if I stumble, they're gonna eat me alive

The Burrow is quiet. For all the people packed inside, it's the land around that is stifling in its stillness. The wards and magics protecting them keep out everything, even belligerent gnomes and innocuous songbirds. Anything can be a weapon.

There is nothing harmless left.

Ginny feels like she is living inside a suspended breath—everyone waiting, waiting, even as they refuse to discuss what. (She's too young, let's not worry them, it can't be like last time, it can't-)

Ginny escapes outside as often as she can, and not just to avoid Fleur's obsessive wedding plans. She walks into the trees and brush until she can feel static rising on her skin and knows she's nearing the limits. The wards enclosing the property are the most powerful things she has ever felt, a hum in her flesh that part of her admires even as she resents them.

She wonders who built them. Once, she would have assumed it was Dumbledore (his body crumpled at the bottom of the tower, Harry leaning over with tears unashamedly on his face). She shakes her head and forces herself to mentally run through the list of Aurors Harry Potter has at his beck and call. None of the names stand out though, and there's something of the flavor on her tongue that makes her think of Molly Prewett.

Holding out a hand in front of her, Ginny touches the field of energy marking the boundary, feeling the tingle build in her flesh.

"Ginny."

She starts at the sound of Harry's voice, but doesn't turn. She's a bit surprised he's followed her. It seems like he's been avoiding everyone since he was brought here by the Order.

Since Mad-Eye fell out of the sky.

Her fingers curl, the ward crackling against the intrusion.

Harry pulls her back before her hand can burn. "Careful," he admonishes.

She wants to laugh. A Gryffindor telling a Slytherin to be careful. The irony is painful.

She folds her tingling fingers into a fist. "I hate feeling trapped like this."

She misses the freedom of her broom and the wind in her hair, but most of all being at school where she feels like a person and not a daughter to be protected and caged and not trusted.

Harry's fingers tighten on her shoulders briefly before he lets go. "I'm sorry," he says, and she can hear it, the guilt dragging on his words.

Ginny sighs. She would have been part of the detail escorting him here herself, had she anything resembling a choice. But part of being the Chosen One seems to be absorbing all the blame, so she doesn't bother correcting him.

Not everything is about you, she wants to say. Only right now, she thinks it may actually be.

"They're going to wonder where you are," she says instead, turning to look at him. Worry is more like it. Mum has barely let Harry out of her sight since she heard of their plans (we're not going back to Hogwarts).

"I know," he says, tugging at the bottom edge of his shirt, the gesture jerky with guilt and frustration. "I just needed to-." He breaks off, shaking his head.

Almost seventeen or not, she can't help but see a little of that lost boy in him right then.

"Yeah," she says. "I get it."

"You always do," he says, focusing intently on her like a tricky piece of charmwork.

"What?" she asks, her heartbeat taking an unexpected uptick.

He shakes his head, gesturing at her. "Are you hurt?"

"Oh," Ginny says, lifting up her hand. Her fingertips are the slightest bit red.

Harry darts a quick glance at her face before taking her hand. For a moment he seems to just be checking her for injury from the ward. But then he turns her hand over, and she realizes he's staring down at her wrist, at the green form inked into her skin like a brand.

She's vividly reminded of thrusting her arm under his nose like a dare, the way he looked at her. He's frowning slightly now, and she waits for their fight to take off right where they left it.

But Harry merely tilts his head to one side, his fingers barely brushing over the tattoo. "The Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin," he says.

Ginny's entire body stiffens, her eyes riveted to his fingers on her arm.

There's a terrible jumble of feelings rising in her chest all at once. Anger that he never said anything sooner because just a single word from him could have made an eleven-year-old Ginny just a little bit less lost, this idea that she wasn't so very different from a boy she thought of as a hero. Annoyance that he has the nerve to tell her now when it doesn't mean nearly as much. When it shouldn't.

But another part of her is trying to imagine it, to imagine Harry down in those murky spaces, navigating a world of unspoken rules and expectations.

Her eyes snap back up to his face, and she isn't at all sure he could have done it. Not on top of everything else he's being asked to do. Which makes her consider for the first time that maybe she has a strength he doesn't. Is that why he's here, once against dropping a confession at her feet?

"Is this what I am?" she asks, pressure building in her chest. "Your secret keeper?"

He blinks, pulling slightly back. "What?"

It seems so clear, the way he comes to her when whatever he's carrying is too heavy for him. Something too dark to be shared with anyone else.

"You keeping telling me all of these things," she says, her voice quiet and still, like Mum's at her most dangerous. "And I just…I don't know what I'm supposed to do with them."

He frowns, staring down at her arm still clasped in his. He doesn't deny it though. How could he?

He's been raw and rough since he arrived at the Burrow, since Mad-Eye and Hedwig and George's ear paid the price for his safe arrival. She thinks he's beginning to realize just how high the toll will be, what people are willing to pay for an outcome he can't even promise to deliver. He's threatening to topple, and maybe he's here because she's supposed to somehow hold him together, him and his dark places he doesn't dare speak of to anyone else.

"I suppose that's better than just being an inside source on your enemies," she says, and she knows he can hear it, the bitterness in her voice.

He winces, but at last seems to find his footing. "You were right. I never should have tried to use you to get to Malfoy."

She forces herself to shrug like it doesn't mean anything to hear him say that. "It's not like you were wrong."

"Yes," he says, reaching for her other elbow and pulling her around until she's facing him straight on. "I was."

Ginny supposes it's ridiculous to prefer Harry's anger to this strange intensity he's radiating, but for some reason she thinks fighting with him would be far less frightening.

"It doesn't matter," she says. "We should probably-."

But Harry only tightens his grip on her arms and says, "It matters."

Ginny feels an inexplicable surge of frustration with his stubbornness. "Why?" she demands. "Because we're friends?"

He hesitates, and that says more than anything he could ever put into words. Because the truth is, they have never really been friends.

It shouldn't hurt. But it does. More than it has a right to.

Ginny tries to pull back, to head back to the house, and Harry's expression shifts from conflicted and uncertain to focused and intent, like he's made up his mind to do something reckless and utterly foolish and nothing on this earth is going to stop him.

"No," he says. "Not because we're friends."

She barely has time to even be hurt by his blunt admission because for some reason he is leaning closer and-.

Harry. Is kissing her.

It's little more than a firm press of his lips to hers, too brief to give her time to react, let alone try to understand the tingle of something like energy ghosting over her skin. Her brain seems to be stuttering, unable to comprehend what is happening.

His cheeks are flushed when he pulls back almost as quickly as he leaned in. He's watching her like he's bracing himself for a slap or a hex, and maybe she should, maybe that's what she's supposed to do. Isn't it? But there's something else layered in the way he's looking at her. Something that makes it just a little hard to breathe.

She wonders how long he's been looking at her like that. How could she never have noticed?

His fingers tighten on her arms. "Please say something."

It's only then that she realizes she is just standing there staring at him, one hand pressed to her lips. She needs to think of the right thing to say, to consider what this means, but for once she's tired of thinking and planning and considering, and her lips are still tingling.

So instead she reaches for his face and kisses him back.

He's startled only for a moment before he's kissing her back, and it's tentative and clumsy, but somehow that doesn't seem to matter. She presses closer, letting the kiss linger and build, and Harry slides his hand up into her hair. It's nothing like the other kisses she has experienced; not cloying or aggressive, or even mysterious and confusing, but warm and thoughtful, like she's some precious thing. But also something more…something like friction and diving dangerously on her broom and laughing up into a clear summer sky.

They haven't moved, still stuck to the spot under a shady tree, but she feels it as his mouth moves against hers, gentle but gaining confidence—a burn just as fierce as the wards against her skin.

The sun is just beginning to dip down towards the horizon when Mum presents Harry's birthday cake with a flourish, the thick icing glittering gold.

Staring down the long table, Ginny smiles at Harry's obvious pleasure in something as simple as a birthday cake and knows this is one of the things she has always liked about him, the way he doesn't take anything for granted. It makes her ache a little for all the birthdays he must have had with nothing.

He catches her eye, and she realizes she is watching him just a little too obviously. She bites her lip and turns away, forcing herself to ask Fleur about wedding details. Listening to that should be punishment enough for the lapse.

The evening is warm, but softened by a gentle breeze carrying the sounds of frogs up from the pond. It's a nearly perfect moment stolen from the fear and flurry of preparations, something like a calm breath hidden in a small glass vial.

Ginny thinks they all deserve this, Harry most of all.

She no more than finishes the thought when Scrimgeour appears, sucking away any happiness Harry may have managed to conjure. Harry, Ron, and Hermione follow the Minister up to the house, leaving the rest of them outside to wonder what to make of the request for a private audience.

They all sit tensely in the garden, Mum and Dad sharing looks, until raised voices in the house bring them all to their feet.

They charge inside just in time to see Scrimgeour with his wand pressed to Harry's chest. Ginny stares horrified at the hole burned by the point of contact and wonders if there is anyone in the world Harry can't push beyond reason. But she also sees the way he doesn't back down, despite who holds the wand on him.

Reckless.

Long after the Minister leaves and they share all about the bequests from Dumbledore's will, the house settles back into the hushed expectancy that has characterized the Burrow all summer long. Ginny roams from room to room, unsettled and fidgety.

"Things have got to be bad at the Ministry," she hears Bill comment to Fleur as she passes through the kitchen. "Scimgeour took it way too far."

"Dad," Ginny says, catching him in the sitting room. She cants her head towards the porch, a request for permission.

He nods, knowing the wards will keep her safe and close, and as always, respecting her need for space. It's the one small thing he can actually give her these days.

She smiles at him in thanks and slips out off the front porch. She doesn't go far, just out of sight of the house, feeling tension leech out of her shoulders as the shadows swallow and hide her. She walks into the orchard, letting out a long breath and turning her face up towards the branches silhouetted against the starry sky.

"Long day."

Ginny spins on her heel, one hand flying to her chest, the other to her wand.

"Whoa," Harry says, lifting his hands where he sits in the shadows at the base of a tree.

"Merlin, Harry," she swears, lowering her wand. "You scared me."

"Clearly," he says, eying her wand. He nods as if in approval. "Nice reflexes."

A teacher to the bitter end. "You're lucky I didn't hex you," she says, stuffing her wand back into her pocket. "I thought you were upstairs." She winces inwardly, knowing how much that sounds like she's been tracking his movements. They've been awkwardly circling each other for days, being careful to never catch each other alone, and she doesn't want to think too hard about why.

"Hermione's repacking again," he says like facing that is the greatest torture in the world.

