them kiss. He tastes like something warm and earthy and she thinks she can smell the earth after a summer rainstorm.

"Me too," she whispers, or maybe she thinks it, but he knows. Surely he remembers how her hands roved over his body, how she held him until he came in her hands - wait, did he come in her hands? Yes. He must have. He cried out her name, she remembers now. She remembers how he tried to stifle it against her neck, how his teeth bit down on her - it hurt!

Oh, but it felt good, too. He'd licked the wound, nuzzled her neck, buried apologies - "sorry, sorry, I'm so sorry, Ginny, it had to be you, I'm sorry"- into her with desperate kisses, pleading forgiveness. She remembers how they moved together, as though he could read her every thought, her every want, how he became someone… someone else…

Wait, no. No, it was always Harry. It was always Harry and she wanted no one else. She wouldn't have let… wouldn't have let anyone else…

They moved together, Ginny and Harry, until both of them burst together like a firework. She can still feel how he spilled inside of her, filling her with himself.

"Harry, Harry, it was always you," she whispers, or was it before that she said it? It was always him, surely he knew that. It has always been him, before and here now. No one else. No one else would ever have her.

"So, so sorry."

He pulls something from beneath the blankets and it glows in his hands, a stone, like a ring. "I have something for you."

"Is that..."

She knows what it is. She can hear it singing in her mind, dancing like bells.

"Orbis."

"I found it for you," Harry whispers, dropping the ring into her hands.

It's cool to the touch, like it's made of ice, and Ginny closes her fingers around it. She feels like there should have been more to this than just being handed the ring, like she should have had to fight for it, slay a basilisk to win her prize.

"What about your artifact?" she asks, looking up into his face.

His eyes stare back at her, twin dots of emeralds glowing bright and she feels that part of her body that wants him desperately heat again. She swallows.

"I found what I needed," he whispers, and she lets herself hear that it is her he has wanted and wants. She lays back on the blankets as he moves over her again.

"I win, I think," he whispers against her lips.

"I want a rematch," she hisses.

Their lips come together and their bodies follow, and there is a blur of want and need and memories and lies.

Ginny woke up in her bed, soaked in sweat and want, her sheets tangled around her legs. She gasped for breath like she had been running but she couldn't remember what she had been dreaming. Her body was too warm and she kicked off her blankets and she felt something cold in her left hand. She brought it in front of her eyes too see what she had clutched in her fist.

It was a ring, a simple thing of white stone, sitting in the center of her palm. She stared at it, trying to remember if she had ever seen it before. Frowning, Ginny thought about taking it to the lost and found, but instead of getting out of bed, she slipped the ring on the middle finger of her left hand. It was still cold and sat like a ring of ice around her finger, but there was something about it that was right and she wouldn't - couldn't - take it off.

Instead of getting out of bed, Ginny lay back down, the sheets kicked to the bottom of the bed as her body cooled. She felt pleasantly sore in places she has never been sore before and there is a happiness in her that she doesn't think has ever been there and she likes it.

It must be the ring, she thought, and in the back of her mind there burned the thought that anything that caused an emotion in her should probably be taken to the Headmaster right away, but she pushes the thought to the left and it is burned up in a fire like so much parchment.

Ginny rolled over and closed her eyes, clutched her left hand against her chest in a fist.

It was a gift, some small part of her mind whispered.

No. It was not, another part whispers.

She wondered what they meant, but then she remembered that the ring is hers and it doesn't matter, so she pushes the thoughts away and goes to sleep.

She wants to catch the last moments of a dream, she thinks. A dream filled with green eyes and roaming hands and something filling her up until she bursts with happiness. If she just closes her eyes and forgets everything else, she can remember the dream, and so she keeps her eyes closed, she pushes thoughts and worries to the side, and she dreams.

There are green eyes and they are sad, she thinks, and there is a hand that presses below her chest, but not at the place she wants. There is an apology, she thinks, in his eyes or his touch, or maybe he whispers it, but she cannot hear him. She does not know this voice. Cannot know this voice. She just knows that he is sorry.

He presses a kiss to her cheek and then a finger to her temple, and then the world swallows her in white.

"Only the good things, my dear Ginny. I promise."

She thinks, for just a moment, that she must be the biggest fool to fall for the same trick twice. Maybe this one's name is Tom, too, but with green eyes and gold hair, and maybe...

"Sleep, Ginny. Sleep."

She sleeps.

And forgets.

And doesn't dream.