It's a reminder too, though. That he's seventeen now, officially of age, and free to leave. To just walk past the wards and never look back. Never come back. And once the wedding is over tomorrow, there will be nothing left to hold him. To hold any of them.

Something of her thoughts must be visible on her face, because Harry grimaces, looking down at his feet. She can tell he's been feeling guilty, been working his way around an apology for days. And maybe that's really why she's been avoiding him.

"Ginny," he says, voice heavy.

Part of her just wants to walk away from this conversation, but the stubborn part holds her ground and refuses to dance around this. "Do you want to take it back?"

He looks up at her, startled by her bluntness perhaps. She's not all that sure where it's coming from either, just acknowledges that Harry always seems to make her forget herself, her caution.

She thinks that should frighten her more than it does.

Harry is still warily regarding her, seeming to struggle. "No," he eventually says, and Ginny hates the feeling of relief that weakens her knees.

He blows out a frustrated breath. "But I should lie and say yes. It feels selfish. If anyone found out…"

"Found out what?" she asks, trying for flippancy. "That you kissed me once?"

It isn't a big deal. Is it?

He gives her a look like he knows exactly what she's trying to do. "That all I think about these days is kissing you."

She feels her cheeks flush and hopes it's dark enough that he can't see. "I imagine my brothers would have something to say about that."

"Ginny," he says, slightly chastising. "This is about way more than your brothers, and you know it."

"There are six of them," she reminds him.

He gives her an impatient look.

She lets out a breath. "You mean Tom."

His body tenses, maybe not liking the reminder of just how well she knows the wizard who is hunting him.

"Yes," he says, his jaw tight. "If he knew…"

They all know that Voldemort has no boundaries. He would use anyone or anything to get to Harry. It's the reason Hermione and Ron have gone to such lengths to protect their families. But Ginny isn't worried for herself. For all she knows Tom inside and out, she doesn't even exist to Voldemort.

"He never will," she says.

He cants his head to one side. "A Slytherin never shares her secrets?"

She folds her arms across her chest. "Exactly."

He sits up a little taller, like he's finally getting to the part that really bothers him. "I can't stay."

"I know," she says.

He looks thrown off for a moment, like he expected anything other than this easy acceptance. "Aren't you going to ask me why? Where I'm going? What I'm doing? If I have a plan?"

She almost smiles, imagining how much her parents and the rest of the Order have doubtlessly been pestering him. Even the bloody Minister of Magic. Shrugging, she says, "I guess I figured that if you could tell me, you would."

That may be presumptuous of her, of this new, tenuous thing between them, but it's how she feels.

Harry looks down at his feet, shaking his head.

"What?" she asks, wondering if she's misread the situation.

Then he looks up at her, his gaze warm with something she's scared to call affection. "You think I would be used to you surprising me by now."

She relaxes. "Not what you expected?"

He shakes his head. "No. I thought you'd be…"

She can guess. "Angry." It's what she does best around him, after all.

"Yes," he says. "I just…kind of can't stand it when you're mad at me, especially when I know I deserve it."

She huffs under her breath. "Well, I hate to be the one to tell you this, Harry, but I have no doubt I will get mad at you again. Probably a lot."

His smile slips, his expression painfully serious in an instant. Ginny feels dread drop down into her stomach like a rock. She's filled with the urge to turn and walk away from whatever it is he's about to say.

"It has to be me, Ginny," he says, voice heavy and almost apologetic.

She very carefully swallows. "The Chosen One."

He regards her for a long moment before nodding. "Yeah."

She turns slightly away from him, looking out into the trees. It's not like she hasn't suspected Harry's place in all of this. People have been speculating for years. But to hear it confirmed, that this will all come down to Harry and Voldemort, it leaves her feeling winded.

Could you kill if you had to?

She can feel his gaze on her, like this is the real reason he thinks he had no right to kiss her. Like he's waiting for her inevitable anger. But she isn't angry.

She wishes she could be.

Biting her lower lip, she forces the hardness back down her throat and turns to look at Harry. Crossing the space between them, Ginny lowers herself down to sit next to him. She leans back against the tree, their shoulders touching. "Okay."

She can feel his shoulder relax. They sit for a while, quiet in the dark as a soft breeze rustles the branches.

"Are you scared?" she asks, voice barely a whisper.

His foot scuffs against the dirt. "This is where I'm supposed to puff up my chest, be heroic, and say 'No', isn't it?" he says, his voice the tiniest bit bitter.

She watches him, the way his head is tilted just so that his eyes are hidden behind the surface of his lenses. It must be exhausting, always having to pretend.

"No," she reminds him. "This isn't where you do that."

His hand fumbles for hers in the dark, still hesitant, but griping tight when she doesn't pull away. "Then yes, I'm scared." He looks down, and there is just enough light that she can make out his profile. "Out of my bloody mind."

She's not sure she's ever heard someone sound at once so frightened and so determined.

She squeezes his hand, leaning into the warmth of his body that she thinks could, perhaps, feel familiar some day, if she ever got that chance. "Me too," she confesses.

Lifting his arm over her shoulder, he pulls her close. She wraps her arm across his waist, her head resting on his chest. She feels him press his face into her hair. More than anything, she's struck by the way this just feels right.

It scares the hell out of her.

"Ginny?" her father's voice floats out.

Harry's arm tightens around her.

Ginny lifts her head. "Coming, Dad," she calls.

She turns her face back to Harry's chest, sitting there a moment listening to the thud of his heart. She wants to ask him to promise to come back. Wants him to tell her how this will all end.

He can't though, and she can't bring herself to demand it of him.

So instead she lifts her face and presses her lips to his cheek, lingering there just long enough to feel him turn towards her. "Happy Birthday, Harry," she whispers.

Pushing to her feet, she heads back inside, leaving Harry sitting alone out in the dark.

The Burrow is humming with activity long before dawn. Mum is shouting and ordering everyone about. Fleur and her mum and sister are locked away in one of the upstairs rooms. Most of her brothers are outside putting up the tent.

Ginny isn't sure if all weddings are like this—utter bedlam—or if this one is a special case. International relations pouring into a country with a psychopathic killer on the loose could lend a certain edge to things.

"Ginny," Mum shrieks as she comes into the kitchen. "Why haven't you started getting ready yet?"

Ginny decides not to point out that it was Mum's idea to have her arrange flowers for the table by hand in the first place. Any hope of being underage and thus wandless as a reason to get out of a million wedding chores was abandoned days ago.

"There's plenty of time," Ginny says, trying to calm her.

Mum's face just seems to get redder.

"Best just to comply, I think," Dad says quietly as he passes near.

Ginny throws up her hands and does as she's told, stomping up the stairs. She runs into Mrs. Delacour in the hall upstairs.

"Dress first," Mrs. Delacour says, not even slowing down as she strides by. "Then the hair!"

Ginny is left standing in the lingering cloud of her perfume.

She is more than pleased to find her room empty. She isn't sure where Hermione is, but doesn't particularly care at the moment. Pulling the bridesmaid dress out of the closet, she gives it a critical glance. It could be much worse, she knows, even if gold isn't exactly her color. Gabrielle, of course, looks amazing in gold. Though unlike Gabrielle's dress, Ginny's is rather daringly low cut.

"You are a woman, not a child," Fleur said when it first showed up, a gleam in her eye.

Despite the neck line, Ginny can't help but feel like a child when she realizes she can't even use her wand to do up the ridiculously small buttons lining the back of the dress. She manages to wrangle the lower portion of them into place before she gives it up as a lost cause.

"Ugh," she says, pulling her door open in hopes of finding Hermione. Of course, the only person in the hall ends up being Harry.

He's at the top of the stairs, his eyes a bit wide as he catches sight of her. He makes an awkward little half step as he stumbles to a stop, halting his momentum down the stairs.

Ginny clutches the dress a bit tighter against her chest, keeping her cheeks from flushing by sheer force of will. They stare at each other another long beat before she pulls herself together.

"Come on, Potter," she says, forcing her voice brisk. "Make yourself useful."

"What?" he asks, looking adorably confused.

She turns her back on him, gesturing at the buttons.

"Oh," he says.

She laughs. "Yes. Bloody ridiculous, isn't it?"

She pulls her hair out the way, ready to point out that at least he has a wand to make quick work of it when she feels him step up behind her, his hands on her dress.

She swallows. "Not sure who designs a dress with so many tiny buttons."

"The French, apparently," Harry says, voice dry.

His fingers fumble a bit, and she tries not to think about the feel of his fingers on her skin. It seems to take forever, and she doesn't know if that is because there really are a million buttons or if she's just imagining it.

"There," he eventually says, patting her awkwardly on the shoulder.

She lets out a breath, testing the constraints of the bodice. She supposes it probably isn't tight enough to make her pass out. "Thanks," she says, turning around to look at him. "You're my hero."

He rolls his eyes. "Yes. I've saved you from a terrible fate."

She lifts an eyebrow. "Walking down the aisle half-naked?"

Harry clears his throat. "Um. Yes. That."

Letting her hair fall back down over her shoulders, she smooths her hands down the dress, tugging the sleeves into place. "So what do you think?"

Harry's attention seems to have drifted, his eyes snapping back up to her face. "About what?"

She smiles at him, taking a small step back. "About the dress, numpty."

"Oh," he says. "You look-."

But she never gets to find out how he thinks she looks, because Hermione appears on the landing looking nearly as frazzled as Mum. "Harry, it's time for the Polyjuice potion."

He jerks around to look at Hermione, nearly tripping over his own feet. "Oh. Sure. I was just…" He glances back over his shoulder at Ginny.

"I'm sure you'll make a great redhead, Potter," she heckles. "Now, out of my way. I'm off to get coiffed." Lifting her skirts, she tromps up the stairs, suddenly feeling in a much better mood.

Despite Mum's fears, the ceremony manages to begin on time with nothing more unpleasant than Auntie Muriel's presence to mar it. Looking at Bill and Fleur though, it probably wouldn't have bothered them if niflers started falling from the sky the way they are so wrapped up in each other.

Once the ceremony is over even Mum relaxes enough to sit with Mrs. Delacour, the two of them laughing over glasses of champagne.

"Conspiring about grandbabies," Charlie reports.

Ginny pulls a face. "What, already?"

Charlie just shrugs, frowning over his shoulder when he gets bumped from behind by someone reveling a bit too much.

She gives him another twenty minutes before his loyalty to Bill is trumped by his hate of crowds. He'll no doubt step outside and disappears for hours if history is anything to judge by. "Well," she says, "I'm afraid no one else seems interested in dancing with me, so you'll have to do."

Charlie smiles. "I'm pretty sure Bill threatened every bloke under the age of eighty."

"You'd bloody well better be joking," Ginny says.

He laughs, leading her onto the floor. "I don't think we've done this since you were seven and you stood on my toes the whole time."

"No promises I've improved any."

When they're done, Charlie hands her off to Lee Jordan who regales her with tales of the behind the scenes at the shop. She spends more time laughing than actually remembering any of the steps, but Lee doesn't seem to mind.

She doesn't manage to snag a dance with either Fred or George, as both of them are far too busy with the Delacour cousins. Ron is similarly occupied with watching Hermione and trying to pretend he isn't.

She does get asked to dance by none other than the Viktor Krum, amazingly enough. She never would have imagined it three years ago as she watched him in the World Cup. Of course, as with most fantasies, reality is a bit of a disappointment. He tromps her toe, has zero interest in talking Quidditch, and spends most of their dance not so covertly watching Hermione as well. It's a good thing he's such a good Seeker, because he's a terrible dance partner. She's more than a little relieved when it's finally done.

After a dance with one of Fleur's much more charming cousins, Ginny collapses down in a seat next to Luna. "A bit of a crush, isn't it?" she says, fanning herself.

Luna nods serenely, her fingers tapping absently along to the music. "Harry doesn't seem to be having a very good time."

It takes Ginny half a second to remember that no one is supposed to know Harry is here. "Harry isn't here, Luna," she says. "It would be too dangerous for everyone, including him." She gives Luna a stern glance, just to reinforce how serious she is.

Ginny would say Luna doesn't notice, but it's probably more likely that she just doesn't care. "He should stop frowning like that then."

Ginny follow Luna's line of sight, and sure enough a few tables over her 'cousin Barney' is scowling down at his glass in a distinctly Harry way.

"Looking cheerful would be a much better disguise," Luna says.

Despite herself, Ginny lets out a startled laugh. "Maybe I'll go check in with cousin Barney."

Luna nods. "He would probably listen to you."

Ginny isn't quite so sure, but gets up and crosses over to him all the same. Lowering herself into the chair behind Harry, she leans in to speak near his ear. "Luna thinks if you looked happy it would be a much more effective disguise."

He startles, turning to look at her. "Ginny."

She regards him, the red hair and unfamiliar face of a local Muggle boy staring back at her. "That is so weird."

He grimaces. "Not as weird as it is for me. This bloke is a good four inches shorter than me. I keep tripping over my own feet."

"That's too bad," she says with a sigh. "I suppose it means you can't dance with me."

He looks at her sharply. "I'm pretty sure I could manage."

"Yeah?" she asks, trying not to smile at how eager he sounds.

He grabs her hand, pulling her to her feet. "Definitely."

With her heels, she's taller than him. She gives him a little triumphant smile, and he rolls his eyes.

Once they are on the floor, he comes to a stop, frowning as he listens to the music.

Lee jitterbugs by, his elbows akimbo as he spins an attractive girl around the floor.

"I think I forgot something important," Harry mumbles.

"What's that?" Ginny says, bouncing a bit to the beat.

He looks pained. "That I can't dance."

They laugh, because there are so many levels of awkwardness here that it is impossible not to. Luckily for both of them, the music changes, smoothing out into something slower and far less dangerous. The crowd presses close, the lights dimming, and all they really have to do is sway.

"Think you can manage this?" she asks.

He reaches for her, his arm slipping behind her back, his other hand taking hers. "I can certainly try."

She tries to smile, but their bodies are very close now, her hand coming to rest on his shoulder. It would be wonderful, really, if only he looked anything like himself.

After a few awkward turns, she closes her eyes, trusting him not to let her crash into anyone.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

"It's easier this way," she says. "Remembering that it's you."

His hand tightens on her back, pulling her closer. "I never got to say, but I really like your dress," he says. "You look…"

When he doesn't manage to finish his sentence, she opens her eyes to find him watching her intently.

She feels her skin flush. "I'm pretty sure you aren't supposed to look at your cousin like that, Barney."

His lips quirk, and it is so quintessentially Harry that for a moment, it's almost enough to forget everything else. The crowd around them, his unfamiliar face. She slides her hand up his shoulder, her fingers brushing the back of his neck.

"Ginny," he says, drawing her closer, and even though it would be spectacularly stupid on many levels, she can't help but feel her heart beat faster at the thought that he may kiss her.

But before either of them can be that rash, someone shrieks, and they pull back from each other with a jerk.

A silvery animal streaks in through the roof of the tent, coming to a stop in front of her dad as people scatter out of its way. Kingsley's voice fills the tent.

The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming.

There is half a beat of horrified silence before someone screams. The crowd surges, people pushing into them, the tent echoing with the cracks of people Disapparating.

Harry pulls her tight against him, his wand drawn as they get pushed off the dance floor.

Lifting up on her toes, Ginny can see dark-cloaked figures appearing, bone white masks covering their faces. Death Eaters. There can only be one reason they are here. Craning her neck, she locates Ron and Hermione near the back of the tent, both of them looking frantically around.

A curse passes overhead, a flower arrangement exploding in flames, Ginny and Harry dropping down into a crouch.

"You have to go," she says.

"Ginny," he protests, his hand tightening on her arm.

She presses her lips to his in a reckless last kiss before pushing him towards Hermione and Ron. "Go!"

She doesn't wait to see if he complies, taking off in the opposite direction, pulling her wand out. She gives herself half a second to wonder if she'll ever see him again before turning her attention to the scene around her.

He's on his own. They both are.

The tent is utter chaos, filled with the noise of guests leaving in a flood, the wail of children being swept up into protective arms. Remus is wrestling Tonks out the back of the tent, and Ginny remembers that Harry isn't the only one the Death Eaters are after.

Dad stands near them. "Go!" he urges.

Near the front of the tent, Bill, Fleur, and the twins have started fighting the Death Eaters, hexes flying in every direction.

Fleur's cold fury does nothing more than add an icy edge to her elegance, the complex swish of her arm like a dance as she faces off with a Death Eater. Her opponent stumbles back under her onslaught, clearly unprepared for her skill. Fleur swears loudly at him in French as he loses his wand and scrambles back out of the tent.

A curse splinters a chair next to Ginny and she realizes with a jolt that she is just standing, a still target, watching everything happening around her. She pushes into motion, but feels strangely flatfooted. Her hands itch for her broom, and while she's used to the speed and shutter of a Quidditch match, this is like playing against a team she's never studied with no set rules. Spells seem to disappear from her brain.

The fight lurches around her, a blur of chaos she has a hard time understanding. She forces herself to stop focusing on the particulars, on each individual danger to her family, and instead darts back, watching it as a whole. Movement that Ginny knows needs to be ordered and contained.

Crouching behind a chair, she notices the long carpet still stretching across the tent. Muttering a spell, the carpet jerks back, rolling up in a tight ball, the Death Eater standing on it stumbling. Bill presses his advantage, his stunning spell hitting him square in the chest.

Glancing over at Ginny, he gives her an approving smile, but there's another coming up behind him, and she pushes to her feet, aiming Expelliarmus at him. The Death Eater just manages to hang on to his wand, and now she's got his attention.

She barely manages to throw up protection spells fast enough to counter his curses as he advances on her. It's all she can do to react in time, no room at all for offense. She feels sweat beading on her brow, her heels catching the train of her dress.

She falls, her wand caught up in the fall and this is it, she thinks.

Only for some reason the Death Eater pauses, sneering down at her as if there isn't a battle going on around them. "Is that all you've got, little girl?"

Ginny rolls, wrenching her wand free and throwing out the first spell that her terrified mind latches onto, one taught to her by Antonia.

It's a childish hex at best, but it hits him squarely in the chest, his entire body rigid as he gapes, his hands going to his throat. She watches in grim fascination as he vainly tries to draw in a breath, falling to his knees. In his desperation, he swipes at her, Ginny scrambling back away.

He falls to the floor, his eyes rolling wildly as he writhes.

Ginny is frozen, thinking of Harry and Mad-Eye and Dumbledore's broken body.

She jerks when a hand touches her shoulder. It's Fred, crouching behind her.

"Gin?" His eyes widen as he glances at the Death Eater.

His face is turning blue.

"It's the first spell I thought of," she says.

Fred jabs his wand at him, the hex ending. The Death Eater only has enough time to suck in a great gulp of air before Fred stuns him unconscious, scooping up his wand and pocketing it.

The table nearby rattles with the impact of a curse.

"Come on, Ginny," Fred says, dragging her to her feet.

She nods, turning away from the prone form, throwing herself back into the fight.

For every Death Eater they manage to take down, there seem to be three more. In no time at all, they find themselves vastly outnumbered. Especially once Dad catches a stunner, George loses his wand, and Bill goes down in a pile of ropes.

"Enough!" one of the Death Eaters bellows, some sort of magical wave seeming to echo out with his voice. Ginny feels it hit her, and it doesn't hurt, just makes her catch her breath for a moment, her spell dying in her throat.

In the ensuring silence, the tall one says, "No more magical blood needs to be spilled. We just want Potter."

"He isn't here," Mum yells, her wand flashing, something enormous shaking the tent. It's utter chaos then, Ginny's wand moving as fast as she can make it until she feels something hit her shoulder like a gong, reverberating through her entire body.

The next Ginny knows, she's lying face down on the floor, her body sluggish. There are voices around her, but she's having a hard time understanding any of them.

When her vision finally clears, she turns her head to find her family in various states of binding and consciousness. Dad is half lying in Mum's lap, blood tickling down his face. Fleur sits next to them, looking like she could murder them all just with a glance for all that she is bound and gagged tightly along with her new husband.

"Check the house," someone behind Ginny orders.

In the distance, she can hear someone cast Homenum Revelio. "It's empty," a voice calls back.

"Where is Potter?"

Out of the corner of her eye, Ginny can see her wand poking out from under the closest table. She slowly stretches her arm out, trying not to draw attention to herself.

"As you can see," Mum says, "he isn't here."

Ginny has almost reached her wand when someone steps down hard on the back of her hand. She gasps, looking up into the masked face of a Death Eater.

"Someone's awake," he says, the heel of his foot grinding down into her hand.

Ginny bites down on her tongue, feeling the prick of tears.

"Good," another voice across the tent says. "Maybe she'll be more forthcoming."

She looks up in alarm.

Two of them drag her to her feet, shoving her outside the tent, her family yelling after her as she goes.

She tries desperately to focus, to think about what they want from her. For her to be terrified enough to tell them anything they want. She doesn't need to pretend to be afraid, her heart pounding away in her chest.

They shove her down to her knees, three of them standing above her.

The short one seems to be in charge, his eyes dark glinting behind his mask. "Where's Potter?"

She cringes back, trying to make herself as small as possible. "I don't know."

"Was he here?"

She shakes her head. "N-n-no. I swear."

"Then where is he?"

"I don't know! With those Muggles, maybe!"

"No, he's not."

She closes her eyes. "Please."

"I doubt she knows anything," another Death Eater comments.

"Probably not," he concedes. "But her family might, if we can convince them it's in their best interest to share."

The curse seems to come from nowhere and everywhere, an aching, burning pain like her bones are all broken, grinding against each other. She screams, and there is no need at all to pretend, to force the tears that are pouring out over her cheeks.

The curse leaves as suddenly as it came, leaving her shaking and cramping in residual pain.

"Please, please, please," she says once she has breath enough. "He was never here, I swear."

They hit her with the curse again, and it's even worse than the first time. She can't speak, just sobs with relief when it finally stops.

The short one kneels down on the ground next to her, his face up close to hers. "You're not trying to be a hero, are you?"

She shakes her head, arms wrapped tight around her torso. "I don't believe in heroes," she whispers through her tears.

Another wizard reaches down, grabbing his shoulder. "The boy isn't here. She would have told us if he was."

He still stares at her.

"We don't have time for this," the other wizard scoffs. "We need to get to the next location." With a crack, he disappears.

The remaining Death Eater grabs her hair, twisting it as he forces her face up to look at him. "If I find out you're lying… I won't just come back for you." He jerks his head back towards the tent. "I'll take out your whole blood traitor family. And I'll enjoy it."

He lets go of her, Ginny falling forward to the ground. She flinches at the crack as he Apparates away, her arms protectively wrapped around her head. She stays crumpled in the dirt for long moments, trying to breathe through the remnants of pain and fear.

She eventually becomes aware of her family calling her name.

She lifts her head, trying to get to her feet, but immediately falls back down, retching into the dirt.

"Ginny!"

Get up, Ginny, she tells herself. Just get up.

Pushing to her feet on shaky legs, she somehow manages to stagger back inside the tent. She finds her wand under the edge of the table, picking it up. She feels bile pushing at the back of her throat, but makes it to Bill's side before her legs give out. With trembling arms, she lifts her wand, cutting the ropes.

Bill wrenches the ropes away, his face thunderous. He touches her shoulder. "Gin?"

She nods at him, waving him on.

He stays looking at her for another moment before finally pushing to his feet, finding his own wand and cutting the rest of the family free.

"Ginny," Mum says, appearing next to her and pulling her into a hug. Ginny gratefully leans into her.

She can hear her father and brothers discussing things dimly in the distance, but she feels utterly drained.

"Molly," Dad says. "The wards."

She nods, giving Ginny another squeeze before pushing tiredly to her feet.

Dad puts an arm around her back. "Up we get," he says.

She gets to her feet, letting him lead her back inside the Burrow. She sits on the couch when he tells her, lets him wrap her in a blanket and it's only then she realizes she's shaking, her teeth nearly chattering. She doesn't understand what's wrong with her.

Dad sits next to her, putting an arm around her, crooning softly under his breath. Ginny leans into his warmth, but it's summer, why is she so bloody cold?

Nearby her brothers are speaking with Mum, faces dire. Ginny just stares at the ragged hem of Fleur's dress in sick fascination. It's been roughly ripped off just at the knee, too completely to be accidental damage.

The wedding seems a thousand years ago. The laughter and music and Harry-. She squeezes her eyes shut, nausea rolling in her stomach.

"You should let them know we're okay," she says.

They all turn to look at her, this being the first she's spoken.

She peers up at her dad. "You know he's exactly the kind of idiot to charge recklessly back here if he thinks we're in danger."

Dad touches her hair, giving her a tight smile. "Good point."

Her father's Patronus streaks out into the night.

"Ginny," Mum says, voice tentative as she kneels in front of her.

"I'm okay," she says. "Really. I barely even feel like throwing up anymore."

"Christ, Gin," Bill says, shaking his head.

She looks up at him. "Are they…coming back?" she asks, hating the way her voice trembles.

"Not tonight," Dad promises.

She nods.

Bill and Fleur look at each other. "We're staying."

Mum shakes her head. "Go to the cottage."

Bill opens his mouth to protest.

Mum touches his arm. "This is still your honeymoon." She reaches for Fleur's hand, who squeezes her hand back. "Don't let them take that from you."

"You know what will happen," Bill says.

Dad nods. "The less people who are here, the better."

"But what about…," he looks at Ginny.

She lifts her chin.

Dad says, "We run now, we can't stop."

Bill gives a grim nod.

Fleur drops down in front of Ginny, taking her hand in hers.

"Sorry I ruined the dress," Ginny says, looking at her dirt stained knees.

Fleur shakes her head, brushing a strand of hair back from Ginny's face. "Gold isn't really your color, ma soeur."

"True," Ginny says, too tired even to smile.

Fleur presses a kiss to her forehead before getting to her feet.

Bill kneels down next, dragging her into a hug, his face near his ear. "You held your own, Gin. You held your own."

It doesn't feel like it. It feels like she was a little girl playing at things far beyond her.

Long hours later when she finally climbs up to bed, her room is bare and empty as if Hermione Granger never existed. Above her, she can hear the distant sounds of Dad and Charlie wrestling the ghoul into Ron's room. All their lies seamlessly in place.

The next morning they come with official papers and probable cause, as if they weren't the same people who came the night before with curses and violence. They all pretend though, pretend that her father is inviting them in of his own freewill, pretend that the government officials aren't trying to find Harry to serve him up to Voldemort.

"I hear there was a bit of a ruckus here last night," Rookwood says.

Dad shakes his head. "Just a misunderstanding."

They find Ron's pox-ridden ghoul, but don't get close enough to question it, even though Dad makes a big show of giving his permission.

Rookwood looks at Ginny, and she does her best to pretend his is a voice she's never heard before.

The greatest shock comes on Monday morning.

Dad stands in the kitchen in his work robes, kissing Mum goodbye. She's seen this scene countless times before.

"You're going in to the Ministry?"

"Yes, Ginny," her father says, a warning in his tone.

"How can you do that?"

"It's my job." Like the entire world hasn't fallen apart already.

"So we just carry on."

"Yes, Ginny," her father says, something just the slightest bit hard in his tone. "We just carry on."

We run now, we can't stop.

Mum is distracted all day, her eyes constantly straying to the family clock, which is still rather unhelpfully stuck at mortal peril. Ginny knows what they are really waiting for is for Dad to come home, for some sign of how things are unfolding at the Ministry.

Mum lets out a breath when he walks in the door, but other than that small sign, dinner goes on as always.

In the evening after they think she's gone to sleep, Ginny sits in the stairwell and listens to her parents talk.

"Is Ginny okay?" Dad asks.

Mum sighs. "It's hard to tell with her. I think mostly she's angry. Angry they made her afraid."

"They made me afraid too," Dad says.

They are silent for a long stretch.

"I have a cousin, you know, that one who married an accountant. Maybe…"

She feels her stomach clench at the idea of being sent away to live with Muggle relatives she's never even met.

"She'd be defenseless," Dad says.

She doesn't turn seventeen for another full year. Without a wand or any wizards around her, she'd be a sitting duck.

"How are Andromeda and Ted?" Mum asks.

"Shaken up, but no…permanent damage. The Death Eaters weren't happy they didn't know anything about Harry or Remus or Tonks' whereabouts."

Ginny's left to imagine what their displeasure may have looked like. Though she has a better idea today than she would have last week.

"Ted left," Dad says.

"What?"

"He went into hiding. There's talk of a registry."

"It's monstrous," Mum says, fury shaking her voice.

Dad sighs. "I'm afraid it's only the beginning."

It's a strangely empty week, no one coming by the Burrow, no heads in the fire, not even silver Patronus messages. Everyone seems to understand that the Burrow is marked. Ginny's seen the people loitering out on the road, watching.

As if Harry would ever be stupid enough to come back here. Or rather, as if Ron and Hermione would let him, she amends.

At the end of the week, Dad brings home a poster. Undesirable Number One. 10,000 galleons on his head.

Harry stares out of the poster, his face half in shadows, expression set.

And Ginny finally begins to understand just how dangerous that kiss out in the woods truly was. Just how vulnerable she's made herself.

A week later, she sees Dolores Umbridge on the front cover of the Prophet, proud Ministry official, in charge of the Muggle-Born Registration Commission.

Harry a criminal, Dumbledore a liar.

They've been here before.

Her sixteenth birthday is a quiet affair.

Early in the day, an owl comes from Smita.

It's a birthday card. Hope your birthday blooms with joy! it reads. Ginny stares at it for a long time. The frilly border, the flowers twining around the edges. It's bright and cheery and completely unlike Smita.

It's not until the fourth time she looks at it that she finally sees the runes nestled into the petals and twisting vines.

Taking out a quill, Ginny carefully copies the runes onto a fresh sheet of paper. She swaps the order around, using an old trick they devised during long History of Magic lectures.

By the time you read this, we will be far away. I won't tell you where. Just please don't worry. Keep yourself safe. And keep an eye on Tobias for me. I'm not sure he'll understand.

No, he won't. But Ginny understands. All too well. Smita's mum's research makes her important enough to be contained, or destroyed. As for Smita's stepfather… He's a Muggleborn.

But it's okay because they are away and safe.

She reminds herself that she should be relieved. One less person to worry about.

She's not sure she believes it.

At dinner, the twins come with tales of Diagon Alley. Rather than presents, they bring bags full of her school supplies.

"Happy birthday, sis!"

"Wonderful," she says, voice wry.

Fred leans into her. "I think you'll find your new copy of Hogwarts: A History particularly interesting."

She lifts out the book in question, very cautiously lifting up the cover. After all, she's spent her whole life navigating the twins' increasingly complex pranks. But rather than blowing up in her face, the book opens up to reveal and impossibly large interior space, packed to the gills with various Wheezes.

"There's a few…special prototypes, you might say, in there as well," Fred says, giving her a wink. "After all, wouldn't do to send you back to Hogwarts without proper supplies."

"What am I going to do with all of this?"

Fred lifts a shoulder. "I'm sure you'll think of something. After all, we know where you learned your sneakiness."

She looks up at him, and for a moment they regard each other, and Ginny can't help but think of that moment in the tent, what he saw her do, what she almost did. She tries not to think about the wedding, and only part of that is because of what was done to her.

She still doesn't know if she would have let that Death Eater die. If she was simply frozen, or if she wanted it. Wanted it to happen.

All Fred does is squeeze her arm. "Happy Birthday, Gin."

If her smile is a little wobbly, he doesn't comment.

"Florean's gone," George reports during dinner.

"What?" Mum says, eyebrows lifting in alarm.

George nods. "And it doesn't look like he went willingly."

They all absorb this. Diagon Alley is more boarded up than not these days.

"Have you considered closing up the shop?" Mum asks.

Fred and George look at each other. "We're going to keep it open," Fred says.

George nods. "As long as we can."

Mum looks like she's going to protest, but Dad just squeezes her hand.

The next week, the Prophet comes out with Hermione's face on the front cover as a person wanted for interrogation.

When the news reaches them that Hogwarts has been declared compulsory for all magical children, that Snape will serve as Headmaster, they don't talk about what this will mean.

Dad simply says, "Be careful."

Ginny doesn't bother telling him that careful is what she is made for.

Platform 9 ¾ is strangely quiet. Sure there's still a gaggle of students running around, owls hooting, carts crashing. It's all the same. Except the way everyone is side-eying each other even as they are trying to pretend they aren't. Who's here? Who isn't?

There's a moment after Ginny and her parents step through the barrier that everyone seems to hold their breath, like Ron or Harry or Hermione may follow after them at any moment.

But no one watches them more closely than the 'Aurors' who are here providing security. The Minister of Magic was assassinated after all, and they are meant to believe that the rogue element responsible for it is still out there, a threat to the wizarding world.

We're here to keep you safe.

And somehow they are also supposed to believe that threat wears the face of Harry Potter. As if he has ever done anything other than try to protect these students for years, more than once with his very life.

Ginny lifts her chin and keeps her cart moving forward.

Ginny passes Seamus as he stares hard at the entrance. She considers stopping to tell him that Dean isn't coming, but she's pretty sure he already knows.

Near the train doors, Mum pulls her into a tight hug. "Don't forget to write."

Ginny pulls back like she isn't scared in the deepest reaches of her mind of never seeing her parents again. "Of course," she says, voice just loud enough for anyone who's interested to hear. "Ron'll be bored out of his skull otherwise."

She knows her role in all of this.

Dad hugs her. "I love you," he says.

She tightens her arms around him. "Love you, too."

The whistle blows, and she forces herself to step back.

"See you at Christmas." She gives them both the brightest smile she can manage and climbs up on the train.

The Hogwarts Express is full of new faces, not just first years, but also older students being forced into compulsory education. For every new face there are others missing, and not just Ron, Hermione, and Harry. There's Dean Thomas, the Creeveys, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Smita, Graham, and any other Muggleborn students.

She barely makes it through the first compartment before Neville appears, looking incredibly relieved to see her.

"Ginny," he says, rushing up to her.

"Hi, Neville," she says, voice pleasant. "Have a nice summer?"

He blinks back at her in confusion. "A nice summer?" he echoes as if he clearly thinks she has lost her mind.

Ginny continues on as if she hasn't noticed. "Mine was a bit chaotic. With Bill's wedding and all." She looks past him to see Luna standing a few steps behind. "Hi, Luna."

Luna looks her over. "Hello."

"Where's Ron?" Neville presses, clearly out of patience for pleasantries.

"Spattergoit," Ginny replies easily. "He's stuck home for the term. Looks a nasty fright, let me tell you. Of course, he never looked that great to begin with."

He looks back at her, clearly nonplussed. "And Hermione?"

Ginny meets Neville's gaze steadily. "How would I know? She's Muggleborn, isn't she? Who knows where she could be. Hopefully somewhere far away."

"You really expect me to buy that."

"Honestly, Neville," she says, very aware of just how many people are listening. "I couldn't care less what you believe."

What exactly does he want from her? He wasn't there, he can't possibly know.

But Luna was. Ginny meets her gaze.

She takes Neville's arm. "Come along, Neville. Let's go back to our seats."

With another confused glance back at Ginny, Neville complies, heading down the corridor.

Luna lingers another moment, looking back at Ginny. "Your disguise is much better," she says, voice quiet. "But still not very believable."

With that, Luna follows after Neville.

Taking a careful breath, Ginny turns down the hall in the opposite direction. In the next car, she finds Tobias sitting in a compartment.

He looks up as she enters, almost immediately looking past her.

"Tobias," Ginny says, voice slightly chastising.

He leans back in his seat, looking out the window. "I know."

The Death Eaters pretending to be Aurors walk by the window, peering in at them. Ginny looks calmly back at them, not allowing herself to wonder if either of them were the men at the Burrow. After a moment, they move on.

Ginny settles in the seat across from Tobias. "Just like old times."

Tobias' lips twist, his eyes completely devoid of humor. "Just like it."

There's no exploding snap or tall tales, just endless stretching silence as they steam northwards.

The castle looks the same, other than Death Eaters and Dementors on the perimeter, but by now those are beginning to feel normal too. Ginny considers that she's had a bit of a bizarre school experience.

In the Great Hall there is a Sorting, a feast, with McGonagall meeting the first years on the steps like every year before. It's all proper and right, like a thin veneer of normality pulled across everything as if to remind them all of the game they are playing. Prefects and Head Girl and Boy, Flitwick and Sinistra and Trewlawny and Hagrid sitting up at the staff table like nothing has changed. But not Burbage, which shouldn't be as much of a gut punch as it is.

Ginny glances at Tobias and can tell he has noticed as well.

Only when it's time for the Headmaster to say a few words, it's Snape who stands in that spot that used to be Dumbledore's.

There's a hiss from the Gryffindor table, a rumble of angry whispers.

Snape's frigid gaze falls across the tables. "Welcome back to Hogwarts. I will introduce our new faculty shortly. But first I wish to address important, pressing matters. The state of education in these hallowed halls has for far too long drifted. The days of mismanagement and leniency are now done. You will take your educations as seriously as I take them. Much will be asked of you, and as you owe this institution, your predecessors, your blood, you will strive to achieve these goals. Failure will not be tolerated. Misbehavior will be…swiftly punished.

"Under my guardianship, the education of our magical youth will take precedence. In that vein, Muggle Studies is now a required course for all students, and an extra block of time has been added to the schedule to accommodate this."

A short, stocky witch stands.

Snape gestures to her. "Alecto Carrow, who has been kind enough to come to us from the Ministry, will undertake your education in this area. She will also serve as my deputy Headmistress."

Ginny darts a glance at McGonagall to see how she feels about being pushed out of her long held position, but it is clearly no news to McGonagall, her face tight and pale but unsurprised.

"Your new Dark Arts professor will be Amycus Carrow," Snape continues. A wizard who can only be Alecto's twin nods at them, his expression an equal mixture of boredom and disgust.

Snape leans forward on the podium. "Despite the chaotic forces outside, inside these walls you and our ways are protected. And we will persevere."

Ginny eats as if the food doesn't taste like ashes on her tongue.

Back in the dorms, Ginny finds herself alone with Bridget and Helena. The two girls are eying Smita's empty bed.

"Serves her right. Her blood traitor mother marrying a filthy Muggle."

The words seem to fall off her tongue like something too big for her to understand, like a toddler blindly mimicking her parents. Ginny suspects that very well may be the way of it. But is it really any different than what she's doing?

We just carry on…

"It's about time this place had some standards," Bridget sniffs. "Though they could probably be raised a little higher. Still a bit too much riffraff around here for my taste."

Ginny knows this is for her benefit, but pretends not to hear.

The door opens and a young witch walks in, hair covered in a scarf and dark eyes wary.

Bridget and Helena give the girl nothing more than a dismissive glance as she crosses over to the closest empty bed.

"Hi," Ginny says, straightening up from her trunk. "I'm Ginny Weasley."

The wariness in the girl's eyes doesn't leave. She nods her head slightly. "I am Nadira Shafiq."

"Shafiq?" Bridget says, interest clearly piqued.

The Shafiq family is part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Gloriously, thoroughly pureblood going back generations, but also one of the most reclusive. A Shafiq hasn't attended Hogwarts in decades.

Helena crosses over to Nadira, brazenly sitting down on the edge of the bed. Smita's bed. "So," she says, leaning back on her arms and crossing her legs. "What's your story?"

Nadira seems to consider her for a long moment. Then, with a confident flick of her wand, the other girl slides off the bed and onto the floor with an undignified squeak.

"None of your business," Nadira says. With another wave of her wand, the curtains close around the bed and the girl with a smooth snap.

"Well," Helena sniffs and she scrambles back up to her feet, cheeks red. "I never."

It's on the tip of Ginny's tongue to say something. You mean like think before you speak? We all wish you would.

But the castle isn't the same place anymore, and neither is this room, so Ginny swallows the words down and pulls the curtains shut around her own bed.

The first week they don't have Dark Arts class or Muggle Studies. Instead, all of the students are individually dragged in to speak to the Carrows.

Entrance interviews, they are officially called.

Despite what they are called, no one fails to notice that some students quickly disappear into detention, many walking gingerly the next few days, Neville chief among them. The grim, determined look on his face is frighteningly familiar.

Even more frightening, a couple of students never come back at all.

Ginny's turn is near the end of the week, which is both good and bad. She's had a lot of time to think about what may happen.

At the appointed time, Ginny leaves her Transfiguration class, Tobias giving her a grim nod.

The Carrows have offices down in the dungeons. The room she enters seems designed for maximum intimidation. It's dank, with thick stone walls and no windows, just a plain heavy table in the middle of room. The walls are covered with various types of tools and weapons.

Pretty much the opposite of subtle.

Amycus Carrow sits at the table with a book in front of him, while Alecto Carrow restlessly prowls the space behind him.

"Ginevra Weasley?" he asks.

"Yes."

"Sit," he orders.

Ginny lowers herself into the hard chair, eying the chains clanking threateningly on the arms.

"Blood status?" Amycus asks, lifting his quill.

It's on the tip of her tongue to tell him to mind his own fucking business. She has learned far too well these years how not to let her temper rule her though, how to look five, ten, twenty steps ahead. So instead she bares her teeth, lets them see it as a smile, and says, "Pureblood," like it actually means anything. Like it should.

Tom is a half-blood after all, and as far as Ginny's concerned it's the human part that makes them all idiots equally—foolishness bred into flesh and bone.

Amycus writes a note in the book. "Your mother's family?"

"Prewett."

"And her mother?"

"A Black."

It goes on in this vein for a while, Amycus seeming to triple check that she has no Muggle blood back for three generations. Apparently satisfied, he closes his book. But rather than dismissing her, he pulls out a sheet of paper, laying it on the table in front of her.

"We're aware that Harry Potter, Undesirable no. 1, often spent time at your home during the summer."

"Yes," Ginny says, carefully keeping her eyes averted from Harry's face. "As if already having six brothers weren't bad enough."

Amycus smiles, offering her a glass of water.

Ginny is in no way stupid enough to drink it, but she does take it, lift it to her lips. She thinks of Smita teaching her to vanish her alcohol from her cup without speaking back in their second year, never realizing at the time just how useful that would turn out to be.

"Did he visit your family this summer?"

"No," Ginny says, putting the glass back down. "Ron didn't seem to know where he was. With his horrid Muggle relations, I would imagine."

"And where is your brother?"

"At home. He has Spattergoit."

"Nasty," Amycus says.

Ginny nods. "It really is."

"And Hermione Granger?" he asks, putting her picture down on the table.

Ginny picks up the picture as if it in no way affects her. "She never had much use for me," she says, canting her voice with just the slightest edge of dismissal. She lays the picture back down. "The feeling was…mutual." She carefully chooses that moment to brush a nonexistent strand of hair back from her face.

The Carrows don't miss the green snake childishly inked on her arm.

She watches them share an indulgent smile like it finally all makes sense, this daughter of a blood traitor family who escaped to Slytherin to play at Death Eater. She's a role model for all. She remains silent and lets it work for her, the Carrows patting her indulgently on the head and sending her back to her lessons.

If she feels physically ill as she leaves that dark dungeon behind, she chalks it up as a necessary evil. The castle has become unfamiliar ground. She needs whatever protections she can find, and if playing into the Carrow's assumptions gives that to her, she'll take it.

After all, people's assumptions have been working against her for years. It's time she put them to work for her.

On Monday, the castle wakes to whispers of Harry breaking into the Ministry. Copies of the Quibbler are everywhere, miraculously disappearing the moment either of the Carrows near. It's the only media source still openly speaking out against the Ministry, peeling back the lies being fed to them.

"What would he be doing there?" she hears two young Gryffindors discussing in whispers as she leaves class, voices tight with excitement. With hope.

They look up at her as she passes, and she can see it there, a question on their lips. She averts her eyes and keeps walking.

Ginny doesn't read the article, refuses to speculate. She honestly can't think of a reason compelling enough to outweigh the foolish risk.

What are you doing?

On her way back into the common room, she comes face to face with Draco. They both come to a stop in the doorway, eyes meeting.

She's surprised to see that he looks even more paper-thin than he had last year. There's no denying that events have aligned themselves in his favor. In some ways, he has every right to traipse around like he owns the place. Only he hasn't been. Not that she's seen.

They look at each other, and for just a moment his expression is almost vulnerable before being replaced with ragged belligerence like somehow she's the bully, and he's the victim.

She doesn't know if she wants to reassure him that she's the last person he needs to worry about, or just punch him in the face for what he let happen to her brother, for letting that monster Fenrir Greyback into their school.

For Dumbledore.

She does neither, mostly because she can't afford to, but also because she begins to imagine he's just as trapped as the rest of them. There's no heroes or villains here. Just scared little children.

She looks away, sliding past him without touching.

The common room is nearly empty, most people already at dinner. Glancing across the room, her eye is caught by the rough wooden door half lost in shadows. A door she hasn't seen a single girl move towards in the week they have been here.

Ginny's hand tightens into a fist, and after another long moment, she manages to get her feet moving, carrying her over to the door.

Gingerly, she reaches for the handle.

Hard, aching disappointment wells in her stomach when the handle doesn't move under her hand. She pushes harder, the handle rattling, but not budging.

"Foolish," she whispers to herself.

Down in her dorm, Bridget and Helena aren't there and Nadira's curtains are pulled tightly shut. Ginny climbs onto her own bed, pulling out her Runes homework. She stares unseeing at it for a long time.

Ripping off a small piece of parchment, she picks up her quill, giving in to the persistent itch for ink and words like the release of a pressure valve.

Dear Harry, she writes, her mind clogged with questions she can't voice. Where are you? What's happening? What am I supposed to do?

The words remain stubbornly inked in place long after she writes them and she isn't sure if she's supposed to be reassured or disappointed. There's no way for her words to reach him, no way to get an answer. No Harry, no Ron, no Hermione, no Fred and George, no Smita, no Antonia, no Tom. There's no one left to answer for her.

She writes, We do what we must.

Muggle Studies is held in one of the largest classrooms in the castle, one with sweeping tiered seating. Every student in her year is crowded into the space. On each table are two books. One titled When Muggles Attack and another thicker tome called The Origins of the Muggle.

Glancing around the room, she can see more than one student staring down at the books in horror.

Six people are given detention the first day, many of them Gryffindor.

At the end of the lesson, Alecto approaches her, student heads swiveling around to watch. Ginny feels her fingers twitch towards her tattoo, but manages to stop the telling movement.

"I see you were in this class already," Alecto says, an indulgent smile on her face.

From what Ginny's been able to glean, Alecto isn't particularly bright. A few subtle critiques offered by more circumspect students seem to have gone over her head even as she pounced on the obvious resistance of other students. Frankly, she appears far more interested in hearing what she wants than looking for underlying motivations.

Mouth service to her seems like a small enough price.

And if Ginny also thinks of being down in that dungeon, of her father putting on his robes and going to work, she tells herself it doesn't matter. We just carry on.

She nods. "My father made me," she says. "He wouldn't let me play Quidditch otherwise."

Alecto seems to swallow this lie without hesitation. "And what did you think of Burbage?"

Ginny lifts one shoulder in a shrug as if she doesn't feel something deep and heavy lodge in her stomach. "Fine, I suppose."

Alecto crosses her arms over her chest, her wand absently tapping against her shoulder. "What did she talk about?"

"Mostly art." She tilts her head to one side. "Did you know that Muggle art doesn't even move? It just sits there."

Alecto laughs, patting Ginny on the shoulder before moving off.

She blows out a breath, leaning down to collect her things, only to find Tobias staring at her like she's a stranger.

Dear Ron-

We all have to take Muggle Studies now. It means extra lessons. You should be glad you're missing it. Burbage isn't here anymore. We have a new teacher called Alecto Carrow. Her brother teaches the Dark Arts class. A new year, a new Dark Arts teacher. It seems things are ever as they were here at Hogwarts! Slughorn is my new Head of House as Snape has become Headmaster. We rarely see him. I guess he's busy.

Well, enjoy your lounging around, you great lazy oaf, and don't let the puss get you down.

-Ginny

Saturday morning, Ginny holds trials for Quidditch. They're pretty straight forward, almost her entire team returning. Almost.

While she misses Thompson more than she can say, the more painful opening is Graham. He should be here. He should be here with Bassenthwaite and instead he is just one among dozens of students who have disappeared without a trace, leaving only whispers in their wake.

Mudblood. Blood traitor. Criminal. Coward. Deviant.

Like maybe they've all become the same thing.

Instead of thinking about that, she focuses on picking a replacement Chaser for Thompson. Vaisey seem close enough with Urquhart that she should probably just pick him. He's the best talent she has, as much as she doesn't like him. Just part of the job, she tells herself.

At least there is joy to be found in Reiko flying circles around Harper.

As all the hopefuls file off the field, Ginny calls Bassenthwaite back. "What do you think?" she asks.

"About what?" he asks.

She rolls her eyes. "The other Beater."

He looks at her with surprise.

She lifts a shoulder. "You're the one who is going to have to work with them."

He considers that. "Rosier."

Ginny lifts an eyebrow.

"I know," he says. "He's a bit of a prick. But I can work with that."

It's more than him simply being a prick. The Rosiers are part of the Sacred 28, indelibly, carefully pureblood and proud of it. He already not so casually name-dropped during the trials, as if being in tight with the Carrows and Snape is going to make her more likely to pick him. But not selecting him because of that is almost as rash, and certainly hard to explain.

"Okay," Ginny says, ignoring the uneasy feeling in her stomach. "You want him, you've got him."

The weeks quickly fall into a pattern of classes and lies and fear, and Ginny just does her best to keep her head down.

She spends most of her time with Tobias, the two of them an uncomfortable duo. Tobias rarely smiles anymore, Smita's absence like a giant hole. They don't talk much, like there are no safe topics left anymore. But even sitting with Tobias in silence is better than sitting alone, or having to face the scrutiny of other people.

Tobias has nothing but hard glares to give anyone these days, and that has its uses sometimes too.

Nicola has tentatively approached Ginny a few times, but every time Ginny sees her, all she can think of is a locked door under her hand. She's been watching the door to The Parlor, but hasn't seen anyone so much as approach it. Instead, most of the girls seem to be sitting in the common room.

"I'm going to bed," Tobias says, scooping up his work.

"Night," Ginny says.

Not long after Tobias disappears, Millicent drops into his vacant chair.

Ginny gives her a wary glance. "Hi."

Millicent ignores the greeting. "You understand that we're waiting for you, right?"

Ginny feels a painful clutch of pressure around her chest.

"To open the door," Millicent clarifies as if talking to a hysterical toddler.

Ginny opens her palm, staring down at the thin scar. "I can't."

Millicent snorts, her hard eyes raking over Ginny. "Antonia must have seen something in you. But personally I think you're a bit thick."

But this, on top of everything else, is just one too step too far. "How the hell am I supposed to know? I'm not-." She sputters a bit in frustration. "You all keep forgetting that I don't come from here. I wasn't born to any of this. You keep forgetting that I'm-."

Millicent gives her a piercing look. "An outsider?"

Ginny opens her mouth only to close it again, feeling like there's no right answer.

Millicent shakes her head, getting to her feet. "Maybe she was wrong." With one last dismissive look, she walks away.

Ginny glances around the room, many of The Parlor girls looking away just as her gaze touches them. Only Tilly holds her gaze, giving her a bracing nod.

After everyone has gone to sleep, Ginny approaches the door. Trying the handle again, she pushes, but the door stays stubbornly shut.

Taking out her wand, she taps the door, trying to repeat the incantation she heard Antonia use only a handful of times. She wishes now she paid slightly more attention.

Nothing.

Almost as if it knows she is unworthy.

Hesitantly, she stretches out her hand, pressing her palm with the thin scar against the hard wood. She holds her breath for a long moment, waiting for what, she can't say.

Nothing.

She almost laughs at herself then, wondering what she expected. Leaning forward, she rests her forehead against the door, her fingers curling into the wood.

Who are you? a voice demands, echoing loudly in Ginny's mind.

She jerks back away.

Ginny doesn't sleep well, that deep fathomless voice following her into her dreams.

Who are you?

On her way to Muggle Studies the next morning she sees Reiko walking down the hall, her face set and books tucked tight into her chest. Very close behind her walk Crabbe and Goyle, faces full of hard amusement. Goyle reaches out and swipes at the back of Reiko's robes, saying something that makes Reiko's face burn.

Reiko comes to a sudden stop, spinning around and shoving both boys back as if they aren't easily twice her weight. She says something to them.

They laugh, saying something else to each other, nudging each other in the ribs. Reiko hurries away from them, and they don't follow her.

Ginny falls into step next to the younger girl. "Are they bothering you?"

Reiko looks less than pleased by her interference. "They're just stupid gits. I can handle them."

"I'm sure you can," Ginny says, looking back at Crabbe and Goyle. They shoot her hard leers, but don't dare do anything more. Too scared to come after her still, which is good, because Ginny can't afford to be that careless again.

Unfortunately, they are clearly not above finding other ways.

"You'll let me know if that changes?" Ginny murmurs.

Reiko rolls her eyes. "Yes, Mum."

Ginny is distracted during Muggle Studies, her mind too busy thinking of Reiko and that fathomless voice that has set into her brain like a fever. She tries to calm her mind, to remind herself that she just needs to keep carefully putting one foot in front of the other.

Keep your head down. Carry on.

Carry on.

She's so stuck in her head that it takes far longer for her to notice Tobias' growing agitation than it should. They are walking back from their lesson when he seemingly reaches his limit.

"You know," he says, voice cold and hard, "you could at least pretend that it bothers you. That she's not here."

They never say Smita's name, like she's become a thing between them even more dangerous than Voldemort.

"Don't be stupid," Ginny says. Not thinking about Smita is the only way she survives it sometimes, the ache of loneliness in her stomach. Can't he see that?

He pulls her to a stop, leaning into her. "Do you even care that it's your fault?"

Ginny pulls back, staring at him like he's lost his mind. "What are you talking about?"

His fingers tighten on her arm. "Everyone knows you dragged her along on that insane Department of Mysteries debacle. The stupid DA and their ridiculous sodding notions."

They both know the DA has nothing to do with it, but it's far easier than the truth. Tobias needs something to be mad about, and Voldemort will never be a safe target. She gets that, even if it pisses her off.

"I'm not having this conversation," Ginny says, trying to push past him, put enough distance between them to give him a chance to cool off.

He refuses to let go of her though, his voice rising in volume. "Do you really think you're fooling anyone?"

She spins on her heel, her ponytail nearly smacking the side of his head as she leans into him. "Lower your goddamned voice."

He does, but just barely. "Do you honestly think anyone here doesn't know whose side you're really on?"

She feels the dig of that deep down, like he's taken a painful swing at her teetering foundations. "And whose side are you on?"

He flushes at the implication. "The side I always should have been on. Mine."

"How blindingly altruistic of you."

"Hey," he snaps, jabbing his finger into her sternum. "I didn't bring the Dark Lord back. But I'm not stupid enough to think I can change it either."

"You know what?" Ginny says, voice going cold and hard. "I'm glad she isn't here. Now she won't have to see what you really are."

She might as well have hit him, the way he goes still and pale, completely motionless for the beat of a second. "Fuck you, Weasley."

She laughs, something high and artificial and utterly unlike herself. "Is that what this is really about?" she accuses, wishing she could take it back almost the second she says it.

His mouth opens and closes a couple of times, and then he just turns and walks away.

Ginny takes a breath and forces herself to walk calmly back across the quad, right past a small clutch of Ravenclaw girls.

"Trouble in paradise?" one of the girls asks.

Ginny forces herself to smile, relaxing her shoulders. "Some boys just can't handle rejection gracefully."

They all smile and snicker appreciatively, and Ginny lets herself get swallowed up by the easy talk of the immaturity of boys.

Her smile never slips.

In all of their classes the next day, Tobias deliberately sits as far away from her as he can.

She tells herself it's a relief. They both need time to cool down. It still doesn't stop the feeling that there is an ever-widening space around her.

It's probably better that way.

Even with her Quidditch team she feels strangely apart. She knows this is partly from being captain. But she was captain before. Only then she had Thompson. And if she really needed help, she had… She cuts herself off, refusing to let her mind wander in that direction. Some things feel too dangerous to even think about these days.

In the evening, she studies in the library well into the evening. She is very well aware that she is hiding, avoiding Tobias and the battleground that is her dorm room, but also the scrutiny of The Parlor girls waiting for her to get her shite together.

It can all get to be just a little too much.

She considers, for about half a second, retreating to the cloister, but just can't face it.

So the library it is.

She's just finished packing up her things to make it back to her dorm before curfew when Hannah Abbott walks into the room at a fast clip, her eyes skimming the space and falling on Ginny with something like palpable relief.

Ginny frowns, slinging her bag over her shoulder and moving for the exit.

At the door, Hannah puts a hand on Ginny's arm. "Can I talk to you?"

Ginny sighs, not really in the mood for this at the moment. "About what?"

Hannah glances around, biting her lip. "Not here."

Ginny lets the other girl pull her into a nearby empty classroom.

"What is it?" Ginny asks, closing the door behind her. "It's nearly curfew." When Hannah doesn't do anything other than warily stare, Ginny blows out a breath. "You came to find me, remember?"

Hannah's face is bright pink. She opens her mouth, but doesn't manage to get anything out.

"Great," Ginny says, turning on her heel to leave. "Now that we've cleared that up."

"Wait," Hannah squeaks. Her hands twist in front of her as a she blurts out a stream of smushed together words. "I think Neville's about to do something really stupid, and I couldn't get him to listen to me. I thought maybe he'd be more willing to listen to you."

Ginny frowns, but isn't really surprised. Neville has already spent more time in detention than anyone else. It was really only a matter of time until he did something stupid. "What is he doing?"

Hannah shakes her head. "He mentioned something Harry needs. Something that the Ministry refused to give him even though Dumbledore wanted him to have it."

"That stupid wanker," Ginny says, realization dawning.

The sword of bloody Gryffindor. How the hell he had learned about that, she doesn't know. His grandmother, maybe. What matters now is keeping Neville from doing something spectacularly stupid.

She's already moving for the door, the hard chill of foreboding filling her chest. "Where is he now?"

Hannah spreads her hands wide, voice trembling. "Seamus said he's not in Gryffindor Tower. And he hasn't been anywhere else I've checked."

"And Luna?"

Hannah's eyes widen. "No, I haven't seen her either. But she could be in her dorms. I could find Michael and ask."

"Don't bother." She won't be there if Ginny's growing suspicion is at all correct. He'll need Luna's help. "Go back to your common room. I'll take care of this."

Hannah steps across her. "N-no."

Ginny looks at her in surprise.

Hannah's chin lifts. "I'm coming with you."

Ginny shakes her head. "Seriously, this is going to be dangerous. Detention would probably look fun next to what this could cost us."

Hannah grabs Ginny's arm, pulling her to a stop. "I'm not a coward."

"I never said-," Ginny sputters.

"Maybe not, but I know what you all think of Hufflepuffs." Hannah's face hardens, tears in her eyes. "They killed my mother. Killed her."

Ginny reels back.

It's common knowledge that Hannah was pulled out of classes at the beginning of last year when Death Eaters murdered her mother. Ginny wants to argue that her mother's death doesn't have anything to do with this, but it would be a lie.

People are dying, many for little more than getting in Tom's way. They have been for a while now.

Hannah drops her arm, swiping at the tears on her face. "I'm just going to follow you anyway."

"Okay, you win," Ginny sighs. "But I need to know that if I tell you to do something, you'll do it, no questions asked."

If being given orders by a younger girl seems to sit strangely with Hannah, she doesn't show it. "Okay."

"Well then. We're going to the Headmaster's office."

Hannah's eyebrows shoot up, but she doesn't change her mind.

Together they race back up through the corridors, all of them deserted. Curfews are taken a lot more seriously these days.

At the top of the spiral stairs, the door stands slightly ajar, proof of Ginny's horrible suspicion. Luna stands next to the door, chatting with a gargoyle.

"Oh, hello," Luna says, seeing them.

"Is Neville in there?" Ginny ask.

Luna nods. "It was quite an interesting challenge, getting the door open. Gilbert has been telling me all sorts of fascinating history. Did you know that a Headmaster in the 16th century had a Sphinx guarding his door?"

The gargoyle nods sagely.

"Fascinating," Ginny says, pushing past her into the office.

Inside, Neville is rather precariously balanced on a chair, pulling the Sword of Gryffindor from its case on the wall.

"Neville," she says.

He starts, almost losing his balance. "Merlin, Ginny. You scared me."

Scaring him is the least of what she plans to do to him. "Have you completely lost your mind?"

He frowns at her. "Look, I know it was a bit of a risk…"

"A bit of a risk?" Ginny repeats, her voice shrill. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Helping Harry," he says, stepping down with sword in hand. "Someone has to."

She ignores the sting of that accusation, forcing herself to admit that shutting down Neville had never been a great strategy to begin with. "And how do you plan on getting a sword to him? By owl?"

Neville has the grace to flush. "I'll find a way."

"And say you do? Say you could manage to find him when every wizard in the country is already searching. You could lead them right to him! Use your head!"

"She's right, Neville," Hannah says from right behind Ginny.

Neville gives her a look like she's betraying him.

Ginny steps closer, refocusing his attention on her. "This isn't bravery, Neville, it's recklessness."

"Harry—"

"Is gone," Ginny says, the words seeming to rip out of her chest. "And for all we know, never coming back. Getting yourself killed isn't going to change that."

Something in Neville's expression seems to soften. "You're afraid."

Ginny thinks she almost liked it better when Neville fumbled with his wand and was more likely to look at his toes as challenge anyone. "This isn't a war, Neville! Do you see anyone fighting? So stop pretending!"

"Pretending what?"

"That Voldemort hasn't already won!"

It feels awful finally saying it out loud, her greatest fear. The words ring between them.

"Ginny," Neville says, voice horrified. "You don't mean that."

She shakes her head, pulling her wand. Someone has to save him from himself. "So help me, Neville. I will curse you if I have to."

Hannah's eyes go wide, but she doesn't interfere.

Neville looks enraged, but in no way willing to call Ginny's bluff.

Stepping forward, she wrenches the sword from Neville's hands. "Hannah, get them out of here. I'll put the sword back."

She pauses only a moment before bustling Neville out of the office.

Ginny stands there holding the sword, feeling its weight. She's honestly a little surprised it didn't disappear the moment she touched it with her Slytherin hands. She indulges the fantasy of walking it out of the castle. Walking out and never looking back.

She crosses the room and carefully puts the sword back in place.

As she turns to leave, she thinks she sees the slightest movement out of the corner of her eye. When she looks, there's a portrait of Albus Dumbledore slumbering in his frame. Just seeing his face is like a punch to the gut.

People are dying.

"Sir?" she asks, feeling stupid, but unable to resist.

Dumbledore continues to slumber.

Shaking her head at her whimsy, Ginny runs for the door. She jerks it open only to slam headlong into Snape. She bounces off his chest, his hands on her shoulders the only thing keeping her from falling.

It's the first time she's been this close to him since he cursed her and escaped. Since the night…

You killed Dumbledore, she wants to say.

"What are you doing in here, Miss Weasley?" he demands, forcing her back into the room.

She stumbles away from him, feeling his mind push up against hers, recognizing it this time. She tries to feed him exactly what he wants to see. Pulling a harmless prank. Hijinks and teenage stupidity.

Snape almost smiles, just the tiniest bit. He walks around her to stand behind his desk. "Detention, Miss Weasley."

"For how long?" she demands.

His eyes narrow, no doubt because of her less than apologetic tone. "For as long as I deem necessary."

Ginny clenches her jaw. "And what exactly does that mean?" she says, forgetting herself in her utter frustration, the unexpected burn of betrayal she feels just looking at him, this man she'd been foolish enough to trust.

Snape makes a small sound of what might be disgust, sitting down at the desk. "A true Slytherin never lets their emotions undermine their control," he lectures, and from anyone else that might have sounded like a warning, a caution, but from Snape it's just yet another criticism.

Ginny dares to let her eyes dart past him to the slumbering portrait of Dumbledore, just for a moment, but more than enough for Snape to take note of it. "Don't you mean self-preservation? Sir?"

She doesn't know what she expects from him, a flash of guilt or triumph or even sadness, but all she gets is the slight lifting of one corner of his mouth. "I see we understand each other, Miss Weasley."

"Perfectly, sir," she says, voice crisp and frigid and revealing none of the lava flowing right underneath.

He nods. "You'll begin Wednesday night at eight. Report to the dungeons."

Ginny feels a fission of fear under her skin, but is careful not to let it show. She's heard rumors of what passes for punishment these days. The Carrows apparently have a particular flourish for creativity that even Filch may have balked at.

She forces herself to turn and walk away, each step measured.

"Miss Weasley," he says just as she reaches the door.

She pauses.

"Don't ever speak his name again," he says, voice vicious.

Voldemort.

She doesn't dare let her confusion or fear show, just nods and flees.

Ginny feels like everyone should be staring at her, whispering behind their hands, but everything seems to carry on exactly like before. There are no rumors about Ginny's attempted 'prank', no long looks from McGonagall or Flitwick or Slughorn. No warnings to be more careful.

Her first instinct is to talk to Tobias, to tell him what happened, but things between them are still frosty at best. Which, really, is better than the unpredictable burn of rage.

Instead, she keeps her own council, trying not to think about what her detention may look like.

"Well," she says on Wednesday evening. "If you'll excuse me, I have detention."

"Oh really," Reiko says, looking interested.

Ginny forces herself to shrug. "Homework is far less interesting than Quidditch. But I guess not everyone sees that."

Reiko laughs.

The air is stale and noticeably cooler as she descends into the ancient dungeons to serve her first detention. She isn't sure where she is specifically meant to go, but only one door in the long hallway is open, a faint glow of light spilling out.

Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she walks into the room.

She's not sure why she's at once horrified and relieved to see Snape waiting for her instead of the Carrows. Maybe because he's a known entity, but only if she fools herself into thinking she really knows anything about this man—a murderer and a traitor.

Unlike the room the Carrows held their interrogations in, this room is nearly empty and small enough that a single brace of candles fills the space with light. A worn table and a couple chairs are the only furniture.

She steps up to the table, scuffing her feet slightly. "Headmaster."

He looks up. "Miss Weasley. Take a seat."

She complies, noting that this chair doesn't come equipped with chains. She isn't sure if this is a good sign or not.

Once she's seated, Snape pushes a thick tome across the table to her. "You will copy this text cover to cover, word for word."

She blinks in surprise, because hand cramps and the occasional paper cut seem like nothing in comparison to the stories already circulating the castle, even if this particular book may take the rest of her life to copy. Then again, she hasn't forgotten how Umbridge corrupted something as innocent as writing lines.

"With my own quill, sir?"

His jaw seems to flex for a moment before he replies. "Yes."

Leaning down to dig through her bag, she pulls out a quill and ink and a piece of parchment. The whole time, she watches Snape out of the corner of her eye, trying to work out the variables of the situation. She wants to ask why she is having detention with him, why she is only having to write lines, but something tells her it would be a dire miscalculation on her part to actually speak the words.

He stares back at her with hard black eyes and a face so blank it may as well have been carved of stone.

She eases the cover of the book open, bracing herself for a million possibilities all at once. The pages sit still and steady.

She starts copying.

A few sentences in, she frowns as the words finally register, flipping the cover closed to glance at the title. Rubbing her thumb across the worn leather, she can just barely make out the faded gilt letters.

Occlumency and Legilimency: An Exhausting Primer

"Is there a problem, Miss Weasley?"

She looks up at him, questions hovering on the edge of her tongue. She swallows them back. "No, sir," she says, flipping the book back open.

Despite the setting and the man sitting across from her, Ginny finds herself engrossed in the words in front of her, the weaving of lies and truths and protections and the grey places in between.

For a while, she lets herself get lost in the magic of secrets.

It's nearly midnight by the time she returns to the common room. Her arm and hand ache, her eyes are blurry, but none of these compare to the painful tumble of thoughts in her mind, as if she's on the edge of putting a particularly crucial piece of information into place.

She's so distracted that she almost walks straight by Tobias where he sits near the low-banked fire.

For a long moment they just look at each other. Tobias' gaze drops as he looks her over, and with a jolt she wonders if he stayed up for her, if he heard about her detention. If maybe he wanted to know she was okay.

"It was just lines," she says.

"What?" he says, jerking slightly like she startled him.

"I only had to write lines."

"Oh," Tobias says, one shoulder lifting in a shrug. He pushes to his feet, gathering up his papers. "What's that to me?"

He pushes past her.

"Tobias," she says with a sigh, sitting down on the arm of a chair.

There's no response, and as the silence stretches on, she assumes he went down to his room.

"I'm glad you're okay," he says.

When she turns around, he's gone.

Thursday afternoon, Ginny is heading to the pitch for practice when Neville runs down the lawns to catch up with her.

"You didn't tell me you got caught!" he exclaims, more than loud enough for anyone to hear.

She glances around them before grabbing his arm. She drags him off towards the Forbidden Forest. Once they are safe inside the branches, she turns to look at him.

"Neville, what the hell-."

He doesn't let her finish. "People are saying you had detention, with Snape."

Ginny sighs. "I did. So what?"

"So what?" he echoes. He shakes his head, he pushes past her. "I'm going to tell him."

She stops him. "Tell him what exactly? That you and Luna broke into the Headmaster's office to steal an ancient relic that happens to be important to Harry bloody Potter?"

Neville hesitates. "Yes. They must already know. The portraits would have told him."

"Don't you think that if they had, you'd already be in detention too?" For all they know the other Headmasters have taken exception to Snape murdering his predecessor. That could put a bit of a dent in their loyalty.

He seems to consider that, his brow furrowing. But then he's brushing it aside. "What does that matter, really? It isn't right."

"It isn't right?" Ginny echoes, feeling like Neville is speaking in tongues for all she can understand him right now.

"That you're being punished for what I did!"

Ginny blows out a breath. "Don't be stupid. You got away with it. Just be glad."

"I'm not thinking about myself!"

"Really?" Ginny says. "How exactly does turning yourself in help Luna and Hannah? The only thing it really accomplishes is making you feel less guilty. How is that not about yourself?"

He flushes.

"But if you won't think about Luna and Hannah, at least think about me."

He throws his arms up, looking utterly frustrated. "I am thinking about you!"

"Really," Ginny says. "So you're thinking about the fact that right now, I'm having to write lines for Snape because of some stupid prank he thinks I was trying to pull. You're thinking about the fact that he's probably being lenient with me because of some weird sense of indulgence towards his own House. You're thinking about the fact that if they suspected why I was really there, I would probably be down in the dungeons with the Carrows facing something much worse than writing bloody lines."

Neville gapes at her.

"Is that what you're thinking about?" she presses.

"No," he stutters. "I didn't… I mean…"

Ginny takes another step closer to him, her voice hardening. "The truth is, Neville, the greatest threat to my safety right now isn't Snape or the Carrows. It's you."

He looks like she may have well slapped him, but she doesn't have any room to feel bad about that.

"Do you get it?"

He nods. "I do. I get it." He takes a few stumbling steps back. "I won't say anything."

Ginny watches him slink away from her, his shoulders hunched. She can't help but feel like she's kicked a puppy and it just pisses her off even more. Glancing at her watch, she sees that on top of everything she's late to practice.

Finding her team already waiting for her just makes her mood even darker.

"Nice of you to join us," Bassenthwaite says.

She ignores him, scrambling to get everything together. She's leaning over the equipment box when one voice rises up above the general conversation.

"…his Mudblood father."

To Ginny, it feels like some last slender thread snaps, everything she's been holding back threatening to pour out all at once.

She straightens, turning to look at Rosier. "What did you say?" she asks, voice quiet and still.

He shrugs, clearly unaware of the implication of what he's said. "About Graham?"

The rest of the team are giving each other alarmed looks, clearly more familiar with Ginny's moods and tempers. "Yes," she says.

"That his father is a Mudblood?" he asks, glancing around at the other players as if looking for someone else to explain what her problem is. "What's the big deal?"

They've been sitting in Muggle Studies for weeks hearing Alecto casually toss the word Mudblood about, like it's a clinical term and not a slur. She shouldn't be surprised. But she is.

Ginny takes a few steps towards him. "The big deal is that I won't have that word spoken."

He huffs dismissively. "Don't get your knickers in a twist."

Ginny smiles, and Bassenthwaite seems to recoil in horror. She sees him put a cautioning hand on Rosier's arm, but he ignores it.

"You can call me a bitch or a tyrant or a slag or whatever you feel like. But I won't have that filthy hate language on my pitch."

"Or what?" he says, pulling up his chin as if to remind her of the physical height he has on her. It's a blatant, bullish move that really does nothing more than remind Ginny of his weakness, how uncertain he really must be.

She lets her posture relax. "Don't pretend you aren't replaceable. We all know you are."

"My parents-," he starts to bluster. He's been happy to tell anyone willing to hear how close his parents are to Snape and the Carrows.

"You think I care?" she says. "They may run this school, but out here, I'm the only lord that matters."

Everyone blanches, and Ginny knows she's let